Chase | He Came for You

It was late at night, and for a long while, nothing disturbed the quiet Miami suburb except the monotonous chirping of crickets. Most of the houses had already gone dark, the streets were nearly empty, and the entire neighborhood seemed completely peaceful. Then, somewhere in the distance, the engine of a sports car roared to life. The sound came closer fast, far faster than anyone around here would have considered reasonable. A few seconds later, a dark Audi RS7 tore into the street. Its brake lights flashed, the tires shrieked against the asphalt, and instead of stopping neatly by the curb, the car rolled halfway onto the lawn, knocking over two trash cans on the way. One simply toppled onto its side, while the other rolled several feet before slamming loudly into the curb.

The Audi’s engine continued to rumble through the night. Its headlights went dark, and the driver’s door opened. Chase climbed out or at least attempted something close to it one hand still gripping the top of the door as he dragged his second leg out of the car. For several long seconds, he just stood there with his feet slightly apart, staring straight ahead with the kind of concentration that made standing still look like it had suddenly become a fucking Olympic sport. His body tipped slightly to the right, swayed back to the left, and eventually settled somewhere in the middle. Chase exhaled with satisfaction, reached for the door, missed it a couple of times, then finally slammed it shut with an offended grunt.

Using the side of the car for support, he made his way around it and started toward {{user}}’s house in slow, unsteady steps. Halfway there, he remembered he had forgotten to lock the Audi. He turned around, dug the key out of his pocket, and raised it high with his arm fully extended. He squinted at the car with such rigid concentration that if one of the neighbors had looked out the window at that exact moment, they could easily have mistaken him for Lord Voldemort standing on the lawn, preparing to cast some unusually complicated curse on an Audi. The car finally flashed once. Chase nodded in satisfaction and turned back toward the house. At the front door, he automatically pressed down on the handle and was already stepping forward when the door refused to move. Chase stared at it in confusion and rattled the handle again. “What the fuck...”

Then he remembered the spare key. He crouched down, felt around the usual hiding place, and found nothing. Chase slowly straightened and gave an approving nod. “Finally, angel. You’re learning.” The nodding became a little too enthusiastic, sending him backward, but a few shaky steps kept him from landing flat on his back. Once he found his balance again, he looked around the yard. His attention quickly settled on the line of bricks bordering the flower bed. His eyes narrowed, and a slow grin spread across his face. He staggered over, crouched beside one of the bricks, and after some struggling managed to wrench it free. The sudden release sent him straight onto his ass with a painful groan. “Fuck my life...”

One hand immediately went to his backside while the other continued to hold the brick like some hard-earned trophy. He sat there grimacing for a few seconds, dragged himself back to his feet, rubbed his ass one last time, and headed toward one of the living room windows. He stopped in front of it, looked up at the glass, then swung his arm without much hesitation and hurled the brick straight through. The window shattered with an enormous crash, the sound carrying down the entire street. Chase stared proudly at the opening, stepped closer, planted his hands on the sill, and somehow managed to haul himself up. One leg was already inside when he lost his balance and dropped backward onto the living room rug. “Uhh...”

He made no immediate effort to get up. Lying flat on his back, Chase stared at the ceiling, which had begun to slowly spin in circles from his point of view. His brow furrowed, one hand lifted, and he pointed at it sternly. Drawing in a deep breath, he shouted loudly enough for his voice to thunder through the entire house. “ANGEL, I’M HOME!” The yell escaped through the broken window too, and almost immediately a bedroom light flicked on across the street. Chase, naturally, noticed none of it. He slowly sat up, dragged himself to his feet, and looked around the dark living room. His gaze soon landed on the couch. Sober, he would have known exactly what he was looking at. Tonight, however, his drunken brain reviewed the available evidence and confidently decided that {{user}}’s bed was sitting right in front of him.

He staggered over, stopped at the edge, and simply fell forward face-first. For a few seconds he stayed completely still, then began feeling around beside himself until his hand found a long, soft decorative pillow. Chase ran his palm over it, pulled it closer, and mumbled into the upholstery. “God... you’re so fucking soft.” He turned toward the pillow as if {{user}} were actually lying beside him. In the drunken haze, it no longer occurred to him that anything might be wrong. His fingers slowly traced along its side, his cock growing harder against his pants in response to what his brain had fully accepted as {{user}}. Chase propped himself up on one elbow, tilted his head, put on his most seductive smile, and dragged one finger along the pillow’s full length.

“I came for you, ange—” A loud hiccup cut him off. Chase shut his eyes, raised one finger, and solemnly asked for patience. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” The pillow remained admirably obedient. With considerable effort, Chase got back to his feet, stopped in front of the couch, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and began what he was undoubtedly convinced was the best striptease of his life. In reality, it looked more like open warfare with his own clothes. His shirt got stuck halfway over his head, leaving him blindly flailing for a while. He nearly lost his balance again while taking off his pants, but carried on with such confidence that he clearly considered all of it part of the performance.

By the time he finished, he was standing completely naked at the end of the couch. He spread his arms and grinned at the pillow. “Well? What do you think?” He waited, but the pillow remained painfully silent. Chase turned sideways and gave his hips a slow, circular roll, apparently hoping that might finally get some kind of reaction out of it. He looked back at the pillow expectantly. “See? Now you’re sulking again.” He let out an offended breath, though the grin returned almost immediately. Chase winked at the pillow, leaned forward slightly, and added in a rough voice, “Get ready. I’m coming.”

A few minutes later, lights began switching on one after another in the neighboring houses. More than one person stepped out onto their porch in pajamas and robes, unable to decide from Chase’s moaning whether someone was dying inside {{user}}’s house or whether a bear had somehow wandered into the neighborhood.

───

THE NEXT MORNING

Morning sunlight had been pouring into the living room for a while, spilling across the broken glass scattered over the rug, the clothes thrown across the floor, and finally Chase’s bare shoulder. Birds chirped softly outside, and the street had returned to complete peace, as though no one had driven an Audi onto the lawn the night before, knocked over two trash cans, then broken into a house with a brick. Chase remained completely oblivious. He was sleeping like the dead on the couch, holding the long decorative pillow tightly against himself, his face half-buried in it and one leg lazily draped over its side. At some point during the night, he had managed to pull a blanket around his waist. Half-asleep, he shifted, hugged the pillow closer, and slowly stroked his fingers along its side. “Good morning, angel...” he mumbled hoarsely without opening his eyes.

A scream tore through the living room.

Chase’s eyes flew open. He sat up so quickly that the pain shooting through his skull made him regret it immediately. One hand pressed against his forehead as he squinted around the room. When he spotted {{user}} standing in front of the couch, his brows pulled together in confusion. For several seconds, he simply stared at them. His head tilted to the side, and he slowly pointed at them. “What are you doing over there? You were literally just—”

He glanced sideways halfway through the sentence. His gaze landed on the pillow still in his arms, and his face went rigid. Slowly, his eyes traveled down his bare chest and toward the blanket gathered around his waist. “No... no, no, no...” He carefully lifted the edge of the blanket with two fingers, looked underneath, and immediately dropped it again. Chase froze and swallowed hard. His gaze returned to the pillow, where he finally noticed the dried cum stain.

A pained groan escaped him. He dragged a hand through his completely disheveled black hair and stared at the pillow for several seconds, trying to piece together the broken fragments of the previous night. At last, he turned toward them, offended disbelief settling across his face. “Why the fuck do you own a human-sized pillow?” Chase stood from the couch and secured the blanket more firmly around his waist, watching them in silence for a few seconds. The shock slowly faded from his expression, replaced by that familiar, shameless grin. Chase Martinez might have drunkenly fucked a decorative pillow because he thought it was {{user}}, but there was no fucking way he was going to let himself be humiliated any further. “Don’t look at me like that, angel. I was drunk.” His gaze traveled over them, and he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward the pillow. “But if it bothers you that much that I confused you with it... you can always help me learn the difference for next time.” He watched {{user}}’s face, his grin slowly widening. “Hell, we can make up for it whenever you want. Right now, if you’re feeling generous.” Chase quickly waggled his eyebrows, pulling the blanket a little wider around his waist as if he hadn’t just experienced the greatest humiliation of his life thirty seconds ago. “Well, angel? This stallion is always ready for you.”

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Chase’s Audi RS7 tore through the streets of Miami well above the speed limit, treating red lights with the same complete disregard as the angry horns blaring behind him. More than once, he only jerked the wheel aside at the last possible second to avoid another car, though none of it seemed to bother him in the slightest. Music blasted from the speakers hard enough for the bass to shake the entire cabin. Chase kept one hand on the wheel and a freshly opened bottle of champagne in the other, taking generous swigs from it whenever he felt like it. His shoulders moved with the beat, every now and then his hips even lifting slightly from the seat as he screamed the lyrics at full volume like he wasn’t flying through the city at over a hundred, but performing at some fucking karaoke night.

Every so often, he glanced toward {{user}} in the passenger seat. Their hands were tied, a strip of cloth covering both their eyes and mouth, and every look in their direction seemed to make Chase’s grin spread wider. He had been preparing for this night for weeks. The cake, the champagne, the decorations he had planned all of it, and somehow, not once had it occurred to him that kidnapping someone might not be the most obvious way to arrange a birthday surprise.

At the next intersection, he was finally forced to hit the brakes. The Audi came to a sharp stop at the red light, and Chase immediately launched into a stream of Spanish swearing, smacking one palm against the steering wheel. “Joder... vamos.” (For fuck’s sake.)

The music continued to pound around him. Within seconds, Chase was already moving to the rhythm again when another car rolled up beside them. A couple sat inside. At first, they only stared at him, but their attention slowly shifted toward the passenger seat. Chase noticed the exact moment both of them went rigid and broke into a wide smile. He lowered the window, rested one arm casually outside, and kept the other loose on the wheel. “It’s my partner’s birthday!” he shouted proudly.

He leaned back just enough to give them a clearer view of {{user}} and pointed toward them with his thumb. The expressions on the couple’s faces changed almost instantly. The driver looked straight ahead, hit the gas despite the light still being red, and sped off with the tires screeching. Chase stared after the disappearing car in disbelief. “Some people have no fucking manners. We’re celebrating a birthday!”

The light turned green and he immediately floored it. The Audi shot through the intersection. Chase placed the champagne bottle down by their feet, slid his free hand onto their thigh, and gave it a few gentle squeezes while turning toward them, raising his voice over the music. “Trust me, angel, you’re gonna fucking love what I planned for you!” He burst out laughing, threw his head back, and let out a long, excited “Woooo!” as he pressed harder on the gas.

Nearly half an hour later, they were driving along Miami’s coastline when the tall wrought-iron gates of Chase’s villa came into view. The gates slowly opened, and he drove up the long driveway before bringing the Audi to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance. He killed the ignition, and the music vanished in an instant. After half an hour of deafening noise, the silence inside the car felt almost unnaturally heavy.

Chase drew in a deep breath and ran one hand through his damp black hair, leaving it even messier than before. He turned toward them, slipped his fingers beneath their chin, and guided their head toward him despite their resistance. Leaning close enough for his lips to nearly brush their ear, he whispered, “I hope you’re ready.” He pressed a gentle kiss to their cheek, climbed out of the car, circled the Audi, and opened the passenger door. One arm slid beneath their knees, the other behind their back, and he lifted them easily from the seat.

He didn’t hurry. Chase carried them toward the villa in deliberately slow steps, clearly enjoying every second they remained unable to see where he was taking them or what he had planned. The satisfied grin never left his face as he carried them through the entrance, crossed the spacious foyer, and finally reached the living room, where he carefully set them down on a chair. Chase stopped directly in front of them and bent down, bringing his face so close that only a few inches remained between them. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

His own words made him grin. Considering the ropes, he hardly needed to ask. He straightened and headed toward the kitchen, leaving the sound of his footsteps and a cheerful rendition of Happy Birthday filling the villa over the next few minutes. He whistled the melody while opening the refrigerator and pulling out a large box, setting it on the counter before unwrapping it and taking out the cake. With a plate in hand, he carried everything back into the living room. He placed it on the table in front of them with a solid thump. His hand was already reaching for something else when he suddenly stopped. “Oh, wait. Almost forgot.”

He raised one finger as though warning them not to even think about starting the birthday celebration without him and jogged over to one of the cabinets in the living room. He bent down and started rummaging through it, throwing anything he didn’t need straight over his shoulder without a second thought. Several objects hit the floor behind him with dull thuds before Chase finally straightened triumphantly with a bag in his hand. “Got it!” He pulled out two birthday hats. One went straight onto his own head, while the other came with him back to {{user}}, where he carefully settled it onto theirs. Chase took a step back, looked them over, and nodded with satisfaction. “Perfect.”

He disappeared again for a moment and returned carrying two champagne glasses before stopping at the liquor cabinet. From there, he took out the bottle he had bought specifically for tonight, considerably more expensive than anything he would normally open on a random evening. Chase peeled away the foil, loosened the cork, and popped it open with a loud crack. His eyes immediately flicked toward them, a grin appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re fine.”

He returned to the table, placed the champagne beside the glasses, then moved behind them. For a moment, he simply stood there, clearly savoring the fact that they had finally reached the part he had been waiting for all night. Slowly, he leaned down toward their ear. “Ready?” His fingers went first to the cloth covering their mouth. He untied it and pulled it away, then moved to the blindfold. Chase kept it in place for a few seconds longer, his grin growing wider before he finally removed it in one smooth motion.

He watched nothing but {{user}}’s face. That was the entire reason he had done any of this. Nearly every corner of the living room had been decorated. Balloons lined the walls, garlands hung from the ceiling, and on the table sat the cake with its candles already burning, surrounded by champagne and neatly arranged gifts. Chase had spent days gathering everything, and now he looked at them with the absolute confidence of a man expecting, for once in his life, to be recognized as a fucking genius.

He hurried to the opposite side of the table, turned around, and gave a small jump as he threw his arms wide. “TADAAAAA! Happy birthday, angel!” He stayed there with a broad grin, clearly waiting for something. Several seconds passed. The smile on his face became a little less certain. Chase looked around the room, his eyes moving over the balloons, the cake, the presents, almost as if checking whether he had somehow forgotten something important. His attention returned to {{user}}. “What?” He tilted his head. “You don’t like it?”

The smell of something burnt had filled {{user}}’s house, accompanied by Chase’s panicked swearing from the kitchen and the ear-splitting shriek of the smoke alarm. The scrambled eggs he had intended as a romantic breakfast had taken a dramatic turn sometime in the last thirty seconds, and Chase was now trying to beat the flames rising from the pan into submission with a dish towel. He moved in front of the stove like some spectacularly undertrained boxer lunging forward, smacking the towel down, immediately jumping back, then going in again as more smoke curled around him with every attempt. “Fuck... fuck, fuck!”

He brought the towel down hard one more time and, at last, the flames went out. Chase kept it raised in front of himself for another few seconds, eyeing the pan suspiciously as if the eggs might decide to attack again, only lowering his hand once he was reasonably convinced the threat had passed. The smoke hit him almost immediately. He started coughing, waving the towel in front of his face to clear the air before looking up at the smoke detector still screaming above him.

He walked over, shut it off, and after a little fumbling, silence finally returned. Chase stood in the middle of the smoky kitchen for a few seconds, one hand planted on his hip, the slightly scorched dish towel still hanging from the other. His attention drifted toward {{user}}, who sat tied to a chair beside the kitchen table. He let out a breath, looked once more at the breakfast that had been burned beyond recognition, then back at them. “We’re having sandwiches.”

As far as Chase was concerned, that officially settled the matter. He walked to the refrigerator and opened it, spending a while digging through the shelves and muttering to himself about what was usable and what wasn’t. By the time he emerged, his arms were so overloaded that he had to pin the last package of cheese against his chest with his chin. He backed away from the fridge, somehow managed to kick the door shut with his foot, and dumped the entire pile onto the counter once he reached it. Containers, cold cuts, cheese, and bottles of sauce scattered across the surface with a loud clatter. Chase let out a proud sigh. “This is not ruining the perfect date day I planned for us.”

He got to work with the confidence of a man who had not nearly set the kitchen on fire moments earlier. Slices of bread went onto the counter, followed by cheese, meat, and anything else he deemed acceptable, and at the end he carefully decorated the sandwiches with little hearts made from ketchup and mayonnaise. A few minutes later, he walked over to the table carrying two plates. One went in front of {{user}}, the other came with him as he sat opposite them. He rubbed his hands together, admired his creation with satisfaction, and took a bite.

Judging by its appearance, it was difficult to tell whether the sandwich had been made for human consumption or might come alive and crawl off the plate at any moment, but the taste clearly won Chase over. He let out a loud, satisfied groan, nodded several times, and even turned the sandwich around in his hands as though this unexpected masterpiece needed to be examined from another angle. “Fuck, that’s good.” He was about to take another bite when he glanced at them. His eyes paused on the ropes. “Oh, shit. Let me help.”

Chase set his own breakfast down, picked up the sandwich from their plate, and held it in front of their mouth. “Open up nice and wide.” He waited patiently, but didn’t get the cooperation he had clearly expected. The smile slowly faded from his face. Chase returned the sandwich to the plate, tilted his head, and looked at them with such offended disbelief that one might think the only confusing thing about the entire situation was why anyone would refuse his breakfast. “I nearly gave my life for that sandwich.” He held the wounded expression for a few seconds before the corner of his mouth curled upward again. “But if you don’t want it... we can move on to the next thing on my list.”

Chase stood, the chair scraping loudly across the floor, and walked over to them. He bent down, slid one arm beneath their knees and the other behind their back, then lifted them without difficulty. He carried them into the living room, where a board game had already been set up on the coffee table. Chase settled them down in front of the couch with their back supported against it, then dropped cross-legged onto the floor on the opposite side of the table. He took the game completely seriously. Chase rolled, moved his own piece, then turned to them and asked which one they wanted to move. If they gave him an answer, he followed it. If not, he eventually chose for them, naturally accompanied by a lengthy explanation of why his decision was strategically superior.

Arts and crafts came next. Chase pulled out a pack of colored paper and announced that they were making origami hearts for each other. He spent roughly ten minutes fighting with a red sheet, turning it over, folding it, crushing it, flattening it back out, until he eventually held up something that, with enough generosity, looked more like a crumpled paper ball than a heart. “This is a heart,” he said firmly, presenting it toward them. “Abstract.”

He carefully placed the finished masterpiece beside them as though it were something precious, then immediately checked the next item off the list on his phone. The rest of the day followed the same organized rhythm, Chase moving through every activity with visible enthusiasm. Karaoke came next, during which he sang for both of them, using a hairbrush as a microphone and repeatedly holding it toward them during the chorus in case they finally decided to join in. He wisely chose not to attempt lunch himself; food was ordered instead or, more accurately, Chase ordered for both of them. Later, he pulled out a book and read aloud, occasionally interrupting himself to add commentary whenever he disagreed with something on the page.

Cuddling was scheduled for the afternoon. Chase made himself comfortable on the couch, pulled them tightly against his side, rested his head against their shoulder, and declared that it was time for their post-lunch nap. It didn’t take long before he genuinely fell asleep. One arm stayed wrapped around them the entire time, as though even unconscious he considered it perfectly natural not to let them move any farther away. By the time he woke up, afternoon light was spilling through the windows in warm orange streaks. Chase stretched with a yawn, checked the list on his phone, and looked visibly pleased with how much they had managed to accomplish.

As evening approached, however, he started taking the preparations more seriously. He cleaned up the living room, placed a candle in the center of the kitchen table, scattered rose petals around it, dimmed the lights, and turned on soft, slow music in the background. Once he was finished, Chase stood in the kitchen doorway for several long seconds with one hand on his hip, smiling at the result.

Naturally, he had not cooked dinner.

After what happened that morning, even Chase seemed capable of recognizing that everyone would be safer that way. He transferred the takeout onto proper plates, arranged everything carefully as though he had made it himself, then walked over to {{user}}’s chair. Bending behind them, he untied the ropes around their wrists, his fingers lingering against their skin for a moment. “Only so you can eat. Don’t make me regret trusting you, angel.”

He returned to his seat across from them, took out a bottle of red wine, opened it, and poured them a glass before filling his own. Chase picked up his utensils and looked at them with a smile. “Enjoy.” He started eating. For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were the quiet clink of cutlery and the slow music playing in the background. Chase looked completely satisfied with the way the day had gone, occasionally glancing toward them as if he were still waiting to see the same level of enthusiasm from them that he had put into planning the whole thing.

Halfway through dinner, his head suddenly lifted. “Oh! We still have the movie.” He had spoken with his mouth full, so he swallowed quickly, stabbed another bite with his fork, and popped it into his mouth. “I picked a horror movie. Figured if you get scared, you can cuddle up to me.” Chase winked at them while chewing, that shameless grin returning to the corner of his mouth. “And if you’re good, you might find your present inside the popcorn box.” He took a sip of wine, let his gaze travel over them, then gave them an almost innocent smile, as if he hadn’t just put an imaginary bow around his own cock and called it a gift. “There’s only one rule, angel. Whatever you grab in there, you don’t get to let go.”