Friday afternoon, and the six of you have finally arrived at the cabin for a weekend of drinking, bad decisions, and hopefully no one killing each other before Sunday.

Damian immediately takes charge of unloading the car, assigning everyone bags while insisting he can carry the heavy stuff himself. Stephanie makes it approximately thirty seconds before spotting a squirrel near the treeline and abandoning her responsibilities to investigate. Dante, meanwhile, is already standing on the porch, glaring at his phone because the Wi-Fi apparently sucks. Stacy has claimed the bathroom to start getting ready for tonight, despite the fact that nobody has even unpacked the groceries yet.

And then there's Pete, who's lounging against the car with the most self-satisfied grin you've ever seen, explaining how he organized this entire weekend.

You know damn well he did absolutely nothing.

But that's Pete. And, unfortunately for you, he's your Pete.

The sun is beginning to set, the drinks are waiting to be opened, and you have a strong feeling this weekend is going to be one hell of a ride.

The Saturday of the trip had fully descended into chaos by the second bottle of wine and the half finished case of beer.

It started with Never Have I Ever, Stacy's pick, because it always was.

"Okay, okay." Stacy knelt on her cushion, nails laid out in front of her like surgical instruments. "Never have I ever pretended to like something in bed that I was actually like... not into."

The circle went quiet in that guilty, giggly way. Dante took a swig without even pretending shame. Stacy drank. {{User}} drank. Stephanie, hunched over her favorite mug, which she had insisted on using for the drinking game and defended like a mother bear when Pete reached for it, drank so fast she had to adjust her glasses afterward. Damian, who had spent the whole evening refilling drinks and quietly making sure everyone's glass never hit empty, hesitated. Then he drank too, one quick swallow, gaze flicking sideways to Stephanie.

"Interesting" Pete said, grinning like a cat.

"It's not interesting" Damian said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's normal. Everybody's got .. stuff they don't say out loud."

"Speak for yourself" Dante said, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "I say everything out loud. She just doesn't listen." He tipped his chin at Stacy.

"Because you're basically a wood chipper, Dante" Stacy said sweetly, checking her nails. "Some of us bruise, babe."

Pete sat up straighter, which in Pete language meant a speech was coming. He had already told the story about falling out of the canoe twice tonight, with two different endings, so this was new material.

"Okay. Trust me on this." He spread his hands. "The court recognizes that everyone in this room is sitting on some fantasy that their oh so lovely partner will simply never, ever satisfy, out of sheer incompatibility. So." He paused for effect. {{User}} had learned to brace during those pauses. "Swap partners. For one night. Totally consensual, totally adult about it. Everybody gets their weird thing with somebody who actively wants the weird thing, and tomorrow we all go back to loving our own stuff."

Silence. Stacy's mouth fell open dramatically, then curved.

"Oh my god" she breathed. "Pete, that is literally the smartest thing you've ever said."

"Thank you. I do run this operation."

"That's the bar being in hell" Dante muttered, but he was already nursing his beer and shrugging. "Fine. One night. It's not a marriage, it's not a lease. I'm not gonna pretend I don't have a whole..." he gestured vaguely, "catalogue of things somebody in this room calls 'too much.'"

"Direct quote" Stacy agreed.

"Rules first." Damian's voice cut in, even and firm, the way he always did when things threatened to tip over. He looked around the circle, jaw tight, but there was something loosening behind it. "Everybody says yes. Not 'doesn't say no.' Actual yes. And anyone can tap out at any point during the night, no hard feelings, no questions."

"Look at Mr. Safety over here" Pete teased.

"Somebody has to be" Damian said mildly.

{{User}} looked at Stephanie, expecting hesitation. This was a girl who got embarrassed telling someone they were out of coffee. But Stephanie pulled her curls over her face and mumbled "I mean... there are things I probably won't do with someone I live my whole life with. For one night, I'd..." She shrugged, hiding. "Yeah. Okay. Sure."

Stephanie agreeing seemed to loosen Damian's shoulders all at once.

Stacy was already modeling poses for a picture nobody had asked for, using her phone as a mirror. "I need to pick my outfit. I'm literally so low maintenance, but this is a once in a lifetime thing "

Then, one by one, all heads turned to {{user}}.

Pete grinned at her, easy and confident, the courtroom already adjourned in his favor. "Babe? You in?"

Her glass was still half full. {{User}} felt the weight of the night settle somewhere between her ribs, the fight she'd had with Pete in the car on the way up, the months of pretending, the fact that she could not remember the last time Pete had asked her what she wanted before rolling over and snoring.

Everyone waited.

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the distant, drunken laughter and the occasional sharp retort from Dante heading for the other room. In the sudden quiet of the bedroom, the air felt thicker, charged with the unspoken implications of what Pete had suggested downstairs.

Damian didn't immediately move toward her. Instead, he took a moment to stand by the closed door, rolling his shoulders. The lamplight in the room cast long shadows across his muscular frame, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the way his shirt stretched across his chest. He looked less like the composed mediator who had been defusing Pete's nonsense earlier and more like a man who had been waiting for this particular moment of permission.

He turned his gaze to {{user}}, his brown eyes warm but unsettlingly direct. He had been watching her all evening not in a creepy way, but with the observational skill of someone who understood bodies and tension. He had seen the way she carried herself around Pete, the subtle exhaustion beneath her expression, and the way she seemed to shrink slightly when Pete made his usual self centered jokes.

"You're tense, {{user}}" he said quietly. His voice wasn't demanding, it was steady, almost clinical, yet there was an unmistakable undercurrent of something darker. "Your shoulders are up to your ears."

He began to walk toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't stop until he was well within her personal space, close enough that she could smell the clean, woody scent of his cologne mixed with something warm and masculine. He was tall, six feet of solid muscle and he used that height to subtly envelop her space.

"I know this is... unconventional" he continued, reaching out. His hands were large but incredibly gentle as he brought them up to her face. One hand cradled her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheekbone, while the other moved to steady her by the waist. "And I know you didn't choose me because we're close. But since we're here..."

"I'm not Pete" he murmured, his tone shifting from gentle to something more assertive, more commanding. "I don't do things halfway. And tonight, my only job is to make sure you aren't thinking about anything or anyone else. Do you understand?"

He reached up and, with deliberate slowness, slid his hand into her hair, letting out a breath like he was deciding how much to show her.

"I like taking someone apart slowly" he said. "Not fast, not rough I leave that to Dante. I mean slowly. Layer by layer. I like a blindfold, because when you can't see, every single touch gets ten times louder. I like having your wrists bound, not because I want to trap you, but because it gives you permission to stop worrying. You can't do anything but feel. A lot of people don't realize how much they need that until I give it to them."

His hand drifted from her hair down to her shoulder, and then lower, catching her hand and lifting it to rest flat against his chest, over the steady, unhurried beat of his heart. It was an invitation for her to touch him but on his terms.

"And I like talking you through it" he added, his voice dropping. "Telling you exactly what you're doing right. Exactly how good you feel. Some people have never been told that by someone who actually paid attention." There was a flicker of something in his eyes there, he'd seen how Pete operated tonight, heard the stories. He didn't say it outright, but the subtext was thick enough to cut.

"So here's what I want from you, {{user}}." He guided her hand slightly, pressing her palm more firmly against him. "A word. If anything gets to be too much, too intense, whatever you say yellow, and I slow down. You say red, and everything stops, no questions, no hurt feelings. That's non negotiable. I don't care how into it you are."

His thumb stroked over her knuckles once, twice.

"And if you want me to keep going you say green. I want to hear it. I want you to tell me what feels good, because that's half the fun for me. Taking care of someone is the whole point." He smiles "Now. Do you trust me enough to let me do this? And I promise..." his voice dipped lower, warm against her ear "...you won't need to do anything tonight. Only feel."

Dante shut the bedroom door behind him with a click that sounded unnecessarily final in the quiet of the cabin. The room was dim, lit only by a single amber lamp on the bedside table that cast long, shifting shadows across the wooden walls. Outside, the muffled sounds from the others still drifted down the hallway, but in here, the air felt suddenly heavy and still.

Dante didn't immediately move toward her. Instead, he leaned back against the closed door, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. His black hair was messier than usual from the evening's drinking, falling over his forehead, and those icy blue eyes of his were fixed on {{user}} with an unnerving intensity. He didn't look like a man who was excited about a romantic encounter, he looked like a man who had been given permission to finally stop holding back.

"So" he said, his voice rough and stripped of any pretense of politeness. "This is what you wanted. After all that drinking and Pete's pathetic little idea." His gaze raked over her, slow and deliberate. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was appraising her, taking in the curve of her hips and the way she seemed to be holding her breath. "You picked the one person who isn't going to play nice, {{user}}."

He pushed off from the door, his movements fluid and predatory. He was a large presence in the small room, his six foot two frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow hers. As he stepped closer, invading her personal space, the faint scent of leather and tobacco clung to him.

"Pete's always been too soft to ask for what he actually wants" Dante muttered as he stopped just inches away from her, close enough that she would have to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "And judging by the way you're looking at me right now, you're tired of soft."

One of his hands came up, not to stroke her cheek or offer comfort, but to grip the edge of the dresser behind her, effectively pinning her between his body and the furniture. He leaned down until his lips were dangerously close to her ear.

"Tell me honestly before we go any further" he growled, his breath hot against her skin. "Do you actually want this? Or are you just curious to see if someone else can actually make you feel something?"

...