SHAMELESS | KADE

It was 2:18 AM, and Harrington Hall was locked in that heavy, suffocating middle-of-the-night silence where the only ambient sound was the dry, intermittent clatter of the radiator pipes along the ceiling. The drywall separating your room from Unit 408 was notoriously hollow—thin enough that for the past forty minutes, every shift of your sheets, every restless turn of your mattress, and every quiet, frustrated exhale had carried straight through the plaster.

You were lying on your back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling tiles, when the brass latch on your door gave a sharp, metallic click.

No knock. Just the heavy oak panel swinging open under the deliberate weight of a hand, followed by the dull thud of the door falling shut and the deadbolt turning into place.

Kade Lawson stood just inside your threshold, barefoot, radiating heat like a furnace. He had clearly just walked out of the communal showers at the end of the hall; damp dark hair hung loose over his forehead, and water droplets clung to the sharp contours of his throat and chest, trailing downward toward the low-slung waistband of his heather-grey sweatpants. The fleece hung loose on his hips, damp and unbothered, doing absolutely nothing to disguise the heavy, thick length pressing prominently against the cotton, a dark patch of pre-cum already staining the fabric. A damp white towel hung slung across one broad shoulder.

He didn't hesitate. He didn't offer a half-hearted apology.

Kade crossed the small expanse of worn linoleum with quiet, heavy strides until the edge of your mattress pressed against his shins. Towering over you in the amber spill of the hallway light beneath the door, his hooded hazel-grey eyes tracked slowly down your frame before snapping back up to hold your gaze with a slow, wicked smirk.

"You know these fucking walls are like printer paper, right?" Kade murmured, his baritone thick with sleep, irritation, and unfiltered intent.

He dropped his weight forward, planting one heavy, calloused palm flat on the mattress right beside your hip, leaning down until the cool mint of his body wash and the heat of his breath hit your jaw.

"I’ve been lying over there on my back for forty minutes listening to you shift against your sheets," his voice dropped lower, gravelly and completely shameless as his free hand reached out, blunt fingertips catching the hem of your blanket and dragging it downward to expose your waist. "Hearing you sigh into your pillow. Look me in the eye, man, and tell me you didn't leave that lock open on purpose."

The cheap metal bedsprings of Harrington Hall were never built for two grown guys, and they certainly weren't built for the rhythm Kade was demanding.

The room was pitch-black except for the pale glow of the campus streetlights cutting through the blinds. The air was thick with the scent of mint soap, sweat, and heavy heat. Kade was entirely over you, his broad, athletic frame pinning you down into the mattress, his rough thighs wedged between yours as his hands gripped your hips with bruised certainty, grinding his heavy length against you. Every breath from his chest was a ragged, burning rasp against your throat.

Then, out in the hall, heavy boots came to an abrupt halt right outside Room 407.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

The sharp, echoing crack of a heavy metal flashlight against the exterior oak door split the silence like a gunshot.

"Room 407. This is Marcus," the floor RA’s exhausted, authoritative voice cut through the hollow wood. "It is 2:45 AM. Quiet hours have been in effect for three hours. Open the door right now, or I'm keying in."

Kade didn't pull back. The second the metal hit the wood, his broad, calloused palm clamped firmly over your mouth, his long fingers wrapping around your jaw to smother any gasp before it could leave your throat.

His muscles locked rigid. His chest heaved against yours, sweat dampening his dark hair as he froze entirely, his hazel-grey eyes glowing dark and dilated in the shadows above you. He leaned down until his lips were pressed directly against the shell of your ear, his voice barely a vibration against your skin:

"Don't move," Kade breathed, a dangerous, adrenaline-fueled smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth even as his hand remained sealed tight over your lips, keeping your head pinned back. "He’s got his master key on his belt. If you let out so much as a whimper right now, he walks in on both of us... so bite down on my hand, look at me, and take it quietly."

It was past three in the morning, and the exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. The door was locked, the room was cold, and you were curled tightly on your side, face pressed hard into the worn cotton of your pillow to swallow the ragged, uneven breaths shaking your ribs. You had tried to keep it silent—biting your knuckles, keeping your chest still—but inside Harrington Hall, silence was an illusion. The hollow drywall carried every trembling exhale, every muffled gasp, and the faint creak of your bed frame shaking.

A single, quiet tap sounded against the outer wood of your door.

Before you could wipe your face or steady your voice to tell whoever it was to fuck off, the deadbolt gave a dull, practiced scrape. The door swung inward on quiet hinges.

Kade stepped into the dark room. He had tossed on a plain black t-shirt over his grey sweatpants, barefoot and silent as he took in the sight of you huddled under the thin blanket. The mocking, cocky smirk that usually lived on his face was completely gone, replaced by a dark, hard furrow between his brows.

He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't offer hollow platitudes.

He walked straight to the side of your bed, toeing off his slides. Without waiting for permission, Kade caught the edge of your blanket, threw it back, and sat down on the edge of the mattress, making the old springs groan beneath his solid weight.

Before you could pull away or turn your head to hide your face, his large, rough hands reached out, sliding firmly behind your shoulders and hauling you bodily against his chest. His arms locked around your back like an iron band, tucking your face directly into the warm crook of his neck, completely surrounding you in his furnace heat and the steady, heavy beat of his pulse.

"Stop choking on it," Kade ordered softly, his voice rough and devoid of bite as his chin settled against your hair, one hand coming up to firmly cup the back of your neck. "I could hear you gasping for air from the other side of the wall. Whatever it is, shut the door on it. You're fine, man. I've got you."

The sleet storm hitting the county had knocked out the campus electrical grid around midnight, and with it, the ancient boiler in the basement of Harrington Hall had completely died. By 9:00 AM, the temperature inside Room 407 was bitter enough that your breath plumed in faint white clouds against the grey morning light.

A sharp, rhythmic series of knocks rattled your door, followed immediately by Kade's muffled voice: "Open up, man. It's freezing out here."

When you pulled the door open, Kade was already pushing his way past the frame. He was carrying a steaming insulated thermos in one hand and an impossibly thick, fleece-lined varsity lacrosse hoodie under his arm. He took one look at your hunched shoulders, your pale fingers, and the thin blankets you had uselessly wrapped around yourself, and let out an incredulous scoff.

"You look like a goddamn icicle," he muttered, dropping the heavy hoodie straight over your head before you could protest, his large hands reaching down to pull the thick navy fabric down over your torso until it swallowed your frame, reaching past your hips.

He didn't give you time to adjust it. Setting the thermos on your desk, Kade caught your wrist in one broad grip, yanking you effortlessly toward the doorway and out into the hall.

"My room's on the leeward side of the building, and I dragged two wool blankets from the athletic storage last night," Kade said, towing you behind him with zero room for debate as he kicked open the door to Unit 408.

The room was dark, warm, and smelled heavily of his cedar cologne and clean laundry. The bed was a sprawling mountain of heavy quilts and pillows. Kade shut the door behind you with his heel, tossed the deadbolt, and pulled you straight into the center of the mattress, following you down until his heavy, athletic frame was curved around your back, tucking your freezing feet between his shins.

"Drink the tea, keep the hoodie on, and don't squirm," he grumbled into your neck, throwing the heavy duvet over both of you and anchoring an arm over your waist, the heavy ridge of his morning wood pressing warm and hard against your lower back. "You're not leaving this bed until the power comes back on."

.