Chapter Two-Hundred Seventy-Eight: Goldie Glide

Chapter 278

Goldie Glide

Goldie Glide spun on his platform boots. The disco track pulsed, a heavy bassline vibrating through the manor. Goldie Glide didn’t just dance; he flowed, his platform boots clicking in sync with the beat. As he spun, his ribbon-like limbs extended, twisting through the air with hypnotic grace. With a fluid motion, he wrapped them around Fabien, Celeste, and Jordi.

Fabien tried to raise his hands to emit a green barrier, but Goldie’s grip was too fast, pinning his arms to his sides. The golden tendril slapped against his face. Celeste struggled against the constriction. Jordi reached for the static in the air, purple sparks dancing across his fingertips, but they crackled out.

Jordi: “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He whispered hoarsely.

Goldie’s lips pulled back into a wide, jagged grin, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight as he snapped his fingers. Instantly, the ribbons constricting the three flared with raw, crackling voltage. A violent jolt surged through Fabien and Celeste, sending sharp tremors through their bodies as the electricity bit into their skin. Fabien screamed as he was electrocuted, and Celeste gnashed her teeth, grunting.

When the current hit Jordi, he didn’t recoil. Instead, his eyes widened, and he greedily pulled the energy inward, the golden sparks from the ribbons bleeding into his own fingertips as he absorbed the shock.

With a manic howl, Goldie Glide began to spin at a blurring speed, transforming the golden ribbons into a centrifuge of kinetic force. He hoisted the three off their feet, their bodies becoming a horizontal blur against the velvet-covered walls of the manor. Suddenly, he released his grip, sending them hurtling in different directions like shrapnel.

Jordi was thrown backward with bone-jarring velocity. He slammed into a marble pillar with a sickening thud, his breath escaping him in a ragged gasp, and blood coming out of his mouth. He slumped to the floor, his vision swimming, as a thin trickle of dark blood began to leak from the corner of his mouth.

Fabien careened toward an ornate display of ancient spears and battle-axes. Instinct overrode the pain of the electrocution; he thrust his hands forward just in time. A shimmering green barrier erupted from his palms, absorbing the impact and grinding his momentum to a halt mere inches from the jagged blades.

Celeste was sent soaring across the room. She crashed through the bathroom door where Fen was soaking. She landed in the in-ground hot tub with a massive splash, the steaming water swallowing her whole. Fen’s dark eyes lit up.

Fen: “Finally, a woman who is a woman!”

He strolled to her. Celeste jumped out in a flash, escaping Fen’s grasp, and ran out.

Celeste sprinted toward the ornate display of ancient spears and battle-axes that Fabien had almost crashed into. With a powerful motion, she snatched a gleaming spear from the rack, the metal cold and weighted in her palm. She twirled it once, the shaft whistling through the air, and charged directly at Goldie Glide. She lunged, thrusting the spear forward at lightning speed, but Goldie’s torso bent unnaturally, his body twisting aside to dodge her strike with a fluid, mocking grace.

Celeste: “This fucker is too fast!”

She rasped as she hastily tried to stab him, but he dodged all of her attacks.

Fabien thrust his hands up, a shimmering green barrier erupting from his palms in an attempt to trap Goldie Glide. But Goldie, with his fluid and unnatural limbs, simply stretched his body up and over the barrier.

As Celeste tried to reset her stance, the shimmering fabric-like limbs whipped around her waist and shoulders, curling around her large breasts and in between her legs, his ribbon rubbing against her pussy that nearly took her breath away. Goldie Glide cackled, his body swaying to the beat as the ribbons contorted further, weaving between her arms and torso to lock her limbs in place.

Every time she flexed her super-strength to break free, the material seemed to tighten in response, pressing against her skin with a cold, unrelenting pressure that forced her spear to the floor. Goldie gave a mocking sneer as his ribbon moved up and down her panties, causing her legs to tremble and her cheeks to flush red.

Fabien: “HEY! Let her go!”

He barked, his voice echoing over the heavy disco beat. Seeing Celeste pinned and humiliated, he charged forward, his barefoot thudding against the floor as he aimed a desperate strike at Goldie Glide.

Goldie Glide didn’t even break his rhythm. With a mocking tilt of his head, he flicked a finger toward the floor. A single, ribbon-like tendril slithered across the velvet carpet with predatory speed, coiling tightly around Fabien’s ankle. Before Fabien could react, the ribbon yanked upward with violent force, hoisting him into the air.

Fabien: “HEY!!”

He let out a startled yell as he was flipped upside down, his dressing gown hanging over and exposing his penis, dangling helplessly by one leg while Goldie continued to sway to the music.

Goldie’s tendrils wrapped around Fabien’s legs, curling over his testicles and around his cock. Fabien gnashed his teeth, and his breathing hitched. He reddened and tightened his jaw.

Goldie Glide’s gaze snapped toward the corner where Jordi was beginning to stir. With a sharp, whip-like crack, he sent a shimmering golden ribbon darting across the floor. It snaked through the air and lashed tightly around Jordi’s left ankle. Before Jordi could find his footing, the tendril yanked back with immense power, dragging him across the hardwood floor toward the spinning disco menace.

Jordi roared in frustration, his fingers clawing at the floor as he was hauled backward. His hand brushed against the base of the weapon rack Celeste had raided moments ago. Desperate, he reached upward, his fingers closing around the cold steel handle of a heavy battle axe. With a surge of adrenaline, he swung the heavy blade downward in a desperate arc. The sharp edge bit through the golden material with a spray of kinetic sparks, severing the connection and sending the loose end of the ribbon recoiling back toward Goldie Glide.

With the ribbon severed, Jordi didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his feet finding purchase on the velvet carpet as he swung the heavy battle axe in a wide, precise arc. The blade whistled through the air, humming with the purple electricity still coursing through his veins. The sharp steel sliced through the shimmering golden ribbons binding Fabien and Celeste, the material dissolving into kinetic sparks on impact. Both were instantly set free, stumbling as the suffocating pressure vanished.

Celeste lunged forward, her movements a blur as she dove to catch Fabien before he could hit the floor, pulling him securely into her arms.

Celeste: “You okay?”

Fabien smiled at her.

Fabien: “Yes, mon chaton.”

She put him down with a smile.

Goldie Glide’s sneer deepened into a mask of pure hate. One of his golden ribbons lashed out with serpentine speed, coiling tightly around Jordi’s throat. Jordi’s breath hitched as he was hoisted upward, his face reddening as he choked under the unrelenting pressure.

Celeste: “JORDI!”

She grabbed his tendril, but the shock sent her back. Celeste landed on her feet with feline-like grace.

Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, Jordi clenched his teeth and summoned the last of his strength. He raised the heavy battle axe high. With a guttural roar, he brought the steel crashing down on Goldie’s crown. The axe sliced through the shimmering kinetic body like a hot knife through wax, splitting Goldie Glide in two and shattering his core, and he exploded into several golden sparks that fizzled out.

Ivy sneered at them and clenched her fists.

Ivy: “Nǐ huì hòuhuǐ de!”

She barked, taking Samson and running off.

Celeste: “Oh no, you fucking don’t, you bitch!”

She started to run toward the stairs, but she heard a yelp. She, Fabien, and Jordi turned to see Lena.

Lena: “It’s not worth it! I want to go home!”

She sobbed. Jordi knitted his eyebrows.

~

The neon lights of Little Tokyo blurred into streaks of vibrant pink and electric blue as Jordi’s purple Ferrari 328 cut through the humid night air. Lena sat in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the cool glass of the window, her breath hitching occasionally as the adrenaline from the manor fight finally began to ebb.

Jordi kept one hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles still humming with the faint, lingering buzz of electricity. As he approached a sharp bend, his left foot depressed the clutch with mechanical precision while his right hand guided the gated shifter into a lower gear, the metallic click of the stick shift echoing through the cabin. Once the gear engaged, he reached back into the pocket of his jacket and produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a heavy, silver Zippo. He flicked the lighter open with a practiced snap, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet cabin. The flame flared to life, illuminating the black eye and cuts on his face and the grim set of his jaw as he lit a cigarette.

He took a long drag, the cherry glowing bright in the dim interior, before exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the dashboard. He glanced over at Lena, who remained silent, watching the flickering signs of sushi shops and arcades pass by. The rhythmic thrum of the engine was the only bridge between them, a temporary peace in a city that never truly slept.

He kept his cigarette between his fingers as he kept his hand on the steering wheel.

Jordi: “Why did you go to that club, Lena? You know you’re not legally allowed to be in those places.”

He said firmly. Lena looked away.

Lena: “I’m not a baby, Jordi! I’m an adult!”

She cried.

Jordi: “Lena, those clubs are for people twenty-one and over. You’re eighteen!”

He countered.

Lena: “I’m an adult!”

She sobbed. Jordi exhaled a plume of smoke.

Lena’s tearful gaze flicked to the blood all over Jordi’s white shirt.

Lena: “You’re bleeding!”

Jordi glanced down.

Jordi: “Y-Yes, I know. I’ll get healed.”

Lena looked away.

Lena: “I bet!”

She snapped through hot tears. Jordi lowered his head.

Jordi: “Lena, you know you can always reach out to me, and I will be there. I came for you tonight.”

He said with a beseeching look in his eyes.

Lena: “Thank you for that, Jordi, but you slept with someone I liked a lot!”

She sobbed. Jordi pursed his lips and tightened the grip on the steering wheel. He flicked the indicator stalk with his finger, the rhythmic ticking of the turn signal joining the hum of the engine as he steered the purple Ferrari 328 onto the exit for Orchard Street.

Jordi: “What did Ivy promise you to get you to go to that club?”

Lena embraced herself.

Lena: “She said she was my fairy godmother and I saw Fabien do a sexy dance.”

She muttered and blushed. Jordi gaped at her.

Jordi: “Lena, Fabien is taken.”

Lena: “So was Jaxon! And you slept with him!”

Tears streaming down her face, she struck his arm. Jordi flinched—less from the sting of her blow than from the ache in his heart.

Jordi pulled up to the curb of his old house, staring at it.

Jordi: “Lena, I don’t want us at odds over this.”

He said plaintively. He inhaled a jagged breath and crushed his cigarette in his car ashtray.

Lena: “You still slept with someone I liked a lot, and you also hurt Ashley! Maybe you’re not a good person! You think you are, but you’re not!”

She sobbed. Jordi’s bottom lip trembled.

Jordi: “...I never said I was a good person.”

Lena struck his arm a second time. Jordi shuddered under the impact.

Jordi: “STOP HITTING ME!!”

He bellowed in her face.

Lena’s bottom lip trembled violently as her eyes filled with a fresh wave of tears. Without another word, she fumbled for the door handle and threw it open, storming out of the purple Ferrari. She marched toward the house, her silhouette retreating under the glow of the streetlights. Jordi watched her through the window until she disappeared inside, the weight of the night finally crushing him. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel, and began to sob uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking in the quiet cabin.

~

Tristan sat in the high-backed leather sofa of his bedroom. He was focused on the worn pages of a leather-bound book, though his attention flickered with the slow swirl of his drink. In his right hand, he held a delicate crystal glass containing a Vesper martini, the lemon peel garnish spiraling against the chilled liquid. His left hand balanced a smoldering Sobranie cigarette, a thin trail of gray smoke curling toward the ceiling.

He wore an aqua pressed shirt, the vibrant fabric contrasting with the dark upholstery. The sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, exposing his forearms, and the top few buttons were undone at the collar, revealing a loosened dark blue tie hanging haphazardly. His legs were crossed at the knee, his black pants sharp and tailored. Clad only in black sheer socks, his feet rested lightly on the carpet, the fine material offering a glimpse of the skin beneath as he took a quiet sip of his cocktail.

So many thoughts ran through his mind as he relaxed. But is it relaxing when you’re always anxious about what the future holds? He wondered. He knew Narcisse didn’t tell him Rosemary was responsible for trying to bait the Pink Top Ripper—or Rutherford Jones—to attack Erin because it’s a game to him. He wants to manipulate Tristan and toy with him, and by doing so, the psychological wound cuts deeper.

Tristan raised his glass to sip his martini. Maybe, in a warped way, Narcisse did me a favor, he thought. He couldn’t count the number of times Rosemary annoyed him with her prattle, whether it was complaints that Archie—or any man—couldn’t live up to the Hallmark movie “hero” standards, Erin not inviting her on trips, or her backhanded compliments to Tristan. He chuckled bitterly, recalling Rosemary stating he should be married by now that he’s twenty-three. Ah, she thought I was dating Ivy, he thought with a mirthless laugh. Hindsight is something else, he thought, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Tristan heard a knock on his bedroom door.

Tristan: “Come in.”

He said softly, exhaling another plume of smoke. Deimos entered and smiled at Tristan. He strolled over to him and kissed him deeply.

Deimos took Tristan’s feet and placed them on his lap. With careful, steady fingers, Deimos hooked the tops of the sheer fabric and slowly rolled them down, peeling them away and tossing them neatly on the floor.

His bare feet were completely pristine. Pale, smooth, and elegantly shaped, they looked as though they had spent the entire day resting on silk rather than pacing a marble courthouse floor.

Deimos raised a brow, deliberately leaning in close to catch a scent. There wasn’t a trace of perspiration or wear. Instead, they carried only the subtle, crisp fragrance of high-end French body wash, cedar, and the naturally cool, crystalline freshness that seemed to follow Tristan everywhere.

Tristan’s cool heels rested in his Deimos’ heavy, calloused palms.

Tristan: “What is this now?”

He asked smoothly, though a faint, pleased flush dusted his high cheekbones as he let his eyes flutter half-shut, melting under the comforting, radiant heat radiating from Deimos’ hands.

Deimos settled the pale arches of Tristan’s feet firmly into his lap, his broad, calloused palms forming a striking contrast against Tristan’s porcelain skin. The contrast in temperature was immediate: Tristan’s naturally cool flesh soaked in the radiant, steady heat that seemed to hum perpetually beneath Deimos’ knuckles.

Starting at the heels, Deimos pressed the thick pads of his thumbs in slow, circular motions. Tristan let out a long, quiet exhale that bordered on a sigh, his head falling back against the sofa cushions. His sharp, calculating posture completely unraveled, the heavy fringe of his white hair spilling across his shoulders.

Deimos: “Rough day on the stand?”

He asked softly, his deep voice a soothing rumble in the quiet room.

Tristan: “That’s an understatement.”

He said, closing his eyes.

Deimos gave an amused smirk, sliding his hands upward to cradle the ball of Tristan’s right foot. He applied firm, steady pressure along the arch, using his knuckles to work through the delicate tendons. The motion was deep and practiced, yet careful enough to avoid triggering Tristan’s hypersensitive reflexes. A soft shiver ran through Tristan’s frame, his toes curling instinctively around Deimos’ thumb before relaxing entirely. He worked his way up to the slender ankles, his thumbs tracing the fine bones with steady warmth.

Tristan: “I fired Rosemary.”

He finally said. Deimos continued massaging his slender feet and nodded.

Deimos: “Had enough of her whining about Archie or some other mundane bullshit?”

He asked.

Tristan: “That annoyed me, but it’s nothing compared to what she did—or tried to do.”

Deimos: “What did she do now?”

Tristan paused for a moment.

Tristan: “Remember when you and I went to rescue Erin from that mind-controlled DashDish delivery boy?”

He asked him.

Deimos: “What, she sent him?”

He laughed and gave him an incredulous look.

Tristan: “Not quite. That was Narcisse’s doing. She placed a letter for the Pink Top Ripper to find, giving him Erin’s photo and her address.”

He pursed his lips and drained his drink. He took a final drag of his cigarette and crushed it in his crystal ashtray.

Deimos gaped at him.

Deimos: “...Why did she do that?”

Tristan laughed bitterly, rolling his eyes.

Tristan: “She ranted to me about Erin flirting with me and wanting my protection from a serial killer and rapist. She thought Ivy and I were dating and tried to protect that.”

He said, acid laced in his tone. Deimos rolled his eyes.

Deimos: “Like mother, like goddamn daughter.”

Tristan: “That’s what I said to her.”

He scoffed.

Deimos: “She does realize she committed attempted murder, right? I know our police force sucks balls, but it’s ironic that a secretary for a law office is doing that shit. That sounds right up your former boss’ alley.”

He said gruffly. Tristan rolled his eyes.

Tristan: “I don’t want to think about Daniel Lancaster. He’s not a defense attorney anymore, but a prosecutor.”

He inhaled a breath.

Tristan: “But you’re right.”

Deimos: “I never liked that bitch. When Ivy and I were in whatever it was because it wasn’t a relationship, I always hated her. Ivy and I never kissed, slept together, or fucked, and maybe I should have known I was gay then, but I assumed it was Ivy.”

Tristan bowed his head.

Tristan: “Ivy was a mistake—a very painful mistake.”

~

Deimos stepped out of the shower and strolled into Tristan’s bedroom. He wanted to hold his man. He felt he needed it and didn’t need an argument about his feet.

His hands slid down to the waistband of Tristan’s trousers; his touch was firm and reassuring. Every touch was deliberate, a slow and intoxicating burn that made the quiet bedroom feel incredibly small. Tristan let out a low, trembling breath, his fingers curling tightly into Deimos’ thick, wavy black hair as Deimos leaned down to press his lips to the sensitive hollow of Tristan’s collarbone.

Tristan: “Deimos…”

Deimos: “I got you…”

He murmured against his skin, his voice a low, soothing vibration. Deimos dropped his towel to the floor where it pooled at his feet.

With practiced gentleness, Deimos helped Tristan strip away the rest of his restrictive clothing, leaving them both completely bare and untethered in the quiet luxury of Tristan’s bed. The cool air of the room brushed against Tristan’s skin for only a fraction of a second before Deimos shifted, his large, solid frame covering Tristan and shielding him with his radiating warmth.

The contrast between them was striking—Tristan, pale and elegant, draped in his long, silver-white hair like silk sheets, and Deimos, dark, solid, and intensely warm, his tattooed shoulder shifting in the dim light.

Deimos reached into his nightstand drawer, squirted a dollop of anal lube on his hands, and lathered his cock with it. He parted Tristan’s thighs, settling himself between them with slow, heavy pressure. He paused for a moment, propping himself up on his hands to look down at Tristan. Tristan’s green eyes were bright, locked onto Deimos with absolute trust and a quiet, burning intensity. Deimos reached down, his rough fingers tangling with Tristan’s slim, smooth ones, locking their hands together against the mattress.

Deimos: “You want this?”

He whispered, his gaze incredibly tender. Tristan answered by pulling Deimos down into a deep, searching kiss, his hips tilting up slightly in quiet invitation.

Deimos pushed forward slowly, his cock entering his pink asshole with a steady, careful pace. Tristan’s breath hitched, a sharp, quiet gasp escaping his lips into the space between them. He squeezed Deimos’ hand tightly, his eyes closing as his body adjusted to the full, stretching warmth of Deimos’ cock inside him. Deimos went completely still, giving him a moment, leaning down to press soft, comforting kisses to Tristan’s forehead, his flushed cheeks, and his parted lips.

As Tristan let out a long, shuddering exhale, his tension melted away, replaced by a deep, pulsing heat. He wrapped his legs around Deimos’ waist, pulling him closer.

Tristan: “Deimos!”

He moaned.

Deimos began to move, a slow, rhythmic rocking that quickly found a perfect, hypnotic groove. Tristan let out a soft, high-pitched whimper, his head rolling back into the pillows as the friction sparked a wave of intense pleasure through his entire body. The rhythm picked up, steady and powerful, the quiet room filling with the soft, humid sounds of their skin meeting, the rustle of the heavy duvet, and Tristan’s breathless, needy gasps.

Deimos: “I got you, Tristan…”

Every thrust was deep and deliberate, Deimos driving into him with a fierce devotion that left Tristan completely undone. Tristan clung to Deimos’ broad shoulders, his nails digging lightly into the skin of Deimos’ back as he was swept up in the overwhelming tide of sensation. He could feel the solid, steady beat of Deimos’ heart against his chest, a grounding anchor in the beautiful, chaotic blur of pleasure.

Tristan: “Deimos! AH! Deimos, wait!”

He gasped, his voice tight as he felt the sudden coil of tension deepening in his testicles, his erect cock pressed against Deimos’ stomach, signaling the edge of his climax.

Deimos didn’t slow down; instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing Tristan’s ear as he let out a low, ragged growl.

Deimos: “Don’t hold back. Come for me, Tristan.”

That was all it took. With a final, deep thrust, Tristan arched his back, a breathless cry breaking from his throat as a powerful, shuddering release overtook him, spilling his warm cum against their tummies.

Just seconds later, with a heavy, low groan, Deimos buried himself deep inside Tristan one last time, his own body tensing and shuddering as he surrendered to his own release, his hot cum flowing through Tristan’s anus, collapsing slowly against his chest.

They lay there in the quiet aftermath, the heavy duvet tangled around their legs, their skin slick with sweat and glowing in the pale light of the twin moons. Deimos rested his head in the crook of Tristan’s neck, his chest heaving as he slowly caught his breath.

Tristan’s fingers weakly traced slow, lazy patterns through Deimos’ damp black hair, and a soft, incredibly peaceful smile graced his lips. The chaotic, annoying secretary drama of the early evening was completely forgotten, replaced by the warm, quiet sanctuary of each other’s arms.

~

Fresh from the shower, Fabien and Celeste lay side by side without a stitch of clothing. Resting her head on his chest, she felt his fingers idly tracing the line of her shoulders while he leaned back, propping one arm behind his head.

Celeste: “How do you feel?”

Fabien flicked his gaze to her.

Fabien: “Better now that I am away from that crazy Hallmark bitch.”

He huffed.

Fabien: “I got a free silk robe from it, so I guess it’s something.”

He smiled a bit.

Celeste’s eyes widened. She sat up, her bare feet pressing into plush carpet as she stood and walked gracefully across the room to the walk-in closet. Fabien watched her, curious, as she disappeared inside for a moment before emerging with a large, ribbon-wrapped box cradled in her arms. She carried it back to the edge of the bed, setting it down with a soft thud near Fabien’s feet.

Fabien sat up, his interest piqued as he reached for the box. With a quick tug, he undid the silk ribbon, letting it fall away before lifting the lid. He brushed aside the crisp layers of tissue paper, his eyes widening as he revealed a sleek, black leather biker jacket tucked inside. He picked it up.

Fabien: “Is this for me?”

He beamed. Celeste’s violet eyes sparkled, and she nodded.

Fabien quickly slid his arms into the sleeves, the supple leather molding to his frame as he zipped it up. He stood and walked over to the full-length mirror, turning side to side to admire the sharp, rebellious silhouette it gave him. Thrilled, he turned back to Celeste with a radiant grin. He stepped toward her and pulled her into a tight, grateful hug, burying his face in her neck before leaning back to press a deep, lingering kiss to her lips as a silent thank you.

Fabien: “I love this, mon chaton.”

He whispered, and the two shared a deep kiss.