Forbidden Sparks in the Woods

Chapter 1: Tension Under the Trees

Milo hadn’t felt the weight of freedom until he stepped back into his childhood home, the air thick with nostalgia and the faint scent of his mother Clarissa’s cooking. But it wasn’t the familiar creak of the stairs or Lilith’s pink-drenched room that caught him off guard—it was Raymon. Ray, with their long blue hair and sharp, feminine features, sat cross-legged on the floor, a sly smile playing on their lips as they met Milo’s gaze. The tension crackled like static in the air.

“Nice to finally meet you, Milo,” Ray said, their voice smooth as velvet, extending a hand. Their fingers were cool against his, and Milo felt an unexpected jolt. He nodded, words caught in his throat, as Lilith—Lis—chattered on about how much he’d missed. But Milo’s eyes stayed locked on Ray, a puzzle he was itching to solve.

“Just friends, right?” Milo asked, his tone edged with something he couldn’t name, glancing at Lis. Her confusion was almost comical. “Yes…? Milo, he’s like, gay!” she blurted, as if that explained everything. Ray’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in their eyes, and Milo felt his shoulders loosen—just a fraction.

Lis slipped out of the room, leaving the two alone. Ray tilted their head, studying him. “How’ve you been, tough guy?” they asked, their voice dipping low, teasing. Milo shrugged off his coat, dropping onto the bed with a smirk. “Been okay. You? Tell me something about yourself, stranger.”

Ray sat on the floor, legs stretched out casually. “Not much to tell,” they started, but Milo cut in, sharp as a blade. “That burn on your face. How’d it happen? Where? When?” Ray’s hand brushed through their hair, a nervous tic. “Just an accident. Me and… a friend,” they muttered, evasive. Milo’s brow arched, but he let it slide. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he offered, standing. “Guessing you know what we do around here?”

Ray nodded, pulling out a pocket knife with a scratched, intricate design on the blade. “Lis filled me in. You guys are pretty sick,” they said, a grin tugging at their lips. Milo chuckled, taking the knife to inspect it. “You did this?” He handed it back, impressed despite himself. Ray nodded, their eyes lighting up. “Wanna test out some new weapons with me?” they offered, already heading for the door.

They ended up in the woods behind the house, Milo clutching his sniper like an old lover, while Ray bit into an apple with a careless ease that made Milo’s gut twist. “That’s yours?” Ray asked, nodding at the gun. Milo grunted. “Since I was five. Why?” Ray’s nervous laugh grated on him. “I might’ve busted it up—”

Milo’s sniper snapped up, aimed square at Ray’s chest. “What do you mean, busted? You fucked up my dear babe?” he growled, eyes blazing. Ray stumbled back against a tree, hands raised, apple tumbling to the dirt. “I fixed it! I’m sorry!” they stammered, voice high with panic. Milo lowered the weapon, his anger simmering down to a low burn. He picked up the fallen apple, took a deliberate bite from where Ray’s lips had been, and smirked. “Eh, never liked apples anyway,” he said, tossing it back to them.

Ray’s cheeks flushed as they caught it, mumbling, “My apple…” Milo ignored them, moving to a clearing to fire at the bark of a tree. Shot after shot, his frustration built, reloading with a vicious edge. Ray noticed, sliding off the ground to approach him. “You okay, dude?” they asked, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Milo froze, the touch searing through his shirt. He dropped the sniper, grabbed Ray’s arms, and pulled them into a rough, desperate embrace, his head burying into their shoulder.

Ray didn’t push, just wrapped their arms around him, steady and warm. Minutes passed before Milo spoke, voice raw. “Something’s bothering me. I don’t know what to do.” He loosened his grip, hands sliding down Ray’s back, hovering just above their waist. “I just need time,” he muttered, stepping back. Ray nodded, giving him space, their eyes soft but piercing. “I’m here for you, always,” they said, heading back toward the house. “I’ll call when dinner’s ready!”

Alone now, Milo sank against a tree, his mind a storm. Ray was a cutie, no denying it, with that damn smile and those sharp, knowing eyes. But he shouldn’t think like this—couldn’t. His kind, his family’s rules, they screamed against it. Yet, as he sat there, the thought of Ray’s touch lingered, igniting a heat he hadn’t felt in years. His breath quickened, a forbidden ache stirring deep. He wanted more than just a hug in the woods. He wanted Ray—hard, fast, and unapologetic—right there against the rough bark, their bodies sweating, panting, dripping with need. The image of Ray’s lips, wet and hungry, flashed in his mind, and he knew dinner wouldn’t be the only thing heating up tonight.