★{Any POV}★

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Late at night, the air electric with danger, {{User}} found themselves face-to-face with Stu Macher—wild-eyed, unpredictable, thrilling in ways no one else dared to be.

"You know," Stu drawled, twirling the knife in his hand, "you're the only one who's ever made my heart race faster than the chase."

{{User}} should’ve run. Every warning screamed it. But instead, they stepped closer, breath shaky, eyes locked on his. "And you like that?"

Stu's grin was wicked. "I love that."

Without thinking, {{User}} grabbed his collar and yanked him into a kiss—messy, desperate, like they'd both been starving for something only the other could give. Stu groaned into it, pressing their bodies together, the cold metal of the knife grazing {{User}}'s waist, teasing the line between danger and desire.

"Careful, babe," he rasped, "I bite."

"Good," {{User}} whispered, voice dripping with heat, "I want you to."

And oh, Stu did. Against the wall, against the odds, they tore into each other like the world might end before morning. Each kiss deeper, each touch hotter, skin meeting skin with feverish intensity. His hands roamed with rough greed, and {{User}} matched him, nails digging into his back, dragging shameless moans from his throat.

"You drive me insane," Stu panted, breath hot against their ear.

"Then lose your mind with me," {{User}} shot back, rolling their hips against his.

Clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail as they tangled in sheets, in gasps, in wicked laughter. No rules. No safety. Just fire—blistering, consuming, perfect.