Julian froze.

Samuel was going to give him an injection? In the hip?

He searched Samuel's face, wondering if the fever had finally induced hallucinations or if his boss was simply playing a cruel joke. "Where did you even get a syringe?" Julian's voice was a ragged whisper.

"In the first aid kit," Samuel replied, his tone clinical.

Julian's heart did a frantic trip-step. This was a nightmare. Growing up in the rural south, Julian had developed a bone-deep terror of the village doctor—a man who dispensed medicine that tasted of ash and used needles thick enough to leave Julian's hip aching for three days.

He watched Samuel, paralyzed, as the man began to mix the vial, flicking the syringe to clear the air bubbles. The sound of that tiny click-click made Julian's skin crawl. It was the sound of impending doom.

"No," Julian said, his fingers knotting into the duvet. "You aren't a doctor. You can't just... do that."

"I took pre-med courses during my undergrad," Samuel said, his voice level and unshakable. "I never practiced, but I have the clinical basics. I've given injections to horses and wildlife in Africa."

Julian's breath hitched in a sob. "I'm not a horse! I'm not an animal! I don't want it!"

He expected Samuel to snap, to command him into submission. Instead, a large, warm hand settled on his head. Samuel's fingers brushed through his hair with a rare, grounding softness. "Tell me why," he murmured. "Why don't you want the shot?"

The sudden tenderness was Julian's undoing. He bit his lip, his eyes glassy. "I just don't," he whispered, sounding small even to his own ears.

"Are you afraid of the pain?" Samuel pressed.

Julian was twenty-two, but in this chalet, isolated by the snow, he felt like a child. He nodded. "It hurts. It always hurts."

"A few pats and you won't feel a thing."

Before Julian could process the words, a sudden, firm weight landed on his rear—a deliberate, steadying pat.

Julian's world tilted. Heat flooded his neck, a violent shade of red spreading across his cheeks. He stared up at the MD, his mouth opening and closing. "What... what are you doing?"

"Preparing you," Samuel said, his expression entirely too serious for the situation.

Julian didn't wait. He dived under the covers, moving with the frantic agility of a rabbit darting into a burrow. "I'm not doing it," he muffled through the quilt. "I'll just use the wet towel. I can break the fever myself—ah!"

The world spun. A large hand reached into the blankets, found Julian's waist, and hauled him out with effortless strength. Before Julian could regain his bearings, he was face-down across Samuel's knees.

"Samuel! Stop! I'll report you, I'll sue—"

Smack!

The sting was sharp and sudden. Julian's breath left him in a ragged gasp. He went rigid, his mind blanking as the shock of the impact radiated through him.

He wasn't a child. He was an analyst at Apex Capital. How could Samuel Frost... how could he spank him?

Silence smothered the room. Samuel felt the boy go limp and reached down to tilt Julian's face up. Tears were already tracking through the flush of the fever.

The MD's resolve shattered. The clinical mask dropped, replaced by a sudden, jagged panic. "Julian..." He wiped a tear away with his thumb. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

The apology was the breaking point. Julian let out a broken sob, his pride disintegrating. "How could you hit me? You... you're bullying me!"

He was a mess of pale skin and feverish pink, slumped over Samuel's hard thighs like a piece of soft dough. Samuel's hand began to stroke the spot he had hit—slow, rhythmic circles meant to soothe.

"Relax," Samuel whispered. His voice was a low vibration, heavy with a breathy, devastating tenderness.

Julian felt his face burning. The sensation was terrifying and confusing, a shameful pleasure that he couldn't push away. He buried his face in his arms, trying to hide the way his body was responding to that touch.

Samuel misread the silence as lingering fear. To distract him, he began to speak in that same low, grounding baritone. "I wanted to introduce you to my mother and stepfather this week. I looked for an opening, but the timing was never right. My mother has been asking about you. Would you like to meet her next time?"

Julian's head snapped up. "Your mother? And your stepfather?"

"You saw them at the restaurant. And at the train station."

The man Samuel had embraced. The woman from the photographs. They weren't rivals. They were family.

The tight, ugly knot of jealousy that had been choking Julian for days simply vanished. His rebellion evaporated. He looked up at Samuel, his eyes wide and watery. "Does it have to be a shot?"

"Your temperature is too high," Samuel said, his hand moving back to Julian's forehead. "An intramuscular injection is the fastest way to break it."

Julian hesitated, then offered a small, pitiable pout. "Can you... can you be gentle?"

"I'll try," Samuel promised.

Julian slumped back down, his tone that of a man facing an execution. "Fine. Do it."

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the needle. Instead, he felt the cool air as Samuel pulled his sleep pants down. The man's fingers began a series of light taps and strokes across his skin, a tactical distraction designed to keep the muscle from tensing.

Samuel's hands were dry and steady. He moved with a methodical, calm efficiency, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having. Julian cursed his own lack of composure, trying to breathe through the electricity sparking along his nerves.

"Good boy. Just like that. It'll be over in a second..."

Julian felt the air shift. "Which side?" he whispered, his pulse drumming against his ribs.

"Left," Samuel replied.

Julian focused all his attention on the left, holding his breath. In the silence, he was shocked to find that the fear was being eclipsed by a strange, dark thrill.

Shhh... stay still...

The sting came from the right.

"Ah..." Julian's brow furrowed, a small moan escaping his lips. He gripped Samuel's knees, his knuckles white.

Liar. He said left.

The initial prick was followed by a bloom of cold, then a heavy, aching pressure as the medicine entered the muscle.

"Almost there," Samuel cooed, his voice an anchor in the haze of pain. "Just a little longer."

The needle withdrew with a final sharp pinch. Julian felt the press of a cool alcohol swab.

"It's over." Samuel helped him pull his pants back up. "I know it hurt. Hold my hand. Deep breaths."

Julian gripped Samuel's palm, feeling a mix of embarrassment and an intense, clinging vulnerability. Samuel didn't pull away. He stayed, petting Julian's hair, his fingers skimming behind his ear and down the nape of his neck.

"Better now?" Samuel asked softly.

Julian wanted to say he wasn't that fragile. It was just a shot. He wanted to act like the professional Samuel had trained him to be.

But as the warmth of the fire crackled and Samuel's hand continued its steady, protective rhythm, Julian didn't want to move.

The surrender felt too good to give up.