His Room,Their Storm

The infirmary door clicked shut behind Marco, but the guilt still clung to me like old grease. Colossus didn’t let me linger. His massive hand settled at the small of my back — warm, steady, always so damn careful — and guided me straight past the main room where the club was still buzzing about the gate drama. Rogue shot us a knowing smirk. Jax whistled low. Even Viper gave a short nod like he approved of whatever was about to happen behind closed doors. “Tonight,” Colossus had promised earlier. No fear. No holding back. My pulse kicked up as we reached the end of the hallway. His room was the last one — bigger than mine, with a heavy oak door that looked like it could survive a siege. He pushed it open and stepped aside so I could enter first, ever the gentleman giant. The space smelled like him: leather, cedar soap, and that faint trace of motor oil that never quite washed out. A king-size bed dominated one wall, a single lamp casting warm gold across dark wood and steel-gray sheets. No clutter. Just a man who kept his life as controlled as his strength. He closed the door behind us and locked it with a soft click that felt louder than any gunshot tonight. For a second we just stood there, inches apart, the air thick enough to taste. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough but gentle. Those pale gray eyes searched mine like he was still waiting for me to bolt. “Marco’s bleeding in the next wing. Your mom’s texts are still blowing up your phone. I don’t want you choosing me because you’re running from them.” I stepped into his space until my boots touched his. “I’m choosing you because you’re the first person who’s ever looked at my hands like they’re magic instead of a paycheck.” I reached up and traced the scar peeking from his collar. “And because you make me feel safe enough to stop running.” That crooked smile broke across his face — the one that made him look almost boyish under the beard. “f**k, Lena. You keep saying s**t like that and I’m gonna forget how to be careful.” “Good.” I grabbed the front of his cut and tugged him down. “Forget it tonight.” He groaned low in his throat and kissed me like he’d been starving for it since the garage. This wasn’t the careful version. His massive hands cupped my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks while his mouth claimed mine — deep, hungry, a little desperate. I tasted road dust and want and the faint salt of the desert night. He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he walked us to the bed. The mattress dipped under our combined weight, but he moved like I weighed nothing and everything at once. When he laid me down, his body covered mine without crushing — a careful mountain learning exactly how to be gentle. “Still with me?” he whispered against my neck, beard scraping in the best way as he kissed a slow path down my throat. “Still here,” I breathed, arching into him. My fingers tugged at his cut until he shrugged it off, then his tee, revealing the broad, scarred chest I’d only felt before. I traced the jagged line across his collarbone. “This doesn’t scare me, Colossus. You don’t scare me.” His breath hitched. Those gray eyes darkened with something raw and vulnerable. “You should. But damn if you don’t make me believe I can be more than the guy who breaks things.” I pulled him back down, kissing him harder, legs tightening around his hips. His hands slid under my shirt — rough calluses against smooth skin, trembling with restraint as he peeled the fabric away. Every touch was reverent and hungry at the same time. When his palm spanned my waist, big enough to almost circle it completely, I shivered and whispered, “More. I trust you.” He groaned like the words undid him. “You’re gonna kill me, wrench girl.” The heat built slow and perfect — hands exploring, breaths mingling, that rare laugh of his rumbling out when I teased him about being “all mountain, no speed.” He kissed every inch like he was memorizing me, and I gave back just as fiercely, nails scraping down his back, whispering how safe I felt in his arms. Midnight crept closer. The compound had gone quiet. Then the first explosion rocked the night. Glass shattered somewhere near the garage. Alarms blared. Boots pounded in the hallway. Colossus was off the bed in a heartbeat, yanking his cut back on while I scrambled for my shirt. His face had gone hard, the gentle giant replaced by the enforcer — but his hand still found mine for one quick squeeze. “Reapers,” he growled. “They hit the garage. Stay behind me.” We burst into the hall. Smoke drifted from the far end. Shouts echoed. Rogue was already running toward the garage bay, gun in hand. Colossus kept me tucked against his side as we moved, his massive frame a living shield. When we reached the garage, the side door hung crooked. Two Reapers were inside, one smashing my half-built chopper with a crowbar while the other poured gasoline across the floor. Blade stood in the middle, grinning through the smoke. “Time’s up, Voss. Hand over the talent or we burn every bike you ever touched.” Colossus didn’t hesitate. He shoved me behind a tool chest and stepped into the open, voice deadly calm. “You came to the wrong place tonight.” One Reaper swung at him. Colossus caught the crowbar mid-air, ripped it from the man’s hands, and hurled it across the room like it was a toy. The second Reaper fired — the shot went wide. Colossus moved faster than should’ve been possible for his size, grabbing the man by the vest and slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack concrete. But he stopped short of killing him. I saw the tremble in his arms — that old fear flaring bright. I stepped out, wrench in hand. “Colossus — you’ve got this. I’m right here. Not breaking.” His eyes met mine across the chaos. That single look — raw trust, raw want — steadied him. He dropped the Reaper, unconscious but breathing, and turned on Blade. The leader bolted for the door. Colossus caught him by the collar, lifted him clean off the ground, but this time his grip was controlled. “Tell your club she’s off-limits. Touch her again and I won’t stop next time.” Blade gasped, eyes bulging, but nodded frantically. Colossus hurled him out the broken door like yesterday’s trash. The surviving Reapers scattered into the night on their bikes. Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of small flames. I grabbed the extinguisher and doused the gasoline before it could spread. Colossus crossed the garage in two strides and pulled me into his arms — tight, trembling, but no longer afraid. “You trusted me,” he whispered into my hair. “Even when I almost lost it.” I hugged him back, face pressed to his chest right over the scar. “Because you didn’t. You chose gentle. For me.” His laugh was shaky but real. “Guess I’m learning.” Outside, the club was already swarming the fence. Marco’s muffled cursing came from the infirmary wing. Mom’s texts would be waiting when I turned my phone back on. But right here, covered in smoke and grease, wrapped in the giant who’d just protected everything I loved without destroying it, I felt something solid click into place. The Reapers had tried to burn my future tonight. Instead, they’d only lit the fire between me and the man who was finally learning he could hold it without getting burned.