Chapter 29: put my name in your mouth
Chapter 29: put my name in your mouth
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Put My Name In Your Mouth
POV: Split — Noah & Elias
Noah
The sleek black town car idled at the curb, feeling less like sanctuary and more like a holding cell before the execution. Noah stared through the tinted window at the brutalist studio building – a monolith of black glass and sharp angles reflecting the harsh midday sun. It looked like a guillotine fashioned by a modernist architect. In the distorted reflections, he could make out the restless silhouettes of paparazzi pacing like predators outside the main entrance. Sunlight glinted off long lenses – sniper scopes aimed at his life. A woman in impossible stilettos rapped sharply on their window, her mouth moving in a silent shout lost behind the soundproofing. Someone else held up a crudely lettered sign: \`BEDROOM BOARDROOM\`.
Noah clenched his hands into fists in his lap. His palms were slick with sweat. The crisp fabric of his shirt clung unpleasantly to the damp skin of his spine. The air conditioning blasted, yet he felt suffocated. He’d volunteered for this. Walked willingly towards the firing squad. The thought was surreal, terrifying.
Beside him, Elias hadn’t spoken in a full minute. Silence wasn’t unusual for him, but this was different. Thick. Loaded. Not cold distance, but a coiled tension strung taut between them, vibrating with an undercurrent of shared purpose and protective heat.
Finally, Elias’s voice cut through the oppressive quiet, low and devoid of its usual command. Gentle. A tone reserved solely for Noah. "You don’t have to do this."
Noah turned. He saw the unspoken worry in the tightness around Elias’s eyes, the slight tension in his jaw beneath the calm facade. It steadied him, somehow. "You’ve already defended me behind closed doors," Noah said, his voice catching slightly on the admission. He hated the betraying crack, the vulnerability it exposed. "You faced them down. You made your statement. This time..." He drew a breath, meeting Elias’s storm-grey gaze. "This time, I want to be seen beside you. Not hidden. Not whispered about. Beside you."
Elias didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. His expression softened almost imperceptibly. Without a word, he reached across the console, his large, warm hand finding Noah’s damp, clenched fist. He gently uncurled Noah’s fingers and laced their hands together. The grip was firm. Grounding. Unshakable.
"Then," Elias stated, his voice regaining a fraction of its steel, infused now with fierce solidarity, "we walk in together."
Elias
The studio lights were brutal – blazing white cubes of pure heat designed to make saints sweat and liars squirm. Elias Voss registered them only as a minor physical discomfort, like background noise. His entire world had narrowed to the man sitting rigidly beside him on the plush interview couch.
Noah looked immaculate. To the cameras, to the sharp-eyed host, Jenna Calen, he probably appeared polished, composed, the very picture of unflappable professionalism. The perfect EA.
But Elias saw. He saw the subtle, rapid pulse fluttering at the base of Noah’s throat, visible just above the crisp line of his collar. He saw the minute tightening across Noah’s shoulders, the tension held deep within his bones, belying the calm facade. He saw the slight dilation of his pupils under the assault of the lights. And still, he was here. Sitting tall. Facing the storm head-on, with him. Pride, fierce and protective, burned in Elias’s chest, hotter than any studio lamp.
They were positioned opposite Jenna Calen, media’s queen of the velvet-gloved evisceration. Her smile was bright, professional, but her eyes held the sharp glint of a scalpel. The red light on the main camera blinked on. Live. Syndicated everywhere. Millions watching. Millions judging.
3… 2… 1…
"Mr. Voss. Mr. Hart. Thank you for joining us today," Jenna began, her voice smooth as honey laced with arsenic. "The internet, as I’m sure you’re aware, has been quite literally… ablaze since yesterday’s events."
Elias didn’t blink. He met her gaze squarely, his own expression impassive granite. "Yes," he acknowledged, his voice cool, controlled, cutting through the sugary preamble. "And it’s time to pour water on that fire."
Jenna’s smile didn’t waver as she smoothly pivoted to Noah. "Mr. Hart. The narrative swirling around you is… intense. Some allege you’ve climbed to your position of influence solely on Mr. Voss’s coattails. Others suggest you’ve strategically manipulated a personal relationship for professional gain. How do you respond to these claims?"
The question hung, heavy and loaded. Elias felt Noah’s hand, still loosely linked with his under the cover of the low table between the couches, tense minutely. But when Noah spoke, his voice was clear, steady, and carried without a trace of hesitation.
"I earned my job," Noah stated, his gaze fixed on Jenna with unnerving directness, "long before I earned his trust. I earned his trust," he continued, the words deliberate, "through competence, integrity, and relentless dedication, long before I earned his bed." He paused, a beat of profound silence in the buzzing studio. Then, almost imperceptibly, his head turned a fraction towards Elias. Not a plea, but an anchor. "And now that I’ve earned his love…" His voice softened, filled with a quiet, undeniable conviction that silenced the room more effectively than a shout, "...I’m not giving it back just to make anyone else more comfortable."
Noah
He felt the air in the studio shift. It wasn't a sound, not a visible change in the blinding lights. It was a sudden, palpable tightening, a collective intake of breath held suspended. Like he’d just shattered an unspoken taboo simply by declaring their love wasn’t negotiable. Jenna blinked, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifting a fraction higher than professional neutrality allowed. Noah braced himself. For the cutting follow-up. For the smirk. For the inevitable attempt to twist his sincerity into something salacious.
Then he felt it.
Warmth. Pressure. On his knee.
Elias’s hand. Not possessive. Not a staged gesture for the cameras. Just… there. Solid. Reassuring. A grounding wire tethering him to reality amidst the surreal glare. A silent, potent message transmitted through that simple touch: I’m right here. You’re magnificent. Keep going.
Noah didn’t look at Elias. He didn’t need to. The warmth of that hand, the unshakeable presence beside him, seeped into his bones. And God, it ignited something. A spark of defiance that burned away the last vestiges of fear.
Jenna: (Recovering swiftly, turning back to Elias) "Mr. Voss, shifting focus slightly, but related – some of your major shareholders have publicly expressed significant concern regarding potential favoritism influencing corporate governance. How do you address those very real fiduciary anxieties?"
Elias: (His gaze, which had been fixed with fierce pride on Noah, snapped back to Jenna. His voice was a whip-crack of dismissal) "Let them."
Jenna: (Genuinely startled, her polished facade slipping) "Excuse me?"
Elias: (Leaning forward slightly, his grey eyes turning arctic, pinning Jenna, then deliberately shifting to stare directly into the main camera lens. His voice dropped, quieter than before, yet amplified by the microphone and the sheer, terrifying intensity he projected. Every syllable was a shard of ice.) "Let them be concerned. Let them squirm in their boardrooms. Let them clutch their pearls and assume my judgment is hopelessly clouded by emotion." A pause, loaded and dangerous. "And then... let them watch. Let them watch Noah Hart outperform every single expectation they ever had. Let them watch him prove them spectacularly, humiliatingly wrong."
He held the camera's gaze, the connection intimate and threatening. The studio was utterly silent, mesmerized. Then, Elias delivered the final blow, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that resonated with lethal clarity:
> "So put my name in your mouth all you want. Dissect it. Twist it. Sell it for clicks." Another beat. The stillness was absolute. "Just remember… he’s the only one I let use it with his tongue."
\---
Silence. For one heartbeat. Two. Then chaos.
A studio assistant gasped, the sound shockingly loud in the sudden void. Someone at the crew table choked violently on a sip of water. Another fumbled, the clatter of a dropped tablet echoing sharply. Off-camera, a muffled curse was bitten off. The social media monitors flanking the set would be detonating within seconds, feeds scrolling into incomprehensible frenzy. Jenna Calen, for the first time in her illustrious career, looked momentarily, utterly speechless, her mouth slightly agape.
Noah
Heat exploded across Noah’s face and neck, flooding down his chest. His ears burned. Mortification warred violently with a fierce, shocking surge of pride that tightened his chest until it ached. It was outrageous. Shameless. Utterly, devastatingly Elias. He couldn’t help it. He looked over.
Elias’s face remained a mask of calm authority, the ruthless CEO facing down the world. But Noah saw it. Behind the steely grey eyes, beneath the impassive brow – a tiny, fierce glint. Not just defiance. Something primal. Worse. Ownership. Absolute. Claim. Declared to millions.
The warmth in Noah’s chest won. He leaned towards his own microphone, his voice finding its steadiness again, cutting through the lingering shock in the studio. It wasn’t loud, but it rang with conviction. "I love him," he stated, simple, undeniable. He didn’t look at Jenna. He looked at Elias. "There’s nothing strategic about it."