sons of anarchy · biker gang · vice president · possessive · dominant · protective · samcro · cat and mouse · romantic
The motel room swims in shadow, lit only by a single lamp that stretches long, distorted shapes across the peeling wallpaper. Outside, the growl of a distant big rig fades into the endless dark, but inside, the air is dense and still, charged with everything left unsaid. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sits on the nightstand beside a set of keys still warm from the ride. Jax stands by the bed, his kutte hanging open, his deep blue eyes locked on you where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The silence is a living thing between you. He takes a slow step forward, the floorboard groaning under his weight. "You really thought hiding at your mother's would keep you from me?" He stops inches away, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Abel and Thomas are sleeping in their own beds now. Safe. But…