The clock had just ticked past 2 a.m., the city outside their studio bathed in a soft, muted glow. Elijah adjusted his headphones, the low hum of the beat pulsing through the room. Across from him, Rashaad leaned back in his chair, his lips curved into a teasing smirk.
“You’re overthinking it again,” Rashaad teased, his voice smooth as velvet but tinged with amusement. “Just let it flow, Eli.”
Elijah rolled his eyes, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I’m not overthinking—I’m… strategizing,” he shot back, folding his arms dramatically.
Rashaad leaned forward to tweak the soundboard, the gold chain around his neck catching the light like it had a spotlight of its own. “Strategy, huh?” he said, flashing a grin. “You strategize like somebody deciding between fries or a salad. Just pick the fries, man. They’re always the right answer.”
Elijah laughed despite himself, shaking his head. “That’s a terrible metaphor, Shaad.”
“Yeah, but it got you to stop pouting,” Rashaad quipped, leaning back with an easy smirk. “Point is, sometimes you just gotta feel it. You know? No charts, no plans—just vibes.”
“Vibes,” Elijah echoed, narrowing his eyes. “Great. I’ll tell the label our next move is… vibes.”
“Exactly!” Rashaad said, clapping his hands together like he’d solved all their problems. “See, you’re gettin’ it now.”
Elijah opened his mouth to retort, but Rashaad cut him off by hitting play. The beat kicked up, raw and soulful, filling the space between them. It was a track they’d been working on for weeks, one that carried the weight of their journey—every trial, every triumph, every unspoken word.
Elijah closed his eyes, letting the rhythm settle over him like a second skin. When he started to rap, the words spilled out effortlessly, weaving together themes of resilience and love, of loyalty and fear. Across the booth, Rashaad nodded along, his eyes fixed on Elijah with an intensity that made the small room feel electric.
Elijah’s Verse
(voice steady, introspective)
Been silent too long, now my words break the chains,
Every scar on my soul got a story that remains.
They cheer for the wins but ignore the pain’s weight,
I’ve been climbin’ uphill just to stand at this gate.
Mirror’s my rival, reflection don’t lie,
Seen the cracks in my armor, tears I tried to deny.
But you? You my lighthouse, my calm in the storm,
When the world gets too cold, you the fire keepin’ me warm.
No applause in the shadows, just battles I fought,
Every verse I’m unloadin’ a lesson life taught.
So I’m here, standin’ firm, through the waves and the tide,
With you anchoring me, ain’t no way I’ll capsize.
“That’s it,” Rashaad murmured when Elijah finished. He hit stop, the silence that followed almost deafening. “That’s the one.”
Elijah stepped out of the booth, his heart still racing from the rush of creation. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Rashaad said, his voice softer now. He stood, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. His hand rested on Elijah’s shoulder, grounding him in a way that words never could. “You always get in your head about this, but you don’t see what I see.”
Elijah swallowed, his pulse quickening as Rashaad’s gaze locked onto his. “And what do you see?”
Rashaad’s smile softened, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of Elijah’s neck. “A genius. A fighter. The only person I’d ever want by my side—onstage or off.”
The air between them felt heavy and charged, the unspoken tension lingering like the echo of a melody. Elijah’s breath hitched as Rashaad’s hand slid down to his wrist, his touch both tender and possessive.
“You know we’re playing with fire, right?” Elijah whispered, his voice barely audible.
Rashaad tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Fire’s the only way to make gold.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the world outside forgotten. The track they’d just created played softly in the background, its lyrics a haunting reminder of everything they couldn’t say out loud. And then, just as Elijah felt himself leaning into Rashaad’s pull, the music faded, leaving only the sound of their breathing.
Rashaad’s fingers, still resting lightly on the back of Elijah’s neck, traced an almost imperceptible line upward, his touch sending a shiver down Elijah’s spine. Their eyes locked, the unspoken tension between them swelling to fill the small studio, a weight both heavy and electrifying. Elijah’s heart pounded in his chest, his pulse matching the faint rhythm of the track still echoing in his mind.
“Eli,” Rashaad murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant—like a question he already knew the answer to.
Elijah didn’t respond with words. Instead, he closed the final sliver of space between them, their foreheads brushing first, a tentative, almost reverent gesture. Rashaad’s breath was warm against his skin, carrying with it the faintest hint of mint and the whiskey they’d shared earlier. Time seemed to slow, the air charged and trembling with the inevitability of what was to come.
And then, Rashaad moved.
The kiss wasn’t hurried or tentative—it was deliberate, like a line of verse carefully crafted to hit every beat, every note, with precision. His lips were soft but firm, his kiss a perfect blend of dominance and tenderness, grounding Elijah in a way nothing else ever could. Elijah responded instinctively, his hands rising to Rashaad’s chest, fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin where his shirt had come undone. The steady thrum of Rashaad’s heartbeat beneath his palm felt like a lifeline, steady and sure.
Rashaad’s hand slid to cradle Elijah’s jaw, his thumb grazing the edge of his cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, his movements unhurried but full of intent. The studio walls, the dim lights, the city beyond—it all faded, leaving only the taste of Rashaad, the faint scent of cologne mingling with the electric hum in the air.
Elijah’s knees weakened as Rashaad tilted his head, the angle changing, their lips fitting together in a way that felt impossibly natural. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a conversation, a confession, a promise. Every brush, every lingering second, spoke of the things they couldn’t say aloud: the late nights, the sacrifices, the unshakable bond they’d built against all odds.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t abrupt. Rashaad lingered, his forehead pressing gently against Elijah’s, his hand still cradling his face. Both men were breathless, their chests rising and falling in sync as if they shared the same rhythm.
Rashaad smiled then, that signature smirk softened by something deeper, something raw. “Fire’s the only way to make gold,” he whispered again, his voice rough but full of meaning.
Elijah couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him, his lips still tingling from the kiss. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, his tone laced with affection.
“And you love it,” Rashaad replied, his thumb brushing lightly against Elijah’s bottom lip before he finally stepped back, the moment lingering between them like the fading echo of a perfect note.
The moment hovered, fragile and full of possibility, before Elijah stepped back, his lips curving into a faint smile. “We should get back to work.”
Rashaad held his gaze for a beat longer, then nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them. “Yeah. Let’s make history.”
Find out what happens next in Grit x Wit: Rap’s Hottest Duo, available now on Kindle Unlimited!
