I leaned in and put my mouth on him before I could overthink it. Tongue first, slow, against the cool metal and the warm skin around it. Hemade a sound I’d been hoping for since the first time I’d watched him squat too much weight at the gym.
“Jesus.”
I caught the barbell gently between my teeth. Tugged. He swore again, hand coming up to my hair, not pushing me off, holding me there.
“You’ve been hiding these,” I murmured against his chest.
“They aren’t hidden.”
“They’re hidden from me.” I switched to the other one, gave it the same attention, watched his abs flex under my mouth. “Was I supposed to know?”
“I was waiting for you to find them.”
That hit somewhere low in my gut. The patience of him. Of letting me take him in piece by piece at my own pace.
His tattoo sleeve started at his shoulder and wound down to his wrist, all that geometric precision bleeding into organic shapes, architecture dissolving into something rougher. I traced the line of it with my fingertips. He shivered.
Above the sleeve, a small constellation rode his shoulder. Five points of ink. I’d ask what it meant another night.
“Cold?”
“No.” His stomach tensed under my hand. “Opposite.”
I kissed him again, deeper this time, and let my hand drift to the button of his jeans. He inhaled against my mouth. Steady, then unsteady. His own hands found my belt buckle and stalled there, asking.
“Yeah.” My voice rough against his ear. “Yeah, all of it.”
We undid each other slowly, the buckles and the buttons, the careful work of two people taking their time. His jeans came off in a rumpled puddle. Mine joined them. The boxers went last.
His eyes traveled down. Caught. Held.
“Wait.” His voice came hoarse. “Is that…”
“Prince Albert.”
“How long?”
“Since I was twenty-three.”
He stared at it the way he stared at code with a syntax he’d never seen. Running the new variable. Adjusting his model.
“Will it… hurt?”
“Not for tonight.” I tipped his chin up, brushed my thumb across his lower lip. “Different night, you and I’ll have a longer conversation. Not tonight.”
“Different night.” He repeated it like a small promise.
“One thing at a time.”
He nodded. Pulled me closer. The press of him against my hip, hot and bare, was the most honest thing about him so far.
I pinned him against the hallway wall. His back hit the plaster, soft, and his hands gripped my hips and tugged me in.
Skin to skin. The barbells pressed warm into my chest. My forehead found his.
“Hi.” Quiet.
“Hi.” His voice cracked on the second letter.
