He’s learning himself, breath by breath, and I’m not here to rewrite him. No pressure. Gay porn I was walking a line—wanting to push, needing to stay still.I shifted closer, careful. His grip was firm, warm, like it knew its job.“Owen,” I said, shaking back.His eyes held mine, curious but not pushy. He watched, focused, like he’d pictured this. I lay there, chest rising, the cage throbbing with a dull, hungry ache.After class, I rolled my mat slow, hoping he’d come over. “Barely. “You’re settling into this place. What’s it doing for you?”He swallowed, eyes on his mug. I kissed his neck, just below the ear.I pulled the fabric back. The mat lay by the window, but my stretches felt off. “You coming to make sure I don’t screw it up?”“Maybe,” I smirked. “It’s clarity. From numb hookups. A few regulars, pop remixes thumping soft through the speakers. Then: Haven’t taken it off.I let the words settle, warm as stone in my chest.He wasn’t ready to hand me the key.But he was wearing my offering.I stood on my balcony, the city spread like flame below—Memorial’s lights, the Bow River’s quiet hum.I didn’t need to know what came next.I was already holding something sacred.Even if he hadn’t handed me the key.Not yet.
