Miguel tugged Matty’s mask out of the way, mirroring him. He didn’t have to see Miguel’s eyes to know he was looking at Matty’s mouth. They were both keeping secrets. Both pretending this was nothing.
Miguel wasn’t super tall, but Matty was small—barely 5’6. He had to come up on his toes to reach him. Matty leaned in, ready, braced, expecting a hard, messy, aggressive kiss like those hookups in the movies. The ones where they were rough and raw and tearing at each other’s clothes like animals.
But before he could connect, Miguel reversed their positions in a blink. Now it was Matty’s back to the cold wood. Miguel’s large hand wrapped loosely around Matty’s neck, not squeezing, just holding, guiding.
Matty gasped, breath catching.
He wanted raw, needy. Desperate. Something sharp enough to match the chaos buzzing under his skin.
But it wasn’t.
When their lips connected, it was soft. Almost chaste. A slow press. A lingering slide. Their mouths fitting together like they’d done this a hundred times instead of zero. It was gentle, careful, completely at odds with the way Miguel had manhandled him a second ago. It made Matty feel a little lost, a little dizzy, a shock of awareness shooting through him, his cock hardening instantly.
Jesus. Relax. It’s just a kiss.
But it wasn’t just a kiss. Not like the ones he was used to. Not sloppy drunken hookups behind frat houses or rushed, numb encounters in dark rooms. This was deliberate. Focused. Sweet in a way that made Matty’s chest ache.
He was so startled by the softness that he didn’t even react when Miguel caught his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head just right and tugging his mouth open. He balled his hands into fists as Miguel swept his tongue inside, slow, unhurried, tasting him like he had all night.
Matty’s breath stuttered. He kissed back tentatively, tongue brushing shyly against Miguel’s. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, touching felt…dangerous. Too intimate. Too much.
Miguel finally pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice warm and amused, mouth so close it ghosted over Matty’s swollen lower lip. “All riled up from a kiss. You’re so cute.”
“Fuck off,” Matty mumbled, but there was no heat to it. Not when his pulse was hammering so loudly he was pretty sure Miguel could hear it.
The grin he received in return—crooked, amused, almost fond—had him faltering. “And aggressive,” he said. When he saw Matty’s downturned mouth, he only smiled wider. “What? You don’t like when I call you cute?”
“You sure do talk a lot for someone who was looking for a hookup.”
Miguel tilted his head, considering him. “Is that what this is? A hookup?”
Matty’s brow furrowed behind the mask. “Isn’t it?”
His stomach plummeted into his shoes as Miguel once more ghosted his lips over Matty’s. “Depends on how far you’ll let me go.”
Matty could feel every breath like it took effort. The air felt heavier somehow, thick in his chest. He forced a careless shrug. “You can go all the way if you just shut up and take off your pants.”
“Can we at least go to bed, bossy?” Miguel murmured, closing the distance again. “Or do you want me to just fuck you up against the door?”
Matty gasped—actually gasped—and instantly hated himself for it. That only made Miguel chuckle, low and warm.
“Oh, you like that, huh? Dirty, dirty, boy.”
“Fuck you,” Matty snapped, too quiet and too breathy to be convincing.
There it was again, that infuriatingly soft laugh. Gentle, not mocking. “You could…if you wanted.”
His lips brushed Matty’s again, exploratory this time. Curious. His tongue swept lightly across Matty’s lower lip before gliding inside, mapping out his mouth one slow stroke at a time.
“But I don’t think that’s what you want,” Miguel murmured into the kiss.
“You don’t know what I want,” Matty said, and even to his own ears he sounded like he was arguing for the sake of it, pushing because he didn’t know how to do anything else.
Miguel didn’t bristle. Didn’t push back with ego or heat. Instead, he touched Matty’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, featherlight. Like he knew Matty might bolt.
“Well,” he said, soft as warm hands on a winter morning, “if you’re looking for someone who’s going to fuck you like they hate you, I’m not the guy for you. I’m not really into that.”
