MIGUEL
Steam curlsup from the bath, fogging the mirror and wrapping the bathroom in soft, golden warmth. The faint scent of cedar and vanilla drifts through the air, the candles I lit earlier are now flickering on the counter. Caleb sits at the edge of the tub, skin flushed, the marks I left on him darkening by the minute. He looks… wrecked.
Beautifully and utterly wrecked.
And mine.
But when his eyes flick up to meet mine, I see the exhaustion behind the glow. The tremor still in his hands. He gave me everything tonight, and I don’t take that lightly.
“Want me to make it hotter?” I ask quietly, testing the water with my hand. “Or maybe you want to be alone for a bit?”
Caleb shakes his head immediately, his voice low and hoarse. “No. Please stay with me.”
Those words hit somewhere deep in my chest. I wait for him to get settled, then climb in behind him and lean against the porcelain as the water laps at our skin. He sinks back between my legs, head resting against my shoulder, and exhales like he’sbeen holding it in all night. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close.
For a few minutes, we just breathe. No words. Just the sound of the fire crackling in the next room and the soft drip of the faucet.
Reaching for the washcloth, I soak it and drag it gently across his chest. He lets out a small sound, halfway between a sigh and a hum. I move slowly, washing the lube and sweat and cum from his body, careful around the marks on his wrists. The tinsel left faint red lines, and guilt tightens in my throat.
“You okay, baby?” I murmur, kissing the curve of his neck.
He nods. “Yeah. Just tired. That was…” He laughs softly, his voice still a little shaky. “That was a lot.”
“Yeah,” I agree, rinsing the cloth and gliding it lower, over his stomach, his hips. “We probably should’ve used something less sharp than tinsel.”
He snorts. “Christmas hazard.”
“Guess I’m getting coal this year.”
He turns his head just enough to grin at me. “If you do, I’ll just share my gifts with you.”
“I—” Lost for words, I clear my throat. “Still, I want to make sure you’re okay. Not just your body, your head, too.”
Caleb’s smile falters, just a little. I feel it in the shift of his body. I keep my touch gentle and patient. “I’ve been thinking…” I start, letting my fingers trace lazy circles over his skin. “We should have a safe word. Just in case something ever feels like it’s too much.”
He’s quiet for a moment, the only sound is the faint movement of water.
“I know you’d never hurt me,” he says finally, barely above a whisper.
“I wouldn’t,” I say, kissing the side of his head. “But it’s not just about that, Caleb. It’s not always the physical stuff that hurtsfirst. Sometimes it’s here,” I press my hand over his chest, right above his heart. “And if you ever need to stop because something feels wrong or too much, you can. No questions. No judgment. Ever.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, thinking. Processing. I let him have the silence.
Then, softly. “You really care about me, don’t you?”
I smile against the back of his neck, lips brushing his damp skin. “You have no idea how much I care about you.”
Caleb tilts his head back until it rests against my shoulder again, his wet hair brushing my jaw. “I don’t think anyone’s ever… talked to me like that before,” he murmurs. “Not about sex, at least. Not like it’s...”
“Something worth protecting?” I offer quietly.
He nods, eyes closing. “Yeah. I mean, granted, I’ve never really talked about sex with anyone other than friends, but it’s always something that jokes are cracked at. Where guys talk about how emotions don’t matter.”
I wrap my arms tighter around him, my chin resting on the crown of his head. “Emotions absolutely matter. Sex is full of them, especially when you’re doing it with the right person. It’s never a joke with me. Unless you want it to be, ya know.”
He exhales, a sound that shivers through him, and I feel it against my chest. His body relaxes, the last bit of tension melting away into the warm water. I reach for the washcloth again, running it down his thighs, careful, slow. He’s letting me touch him without any of the frantic energy from earlier. No edge, no brattiness. Just trust.
That’s the part that hits hardest.
