Whatever it was, Adriel had been cataloguing these things without fully realizing it.
Individually, they could be anything. A dominant personality. A preference for control. A natural skill at reading people in bed.
Together, they formed a pattern.
A pattern Adriel didn't have the vocabulary to name precisely, but that he recognized in the vague, half-formed way of someone who had read enough and seen enough to know that what Landen did in bed had a name. A world attached to it.
He just didn't know how deep it went.
And he didn't know if what Landen had shown him was the surface of something much larger, something Landen had been holding back.
That thought was the one he couldn't leave alone.
Not because it scared him, exactly. He'd learned by now that Landen would never hurt him, would never push past what Adriel could handle, or do anything without checking first. The fear wasn't about safety.
It was about inadequacy.
Because if Landen was... whatever he was, then Adriel was the furthest thing from a match. He was clumsy and new and unsure and held together by want and not much else. He didn't know the rules. He didn't know how to be what someone like Landen might need.
And the question that kept circling, sharp-edged and relentless, was: how long before that stopped being enough?
How long before Landen got tired of teaching, of guiding, of waiting for Adriel to catch up? How long before he started wanting someone who already knew, who could meet him where he was without fumbling, who didn't need to be handled so carefully?
Adriel set his book down.
His heart was hammering. He could feel it in his throat, in his temples, in the places where his pulse beat close to the surface. His palms were damp. His mouth dry.
He didn't know how to start this. Didn't know how to sayI see youwithout also sayingI'm terrified I'm not enough.
But the question wouldn't leave him alone. It had been circling for days, growing sharper, more insistent. He couldn't keep ignoring it.
"Can I ask you something?" Adriel said.
Landen looked up from the manuscript. His reading glasses caught the light, and for a moment Adriel could see his own reflection in them; small and soft, curled at the end of the sofa, knees pulled up, heart pounding.
"Always," Landen said.
Adriel pulled his knees closer to his chest. Wrapped his arms around them. Stared at the book in his lap without seeing it; a paperback he'd picked up from Landen's shelf.
"The things you do," he said slowly. "When we're... together."
He paused. Swallowed. His cheeks were already heating; he could feel the warmth spreading, could feel the flush climbing up his neck, staining his ears.
"The way you talk to me. The way you... hold me down. The tying. The…"
He stopped. The wordspankingcaught in his throat, too raw and specific to say out loud in the quiet of the living room.
"All of it," he said instead. "It's not just... you're not just being rough. Are you?"
Landen set the manuscript down, took off his glasses, and gave Adriel his full attention.
"No," Landen said quietly. "It's not just that."
Adriel nodded. His throat was tight. "I thought so."
A silence stretched between them.
"So what is it?"
