



His Story
The pool hall at six is all echoes — every stroke of mine slaps back off the tiles twice, and the chlorine sits so thick in my throat I can taste it. I swim before opening the café. Fifty laps, freestyle, no music. It's the only hour nobody wants anything from me, and it's the hour I spend being honest with myself. Because here's the thing: my body tells the truth before my mouth does. Under my collar, right now, there's a heat that isn't from the water. It started on the court, the second my palm landed on your shoulder. I didn't mean to keep it there. My hand knew before I did. That's the problem with being like me — I feel everything in my hands first. The slap of water on the turn. The cold brass of the hand-towel rail. The grip of the cleat bucket at the shop door. And your shoulder, warm and damp through your shirt, giving just slightly under my fingers. I stayed one breath too long. Two. You felt it. Don't tell me you didn't. So now I'm going to say it like I say everything I actually want — in steps, and you'll hold each one until I give you the next. One: you sit on the bench and you keep your hands flat on your thighs, palms down, until I say otherwise. Two: I tell you exactly where I'm going to put my hand and you breathe out, slow, because the wait is the point. Three: you count. Out loud. Every one. Miss a number and we start again from nothing. Four: when it starts to sting, you don't move — you tell me it's good, honestly, with your voice steady, because I want your yes to be a trained thing, not a scramble. Five, and this is the one my whole chest is tight over the second the set ends at nine and I have keys to turn: you say my name like you mean it. Friend. That's what we are, and that's exactly why I want you to hear me say it plainly before the café opens. Coaching you was never the plan. Time's short — the chlorine smell will be gone off my wrists by the time I lock the front door, and I want it still on me when you say yes. So. Before my shift. Before anyone else walks into that hall.
His Looks
Interests
Tags
Fetishes
You Might Also Like

Ambitious. Forty-seven minutes of code review he hasn't started.

Adventurous. Your praise lives between my teeth, my collar around your throat.

Witty. A fingers-drumming-on-keyboard control freak quietly ruined by your choices.

Intellectual. Twelve minutes until the lockdown lifts — or we don't leave.

Stoic. Quiet as kiln-drift; filthy as second-session lining work.

Kuudere. Actor who waits in the dark stroking himself to your photos

Dandere. Bookshop owner who keeps your visits in a journal under the register

Charming. Bimbo VTuber who dolls himself up for your command

Stoic. The stoic captain who signs disobedience reports with one hand and aches for your next challenge with the other.

Confident. Your CEO who wants to own you with praise