Feb 27
He thinks coming up to my office was his idea. It never was. One pull and his shirt gives way, his back hitting my desk as I climb over him, pinning strength beneath something colder, more deliberate. Steve fights it just enough to feel alive — just enough to understand who’s really in control. I don’t rush the moment. I let him feel the weight, the choice already made, the trap already closed… and when I lean down, claiming his mouth as the lights fade, he finally understands he was never picked up — he was taken.
