the kind that happens when it's too good and too much and their body runs out of ways to hold it all in. when pleasure gets so overwhelming that tears become the only outlet left. that kind. only ever that kind.

i like watching it build before it happens. the way their breathing changes first. the way their face gets this look… overwhelmed and trying so hard not to show it, blinking fast, jaw tight, doing everything they can to stay composed while their body is already making decisions for them. i watch all of it. i don't miss a single thing.

the first tear is everything. that moment when it finally spills over despite everything they did to stop it. just one, tracking slow down their cheek while they look at me like they're not sure what just happened. like their body betrayed them. like they didn't realize how close they were to the edge until they were already over it.

i tilt my head. looking. taking it in.

they expect me to reach over immediately. to wipe it away before it gets far. to rush them through it and back to somewhere less exposed. and i understand why they expect that. most people can't sit with someone else's vulnerability for very long. it makes them uncomfortable. they want to fix it, contain it, move past it as quickly as possible.

i'm not most people.

i let it run. i watch it track down their face and i don't look away. i don't reach for it and i don't say anything yet. i just look at them. at the openness of their face right now. at everything they can't hide in this moment. at how completely unguarded they are… no walls, no composure, no carefully managed version of themselves. just what happens when someone feels too much to contain it.

it's the most beautiful thing. every single time without exception it is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.

and i let them sit in it for a moment. in the vulnerability of being seen this completely. in the slight embarrassment of not being able to hold it back. in the slow realization that i'm not looking away. that i'm not uncomfortable. that i'm not going to rush them through this or make them feel strange about it. that i actually want to see it. that i'm watching because i want to. because this matters to me.

then i reach up. slow. thumb finding their cheek. catching the tear so gently it's almost reverent. wiping it away careful and deliberate like it's something worth handling that way. because it is.

taking my time with the next one too. and the one after that. tending to them slowly. pressing my lips to their cheek where the tears have been. feeling them try to pull themselves together and not letting them do it too fast. keeping them here a little longer. in this soft, open place where they're so completely mine it makes my chest ache.

letting them know i see them and i'm not going anywhere and this is safe. feeling them slowly stop fighting it. stop trying to compose themselves. just letting me wipe the tears away as they come and staying soft and open for me.

the tears are never the end goal exactly. they're just evidence. proof that i took them somewhere they couldn't have gone alone. somewhere past the part of themselves that manages and performs and holds everything carefully together.