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~ Free at the Flesh Margins ~
The music was too loud for talk, too soft to drown thought. A lounge that had once belonged to someone’s aunt was now full of people who thought they were charming. Bottles clinked. Someone had set up a playlist that confused irony with taste. Todd leaned against the wall, the easy sort of beautiful that draws conversation. Hugo stayed near the edge of things, holding his drink too carefully, pretending he was simply watching.
It started with a story about a man at the gym. Then another voice chimed in. Someone made a gesture with his hands, exaggerated, to the roar of laughter. Someone else called across the room, “Size matters, right?” and the laughter swelled again, that warm, ugly sound of collective ease.
The first joke was about someone else.
The second one was not.
Todd looked up from where he stood, saw Hugo freeze slightly, his smile thinning at the corners. The table caught it, that flicker of discomfort, but no one knew what to do with it except keep laughing.
Hugo felt the sound ripple through him. He wanted to reach for Todd’s hand, but it would only make it more visible. He tried to chuckle, too lightly, too late. His throat hurt from holding something back.
He excused himself with a muttered, “Need some air.”
In the kitchen, the air smelled of citrus and dust. The sink was full of glasses and fruit rinds. He leaned on the counter and stared at the small dark oval his drink left behind, a single ring of proof that he was there. His reflection in the window looked smaller than he remembered, as if the glass were joining in.
Todd appeared in the doorway, calm, quiet. “You alright?”
Hugo nodded without turning. “Just tired.”
“You sure?”
“It’s fine. People say things. It’s not new.”
Todd stepped closer. “Still doesn’t mean you have to let it stick.”
“It always sticks.”
They left early. Todd made the goodbyes, Hugo offered faint smiles. On the drive home, they barely spoke. The silence was not empty. It was thick with the echo of the room, with every laugh that had landed too close.
The apartment was small, warm, and dim. Todd set his keys down and reached for the light switch, then stopped. “Leave it low,” Hugo said. The lamp on the nightstand was enough.
Hugo sat on the edge of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt. Todd watched him in the mirror, the slow, hesitant movements, the small pauses that came when shame returned like muscle memory.
Todd knelt in front of him. The air between them shifted. He placed his palms gently on Hugo’s thighs. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”
Hugo looked down, eyes tired. Todd’s voice was soft but steady. “You are not a punchline.”
Hugo tried to laugh. It came out hollow. “You heard them.”
“I did. And I watched you disappear.”
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“You didn’t need to. The whole night already was one.”
Todd exhaled and pressed his forehead to Hugo’s stomach. The contact was simple, grounding. “You know what I see when I look at you?”
“What.”
“A body that fits me. Every time. A body that has learned me better than anyone.”
Hugo’s breath faltered. Todd’s hands moved slowly, not claiming, not demanding, only tracing. Every touch said you are here. Every silence said I know where it hurts.
Hugo closed his eyes. “It’s hard not to hear them.”
“I know.” Todd lifted his face, meeting his gaze. “But I’d rather you hear me.”
He kissed him, slow and certain, lips that stayed until Hugo’s jaw loosened, until the tremor in his chest began to ease. When Todd pulled back, his voice came low. “This is mine. Perfect, exactly as it is. You, exactly as you are.”
Hugo let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and relief. The room seemed to breathe with him.
Todd smiled faintly. “You always think you’re the quiet one, but you undo me with a single look. You make words mean something again.”
He brushed his thumb along Hugo’s lower lip. “You’re the cleverest man I’ve ever known. Your jokes, your timing, the way you see a room. None of those men tonight could touch that.”
Hugo shook his head. “It still gets in.”
“Then let me get in further,” Todd said softly, pulling him close.
Todd’s hands slid lower, unfastening Hugo’s belt with a tenderness that felt like worship. He eased Hugo’s pants down, exposing him fully, his gaze never wavering, adoring, hungry, precise. Hugo’s arousal stirred under that look, thickening as Todd’s fingers traced the length of him with the familiarity of years together. No hesitation, only devotion.
Todd leaned in, his breath warm against Hugo’s skin. “Let me show you,” he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive tip. He took Hugo into his mouth slowly, enveloping him with a heat that was both soothing and electric. His tongue moved with expert care, circling the head in lazy, loving strokes before sliding down the shaft, taking him deeper. Todd knew every inch, the spot just below the ridge that made Hugo’s hips buck, the rhythm that built tension without rush. He hummed softly, the vibration sending shivers through Hugo, as his hand cupped and massaged below, fingers pressing with just the right pressure.
Hugo’s fingers threaded into Todd’s hair, not guiding but holding on, his breaths coming ragged. Todd’s pace quickened subtly, sucking with a sensual pull that adored every vein, every pulse, drawing out moans that chased away the night’s echoes. He pulled back only to kiss along the underside, whispering against him, “You’re everything to me,” before taking him fully again, deeper, his throat relaxing to accommodate. The adoration was in the way he savored, the precision in every swirl and suck, building Hugo toward release with the unerring instinct of a lover who cherished him wholly.
When climax hit, it was shattering, Hugo arched, spilling into Todd’s mouth with a gasp that broke free. Todd swallowed every drop, holding him through the waves, his touch never faltering, grounding him in love. He lingered a moment longer, kissing the softening length softly before rising to pull Hugo into his arms.
They moved together in that gentle rhythm that grows out of trust rather than performance. Each breath found its answer. The night no longer belonged to the voices in that room. It belonged to the slow rediscovery of touch, to the language that did not need translation.
When it was over, they stayed tangled, quiet. The lamp hummed. Outside, a car passed. Todd’s voice came again, a whisper this time. “You’re more than enough. No one reaches me like you.”
In the morning, the world was pale and kind. Hugo woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Todd in the kitchen, humming something tuneless. The ache of the night before had softened.
He looked at his own body, at the marks that told him he had been wanted, not mocked. For the first time in a long while, he did not measure himself by the mirror. He reached for his notebook on the bedside table and wrote a single line before getting up.
The smallest things, when loved properly, stop feeling small.
🖤 A Queer Romance That Doesn’t Ask for Permission. It Just Undoes You.
Rowan Thornwells debut novel, His, Theirs, Enough is queer literary erotica for readers who crave intensity, intimacy, and prose that reads like poetry with its mouth open.
You’ll ache for this MMF romance. And you’ll come back for more. Learn More
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Want is not a size, but a presence. No ifs or buts, just present and not going away. Great story.
Beautiful, sweet, and romantic.