Cory did. Every ugly detail. How he'd felt the itch. How he'd scratched it. How he'd said the safewords and Derrick hadn't stopped.
Then he met Marcus at a munch. Marcus was older, calm, with steady hands and a voice that didn't need to be loud. He wore a gray sweater and asked Cory what he was looking for, and when Cory started to ramble—"I don't know, I guess just, like, a connection, something real, you know?"—Marcus didn't nod along. He just waited. love junkie sub
Marcus smiled. It was a small smile. And somehow, that was the most terrifying and beautiful thing Cory had ever seen. Cory did
But Marcus was still holding his hands. And for the first time in years, Cory didn't feel the itch. How he'd scratched it
Cory's mouth went dry. No one had ever asked him to be that precise. No one had ever expected him to know.
"I don't know how to want things in a small way," Cory whispered. "Every feeling has to be an emergency. Every crush has to be a crisis. I don't know how to just… be held. I only know how to burn."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I know. And we're going to talk about that. But first—" He set down his tea and took Cory's hands. "First, I need to know if you're safe. Not physically. Inside."