The morning Miami sun snuck gently through the sheer linen curtains of the master bedroom in their house. The scent of last night's sex still lingered faintly on the bedsheets—lube, dried semen, and Fabian's sweat, which Julian inhaled deeply the moment he opened his eyes.
He woke up locked in his husband's crushing embrace. Fabian was stark naked, his broad chest plastered flush against Julian's back, a heavily muscled arm wrapped tight around his waist as if terrified of letting go. Fabian's half-erect penis pressed firmly against Julian's ass through the thin fabric of the pajamas he had thrown on last night.
Julian tried to shift his weight carefully. One nanny, it turned out, wasn't nearly enough. Froy demanded a lot of attention—breakfast, a bath, a story before school, and all the little chaotic things that made their days feel overwhelming. He was already running late for the country club.
But the second he moved, Fabian's arm locked tighter. The massive body dragged him right back against that warm, heavy chest.
"Don't get up," Fabian mumbled, his morning voice thick and raspy, his lips pressed right against the nape of Julian's neck. "Just stay in bed with me a little longer."
Julian cracked a small smile, even though Fabian couldn't see it. He turned around within the embrace. They were face-to-face now. Fabian's hair was an absolute mess, his eyes still half-closed, but the smile was already there—the exact same smile from last night after that cum-soaked hug at Mansion 010.
Julian leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't a polite morning peck. He kissed him deep and dirty, his tongue sliding smoothly into Fabian's mouth, which opened instantly to welcome it. The morning taste of Fabian—warm, slightly salty, and incredibly familiar. Fabian let out a low groan into the kiss, his hand wandering up Julian's back, pulling their bodies flush against each other.
Julian casually pinched Fabian's already hardened nipple. His fingers rolled it slowly, tugging hard, then releasing it. In retaliation, Fabian bit down gently on Julian's lower lip. His cock, now fully hard, was pressing insistently against Julian's stomach—burning hot, twitching erratically, the tip already weeping pre-cum that was seeping into Julian's pajamas.
They savored each other. No rushing. None of the heavy tension and explosive confessions from last night. This was calmer, deeper. Julian lazily ground his hips against Fabian's cock, feeling how his husband twitched against his stomach. Fabian responded by rolling his hips in small, demanding circles, grinding his thick shaft against the thin fabric, his breathing growing heavier against Julian's mouth.
"I have work at the country club," Julian whispered between kisses, his voice already breathless.
"That can wait..." Fabian replied effortlessly, his hand trailing down to Julian's ass, squeezing it firmly.
Julian chuckled against his husband's lips. He forced the kiss to break, pulling his face back slightly even as Fabian chased his lips.
"The nanny is coming to pick up Froy today," he said softly. "So you don't need to pick him up, baby."
Fabian went quiet for a second. His previously heavy-lidded eyes were now fully open, watching Julian calmly. His cock was still twitching against Julian's stomach, clearly uncaring about the conversation.
Then Fabian asked, his voice dropping low, carrying a hint of pleading—but also a soft, underlying demand.
"Baby... can you come keep me company at work at Miami 010 after you're done at the country club?"
Julian stared at him. Fabian's face, usually masked in absolute control, was completely open. There was a raw vulnerability there that had only surfaced last night. After Julian had watched him teach, after that filthy, cum-stained hug in front of the new gigolos, after Fabian had finally confessed his fears.
Julian gave a small nod.
"As soon as I'm done."
Fabian smiled. Not a wide grin. Just a small, intimate smile that warmed Julian's eyes.
Julian looked down once more, taking in his husband's naked body still pressed against him. The broad chest, the flat stomach, the sharp V-line pointing straight down to the thick, raging hard-on trapped between them. The hair on Fabian's chest was sparse, darkening around his nipples. Julian loved it. Loved it completely.
"Baby?" he whispered.
"Hm?"
"Can you let your chest hair grow out?" Julian slowly ran his palm over Fabian's chest. "Your sideburns and your beard too... let them grow."
Fabian looked surprised. His eyebrows shot up. He stared at Julian as if he were hearing the request for the very first time.
"Why, baby?" he asked softly. "Will I look more macho if I let it grow?"
Julian nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Fabian's chest.
"Good thing you told me," Fabian murmured, his voice caught somewhere between amusement and deep affection. "Because I was planning to shave it completely smooth this morning."
Julian laughed softly. He leaned in again, kissing Fabian one more time—this time shorter, sweeter.
"I like it natural," he whispered against Fabian's lips. "I like what I saw last night. Nothing hidden. Just... complete."
Fabian went silent. His eyes welled up briefly. He lifted a hand, gently caressing Julian's cheek with his thumb.
"You really accept me," he said softly, almost in disbelief. "Even the filthiest parts."
Julian nodded. He pressed his forehead against Fabian's.
"I accept all of it. Including the chest hair that’s gonna grow out rough and scratch my chest when we're like this."
Fabian let out a low laugh. The sound was warm and incredibly relieved.
Julian finally sat up. He buttoned the top of his pajamas that had fallen open, then stood beside the bed. Fabian was still lying buck naked on the rumpled sheets, his massive cock still standing at attention, his hair a mess, looking up with eyes full of love and a hint of wonder.
Julian looked back just before leaving the room.
"I'm going to wake up Froy," he said. "You... don't shave yet. Let me trim it for you tonight if you want."
Fabian smiled from the bed. "Promise."
Julian nodded, then hurried out of the bedroom and across the hall to Froy's room. His heart felt painfully full—a mix of warmth, a slight spike of fear because he had just agreed to step into Miami 010, and an overwhelming tenderness when he remembered the way Fabian had begged him to come.
Behind him, Fabian still lay naked in their bed, his hand resting lightly on his own chest, as if imagining the hair that would grow there simply because his husband had asked him to.
And for the first time since they got married, Julian felt he wasn't just living alongside Fabian.
At seven in the morning, the doorbell to their penthouse chimed.
Julian was still wearing the same thin pajamas. His hair was messy, his eyes slightly puffy because he and Fabian had stayed up talking until the early hours—about Miami 010, about Froy, about how they were going to deal with the family. He hadn't even had time to brew coffee yet.
He opened the door, a frown creasing his forehead.
Standing in the hallway was a woman in her early thirties, dressed sharply in a black blazer and pencil skirt. In her arms was a toddler, a boy around two years old, balanced on one hip while her briefcase hung from the other shoulder. The boy had striking gray eyes and slightly messy black curls.
"Mr. Julian?" the woman asked politely.
"Yes, that's me," Julian answered softly. "Who are you?"
"I am Milady Casarini, the attorney representing Vania Gregory."
Julian froze for a second. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't recall ever dealing with anyone named Vania Gregory. He opened the door wider and let them in.
Fabian emerged from the bedroom wearing nothing but loose black sweatpants, his chest bare, his hair still dripping wet from the shower. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the uninvited guest and a toddler sitting in their living room. His eyes darted to Julian—confused, but calm.
The atmosphere in the room was suffocatingly awkward.
They sat on the long sofa. Milady placed her briefcase on the coffee table with careful, deliberate movements. The toddler sat on her lap, chewing on his fingers, his gray eyes watching Julian with pure, innocent curiosity.
Milady began to speak. Her voice was professional, but there was a tight edge of tension to it.
Two and a half years ago, a married couple—Vania Gregory and her husband—underwent an IVF procedure. There was a catastrophic procedural error at the clinic. The sperm that was supposed to belong to Vania's husband was accidentally swapped with another sample stored in the same bank.
That sperm belonged to Julian Benhur Casablanca.
Julian turned to ice.
Milady continued, her tone softening.
The couple only realized something was wrong after the child was born. They conducted a secret DNA test. The results were undeniable: the child did not share a drop of blood with Vania's husband. They had raised him for two and a half years, but finally decided they could not accept him. Not out of hatred, Milady clarified, but because "the sense of ownership never materialized."
They were hoping his biological father—Julian—would be willing to take the child.
The room fell dead silent.
The only sound was the soft breathing of the little boy.
Julian stared at the toddler on Milady's lap. Gray eyes. Curly hair. A small nose that somehow looked exactly like his own when he was a child. Something heavy and burning hot lodged in his chest.
"What is his name?" he asked quietly.
"Gillian Finn," Milady answered.
Julian cracked a small smile. A smile that broke halfway through.
"Gillian Finn," he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. "Rhymes with Julian."
He stood up slowly. Stepped closer. Milady handed the child over without another word. Julian pulled the small body into his arms. The boy didn't cry. He just stared up at him with those identical gray eyes.
Julian took a deep breath. The smell of a baby—milk, soap, and something incredibly alive—flooded his senses.
"Alright," he said softly, his voice thick and raspy. "Your name is now Gillian Finn Casablanca."
He pulled the child tighter against his chest. Gillian Finn—now Gillian Finn Casablanca—rested his head on his shoulder, his tiny hand grabbing onto the collar of Julian's pajamas.
Fabian, who had been completely silent, stood up from the sofa. He approached without making a sound. His eyes looked at Julian holding the child, then drifted down to Gillian's small face. Something shifted in Fabian's expression—not shock, not anger. Just an absolute, unshakable decision made in a fraction of a second.
Fabian dropped to one knee in front of Julian and the boy. He took Gillian's tiny hand with excruciating care, as if terrified of breaking him.
"I am also your father, little one," he said softly. His voice was deep and impossibly calm. "Julian is my husband. And starting today, you have two dads."
Gillian stared at Fabian for a moment. Then he smiled shyly—a tiny smile that revealed two newly erupted front teeth.
Julian felt his chest restrict. Not from the burden. But from something incredibly warm and simultaneously agonizing. Last night he had just accepted the darkest, filthiest side of Fabian. This morning, without warning, Fabian had instantly accepted a brand-new part of Julian—a child Julian didn't even know existed.
Milady stood up slowly. She grabbed her briefcase.
"I will send over the finalized documents in two days," she said. "Vania and her husband have already signed the relinquishment of parental rights. The entire legal process can be finalized rapidly if Mr. Julian consents."
Julian nodded without looking at her. His eyes were glued to the child in his arms.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
After Milady left, the penthouse fell silent again.
Julian was still standing in the middle of the living room with Gillian in his arms. Fabian stood in front of him, his large right hand still gently holding the boy's tiny fingers.
ulian looked up at his husband.
"You aren't angry?" he whispered.
Fabian shook his head slowly.
"I'm just... in shock," he answered honestly. "But look at him." He stared at Gillian, who was currently investigating the light stubble on Fabian's chin. "He has your eyes. And he smiled at me."
Julian let out a small, wet laugh.
"Just yesterday I told you I wanted to come to Miami 010 with you," he murmured. "And now I show up bringing a kid."
Fabian smiled. He lifted his free hand and cradled Julian's cheek.
"We already have Froy," he said softly. "Now we have Gillian. Our family... is expanding in the weirdest fucking ways."
Julian leaned down and kissed the top of Gillian's head. The boy squirmed happily, then settled back onto his shoulder.
"Gillian Finn Casablanca," Julian whispered. "You showed up at a really chaotic time. But you're here."
Fabian stepped closer. He wrapped an arm around Julian from the side—careful not to crush the child between them. He rested his chin on Julian's shoulder.
"We're going to be fine," he mumbled. "We've survived much worse."
Julian closed his eyes. He felt the small weight against his chest, the radiating heat of Fabian's body next to him, and something that felt dangerously close to hope blooming on a morning he had absolutely not planned for.
Outside the penthouse windows, Miami was waking up, noisy and chaotic.
Inside, three people—two grown men and a toddler—stood in a warm, uncertain silence.
And for the first time, Julian felt he wasn't just surviving his life.
He was building it.
Their waterfront Miami home felt like a luxury department store on opening day. Expensive wrapping paper littered the marble floors, silk ribbons hung off the sofas, and the smell of dark Arabica coffee mingled heavily with designer perfumes and the distinct scent of brand-new, plastic-wrapped toys.
Gillian Finn Casablanca, two and a half years old, sat in the center of the living room with his messy curls and the exact same gray eyes as Julian. He was well-behaved, almost too smart for his age. Every time someone called his name, he turned with a shy smile that instantly melted the hearts of everyone in the room.
Almost the entire Casablanca family had shown up. Not because of official invitations, but because the news of "the first grandchild born from Julian's sperm" had spread like a wildfire in the family group chat in under two hours.
Daniel was the first to arrive, lugging ten limited-edition Lego sets—including the Star Wars Ultimate Collector Series and a custom-made set with the name "Gillian" printed on the box. He immediately dropped to his knees on the floor beside Froy, helping his older nephew tear open the boxes.
"Froy, these are for you too," Daniel said, sliding a massive box toward the seven-year-old. "You're the big brother now, you have to help Gillian put these together later."
Froy gave a small nod, but his eyes stayed locked on Gillian, who was currently being held by Poppy. There was no jealousy on his face. Only a calm, intense curiosity. He knew his place. He was Julian's first son. That was never going to change.
Renata Shu arrived bearing three limited-edition remote-control cars—a silver Aston Martin DB5, a miniature Ferrari 250 GTO that cost more than some actual cars, and a ride-on Rolls-Royce Phantom for Gillian. George Halim and Theo Vanderbilt sent couriers delivering a classic teakwood sailboat miniature, complete with an authenticity certificate from an Italian shipyard.
Sebastian "Bash" Casablanca walked in carrying two children's paintings by contemporary Miami artists, plus a professional watercolor set that cost roughly the same as a semester of college tuition.
In the midst of all the chaos, Aunt Florence stood elegantly in a white linen dress, clutching a glass of champagne even though it was barely eleven in the morning.
"He is the fourth generation of the Casablanca family in Miami," she proclaimed proudly to anyone who would listen. "If you trace the lineage back to Spain... this makes the twelfth generation."
Guy Faulkner, Florence's husband, stood beside her with the thin, calculating smile of a real estate tycoon. He approached Julian, who was holding Gillian.
"I'm giving him two percent equity in my tequila plantation in Jalisco," he stated bluntly. "Under Gillian's name. From this day forward, he has passive income for the rest of his life."
Julian offered a polite smile, but his eyes were hard as steel.
"Thank you, Guy. But I respectfully decline. Gillian is not old enough to hold equity, and I refuse to have him tied into the family businesses before he can make his own choices."
Guy opened his mouth to push the issue, but Julian had already diverted his attention back to Gillian, who was grabbing at Fabian's fingers.
Charles "Charlie" Faulkner stood in the corner of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey despite the early hour. He was Florence's stepson, Guy's biological child from a previous marriage—around the same age as Julian and Daniel—and he always brought an aura of hostility every time he attended family events.
He stared at Fabian, who was currently helping Froy open a Lego box, then made a comment loud enough for several people around him to hear.
"Well, at least this time the blood is pure Casablanca. Unlike certain others who had to be 'scrubbed clean' before they were allowed into the family."
Several people froze immediately. The air in the room suddenly turned suffocatingly heavy.
Julian handed Gillian to Poppy for a moment, then walked straight toward Charlie. He stopped inches away from his step-cousin, his voice dropping dangerously low, but crystal clear.
"Charlie," he said softly. "If you have some cynical bullshit to spew about my husband, say it to my fucking face. Don't sip whiskey in the morning and hope I pretend not to hear it."
Charlie smirked, but his eyes were ice cold.
"I'm just stating facts, Julian. Fabian is an ex-gigolo. It's not a secret. And now you have two kids. Are you seriously convinced he’s fit to be a father?"
Julian let out a short, harsh laugh—not out of amusement, but pure exhaustion laced with rage.
"You know what's worse than a former gigolo, Charlie?" he asked. "Someone who lives a disgustingly comfortable life off someone else's family money, and then feels entitled to judge someone who actually had to fight to survive."
He took a step closer, invading Charlie's space.
"Fabian is not a stain on this family. He is the man who, yesterday morning, instantly said 'I am his father too' without hesitating for a single fucking second when he found out Gillian existed. While you... you're still standing here drinking whiskey, desperately looking for ways to degrade other people just so you can feel a little taller."
Charlie opened his mouth to retort, but Julian raised a hand, shutting him down.
"And one more thing," he continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Gillian and Froy are my sons. Both of them. If you cannot show absolute respect for both of their fathers, then you are no longer welcome in my home."
The room was deathly quiet.
Florence took a rigid sip of her champagne. Guy Faulkner stared at Charlie with an unreadable expression. Poppy raised an eyebrow at Daniel, as if to say, Well, that escalated.
Fabian, who had been quietly sitting near Froy and Gillian, now stood up. He didn't approach. He just stood there, his large hand resting gently on Froy's shoulder. His eyes met Julian's from across the room.
Julian gave him a tiny nod—a microscopic gesture that only the two of them understood.
Then he turned around, took Gillian back from Poppy, and carried him over to Froy.
"Froy," he said softly. "Do you want to teach Gillian how to play with the Legos? Dad will help too."
Froy nodded. Gillian smiled shyly when Froy held up a bright red block.
In the midst of the chaotic luxury gifts, the overlapping conversations, and the thick tension still lingering in the air, Julian stood squarely between his two sons and his husband.
The house was loud.
But for the first time since Gillian arrived, Julian felt that the small, fragile family he was building with Fabian was finally real—even if it was covered in thorns, surrounded by people who disapproved, and incredibly, beautifully messy.
And he chose to stand right in the middle of it.
At two in the afternoon at Motek in Coral Gables, the bright sun filtered through large windows overlooking a small garden behind the restaurant. Julian sat at a slightly secluded corner table, wearing a crisp white t-shirt, dark denim, and a pair of Loro Piana goatskin loafers that were slightly scuffed at the toes. He had arrived first.
Sebastian "Bash" Valarie Casablanca arrived shortly after. The uncle who always looked perpetually younger than his age wore a loose gray linen shirt and tailored pleated trousers. His curly hair was artfully messy, his green eyes sparkling with their usual mischievous light as he offered Julian a familiar, easy smile.
"Aidan is late again," Bash noted, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Are you surviving, Juls?"
Julian gave a slight nod. "I'm alive."
Aidan Castellanos arrived fifteen minutes later in a sharp navy suit that still looked immaculate despite being worn all day. He ordered the second he sat down.
"Orange juice for all three of us," he told the waiter without asking. "500-gram hanger steak, medium rare, and whatever seasonal greens you have. Split everything three ways."
Julian and Bash exchanged a quick glance, then nodded in agreement. They were used to Aidan taking charge.
After the food arrived and the waiter left, Julian broke the ice.
"Aside from the art pieces we can funnel into Fabian's gallery," he said, slicing his steak into small pieces, "I need to tell you guys something."
Bash raised an eyebrow. Aidan instantly shifted into lawyer mode, his face assessing risk.
Julian took a slow breath.
"Yesterday I found out that my husband... Fabian... he went back to 010."
Bash's eyes went wide. Aidan set his fork down with excruciating slowness, looking as if he were already drafting divorce papers in his head.
"No... it's not what you think," Julian quickly corrected. "Thiago went to Switzerland to take care of Aillen. Fabian is the one instructing them now. I... I never thought it was dirty. But I realized a few things. That is his natural habitat. As long as he isn't cheating on me, I am not going to give him a single reason to think I don't accept him."
Aidan stared at him for a long time.
"You're okay with that?" he asked skeptically, completely ready to call in his legal team.
Bash looked genuinely worried. He leaned forward.
"Juls... are you sure?"
Julian nodded. He picked up his orange juice and took a sip.
"Besides the fact that I love him," he said quietly, "he's also incredibly smart. Yesterday he closed an auction and brought home two million dollars before taxes. He handles the logistics for the gigolos, the auditions too. Flaccid size, erect size, hip ratio, face symmetry... he evaluates everything himself. Today, there's a famous gigolo coming in to teach them naked yoga."
Bash nearly choked on his water.
"Naked yoga?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Like human pretzels."
He wasn't overly shocked. Bash had spent far too long in the art scene and surrounded by people living outside conventional norms. He was just worried for his nephew.
Aidan let out a long sigh.
"Julian," he said, using his neutral lawyer tone, "if you need me to draft anything... post-nups, asset protection, or even—"
"No," Julian cut him off instantly. "I don't want any of that."
Bash leaned in even closer.
"Or I could pull my entire collection from Fabian's gallery?" he offered softly. "I can have it moved in a week."
Julian shook his head firmly.
"Don't. Think about Fabian. You know him. He will never divorce me. Because if we divorce, he loses the smartest business partner he'll ever have." Julian cracked a faint smile, but his eyes were deadly serious. "That two million from yesterday hasn't been taxed yet. That is our money."
Bash and Aidan exchanged a look.
Julian set his fork down. He stared at his plate for a moment before continuing.
"One thing I've always known about myself," he said softly, "is that I will never allow myself to be a victim. But I also refuse to live my life pretending to be blind to who my husband really is. Yesterday I secretly followed him to 010. I watched him teach. I watched him... be happy there. And I am choosing to accept it. Not because I'm weak. But because it is my choice."
Bash leaned back in his chair. His green eyes looked at Julian with a complex mix of intense pride and lingering worry.
"You've grown up, Juls," he murmured. "But I still worry."
Aidan gave a slow nod.
"If you ever change your mind," he said, "I'm here. You won't have to ask twice."
Julian smiled faintly. He raised his glass of orange juice.
"Thank you. But tonight, I am going to 010. I promised Fabian I would be there."
Bash raised his glass as well.
"If you need a place to hide out afterward," he joked, half-serious, "the doors to my gallery are always open. And I promise not to say 'I told you so.'"
Julian laughed softly.
The three men clinked their glasses together over the table littered with half-eaten steak and seasonal vegetables.
"I'll give you more details," Julian said as he settled back down. He took another sip of juice. "At Miami 010, Fabian is running the entire show now. It's not just instructing. He manages all the procurement. Imported lube from Germany and Japan, high-end sex toys, custom-built furniture, even security and health protocols. Everything has to be premium tier. Clients pay astronomical prices, so the standards are unforgiving."
Bash raised an eyebrow. "You said he auditions the gigolos?"
Julian nodded. He lowered his voice slightly, even though their corner was secluded.
"Fabian said the auditions are brutally detailed. First, a full physical examination. Cock size flaccid and fully erect—measured and recorded with exact precision. Hips, chest circumference, height, weight, overall body proportions. Facial structure is graded. Not just being handsome, but having a specific 'sellable' sex appeal. Then there's the stamina test. How long they can maintain an erection, how many rounds they can go, their ejaculation control."
Aidan set his fork down with a quiet clink. "Are you fucking serious?"
"Dead serious," Julian answered flatly. "Fabian said there's also a baseline performance test. How they use their hands, their mouths, and... yeah, everything. It's not just about size, it's about technique. Because the clients at 010 aren't just anyone."
Bash leaned back in his chair and shook his head in disbelief, though a dirty little smirk played on his lips.
"And the contracts?" Aidan asked, full lawyer mode engaged.
Julian shrugged. "Extensive clauses. Mandatory health screenings every two weeks—full STI panels. Iron-clad NDAs, no leaking anything to the outside. A 65-35 profit split favoring the gigolo. Strictly forbidden from dating or falling in love with a client. Zero drug tolerance. Mandatory routine training—including what I watched yesterday. And there's a 'no kissing on the mouth' clause unless the client requests it and the gigolo consents. Fabian says it's to enforce emotional distance."
Bash chuckled softly. "Sounds like the rules from a 90s porn set."
Julian gave a tight smile. "More or less."
Aidan shook his head. "And you are genuinely okay with all of this?"
Julian went quiet for a moment. He stared at his plate.
"I didn't say I was thrilled," he answered honestly. "But I am choosing to understand it. And... I refuse to play blind."
Bash looked at his nephew with a much softer expression now.
Suddenly, Julian pulled out his phone. He tapped Fabian's name, put it on speakerphone, and placed the device right in the middle of the table.
"Fab, are you still at 010?"
Fabian's voice came through crisp and clear, sounding a bit raspy and tired, but completely calm.
"I am. Why? Are you here?"
"Not yet. I'm still with Bash and Aidan. They want to know the dirty details about how you run these auditions."
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"And why the fuck do I have to answer to them?" Fabian asked flatly.
Because Bash immediately took the bait.
"Because we are morbidly curious, Fabian. Julian said you measure their cocks from flaccid to rock-hard. Is that true?"
Fabian let out a long, suffering sigh through the speaker.
"It is a required standard. Clients have distinct preferences. Some prefer a massive flaccid hang, some prefer 'growers' that expand significantly. So yes, we record the data."
Aidan chuckled, unable to help himself.
"So there's an actual Excel spreadsheet? 'Flaccid length: 12 cm. Erect: 19 cm. Hip ratio: 0.9. Face score: 8.5'?"
"More or less," Fabian replied shamelessly. "But there are also columns for 'stamina estimate' and 'technique rating'. Because having a massive cock isn't enough if you don't know how to use it."
Bash raised his glass as if toasting the phone.
"And the naked yoga today? That's part of the training too?"
"It's to train body control and breathing," Fabian answered smoothly. "A lot of gigolos get hard during yoga. It's a natural physiological response. We train them so they can manage the erection and maintain absolute focus."
Bash laughed again, much louder this time.
"So it's like a meditation class, but their cocks are doing the deep breathing exercises too?"
"Pretty much," Fabian deadpanned. "Do you want to join a session, Bash? I can give Julian's uncle a family discount."
Julian instantly slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Aidan was already laughing openly.
"I'll pass," Bash replied quickly, still chuckling. "I am plenty creative without having to strip naked in front of your employees, Fabian."
Fabian laughed softly through the speaker—a low, genuine sound that was rare for him.
"You three are ridiculous," he muttered. "I'll just say one thing. Everything I do here, I do because it is my job now. And I come home every single night to Julian and my kids. That is the absolute limit."
Julian stared at the phone with a soft, undeniable smile.
Aidan raised his juice glass toward the speaker.
"If you ever run into legal issues regarding the contracts or health liabilities, call me. But I sincerely hope you won't need to."
"Thank you, Aidan," Fabian replied. "But I promise you, I have everything completely under control. Including your best friend."
Bash looked at Julian for a moment, then spoke into the phone.
"Fabian."
"Yeah?"
"Take care of him. And take care of yourself too. Because if you ever hurt my nephew, I won't just pull my paintings from your gallery. I will burn every single one of them on your front lawn."
Fabian laughed again—this time it sounded genuinely warm.
"Duly noted, Bash."
Julian took the phone off speaker and brought it to his ear.
"I'll be there soon," he said softly.
"Alright," Fabian replied. "I'll be waiting."
Julian ended the call. He looked at Bash and Aidan, who were both still smiling—even though the protective worry hadn't entirely left their eyes.
"Thank you for listening," he said quietly.
Bash shrugged.
"We don't agree one hundred percent," he admitted honestly. "But we understand that you've made your choice. And for today, that's enough."
Aidan nodded.
"Go to your husband," he said. "But if you ever need a place to scream or cry tonight, my door is always open."
Julian stood up. He paid the bill before either of them could fight him for it, then walked out of the restaurant, his steps feeling significantly lighter.
Three hours had passed since he woke up this morning.
And now, he was genuinely on his way to Miami 010—not to stalk his husband from the shadows, but to witness his world with his own two eyes.
