Entering the Mansion
Julian moved cautiously, avoiding any unwanted attention. He trailed Fabian, who had already gone inside, followed by several men carrying large boxes.
The door to a specific room was left unlocked. Julian waited until the men were inside, then slipped into an adjacent back alcove. He was almost caught—one of the gigolos turned his head as Julian moved past the corridor—but Julian quickly ducked into a dark corner, pretending to check his phone.
From behind a curtain, he could see Fabian.
Fabian stood in the center of the room, surrounded by boxes being opened by the men. Inside those boxes—gleaming under the lights—lay rows of obscenely expensive watches.
Fabian picked one up. A Patek Philippe. He examined it meticulously, turning the timepiece over in his hand.
"For the senior gigolos," Fabian said, his voice authoritative. "One for each of them. But remember, these are not gifts. They are tools of the trade. If one is lost, the cost will be deducted from their commission."
The men nodded.
Fabian picked up another box. Cartier Ballon Bleu. Five of them.
"These are for the trainees," Fabian continued. "They haven't earned a Patek yet. But they still need to look high-class."
One of the men—likely a manager—took notes on his tablet.
"Any other reports?" Fabian asked.
"Seven men completed their blood panels today, Sir."
Fabian nodded. "Good. And the clothing orders?"
"Bottega and Brunello Cucinelli. A total of about forty dozen pieces."
Fabian sighed. "Too much. Only order Mandarin collar shirts. White and black. Cancel the rest."
The man jotted it down.
Fabian fixed him with a sharp glare. "And make sure the quality is flawless. I will not have my gigolos looking cheap."
Behind the curtain, Julian held his breath.
Fabian.
Fabian, managing gigolo logistics with the ruthless precision of a CEO. Fabian, knowing exactly what items should be worn, what should be ordered, and what should be scrapped.
A Fabian he had never seen before.
Julian felt something shift in his chest. It wasn't fear. It wasn't jealousy. It was... admiration.
And a slight sense of unease.
If Fabian wasn't my husband, Julian thought, I would probably have to compete with that business brain of his.
And Julian absolutely despised having competitors.
Julian slipped quietly down the back corridor of the Miami 010 mansion, his black loafers making barely a sound on the cold marble. The late afternoon light filtered through tall windows partially obscured by heavy linen curtains, casting trembling streaks of gold onto the textured walls. The scent of aged mahogany mingled with expensive cologne and a faint trace of chlorine from the outdoor pool, hanging thick in the air-conditioned air.
His heart was hammering entirely too fast for someone who was just "curious."
One year married to Fabian, and he had never seen his husband work like this. Fabian only ever mentioned "handling the gallery and some things at the mansion." Julian knew about Thiago, his former pimp. He knew Thiago mentored the gigolos. But Aillen, Fabian's ex, hadn't sent word from Switzerland in a month. Thiago was silent as well. And Julian... was getting antsy.
He had just finished watching the distribution of luxury logistics when Fabian exited alongside five men dressed in black. Julian remembered a narrow service door at the end of the east corridor. He took it. Now, he stood behind a heavy curtain in the corner of a massive inner courtyard, watching his husband stand in the center of a circle.
Six young men were waiting. Symmetrical faces, razor-sharp jawlines, bodies that clearly belonged to men who had just stepped out of a high-end gym or spa. Their skin gleamed under the golden light. Julian guessed they were in their early twenties. All of them 10s out of 10. New gigolos. Men he had never seen Fabian speak to at home.
Fabian stood casually, his expensive navy suit still immaculate, but his smile had shifted. It wasn't the smile of a husband at the dinner table. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly what power he held.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Fabian said, his voice deep and steady, commanding the room without needing to shout. "Today, I'm giving a short lecture. Thirty minutes. On how to be a top that truly satisfies a client. Because I can see some of you are carrying well above average," his eyes did a lazy sweep, "I think we can do some hands-on practice."
Julian held his breath behind the curtain. "What the fuck..." he muttered, barely audible.
"Dillon," Fabian continued, "grab a silicone dummy from the back room."
A heavily muscled man hurried off.
Meanwhile, Fabian began to take off his suit jacket. He unbuttoned his crisp white shirt one by one, his movements deliberately slow. His broad chest was exposed—firm pecs, that light dusting of chest hair that Julian used to kiss until Fabian laughed at home—now on full display in front of six pairs of hungry eyes. The shirt dropped. The pants were unzipped. The black boxers followed.
Fabian's massive cock swung free.
Julian had seen it thousands of times. But never like this. Never under lighting that made every thick vein pop, the heavy pink head gleaming, the thick shaft looking heavy even while only half-hard. Fabian stood buck naked in the center of the room, radiating absolute, supreme confidence, as if he were born to stand exactly like this in front of young men begging to learn from him.
The gigolos exchanged brief glances, then followed suit. Shirts, pants, underwear—all stripped off. Naked bodies emerged one by one. One with glowing tan skin and a long, upward-curved cock already half-hard. Another pale white with deep, chiseled abs and a thick, blunt, heavily veined dick. Another leaner, his cock long and straight, the tip already weeping clear fluid.
All of them grew noticeably harder as they stared at Fabian standing naked before them.
Dillon returned carrying a silicone dummy—a premium torso with perfectly round ass cheeks, a highly realistic textured anal canal, complete with a sensitive prostate node. Fabian took it, setting it down on a low table in the center of the circle.
"First," Fabian said, pouring a thick glob of lube into his palm, "never skimp on lube. Clients pay top dollar. They want to feel desired, not brutalized."
He circled his middle and index fingers around the dummy's rim. He pressed in slowly, twisting, letting the lube coat the entrance. His movements were excruciatingly slow, deliberate, almost erotic. Julian could see the muscles in Fabian's arm flexing, the veins on the back of his hand standing out.
"One finger in first. Swirl it. Find the prostate—about two inches in toward the stomach. Press gently, like you're coaxing something out." Fabian slid one finger in, then two. He moved them in a slow 'come hither' motion. The dummy responded with a faint vibration from its internal mechanics. The wet, slick sound echoed loudly in the suddenly dead-silent room.
The gigolos watched with bated breath. Several of their hands drifted down to their own cocks, stroking themselves slowly, completely devoid of shame.
Julian felt the blood rushing violently to his groin. His erection strained against his chinos with an exquisite ache. He bit his lower lip until he tasted copper.
Fabian slid his fingers out and lubed his own cock with long, sweeping strokes from base to tip. He let out a low groan—a deep, rumbling sound Julian knew intimately from their own bedroom—then brought the heavy head of his cock right to the dummy's hole.
"Push slowly. Let it open for you." Fabian pushed. His impossibly thick cock disappeared inch by agonizing inch into the tight silicone. "Nnhh... look. See how it clamps down? Don't just start hammering away. Make the client feel every single inch."
He began to move.
Fabian's hips rocked with absolute, controlled rhythm—shallow thrusts first, then deeper, adding a slight twist at the end of every plunge to grind against the prostate. The wet, rhythmic sound of flesh slamming into silicone filled the courtyard. Lube dripped onto the marble floor. Sweat started to bead on Fabian's back, glowing under the golden light. The muscles of his ass clenched beautifully with every full-depth thrust. Julian could see the veins on Fabian's neck bulging, his lips parted slightly, his eyes half-closed in genuine, raw pleasure.
"Variation," Fabian instructed, his voice slightly breathy but crystal clear. "Fast and shallow to build tension... then slow and deep to obliterate that spot. The client will be screaming your name if you hit it right."
One of the gigolos—the boldest one, with tan skin and a long cock that was already leaking heavily—took a step forward. "May I practice, Mr. Fabian?"
Fabian flashed a dirty smirk. He pulled his cock out of the dummy with a vulgar, wet popping sound. His dick was coated in thick lube, rock-hard and gleaming.
"Be my guest. But follow my hands."
The gigolo stepped behind the dummy. Fabian stepped right behind him—his bare, sweaty chest pressing flush against the younger man's back, Fabian's rock-hard cock pressing heavily against the gigolo's ass crack. Fabian's massive hands wrapped around the young man's hips, guiding him.
"Lube your cock... good." Fabian grabbed the lube, poured it directly onto the gigolo's dick, and used his own hands to stroke it in with slow, thorough, agonizing movements. "Grab the dummy's hips. Push slowly."
The gigolo pushed. His long cock sank into the silicone hole. He let out a loud, shuddering moan—"Fuck... it's so fucking tight..."—his entire body trembling.
Fabian chuckled softly right against the boy's ear. "Good. Now move your hips. Don't be stiff." Fabian's hand slid down, wrapping around the gigolo's cock while it was still fucking the dummy, stroking it in perfect rhythm with the boy's thrusts. "Yeah... exactly like that. Feel how it clamps down on you. The client will do the exact same thing to you if they ever want to switch."
Fabian's other hand—still dripping with lube—slid right between the gigolo's ass cheeks. His middle finger found the boy's hole, circled it briefly, and pushed deep inside in one smooth, practiced motion.
The gigolo let out a long, high-pitched gasp, almost sobbing. "Sir... that feels... too fucking good..."
"This is comprehensive training," Fabian said, his voice dropping low, right against the boy's ear. "You're a top for the client, but sometimes the client wants to fuck you too. You need to know how to take pleasure from both."
Fabian's finger pistoned inside the gigolo's ass—in and out, slow and deliberate, working his prostate—while his other hand continued to violently stroke the boy's cock as he fucked the dummy. The gigolo's hips lost all rhythm. He was panting wildly. His body was shuddering violently, caught between two intense sources of blinding pleasure.
Behind the curtain, Julian completely lost his mind. His hand shoved into his pants, wrapping around his own pre-cum soaked cock, jacking himself with frantic speed, trying to match the rhythm Fabian was creating out there. He imagined himself in the gigolo's place—being watched, touched, filled—by his own husband in front of an audience. Or the reverse: watching Fabian rail someone else while knowing that man belonged entirely to him.
The others in the circle were no longer just watching. Two gigolos gravitated toward each other. One dropped to his knees, opening his mouth wide to take his friend's cock. The wet, sloppy sounds of sucking joined the filthy symphony of Fabian's lesson.
Fabian pulled his finger out of the gigolo, letting the young man continue to fuck the dummy on his own. He stood to the side, his own cock still brutally hard, and continued barking instructions, his voice growing rougher.
"Speed it up... yeah. Push deeper. Look at how the ass shakes every time you slam into the prostate. That's exactly what the client wants to see."
The gigolo let out a guttural roar, his body locking up, and he blew his load—thick white ropes of cum flooding the inside of the dummy, some of it spilling out and dripping onto the floor. His body shook violently, his knees practically buckling. Fabian caught him by the hips with one hand, his other hand still mercilessly milking the boy's cock until the very last drop was drained.
"Good," Fabian praised, his voice warm and genuinely proud. "That's what we call hands-on practice."
The gigolo took a ragged breath, turning to look at Fabian with eyes glassy and blown wide from the overwhelming orgasm. "Thank you, Sir..."
Fabian smiled, giving the boy's shoulder a firm pat. "You're a fast learner."
Julian stood behind the heavy linen curtains in the corner of the Miami 010 courtyard, his breathing completely erratic. The late afternoon light filtered through the tall glass, washing over Fabian’s completely naked body as he stood in the center of a circle of six new gigolos. The atmosphere in the room had shifted—the AC was no longer capable of suppressing the heavy, masculine musk that had thickened the air: expensive cologne, sweat, and the sharp scent of the lube Fabian had poured out so generously.
Fabian stood casually, his cock in his right hand, his fingers stroking it slowly but deliberately, making the thick shaft grow even harder under the stares of the young men. The heavy pink head was already gleaming, the thick blue veins standing out sharply along the shaft.
"You might only have one asshole," Fabian said, his voice calm, deep, and perfectly clear, as if he were delivering a lecture in a seminar room rather than standing buck naked with his cock in his hand, "but there are two interconnected sphincters that surround it. They are distinct but overlapping bands of muscle tissue. And even though they serve the exact same function—regulating opening and closing—they do it in very different ways."
He took a step closer to the silicone dummy, which was already heavily coated in lube. His middle finger pressed against the rim of the doll's hole, tracing a slow circle.
"You are most intimately acquainted with the external sphincter, because you can command it. Try it right now. Clench your asshole. Flex the exact same muscles you use when you're trying to hold in your piss."
The six young gigolos nodded slowly. A few immediately tried it—their glutes tightening, the muscles visibly clenching. The boldest one, the tan young man named Mateo, even grabbed his own cock and stroked it lazily while watching intently.
"Some men who bottom prefer the brutal approach—they want you to just slam it in and ram them," Fabian continued, his voice remaining totally flat even though his cock was fully erect, hard, and heavy in his grip. "They are a tiny minority. You will have a much higher success rate if you slowly work your way up to full penetration, and only then gradually increase your speed."
Fabian grabbed the dummy and positioned it securely on the low table. He poured more lube directly onto the head of his cock, smearing it around with his thumb until the entire shaft was slick and shining. Then, he brought the gleaming head right up to the silicone hole.
Behind the curtain, Julian stopped breathing. His right hand was shoved deep inside his pants, gripping his cock, which was slick with pre-cum. He couldn't look away.
With slow, relentless pressure, Fabian pushed.
The massive head pressed into the dummy's rim. The pliable silicone stretched wide to accommodate the thick glans. There was a wet, squelching sound as the silicone sphincter ring gave way, swallowing Fabian's head with a distinct pop that echoed in the quiet room. The thick shaft followed, inch by glorious inch, disappearing into the tight, textured canal.
Julian could see clearly how the silicone walls bulged and stretched to accommodate every single vein on Fabian's dick, how his husband's cock was swallowed whole until the base was flush against the doll's cheeks.
"Once you are inside," Fabian said, his voice dropping an octave, his breathing slightly heavier, "you have to give your partner's body time to adjust. The anal canal is highly adaptable—it can expand wide enough to accommodate the girth and length of a fully erect penis. But that adaptation has to happen slowly."
He began to move.
A long, agonizingly slow pull—almost until the head popped out—then a slow, agonizingly deep plunge right back in. The wet, rhythmic, sloppy sounds immediately started echoing every time he sank to the hilt. The lube and the friction against the silicone created a vulgar, intoxicating schlick... schlick... schlick. Fabian pressed his left palm against the dummy's stomach, making the faint bulge of his cock’s movements visible from the outside.
"Did I say slowly?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over the six gigolos, who had all stepped closer, every single one of their cocks rock-hard and leaking. "Because I meant S-L-O-W-L-Y. If you immediately start jackhammering, you are going to seriously injure your partner and instantly destroy any trust, which will likely end the session right then and there."
To demonstrate the wrong way, Fabian suddenly delivered one brutal, devastating thrust—his hips slamming against the dummy's ass with a loud, violent plap. The dummy rocked forward. Several gigolos flinched.
"And then back to the right way," Fabian said, immediately slowing down again. Long, slow, deep thrusts. Every time he went hilt-deep, he paused for a fraction of a second, rolling his hips so the head of his cock ground mercilessly against the most sensitive internal spot. He pressed the dummy's stomach again, forcing the gigolos to watch how his massive shaft was wreaking havoc inside.
"Long, slow, deep penetration is a phenomenal way to slow down time, escalate the arousal, and let him feel the absolute totality of your penis. It is also an incredible way for you to feel the agonizing tightness of his ass from your base all the way to the tip of your head."
Fabian stared directly at the curtain where Julian was hiding. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips.
"After you slowly build up to full penetration, take the time to enjoy the absolute beauty of a massive cock sliding in and out. Moving slowly also allows you to create intensely intimate moments with your partner... especially if you lock eyes with them while you slide in slowly."
He sped up slightly, but kept it entirely controlled. His hips rocked deeper, heavier. His cock vanished and reappeared with an increasingly wet, sloppy rhythm. Sweat poured down Fabian's chest, tracing the sharp lines of his V-cut, dripping down into his lube-slicked pubic hair. The plap... plap... plap grew faster. Fabian's breathing grew ragged. One of the gigolos—Mateo—was jacking his cock with both hands, his eyes completely unblinking as he watched Fabian rail the dummy.
Behind the curtain, Julian bit his lip until he tasted blood. His hand moved frantically inside his pants. He imagined himself as that dummy. Imagined Fabian pressing down on his stomach from the outside while slowly, methodically destroying his ass like this. Imagined all these gigolos watching him take it.
Fabian let out a low groan—the deep, feral sound Julian knew intimately from their bed—and his hips suddenly locked flush against the dummy. His body went rigid. His massive cock, buried deep in the silicone, throbbed violently. Thick, scorching ropes of cum blasted wildly into the artificial canal. Fabian kept his hips pressed hard forward, ensuring every single drop shot as deep as possible. When he finally pulled back slightly, thick, sticky white cum instantly melted out of the overstretched hole, dripping heavily down his still half-hard shaft.
Fabian pulled his cock out completely. The dummy's hole gaped wide open, overflowing with a filthy mix of lube and thick semen. Fabian slid two fingers into the hole, stirred it slowly, and scooped out a handful of the sticky, white mess. He brought his fingers up to his lips, staring at the six gigolos—and the curtain—without blinking.
Then he licked his fingers clean.
His tongue swiped up his own hot cum with slow, incredibly sensual movements, completely devoid of disgust. He sucked his middle finger clean, then his index finger, his eyes half-closed as if he were savoring the taste of his own seed.
"Show them you're not disgusted by cum," Fabian said, his voice raspy in the afterglow of his orgasm. "Show them you are still incredibly hungry for them even after you blow your load."
He licked his lower lip, swallowing the last of the cum, and then—with a casualness that made Julian's world stop spinning—Fabian raised his left hand and pointed directly at the curtain where Julian was hiding.
"Like my husband, who takes absolute pride in watching me demonstrate exactly what I do to him."
Julian's breath hitched.The blood drained entirely from his face.
Every single gigolo snapped their heads toward the curtain. A few of them smiled—not maliciously, but the smiles of men who had just watched their boss put on a spectacular show and realized there was a VIP audience. Mateo even bit his bottom lip, his cock still gripped firmly in his hand.
Julian froze. His heart was deafening in his ears. His right hand was still inside his pants, wrapped around a cock that was still rock-hard, dripping wet, and had been mere seconds away from a massive orgasm.
Fabian lowered his hand. He stood completely naked, his cock still half-erect and gleaming with cum, stray drops slowly falling from the tip to the marble floor. He stared at the curtain with that exact same small smile—calm, utterly wicked, and incredibly knowing.
"Julian," he called out, his voice soft but commanding, "you can come out now. The lighting is much better out here."
The room fell dead silent.
Julian pulled his hand out of his pants with stiff, jerky movements. He slowly pushed the curtain aside. The light illuminated his pale face, his swollen, bitten lips, and the very obvious, raging erection tenting his chinos.
Fabian looked him up and down, from his head down to his crotch, and then back up to his eyes. His smirk widened just a fraction.
"Welcome to the advanced class, baby," he purred. "You're just in time for the practical session."
One of the gigolos—the youngest one—let out a soft giggle. The others just stared, their breathing still heavy, their own cocks still standing at attention.
Julian stood at the edge of the curtain, his heart hammering violently, his mind a chaotic tornado of profound embarrassment, blinding anger, and a dirty, filthy lust he couldn't even try to deny.
Fabian raised an eyebrow, waiting.
And Julian knew—just like Fabian had said—he had been caught dead to rights.
Not just caught stalking.Caught absolutely loving every filthy second of what he saw.
And his husband... was waiting for his answer.
Julian let out a long, shuddering breath behind the curtain. His hand was still sticky. He wiped it roughly against his chinos, then shoved the heavy linen aside. The late afternoon Miami sun, already tilting toward an orange hue, swept across the room, making the sweat on Fabian's body shine like oil. The stench of sex was still thick in the air—lube, cum, sweat, and that distinct, intoxicating scent of Fabian that Julian knew entirely too well.
Fabian was still standing buck naked in the center of the room. His cock was half-hard, still dripping a messy cocktail of lube and cum onto the marble floor. His chest heaved slowly. His eyes locked onto Julian the second the curtain parted. There was no shock. Only a small, knowing smile that said he'd been aware the entire time.
Julian stepped forward.
His steps were slightly unsteady, but his chin was held high. The six new gigolos stared at him—some still half-naked, their erections not fully subsided. The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew incredibly quiet.
Julian stopped right in front of Fabian. He looked at his husband up close—the body of a man coming down from an intense orgasm, hair slightly tousled, lips still slightly swollen from biting them to stifle a moan earlier. Then he turned his head to look at the gigolos.
"Hi everyone," he said. His voice was slightly raspy, but commanding. "Yes. I am Fabian's husband."
A few of the gigolos exchanged glances. The youngest—Mateo—lowered his head slightly, as if suddenly realizing he was witnessing something intensely private and profoundly intimate.
Julian took a deep breath. His fingers trembled slightly at his sides.
"Some people might look down on this line of work," he continued. "And my husband..." he gestured hesitantly toward Fabian, "...is a survivor of human trafficking. Sold by his own father. Forced to be a gigolo from a very young age. But because of that, we found each other again. And because of that, we are married."
Julian's voice cracked slightly at the end. He didn't shy away from Fabian's gaze. Instead, he looked at him even deeper.
"He found his family here. In this place. And he is incredibly passionate about sex. Not out of trauma. Not because he is forced to be anymore. But because it is the most honest, raw part of who he is. And I accept that. Every single part of it."
Fabian remained silent. His eyes, usually so sharp and tightly controlled, were now brimming with tears. His jaw clenched hard, as if holding back a dam that was about to break.
Julian continued, his voice softer now, but carrying much more weight.
"He is everything I have ever wanted. Since we were kids. Even before I understood what loss meant. I hope this place is not the end of your journey. But the beginning. A stepping stone to find new ventures out there. To champion positive sexuality. Sex shouldn't be taboo. Sex is incredible. Sex is human connection. And you all deserve to experience that without an ounce of shame."
The room was utterly silent.Only the sound of Fabian's heavy breathing could be heard.
Then Fabian stepped forward. Without a word, without asking for permission, he pulled Julian into a crushing embrace. His naked, sweaty body pressed flush against Julian's incredibly expensive shirt. The cum and lube still smeared across Fabian's stomach and thighs immediately soaked into the luxury fabric.
Julian let out a soft gasp.
"Your cum is ruining my shirt, Fab..." he whispered into his husband's ear, his voice trembling somewhere between amusement and overwhelming emotion.
Fabian let out a small laugh—a sound that cracked down the middle. His grip tightened. Fabian's chin rested heavily on Julian's shoulder, his hot breath ghosting across his neck.
"I'm sorry," Fabian mumbled, his voice hoarse and incredibly low. "I'm just too emotional."
Julian lifted his arms, stroking Fabian's sweat-slicked back. He could feel his husband's heart hammering violently against his own. He could feel the slight tremors wracking that massive body.
"Don't apologize," Julian whispered back, meant only for Fabian. "I'm the one who should be sorry. Because I stalked you like a thief. Because I was too afraid to just ask you. Because I was... selfish."
Fabian pulled back just slightly. Just enough to look Julian in the eyes from inches away. The edges of his eyes were red. But his smile was incredibly soft, incredibly tender.
"You saw everything," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
"I saw it," Julian answered. "And I am still right here. Still completely in love with you. Even more than before."
One of the gigolos—the oldest among them—cleared his throat softly.
"Boss... should we... should we step out?"
Fabian didn't answer immediately. He kept holding Julian, naked, sticky, and completely devoid of shame. Finally, he turned his head toward them.
"Class dismissed," he said, his voice returning to its calm authority, even though his eyes were still glassy. "That's enough training for today. You can use the back bathrooms if you want to clean up. We will resume tomorrow once we hear back from Thiago."
The gigolos began to slowly disperse. A few of them cast lingering looks at Julian, their eyes filled with newfound respect. Mateo even offered a small, deferential nod toward Julian before slipping away.
When the room was finally empty, leaving only the two of them, Fabian lowered his head, resting his forehead against Julian's.
"I was terrified," he confessed softly. "Terrified that if you saw this side of me, you would run. Terrified that your family—the ancient, perfect Casablanca dynasty—would make you ashamed to be seen with me."
Julian shook his head slowly. He wiped Fabian's cheek with his thumb.
"I don't give a fuck about my family," he said firmly. "The only ones who matter are the ones who choose me. And I choose you. With all your filthy parts, your beautiful parts, and the parts that teach young boys how to fuck properly in front of an audience."
Fabian let out another small laugh. This time, it was entirely genuine.
Julian took a deep breath.
"Good," he murmured. "But before that..."
He leaned down again, this time whispering directly into Julian's ear.
"Thank you for not running away."
Julian closed his eyes for a second. He felt his husband's naked, sticky body still plastered against him. The stench of filthy, raw sex was still heavily wrapped around them.
"I would never run," he whispered back.
Fabian nodded against Julian's shoulder.
"Promise."
Julian smiled softly into the embrace.
"Good. Because I am already completely drenched in my husband's cum in front of six new gigolos. If I have to be embarrassed, at least we're doing it together."
Fabian laughed softly against his neck.
And for the first time in a year of marriage, Julian felt like he was truly seeing his husband. Not just the Fabian who came home every night and acted spoiled. But the complete Fabian. The broken one. The one who had been sold. The one who taught others how to deliver absolute pleasure. The one who was still terrified of losing everything.
And Julian chose to hold onto him tighter.
Even if his shirt was now permanently stained with cum.
