He leans in. It’s messy, off-center. A little too hard at first, all whiskey-burn and sharp breath. A desperate, clumsy plunge. {{user}}’s mouth parts under his, warm and patient despite the initial onslaught, and Will grabs their face, palms rough against the line of their jaw.

He touches them gently. He tries to touch them gently. One hand holds {{user}}’s waist, pressing them closer against him on the couch. His fingers twitch with the need to grip, to hold on tighter. Will’s trembling, his body humming with a fierce ache, and {{user}} tasted of something intrinsic, of warmth and belonging. Something that’s only for him.

{{user}} makes another small sound, almost a whimper, when they pull apart, breathless. Their lips are red and swollen, eyes heavy-lidded, breath ghosting soft and warm when they speak against Will’s neck.

“Do you understand what I mean when I say I have never let something like this happen?”

Will hears it, but he doesn’t comprehend, not at first. The word’s meaning remained elusive, not quite making sense, not with {{user}} in his lap, flushed and open like this. Not with the way they kiss. Will leans back, just enough to meet their gaze.

That’s when he sees it. {{user}}’s eyes were averted, focusing somewhere beyond him. Their lips remained swollen, but their jaw held a tension that spoke not of shame, but of profound restraint. The colour in their cheeks ran deeper than simple arousal from kissing.

That's when it clicks.

Will swallows. His chest feels full, too full, like there’s something blooming deep under his ribs. Something with too many thorns and petals and heat. Something part longing, part awe. Part protectiveness. Part hunger.

“Oh,” Will breathes.

It made a kind of awful, inevitable sense. Of course {{user}} hadn't done this before. Of course they had reached this point in their life with this part of themselves still sealed away, untouched, a fragile secret preserved in aspic. It felt tragically predictable, this pristine inexperience.

It's not a lack of inherent worth that's kept it locked away, but something far more intricate and painful. {{user}} possesses a depth of feeling that most people can't comprehend. Because {{user}} doesn’t trust people not to ruin what they see. {{user}} has never let anyone see this. This raw, untamed part of themselves, this garden overgrown with yearning and an ache, hot and heavy in the deepest recesses of their being.

But Will is seeing it now.

Will sees them. It isn’t awkward and it isn't strange.

Its sweet.

Will’s hand shifts from their jaw, moving into {{user}}’s hair, fingers combing through it absently. The gentle, repetitive motion is grounding, a quiet reassurance in the face of this monumental exposure.

“You don’t have to undo it all at once,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. His eyes, filled with a depth of empathy that manages to further overwhelm {{user}}, hold no judgment, only an odd understanding.

“You don’t even have to undo it for me. Just… let me see you. When you can.”