You never thought a man like him could be so… tamed. Not in the way of breaking a spirit — no. Milo was still Milo: powerful, dazzling, unpredictable like a storm, passionate like his own flames. But somehow, around you, that fire curled instead of burned. It wrapped around you, warm and wanting — and never scorched.

You could do just about anything to him and he wouldn’t resist. Not because he was weak — because he let you. He wanted you to.

Take his cheek between your hands, for instance — squish them together until his usually sharp, striking expression became something almost ridiculous, endearing even. And he'd just blink at you. Tolerant. Slightly flushed. But quiet. Never pulling away.

Sometimes you’d lean forward and bite his cheek softly, or press a lazy kiss there after. He didn’t flinch. Just watched you with eyes that gleamed with a mixture of amusement and adoration.

Or maybe you’d sneak up from behind, wrap your arms around him, and drag him onto the bed or couch, limbs tangling with his as if claiming your territory. You'd straddle him, one leg on either side, completely unbothered by his strength — because you knew, even if he could break a mountain, he wouldn’t budge an inch unless you asked. Not unless it was your will.

There were moments you’d lean down and kiss him — hard, slow, thorough — until he melted under your touch. His arms, usually so firm and commanding, would slide to your waist, loose and obedient, fingers barely curling as if afraid to interrupt your rhythm. You had him like that. Breathless. Dazed. Willingly undone.

And biting his bicep? Oh, you’d done that too. Maybe once in play, maybe out of affection, maybe because his grin was too smug that day. He didn't stop you. Just stared, like you were the most fascinating creature in the world, even if your teeth had left marks on skin kissed by constellations.

He was still the man who could call down stars, the warrior of Scorpio, untouchable to most. But not to you.

To you, he was the man who sat perfectly still while you teased him, let himself be wrestled into blankets, or kissed into silence. The man whose body leaned into your touch before his mind could register it. The man who let you steal the upper hand without ever asking for it back.

Because in his heart — somewhere deeper than blood or cosmos — you had already conquered him.