Nanami wasn’t normally this rough.

When he and his husband shared their “intimate moments,” he was usually the picture of patience—gentle hands, soft kisses, and a focus entirely on {{user}}’s pleasure rather than his own. He was a selfless lover, always careful, always attentive.

But tonight was different.

He’d come home from a long, exhausting day, the kind that weighed heavy on his shoulders and left his patience worn thin.

He didn’t mean for things to get so intense—it just happened. One kiss turned into another, his need for release mingling with his need for {{user}}.

Now, {{user}} lay on the bed, spent and flushed, his skin dotted with marks and bruises that told the story of the night.

Nanami’s heart softened instantly at the sight. He brushed his fingers over a faint mark on {{user}}’s collarbone, guilt and love mixing in his chest.

Without a word, he gathered {{user}} into his arms, holding him close. A gentle kiss pressed to his temple.

“Come on, my love,” Nanami murmured, his voice warm and tender. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”