So yea we got back home with the excuse of having to go to the garage early and shits.
No one threw punches.
No doors were slammed.
No whispered warnings of you'll regret this.
Instead…
There was silence.
There was peace.
And Jesse—
Jesse started dreaming again.
---
I found him on the couch next morning .
Blueprints spread across his lap.
A mug of coffee in one hand.
"What's this?" I asked, yawning into his shoulder.
He pulled me closer.
Gestured at the sketches.
"A garage. Bigger. Two bays. An office. Upstairs living space."
I blinked at him.
"Like… to work in?"
"To live in."
He looked down at me, something unreadable behind his eyes.
"I don't want to keep living in corners of other people's houses. Not when I could build us something real."
---
Us.
The word hit soft.
Like a promise with calloused hands.
"You think we're ready for that?" I asked.
He smirked. "I collared you. Let you top me, If that's not ready, I don't know what is."
I laughed into his chest.
But deep down, I was already imagining what our couch would look like.
Which side of the closet he'd take.
What music we'd listen to while cooking.
And then he said—
"There's one more thing."
---
He opened a box I hadn't seen before.
Inside:
A new collar.
Not leather.
Not black.
But deep navy-blue velvet, trimmed in soft silver thread.
No buckle.
A clasp.
Delicate. Permanent. A symbol.
He held it out.
"You've worn mine. Let me wear yours."
I stared at him.
At Jesse.
The man who once wouldn't let anyone close enough to touch him.
Now kneeling.
Now offering his throat.
Not as an act of submission.
But as a bond.
---
I fastened the clasp with shaking hands.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead to mine.
"This one's not for play," he whispered.
"I know."
"This one's for us."
---
We didn't have sex that night.
But we lay there, skin to skin, fingers tangled, collar between us like a heartbeat.
And for the first time…
There was no performance.
Only permanence.