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We’re stretched out on the bed, the TV droning on about something neither of us is really watching.
Big frame. Solid muscle. Relaxed confidence.

I change the channel once.
Then again.

He smirks, bored too — and that’s when I turn my attention to him instead.

I shift closer, let my hand linger just long enough to feel the contrast between his size and how easily his focus changes.
The screen fades into background noise.

I push him back gently at first.
Test him.
He lets it happen.

That’s all the permission I need.

What starts as casual turns deliberate — my weight, my presence, my control taking over the space between us.
He’s strong, sure… but he’s not fighting it.
He’s choosing to give in.

The TV keeps playing, forgotten, while I set the pace and make it clear who’s running things now.
By the time it’s over, he’s quiet, spent, and very aware that boredom was the best thing that could’ve happened to him tonight.

We never did finish the show.
We didn’t need to.