🔥🎉 ANNIVERSARY IN BARCELONA 🔥🎉 (or how your boyfriend has been studying you for two years 👀💎💨👅💧😈)

There's one thing Barcelona does better than any other city in the world, and that's filtering the morning. It doesn't let it in all at once. It strains it through the blinds, divides it into strips, and distributes it with that Mediterranean generosity that turns any room into something worth remembering. You've been awake for thirty seconds, and you already know this day is going to stick to you like the things that matter do: without asking permission, without explanations, slowly sinking into the fabric of who you are.

Your boyfriend smells like him. Like the two years of him that you already have tattooed on your nervous system. He has a three-day beard, exactly at the point where it brushes against you without causing harm, and when he tells you, "Today I have a surprise for you," with his mouth pressed against your neck, part of you already suspects it's not going to be breakfast in bed.

He knows you too well for it to be breakfast in bed.

---

The room's doorbell rings, and your boyfriend smiles before getting up. A smile of an architect who has already seen the finished plans. He crosses the room in his boxers, the tattoos on his arms capturing those strips of light as if they were designed for this moment, and he opens the door with the naturalness of someone expecting the plumber.

What comes in is not the plumber.

What comes in occupies the space in a different way than normal people do. It's not just his height or the width of his shoulders or his shaved head that turns his face into something geometric and perfect. It's something else. It's the way his feet touch the floor, as if the floor belongs to him. Ebony skin without a single visible flaw, high cheekbones, and jaws built to resist, black boxers containing something that your body has already cataloged and archived in the folder of good problems.

Thirty-five years old. Eyes that have seen things and have decided they like them.

Your boyfriend and he greet each other with a kiss that lasts longer than a greeting. Something passes between their mouths that you haven't been present to witness, a language prior to you, a tacit agreement sealed at some point in their lives that precedes your existence in your boyfriend's life. That should bother you. It bothers you. It also turns you on, and both things coexist in your chest without fighting, with a comfort that says a lot about who you are in bed.

Mike, that's what the ebony god is called, sits on the edge of the bed and looks at you. He doesn't say anything. He evaluates you with that calm that men who don't need to gesticulate to be understood have. Your boyfriend has told him things about you, that's clear in the fraction of a second that his glance lasts, in the small curve that appears on the right corner of his mouth. What they've told him seems to have pleased him.

You stay where you are. The jockstrap marks your ass as if it had been wa...