OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 24

-AKIRO-

It was our second anniversary, and Roo had planned everything—the hotel, the setting, the surprise. We were in our room, facing Manila Bay, wrapped in silence and each other. As we kissed near the glass wall, I could feel my heart racing, my body warm with emotion and anticipation. The kiss deepened naturally, our hands exploring in quiet rhythm, communicating everything we felt but couldn't say aloud.

"I love you, and I'm willing to give everything for you," I whispered between kisses.

"I love you more, baby. And I'll give my all to you," he replied, gently cupping my face before kissing me again.

I lifted him with ease, carrying him to the bed. He laughed softly as I laid him down and sat beside him, every movement careful and full of meaning.

Each kiss was wrapped in trust—an echo of how far we'd come. I leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his neck, hearing the way he exhaled, the way his body responded to the tenderness.

"Roo," I said quietly, looking into his eyes, "tell me if you want me to stop."

"We've waited for this for a long time," he said softly. "I think it's the right time, baby. I won't stop you from doing what you want to do with me. My body is yours."

His words made me smile. I leaned in and kissed him again—slow, steady, full of emotion.

"Don't worry, Roo," I whispered. "I'll be gentle."

We took off our hoodies quietly, one after the other, the room dim and still around us.

I stood up and removed my pants. He followed, mirroring me in silence. We stood there together—no fear, no holding back—just two people seeing each other as they are, full of trust.

I pulled him gently toward me. He stood between my legs while I sat on the edge of the bed. I placed my hands on his waist and kissed him softly on the stomach.

His skin was warm beneath my lips—familiar and comforting.

The room around us seemed to pause.

This wasn't just passion. It was every memory, every promise, every quiet moment that led to this one.

I let him settle onto my lap. His arms circled my neck as I kissed his skin softly—trailing along the curve of his jaw, down to his collarbone. He tilted his head, breath growing shallow, heart beating fast against mine.

Each kiss became slower, deeper. I could feel the weight of everything between us—our history, our promises, the quiet truth we only showed behind closed doors.

I pressed a few kisses along his chest, leaving behind gentle marks—not from passion alone, but from love. A way of saying: You're mine, and I'll protect you.

He exhaled softly.

"Hmm, baby," he whispered, eyes half-lidded, trusting.

I grinned when I heard his soft gasp, the way his breath caught against my touch. He gripped my hair gently, encouraging me to continue as I pressed kisses along his skin—slow, careful, full of emotion. One of my hands moved in rhythm, building sensation, while the other stayed close, grounded in comfort.

He closed his eyes, his body responding with trust, arching softly to meet me halfway. Every sound that left his lips made my heart race—not just from desire, but from knowing he felt safe with me.

I shifted slightly, and he instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around me. I carried him toward the bed, laying him down with care before standing in front of him. His eyes followed me—chest, stomach, every line and angle—until his gaze met mine with a quiet blush.

"Enjoying the view?" I teased, just to make him smile.

"I know you're... well-endowed, baby. I've felt it before," he said, voice quiet, eyes drifting away. "But this... this is my first time."

I climbed gently on top of him and kissed his forehead.

"Don't worry, my baby bear. I'll take care of you," I whispered, brushing my lips along his skin.

My hands traced the lines of his waist, trailing down toward the places I knew would make him tremble. He let out a soft sound, eyes closed, body warm and steady beneath mine. One hand gripped the silk sheets as I continued kissing—slow, purposeful, full of love. He tilted his head, giving me access, trusting me without words.

Every touch spoke of safety. Every breath between us was layered with history, promise, and devotion.

"You're mine," I whispered quietly, more to myself than to him.

And he stayed there with me—present, open, completely his.

"Ahhh," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. I smiled at the sound—gentle, vulnerable, raw. His fingers curled through the sheets, his body instinctively following my rhythm. Each breath he took echoed with the kind of trust we'd earned over time.

When I paused, just for a second, his eyes flew open. He propped himself on his elbows and looked directly at me—his brows knit, his expression somewhere between frustration and longing.

I grinned.

I knew that look.

I loved teasing him.

But underneath it all was something deeper: he wasn't just reacting to touch—he was responding to the safety of being loved, seen, and known.

"Spread your legs for me, Roo," I said gently.

He didn't hesitate.

He trusted me.

I watched him, not just with desire—but with awe. There was nervousness in his eyes, yes. But also something else: deep trust. The kind you don't earn in one night, but over years of being beside each other, through everything.

I reached for the bottle of lubricant he had packed.

We both knew it was necessary—his first time, our first time. We wanted this to be safe, intentional, and kind.

I warmed the gel with my hands before applying it, careful and steady.

"I'll take my time," I whispered. "We'll move together."

He nodded, heart racing. And in that quiet, the night didn't feel like lust.

It felt like something sacred.

His body shifted beneath mine, nervous and tender. I could hear the way his breath hitched as I moved slowly, deliberately—not to overwhelm, but to reassure. My hands explored with care, brushing over sensitive skin, memorizing every reaction. When I teased, he let out a soft gasp, gripping the sheets for balance, closing his eyes as warmth spread through him.

"Please... gentle," he whispered, voice barely audible.

I leaned closer to his ear, brushing a kiss against his temple. "I'll try, baby bear," I murmured. "I'll take care of you."

The way his body reacted—leaning into each movement, holding on, trusting—was enough to quiet every doubt in me. This wasn't just longing. It was love wrapped in silence, stitched with years of memories and firsts.

He looked up at me, brows knit, cheeks flushed.

I smiled at the sight. "Enjoying the view?" I teased, not just because I knew it would make him blush... but because I loved watching him feel seen, wanted, safe.

"I want to give you something better, baby," I whispered, voice low as I brushed my fingers along his side—coating them with care, preparing slowly, thoughtfully.

I hovered above him, and our eyes met. He didn't look away.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead, steady and soft.

The quiet between us stretched, fragile and full.

Then, I felt him tense slightly and heard a quiet moan escape his lips.

He pushed at me instinctively, eyes beginning to water.

"It hurts, baby," he whispered, voice trembling.

I paused, heart tightening. "Do you want me to stop?" I asked softly, kissing the corner of his eye.

He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. "No, baby... continue," he said. But I could still see the pain in his expression.

"I can stop. We don't have to rush," I said gently, touching his cheek.

He opened his eyes and gave me a small smile, brushing his fingers across my face. "Just continue, baby," he whispered. "I want to feel you close. Don't worry—I'll be okay."

He pulled me into a kiss—slow, full of emotion. And in that moment, all the nervousness faded.

It was just us. Trusting, loving, holding on.

"I got you, baby. Just trust me," I whispered, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling beneath the surface. My hips paused, barely entering, careful not to rush. I reached for his waist with one hand, brushing gently over his side to soothe him. My other hand found his face, softly wiping the tears that had fallen.

"I'll take care of you," I said, watching the way his eyes met mine. He leaned into my touch, breathing deeply, and gave me a quiet nod of affirmation.

I smiled at him—reassuring, tender—then pressed a kiss against his cheek, grounding us in this moment. Our fingers intertwined as I slowly continued, letting every motion echo the promise: that this wasn't just physical—it was the result of every shared memory, every moment of trust built between us.

He let out a soft moan, voice fragile but steady, a sound that said more than words ever could.

"You're holding onto me so tightly, baby," I murmured, my voice low and steady as I carefully held his waist. Roo's eyes were closed, his fingers clutching mine, lips drawn in quiet tension. I could see the discomfort on his face—the uncertainty and vulnerability of sharing something for the first time.

I paused to let him breathe, letting our bodies settle into stillness. Leaning close, I kissed his forehead softly and whispered soothing words, hoping to ease the ache with reassurance and warmth. He responded with a soft sound, his body instinctively adjusting, trying to relax into me.

I buried my face gently against his neck, leaving soft kisses on his skin while my hands traced his sides with care. I looked into his eyes, searching for comfort in his gaze.

"If it's too much, you can tell me to stop," I said quietly, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

He looked back at me, eyes glassy but certain.

"I want to keep going," he whispered. "I trust you, baby."

"You can move now, baby," he whispered, giving me permission not just with words, but with the look in his eyes—gentle, brave, full of trust.

I nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before easing into motion. Every movement was slow, deliberate. I watched the way he responded, how his mouth parted slightly, how his breath caught in quiet waves.

"I was planning to go slowly for you, Roo," I whispered, brushing my thumb across his cheek. Each shift between us brought us closer—his warmth surrounding me, his body learning mine with every second.

The air between us held more than tension. It carried devotion, years of waiting, the sacred weight of finally arriving in this moment.

I kissed the curve of his neck, lingering on his collarbone, whispering soft reassurances with each breath. As I moved, I felt his fingers gripping mine tightly, grounding me. His moans were quiet, unguarded, tucked into my ear like soft confessions.

We weren't rushing. We were remembering everything that brought us here.

"I'll make you feel good, Roo," I whispered, brushing his cheek with the backs of my fingers. My movements stayed slow and mindful, attuned to the way his body responded—the small squirm beneath me, the way his hand clutched the bedsheets, the soft moans that spilled from him without restraint.

His breath came in waves, shallow and warm, and when he reached that moment—his first experience of release—I saw it in his expression, in the way his lips parted and his eyes fluttered closed. I leaned down and kissed him, soft and steady, as his chest rose and fell beneath mine.

As he caught his breath, I murmured gently, "We're just getting started, Roo. I've waited so long for this... I won't waste a single second."

He smiled, eyes glassy and content, and reached up to brush a hand through my hair.

"I know, baby. So do I," he whispered, eyes shining. "This is my gift to you. I'm all yours—tonight and always." He leaned in and kissed me, slow and steady, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.

My heart raced as I held onto that promise. I moved gently at first, then with deeper certainty. His body arched with mine, his breath catching in quiet, unguarded sounds. His grip tightened around me, fingers threading through the sheets, through my hand, through the air itself—as if holding onto the moment.

We weren't rushing. We weren't performing.

This wasn't just physical—it was love, finally given form.

The kind of love we'd fought to protect. The kind we chose.

"This is our first time," I thought, watching his eyes and feeling the quiet tremor between us.

"I want it to mean everything."

And in that moment, it did.

His body moved with mine, breathless and warm, every part of him responding to the rhythm we had fallen into. I held his waist firmly, both to steady him and to remind him I was there—fully present, fully his. As we kissed, his mouth parted softly beneath mine, our lips pressing together in sync with the beat of our hearts.

I paused when I saw tears forming in his eyes, but before I could speak, his hands gripped my sides, eyes meeting mine.

"Don't stop, baby. I'm okay. Just... continue," he whispered.

I leaned in and kissed his eyelids, brushing away the tears with care. Then I moved again, slow but certain, meeting every sound he made with whispered affirmations. The way he held onto me—clawed gently at my back—spoke volumes. This was more than physical. It was love shaped by memory, layered with history and healing.

In the quiet echo of his moans and whimpers, I heard something sacred: his trust.

Our bodies moved together, breathless and trembling with emotion. I whispered his name, the rhythm between us growing more intense, anchored by the years we'd spent waiting for this moment. He gripped me tightly, voice rough with feeling, eyes closed as he reached his peak once more. I held him as he unraveled, gently pressing my forehead to his, grounding us both. I murmured soft words into his ear, my hands wrapped around him as we came down from the high panting, flushed, and filled with something much deeper than pleasure.

When we settled, I kissed him on the forehead and pulled him into my arms. His body folded into mine like second nature, warm and safe.

"I love you, baby. Happy anniversary," he whispered, hugging me close.

"I love you more, Roo. Happy anniversary. Thank you for trusting me."

"I always trust you, baby," he said, brushing his fingers along my cheek. "Now rest, because once you've caught your breath... it's my turn."

We both laughed, hearts full and bodies intertwined, and I held onto him a little tighter—hoping this love never fades.