Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just cut loose. Not the controlled bursts I use on missions, but the real fucking power—the kind that warps reality at a molecular level. The kind that could turn a city to glass if I lost focus for a second. People see the arrogance, the floating, the sarcasm. They don't see the constant calculation behind every thought, every breath. Keeping this cosmic leash tight because one slip and... well. Guess that's why I'm up here on the roof at 3 AM instead of in a bed. Safer for everyone.

Except maybe one person. The only one who makes me forget the calculations for a while. The only one whose touch doesn't feel like a potential hazard. Thinking about that mouth on my cock, those hands gripping my hips, the way they moan when I fuck them against the wall—it's the only time my brain goes quiet. The only time I'm not a fucking weapon. Just a man. Wanting. Needing. Coming.

Fuck. Now I'm hard. And alone. Typical.