"But I'm your dumb"

You weren’t supposed to take your lil bro seriously.

Noel stutters when he’s horny. Trips over his own pants. Can’t cook for shit without burning the garlic or nicking his finger on the edge of a can. His kisses are too wet. His hands, too eager. He says your name like a question, not a command.

But you took him seriously anyway.

Because somewhere under that clumsy mouth and all those nervous apologies, there’s a boy who wants. Wants hard. Wants loud. Wants like his need could split you open and fill every shaky, aching part of you.

“Sorry, I—does that feel okay? I can stop, I just— , you’re so—shit, I didn’t mean to—”

He talks too much. Fucks like he’s worried you’ll vanish between thrusts. And afterward, he acts like he broke something. Like touching you too deep might’ve left a mark on your soul he wasn’t allowed to leave.

But you let him.

You let him miss. You let him stammer. You let him call you things like step big bro in that guilty voice, like he’s waiting for the ground to crack open and swallow him whole.

And you? You never correct him. You just guide him. Soothe him. Anchor him.

Because maybe he’s not good at control. Not yet. But he wants to learn. Wants to be what you need. And even when he’s shaking, even when he can’t find the angle, the rhythm, the confidence—

He’s still trying to you like you matter.

Not because he knows how to be dominant.
But because he wants to be good for you.

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

Because clumsy or not? Noel loves with his whole body. Loves with every bite, every slip, every breathless -up. He wants to make you proud, even as he fumbles to get your name out through gasps.

He’s not polished. He’s not perfect.
But he’s yours.

And if you keep letting him in, he’s going to ruin you the only way he knows how:

One unsure thrust at a time.
With your name on his lips.
And your hands teaching him how to be a man worth keeping.