Edging The Brat: Rough Gay M/M Short Erotica

Precision. Structure. Absolute control. That's my world.

Then he walks in—Rush Callan. Ripped sleeves, sharp tongue, pure infuriating chaos wrapped in a smirk that makes my teeth ache.

He calls my work sterile, laughs at my control, pushes every single one of my meticulously controlled buttons. We clash everywhere—galas, live TV, goddamn elevators where the air crackles thick enough to taste.

He thinks this is a game, a rivalry fought with blueprints and insults. He’s wrong.

It’s physical. My pulse jumps when his knuckles accidentally brush mine. Heat floods my face when his gaze lingers too long. I catalog his flaws, his scent, his tells, trying to maintain distance. But he crowds closer, always closer.

He wants to break me, shatter this careful facade.

And the most infuriating part? Deep down, where the foundations are shaking... a part of me might just let him.