
They were a long time coming.
Everyone around them saw it before they did. Friends sighed dramatically whenever Carlos and Max walked into a room—shoulder brushing shoulder, smiles too tender to be casual, laughter too in sync to be anything but intimate. Their families had long abandoned subtlety.
"Just kiss already!" had become the family motto.
But the truth was, they'd been kissing for months now. Soft ones. Slow ones. Lingering ones. The kind of kisses that left Carlos breathless and Max dazed, lips tingling like a match had been struck between them. They kissed like they had all the time in the world. Like the years of not being together had taught them patience.
Only Carlos was running out of it.
Because that was where it stopped. Every time the kisses grew deeper, hungrier—when Carlos pressed closer, fingers trailing down Max's spine, a whisper of heat in the space between them—Max would still. Gentle hands would cup Carlos’s face, and the kiss would soften, slow, and eventually end.

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