OnlyFans Is For Lovers Pt 3

My hands found his face first. Clumsy. Careful. Like I still didn’t believe I was allowed to touch him. His skin was warm. Smooth beneath my thumbs, ridged with subtle, wiry muscle from long hours bouldering.
Part 2
*****
+Cameron raised the camera. “Ready?” he asked.
“I’ve never been readier.”
Click. Click.
The shot we posted that night was simple. Powerful. Honest.
Caption: “We’re going to Paris.”
—
As Cameron set the camera down, I looked at him. Really looked. In the quiet, my mind raced. It felt like the events of the day finally had time to catch up and sink in for real.
I was going to Paris.
Something shifted in my chest. A slow, tidal surge of gratitude so fierce it caught me off guard. He’d stood by me through the worst of it. Through the shame, the silence, the nights I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. And now here I was. Whole. Because of him.
I didn’t think. Didn’t warn. I just stepped forward and barrelled into him. His arms tensed in shock. He gasped–sharp, involuntary–equal parts surprise and delight. Finally, I thought, finally, I’d found out how to wipe that placid look off his face.
I crushed him to me, shaking, breath ragged, clutching at his slender frame like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. My eyes were hot. My face was wet. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick, mouth half-buried in the curve of his neck. I bled hot tears into the fabric of his collar. “Christ, Cameron. Thank you for not giving up on me.”
His arms wrapped around me then. Firm. Steady. Not pulling me closer–just holding.
And for a long moment, I didn’t need to say anything else.
Because he already knew.
—
It turned out the BOA weren’t totally useless after all.
A week after Nationals, I got another call. Same clipped voice. Same careful tone,...