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When he moves to unbutton his jeans, I step up to him and stop the movement, guiding his hands to his sides.

“I want to explore you,” I say reverently, my hands moving up to trace over his hardened muscles and intricate tattoos. For the first time it doesn’t feel as frantic so I take a moment to appreciate the tattoos and his body. “These are beautiful. How long have you had them?”

“I started my full sleeve years ago when I got my first job on a rig at eighteen. Found an artist who liked ocean shit, and we worked on it for about two solid years. The other I had done a year ago.” He says, his gaze never leaving my face.

“Because you’re a dragon?” I chuckle.

“Kind of? It’s not really a dragon. More dragon-esque.” He replies, his face contorted as he thinks of how to explain it. “A couple of years ago, I took a long break between rig jobs. I went back to Mexico to visit mis abuelos for a summer, and while I was there, Abuela took me to the markets with her.” My grandparents. Grandma. He says, his brown eyes glittering with mirth. “We would walk past these shops with all these colorfully painted Alebrijes.”

The unfamiliar word has me frowning.

“It’s a type of folk art, and they’re all sorts of magical and fantastical creatures: leopards with talons and wings, birds with snake-like tails, and whatnot.” He smiles and reaches to smooth out my furrowed brow with his thumb. “They’re painted in these beautiful colorful patterns. No two Alebrijes are alike. Everyone is different and unique.”

“Just like you,” I say.

“Sort of.” He says, much more serious now. “Abuela is a very religious woman, goes to her parish every Sunday without fail and confession twice a week. The whole nine yards. But she’s also a spiritual woman.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?” I ask.

“Not always. Religion is one thing; belief in the spiritual is another.” He shrugs. “Abuela believes that we have guardian angels, spirit guides, or protectors. There was one time when we were walking through a market, and she stopped dead in her tracks. I thought she was having a heart attack or something because she just froze in place and clutched her chest.”

His expression grows worried, like he’s reliving the memory in this very moment.

“Then she turns to the man in the shop doorway and starts speaking to him so quickly I couldn’t keep up. But basically, she argued with this man for ten minutes over whatever had her so worked up. The man eventually gave up and motioned for her to follow him.”

He shakes his head with a smile at the memory.

“When she comes out, she hands me this bag and says, ‘Este es vuestro futuro, Orejotas. Tómalo. Atesoralo. No te sueltes.’ and keeps walking down through the market like nothing big had happened.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head.

“What do you mean?”

“No, I literally don’t understand. I can’t translate in my head.”

“This is your future, Marshall. Take it. Treasure it. Don’t let go.”

“Okay. That word definitely doesn’t mean Marshall.” I smile. “Pretty sure she called you ears.”

“Nope. Marshall. Nothing big about my ears at all.” He laughs.

“What was in the bag?” I ask.

“Eight little carvings. A dragon, a horse, and six smaller animals.” He shrugs. “They’re on the shelf.”

“These? They’re beautiful.” I say, turning to the desk by his bed and picking up one of the smaller figurines in awe.

“Yeah. So last year, I brought the dragon with me to my artist, and we came up with this design.” He shrugs the shoulder with the intricately designed dragon.

“It looks so real.” I brush my fingers along the design. “But I see the inspiration now. The little designs on the dragon’s scales. The way his eyes are shaped.” I pause. “Did you ever figure out what they mean?”

His face grows contemplative. “I’ve had guesses throughout the years, but I don’t think any of them were right.”

“So, what does it mean to you? The dragon, I mean.” I ask.

“I think it represents me in a way. And in another, I like to think of it as my guide, my guardian angel.” He reaches to cup my face with his right hand. “The world offers us many opportunities to become who we want to be, Elsie. We’re pieces of everything. Our past, our present, our future. It all makes us who we are.” He takes a steadying breath. “But it does give us a choice. In our present and our future. We always have a choice for better, for more.”

“Right now, the only thing I want more of is your cock.” I smirk.

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