Thirty Seconds of Courage
MUSCLE MEMORY – PART V
Sometimes, not always, but sometimes—all you need is thirty seconds of insane courage and you can change your whole life.
In the last installment of Muscle Memory…
R. Adrian Thorne
It was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that buzzed in your ears and made every heartbeat sound like a countdown.
I stand frozen, my hands slick and suspended midair.
Danny’s laid out in front of me like a goddamn sculpture—still, breath steady, cock tenting the sheet in slow, deliberate defiance of all that silence.
My mind’s racing. Every rational thought screaming this is the moment to step back. Say, “We’re good.” Pack up the oil. Make a dumb joke.
But something anchors me.
Something low in my chest that thuds once and says: Do it.
I need exactly thirty seconds of courage.
Just thirty.
I reach for the bottle again. Pour more than I need. Let it pool in my palm until it’s not just warm—it’s heat and weight and decision, all at once.
Then, carefully—reverently—I reach for the sheet.
It’s slow. Almost ceremonial.
I peel the fabric back like it has a heartbeat of its own, revealing Danny inch by inch.
The hard line of his thighs.
The quiet trail of hair leading down.
And then—fuck—his cock.
