How I met my submissive 3: Sherlock Homo

People believe that being gay gives you a sixth sense for detecting other gays, the "gaydar." Even more, people believe that dominants have a submissive vision that allows us to detect submissives, and the same goes for dominants. What nonsense. But not as big as the nonsense that if you’re dominant enough, everyone will eventually fall for you. What nonsense. What you end up facing is a harassment complaint, or just harassment. And then, my career, meticulously planned down to the last millimeter, goes to hell.

There are many ways to know if someone is gay, and I had opted for the most pathetic one possible: stalking Alex's social media at three in the morning while downing my third gin and tonic. His Facebook was as aseptic as a politician's campaign resume. His Instagram: cats. Not a damn clue.

I paused on a photo where he was smiling while holding a kitten. For a moment, I imagined hugging him like that, protecting him while whispering that everything was going to be alright... Damn, the gin was turning me into a real softy. I closed Instagram with a slap.

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The next morning, with a hangover that was splitting my head, I decided to be more direct. I found him in the coffee room, wearing those jeans that fit him way too well for my mental health. I positioned myself strategically between him and the door, as I always did when I wanted to control a situation.

"How was your weekend?" I asked, subtly invading his personal space until his back was nearly against the wall.

"Quiet, sir," he responded, and I noticed how he unconsciously made himself smaller, adopting that stance that drove me crazy. His shirt tightened slightly over his chest as he held his breath. "I went to the movies."

"With your girlfriend?" The words came out before I could stop them.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he replied, and the flush that covered his neck made me want to bite him right then and there. But what was interesting wasn't the flush—it was how his eyes darted quickly to my mouth before dropping to the floor.

"Boyfriend?"

Alex nearly spilled his coffee. His fingers trembled around the cup as he murmured an barely audible "not that either." His voice came out so soft, so submissive, that I had to clench my fists to keep from grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look me in the eyes. But I noticed something more: the way he held his breath at the word "boyfriend," infinitely more than he had with "girlfriend," as if the question had affected him more than he wanted to show.

I found myself leaning closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to keep the coffee steady. The space between us had shrunk so much that I could smell the sweet aroma of his shampoo—what straight guy uses cherry shampoo, anyway?

"I wouldn't mind if it was a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend." My voice came out deeper, more dominant than I intended. It was the tone I used when I wanted someone to kneel, not for a casual chat about sexual orientation.

"I know, sir," he murmured, and the tremor in his voice made my dick perk up with interest. Before I could respond, he slipped through the small space left between my body and the wall, brushing his chest against my arm in the process.

I stood there watching him leave, noticing how his shoulders gradually relaxed as he practically fled the room.

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The "Is Alex gay?" operation had turned into a disaster. After three days of intensive research, the only thing I had managed to find out was that Alex had a cat and that I needed therapy. Or more gin. Or probably both.

I had been observing every detail for a week like a damn professional stalker. The other day, when the new intern with his stupid broccoli hair reached in front of Alex to grab a cable, I practically held my breath waiting for some reaction. Alex didn't even blink. Did that mean he wasn’t gay or just that he wasn’t into twinks?

Frustration was turning me drier than usual. In the morning meeting, I found myself almost barking corrections at his code.

"This is full of temporary patches, Alex. Refactor it all." My voice sounded sharp as I clicked to close his pull request. The sound of his ragged breathing made me look up.

"Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir." His voice trembled slightly, and when I looked at him, he had rosy cheeks and was breathing faster. I had to suppress the urge to push him against the wall and... better not go down that road.

For the rest of the morning, I found myself being increasingly demanding, watching how he reacted. I made him rewrite three modules, update the entire database structure, and clean up code that had collected dust for months. And with every order, with every brusque correction, Alex seemed... more focused? More efficient?

"Have you finished those changes?" I asked brusquely, leaning against his monitor and deliberately invading his personal space. The heat of his body was almost tangible from this distance.

"Almost, sir. I just need to review the last submission." His voice sounded softer, more submissive than ever.

"When you're done," my voice lowered an octave involuntarily, "I want you to reorganize the repository. It's a mess since the useless boss asked the intern to reorder everything because she couldn’t find things."

"Of course, sir, though it would be easier if I were given more access within the repository and not everything had to be approved."

"Repositories are like life; if you give someone too much access, it usually goes wrong," I said, recalling not just the code but a certain past relationship. My mind drifted to dark places as I added, "Once I gave too much access to someone who promised to meet my standards, but in the end, it turned out they couldn’t handle... the level of demands I required. A shame." I paused, realizing I had sounded too personal. "With him, I learned to be more careful with certain... expectations."

Shit. Did I just say "him"? The silence that followed was so dense it could almost be cut with a knife.

"Sometimes expectations can be... complicated to manage," Alex responded softly, and I noticed how he moved slightly, almost imperceptibly leaning closer.

"Surprise me. But do it well." I leaned in closer, needing to distract him from my slip. "I don't like disappointments."

"I understand. We've both had guys who have disappointed us," he murmured so low that I could barely hear it.

I froze. Did he just...? No way. I must be imagining double meanings where there weren’t any. But what if...?

"Did you say something?"

"No, sir." His expression was perfectly innocent. Too perfect.

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By the time he arrived at my office with the refactored code, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I found him standing in the doorway, with that posture of his that seemed specifically designed to drive me crazy.

"Here you go, sir." He approached to share the pull request, and the accidental brush of his arm against mine sent an electric shock through my body. I noticed that he didn’t pull away immediately from the contact—he lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

I reviewed the code in silence, feeling his gaze on me. I was perfectly aware of how his breathing had quickened slightly, of how he bit his lip while waiting for my verdict. The work was impeccable, of course. And the repository was organized with military precision that made me harder than I should be.

"Good job," I finally said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Very... satisfying."

His cheeks turned pink. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad I didn't disappoint you." His voice had dropped an octave, almost purring.

"You can go," I practically growled, needing him to leave before I did something stupid.

"Have a good afternoon, sir." He turned to leave, and the movement of his hips as he walked confirmed that I was not imagining things.

I spent the rest of the afternoon replaying each detail, every reaction. It wasn't just that he blushed when I invaded his space—plenty of shy people do that. It wasn't just his way of looking down when I gave orders—it could be simple hierarchical respect.

What convinced me was the sum of small details:

The way he had emphasized "both" when talking about boys who disappoint. The classic use of the word "partner" instead of girlfriend.

The way he reacted when I used my demanding director voice—not with fear or stress, but with a concentration that was almost... eager. As if my authority helped him focus.

And above all, that small detail I almost overlooked: when we were reviewing the code and I was practically on top of him, his breathing had quickened, yes, but instead of pulling away... he had leaned slightly back towards me.

No one who isn’t submissive does that.

"Damn," I murmured, rubbing my face. "Either I'm projecting all my fantasies... or I just found exactly what I was looking for."

The problem was that now that I knew... what the hell was I going to do about it?

I poured myself another gin and tonic. For tonight, I would allow myself to fantasize about all the ways I could make Alex blush, tremble, and moan. Tomorrow, I would worry about how to manage this situation without ending up in human resources.

Or jail.