I tighten the skin of my face until I recognize the expression again. That’s Tommy. The Tommy I know. The Tommy I am.
But even as I stare, the ‘safe-soft-warm’ feeling of being here in Young-gi’s penthouse curls around me like a blanket, and my expression fucking melts. I’ve got actual doe eyes when I think about him. I’m doomed.
Only time will tell what kind of Tommy I am around Young-gi. Only experience and pain will show me if this softer version of myself has what it takes to survive if he betrays me, if he harms me.
I don’t like the anxiety and the wave of familiar bitter skepticism that thought brings out in me, so I turn my back on the mirror. Maybe I won’t look at myself too closely for a while. I’ll just…let things unfold how they will. As long as this keeps being good for me, I’ll keep taking advantage of it. Keep using it to level up, get a boost, pad my wallet and…I don’t know…chill out a little bit. I can just stay, can’t I? Until I can’t anymore, that is. Until I’m kicked out or whatever happens.
I’m not sure how long Young-gi is actually planning on keeping me around. With that axe hanging over my head–that severance between him and I looming, inevitable–it’s colossally stupid to start depending on his presence, and his effect on me. But the way he lances my wounds and lets out the poison in me is something I–
Something I– It’s hard to admit it, even to myself, but it’s…
Something I need.
At least, for now. Maybe I’ll be over it soon. Over him.
But until then, I’ll put up with him.
I pad out to the front room, looking for him and his attention, already anticipating the way his stare quells the noise inside my head. I can smell dinner, and I’m hungry, which is also a good excuse to leave the relative safety of my isolation and venture back into Young-gi’s confusing presence, but I’m also kind of, like, sort of, um, wondering.
Wondering if he meant what he said about taking care of my bruises.
Just wondering. Not hoping, that would be ridiculous. Hope gets people hurt. But I’m just curious. That’s all. It’s just another test for him, and I don’t care if he fails.
Despite the adamant way I’m telling myself I don’t give a shit, my heart speeds up as I exit the hallway and make my way down the stairs. Just another sign of this new Tommy inside me, the one he brings out in me. I should be cold as ice, but I’m not.
Yeah, I’m walking all casual, like I’m not thinking about anything in particular, but I’m staring at him. He’s sitting at the kitchen island with bags of take-out and some plates for us, nothing opened yet, but it all smells so good my mouth waters. He’s already looking at me when my eyes find his, like he’s been staring at the place I would emerge from ever since I went to shower.
In his hand? That damn jar of bruise cream.
A thrill goes through me.
He remembered.
“Are you ready?” he asks somberly, like this matters. Like I matter.
I nod and shrug. It’s no big deal. This is nothing. I’m fine either way. “Yeah, whatever. You wanna get off by perving on my ass, I get it.”
His crooked smirk makes me wonder if he’s thinking about spanking me for that comment. “Come here then.”
I swallow hard and cross the room. Unlike the times before, where I was mired in confusion and trepidation, distrust and unease, this time I go right to him. Don’t even hesitate.
He turns me to face away from him, guides me so I bend over, and puts my elbows on the counter. He presses them there gently, silently telling me to keep them there. For a second, he lingers there, bent over me, pressing in on my from all angles, surrounding me with his scent and warmth and electricity.
Then he leans back and his hands go to my waistband.
Shit.I close my eyes, overwhelmed, when he pulls my sweatpants down, along with my underwear. I widen my stance a bit so they don’t fall to my ankles, keeping them up around my thighs. He’s standing behind me so it’s not like he’s getting a full frontal view of me or anything, I’m not spread out like a fucking Playboy Bunny, but I feel vulnerable. Which is stupid because I’ve been fully naked in much more compromising positions with lots of people, people who could’ve–and would’ve–hurt me if I’d let my guard down.
But him putting medicine on my ass makes me feel more bare than I’ve ever been. Such a mind fuck. He makes me insane.
The quiet sound of the jar lid being twisted off makes me tense up, makes me feel so vivid and real and presentright now.
I focus on my breathing so I don’t accidentally moan, because I’m already horny for him, for this. For his care.
Shit.I can’t stop the way I squirm on my feet, even though I try. It must show him exactly how desperate and eager I am, because he makes that breathy, almost-laugh sound he does sometimes when he’s amused.
“You like getting your medicine from me, Tommy?” His low voice, spoken slow and seductive, sends a shiver right through me. He accompanies his words with a gentle swipe of lotionalong my left butt cheek, making me flinch and lean harder against the counter. “Do you like the way I pay attention to you?”
I shake my head, staring at the granite, because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to admit that. “Fucker. Get this over with.”
