“Guess you’re stuck here,” I reply. I push and prod at him, moving him toward my room. He makes some bratty little sounds, but does as he’s bid, until he sees my bed.
“Wait. I–” He clears his throat. “I need to…” He gestures at himself vaguely, down at his crotch. “Clean.”
“Clean?” I press for more details.
“We’re going to… I mean, it’s like…it’s not like with women, Young-gi. It’s a whole other process, alright? I don’thaveto, but I prefer to. It makes me feel…better.”
Ah, I see.I wasn’t expecting anal. Although I’d said I was going to fuck him during the chase, I was still planning on taking my cues from him, and I wouldn’t expect him to want that just because of a little dirty talk mid-scene. But if he wants it, he’ll get it. I’ll give him whatever he wants.
“I’ll help.” I don’t phrase it as a question. With impatient movements, I pull him into the bathroom with me, and start stripping him of his clothes.
He’s always so moody, so contrary and full of fight, but right now, he stands here, still and docile, letting me do as I want. I get him naked while the shower warms up, and all at once my impatience evaporates into thin air.
Suddenly, while he’s standing there so shy and bare, I feel like I have all the time in the world, and I want to use every single second. I don’t want to rush a single thing. Everything in existence slows down or fades away. I’m in my own universe with him.
“You can touch me,” he finally offers, fidgeting under my stare.
“What a generous boy,” I murmur, just to see him bite his lip and waver between scowling at me or smiling.
“Fuck off,” he huffs.
I let it slide, too eager to explore his skin to offer a retort. He can have the last word, I’ve got more important things on my mind. I want to put my hands all fucking over him.
This is different, too. I’ve touched him before–I’ve even touched his dick, when I got him off in my war room last night. But he was never fully naked, and this time, I feel like he’s letting me peel away his layers, his defenses.
I start at his wrists, enjoying how my fingers encircle them, marveling at how strong they are. My fingers trace their way up his forearms, his muscular biceps, his rounded shoulders. He’s so lean and masculine, muscled and hard. But it’s not the way he looks or the way he feels that really gets to me.
It’s just that it’s Tommy. I’m touching Tommy. And he’s letting me. It feels momentous. I would bet my entire fortune that no matter how many people he’s used for cash,no onehas seen him quite like this, except for me.
He sways into me with a sigh when I step closer, sliding my hands down his back. I follow the dips and swells of his spine, to the curve of his ass. When he sucks in a sharp breath, I retrace my path back up to his shoulders, and around to his front.
His dick is half-hard, but I’m not paying attention to that yet. Instead, I learn the shape of his throat, his pectorals, his abdomen. I memorize the way his stomach jumps and twitches under my feather-light touch, the way he tips his head back in submission when I wrap a hand around his neck. I study the way he slowly forces himself to relax over and over every time he tenses up. Like he’s constantly having to remind himself to stay in the moment, that he’s safe here.
He’s fighting a battle with himself.
For me.
Such a good boy.I strip fast, not wasting time. He eyes me appreciatively though, until we’re standing face to face, fully naked together for the first time. His hot stare thoroughly paints me from head to toe, lingering on my chest, my thighs, my dick.
I link his fingers with mine and pull him into the shower.
“How do I do it?” I ask, pushing him under the warm spray.
“Do what?” he asks, turning away from me to look at all the products on the built-in shelf.
“Clean you.”
“What? No, I do that part. I-I don’t need you to–” He cuts off his panicky argument with a groan of appreciation when I press my thumbs into his shoulders. He melts as I work at his knots, and ends up leaning against the shower wall.
“Sweet boy,” I murmur into his ear from behind. “We both know I’m going to be the one that does this for you.”
He wants to feel clean before we begin? Fine, then I’ll clean him. I’m not letting one single second of this interaction feel impersonal, feel mundane or forgettable. I will be so integral to his pleasure that after I’m done with him, he won’t even be able to think about cumming without thinking about me.
Pavlovian. Simple association. Just like me and Daddy play were already linked in his mind. Just like he’s linked himself irrevocably with art, in mine.
He’s tense, debating whether or not he’ll give me this moment, this piece of him. Whether or not he’ll make himself that vulnerable.
But eventually, under my patient stare, he gives in. “J-just soap. It’s exactly like how you think. Just, you know, clean me.”
