It shouldn’t get to me, but it does. Something about being handled like this, like I’m delicate, like I need this, like I deserve it, like he wants to do this for me, like this is what happens when I get hurt while he’s around, like I just get taken care of…
His touch is gentle and efficient. It doesn’t linger, doesn’t tease. But goddamn, I wish he would. Iwishhe would tease me, and linger, and slide his hands around to my front and maybe play with my pecs and my nipples a little bit–
Stop.I inhale long and slow, trying to keep my head clear and empty.Zen. Zen. Think zen thoughts.
I don’t actually need this. I don’t actually need someone to put cream on my boo-boos like I’m a baby. Like I'm a child. I was a child once already, and I sure as shit didn’t enjoy being one.
I don’t need anything.
But god, he’s kind of good at this. Because now I’m feeling a little relaxed, all my anger and on-edge, nail-biting anxiety melting away under his warm regard, and I realize that we’ve been silently breathing together for a while, and he’s moving so, so slow, like he’s trying to get every single millimeter of skin. And my breathing is slowing down, matching his, and the silence doesn’t feel like a threat. None of this feels like violence, or a threat.
Young-gi’s fingertips slide lower as he chases the bruises, getting almost to the edge of my shorts, and I stifle a gasp as awave of heat hits me all over my body, all at once. Like stepping into the sun after being inside for too long. It’s somehow stifling and relaxing and stimulating and too much and just right all at once.
My dick twitches. As discretely as I can, I push my palm against myself to keep it down, to let it know thatnow. Is. Not. The. TIME!
I know this is one-sided. I know he’s not thinking of this as a sexual thing. But holy fuck. Does hehaveto be so sexy while he does it?
“You fight well.” His words, so unexpected in the silence, make me flinch hard.
My ears heat in embarrassment at my jumpiness. “Um, yeah. I mean thanks.”
“Have you trained?”
“I–” I cut myself off before I accidentally tell him my real backstory–that I had a ‘boyfriend’ once who taught me some fighting moves in exchange for back alley blowjobs. He thought it was a good deal, since it cost him nothing. “My parents got me a personal trainer. It’s fun.”
“How’d you end up in the ring with Brian?”
Ah, that’s why he’s talking to me. He wants answers. He’s not actually interested in me or my life at all.With that figured out, I feel a little more calm and confident. I don’t matter to him, and that’s a familiar, safe feeling.
I shrug. “I was working out, he came in and I invited him to spar. That’s it.”
“So him chasing you off the balcony last night had nothing to do with this?” His tone is flat and quiet; emotionless. And when I peek over my shoulder at him, his expression gives me very little to work with. I think he might be testing me, maybe amused? Or reproachful? Annoyed? Interested? His mouth–that fuckingmouth–is definitely looking stern and serious. God I just want to–
“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ sound, turning away from him again. “Nothing to do with it.”
His fingers pause on my spine, their warmth radiating tingles up and down my nervous system. I hold my breath, staring straight ahead, and let the silence build and build. I can feel his gaze burning my skin. He’s staring again.
God, this man is the king of suspense.
Finally, his fingers resume their slow journey, and he speaks. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Ohhhh fuck.
That silky, deep voice asking me that vaguely threatening question? Shit, that hits me in a place I didn’t expect. My dick twitches again, and I swallow hard because I’m salivating now. Thank god he can’t see my fucking face, I’m positive that I’m not hiding my thoughts at all, not like he is.
“Definitely not,” I rasp, letting my lip out from between my teeth. It’s sore now from how hard I just had to bite it to keep in a whimper at his tone.
Young-gi hums thoughtfully, and takes his fingers away from my skin. I wait, hoping he’s just getting more cream, but the sound of the lid being screwed back onto the jar dashes my hopes. My heartbeat slows, my adrenaline crashes, and I’m actually disappointed. Disappointed? Why? I don’t need this. He starts to pack the first aid kit back up behind me, and it’s over now so I should stand up. I should stand up and get away from him. I don’t need him, I didn’t need this. I should stand up.
Get up. I have to…
Stand! Up! Tommy!
I don’t move. Not a twitch, not a single muscle. I stare down at my hands. I’m frozen solid.
I feel like… like he just saw a part of me I don’t let anyone see. Like he just reached into my chest, squeezed my heart in his hand, then let it go and left me feeling….
Scared, because how the fuck did he get me to sit here and let him baby me without arguing? Why is this becoming a pattern? How does he get to me like no one else does? Why do I listen to him? What the fuck is wrong with me?
