Chapter 4 #3
“Brian was drunk, I told you already,” Janessa says, breathless and in a hurry. “He was being crazy, he was starting fights. He–he started trying to hurt Tommy. He just needs to sober up.”
I stay quiet, allowing the excuse. It’s technically true, but she’s conveniently leaving out the fact that I had every opportunity to leave the room with her and chose to stay and get some revenge instead. I’m not sure why she’s covering that up for me, but I appreciate it.
“Hm.” Young-gi sounds skeptical but he isn’t showing it. With a careless glance over his shoulder, he beckons someone inside and I blink in surprise at a huge, Russian man who is surprisingly quiet on his feet. “Yosef, take care of that, please.”
The man nods and grabs Brian by the arm, yanks him up, and despite the younger boy’s protests, he marches Brian out of the library. I watch them go, relishing the way Brian helplessly rails against the mountain of a man holding him captive. Good. He needs to be humbled.
“I think you should retire for the night,” Young-gi tells Janessa. “You did the right thing, finding help. But now it’s over. Go to sleep, and try to stay out of trouble from now on.”
The threat is subtle, but I hear it. Young-gi isn’t stupid, and he knows something more was happening here, and that Janessa played a bigger part than she’s letting on.
She gulps and mumbles a timid agreement before escaping, leaving me alone in the library with the very last man I want to be alone with.
Okay, scratch that. I’d pay every dime I had to be alone in a dark room with him, naked and taking his cock. But in this situation, pretending to date his niece while also trying to be someone I’m not? Someone straight and ‘normal’ and ‘good enough’ for Kira? This whole thing is fucked.
“Care to explain to me what really happened?”
I swallow hard and then hope to god he didn’t notice. I can’t help it. The undertone of authority, the thread of discipline and toppy vibes. He’s got some intense energy right now.
“I think Janessa already did,” I say unsteadily, then give a big, dramatic yawn and stretch. “Well, thanks for taking care of Brian’s drunken tantrum, but I think I’d better head to bed–”
“Were the two of you fighting over that girl?” Young-gi demands, not budging.
“What? No, of course not. I’m with Kira, you know that.”
“Hm.”
I scoot around the far side of the table, inching toward the door. “So, if that’s all–”
“It isn’t. Sit.”
The commanding tone is powerful, and I literally sway under the urge to do as he says. Part of me wants to listen, but the other part of me says ‘fuck you, you’re not the boss of me, I do what I fucking want’.
I remain standing.
Unphased, Young-gi looks me up and down, taking in my defiance.
Without a single word, he languidly, casually grabs a chair and drags it to me, then behind me.
I stiffen, holding my breath as he changes the gravity in the room by moving around, pulling my body and attention wherever he goes.
I hear him grip the back of it so hard that the wood creaks.
He prods the seat against the backs of my knees, and says it again, stern and unyielding.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“Hm.” This time, his hum is oddly…approving.
Like he’s giving me a verbal gold star for doing as he said.
I watch him, unblinking, as he sits in a chair as well, the messy table between us like a battlefield.
We aren’t even remotely close to each other, but my whole body burns from his nearness.
Like he’s the sun, and I feel him from a whole galaxy away.
“I think it’s time I had a talk with you,” Young-gi begins, every word precise and enunciated, hitting the syllables hard so they really sink into my ears.
“You’re dating my niece, who is very precious and important to me.
She deserves the world–not a troublesome gambler with questionable morals who gets into drunken brawls over other women in the middle of the night. ”
“I’m not drunk,” I argue, as if that’s important at all.
“I won’t allow anyone to treat Kira poorly,” he continues, like he didn’t hear me.
“I won’t allow anyone to hurt her. You’re stepping out of line, and I won’t tolerate it from someone trying to be a part of this family.
You think I’m stupid? You think I can’t tell that you put Brian on the ground?
He was gasping for air when I walked in.
You think I don’t know violence when I see it?
Explain yourself, and maybe, if you’re lucky, I won’t toss you on the next plane back to whatever trust fund family you came from. ”
“Brian called Kira a fat, prudish bitch,” I say bluntly, crossing my arms. I can tell that I’m pouting, but I can’t seem to stop my mouth from turning down petulantly. “He started it.”
That sounds alarmingly like a whine. I clear my throat and I let him process for a second, then continue.
“I didn’t do anything worth being tossed out for.
He’s fine. I should’ve done worse, but I didn’t, because Kira wouldn’t like it if I caused a scene.
She’s anxious enough as it is. If she found out I beat the shit out of Brian, she’d probably have a panic attack.
You see? I’m not going to hurt her. I–I care about her. ”
That last part is true, although not in the way I’m pretending.
Romantically, she’ll never be what I’m looking for.
But something about her trips my protective instincts, and I want to watch over her and help her feel happy and free from her fears.
She’s like a soft little rabbit, and I’ve never gotten the chance to take care of a soft little rabbit before.
Young-gi is silent for a long time, just staring at me. His expressions are hard to read, almost not there at all, but I think this time I can see the way his mood changes from judgmental to… considering? Respectful? Curious? I can’t put my finger on it, but it doesn’t feel negative.
The weight of his stare is intense and I struggle to sit still, ultimately failing the Herculean task and fidgeting on my chair.
I’ve been stared at before, but not like this, and not for this long.
People look at me to see if I’m a threat, to size me up, to check me out and decide if they want to fuck me or fight me.
People stare when I do something a little weird, stare at me when they want to get away from me or are hoping I’ll get lost. But Young-gi is just…
watching me. There seems to be no motive behind his gaze.
He’s not trying to intimidate me or pressure me anymore.
It’s like he’s trying to read me, learn me, understand me.
It’s making my head spin, and I get simultaneously defensively irritable and jittery with butterflies.
“I see,” he finally murmurs, leaning back in his chair. But that’s all he says as he watches me. I nod sharply, expecting that to put an end to things, but he doesn’t get up to leave or say anything else.
He stays. He sits with me. He stares at me.
The prolonged attention is almost painful.
I don’t know what to do with it. I stare back defiantly, but when all that does is make the corner of his mouth deepen in a subtle smirk, I look away with a huff.
I stare at the floor for a while, then realize I probably look like a pouting child, so I attempt a more nonchalant attitude, only to end up being nervous and overwhelmed.
I drum my fingers on my bouncing leg, I sigh a few times, I wait and wait and wait. The pressure mounts, piling on top of me until suddenly…it evens out.
Young-gi isn’t doing anything to me. He’s just staring.
The nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling of his eyes on my skin settles into something slightly more tolerable as I struggle to contain my gasps.
I’m still under a spotlight, scrutinized and studied, but it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.
It doesn’t feel like a threat. For the first time, a person is staring at me, and it isn’t threatening or mean.
I don’t think it feels good, but it’s not painful either.
It’s not good, right?
Whatever it is, it’s too much for me. I can’t breathe.
I can’t sit here much longer. I can’t. My brain is always out to get me, laying traps and putting landmines down where I least expect it.
I might not be alone right now, which is when my thoughts always get me the worst, but I don’t like having nothing to focus on. It gives my mind too much freedom.
I start to sweat, and my adrenaline spikes again.
I’ve got nothing to do, nothing to talk about.
My hands are empty, and I can’t take this anymore.
Those thoughts and memories might not be jumping on me yet, might be held off by the novelty of Young-gi’s intense stare, but they’ll come for me soon. They always do.
I just know they will.
As it goes on, I get more and more shifty until I’m wobbling the chair on its legs, getting stir crazy and needing to move.
“Can I go?” I finally blurt out, desperate enough to break whatever contest we’re having, or test he’s putting me through, or whatever the fuck this is.
“Mm-hm.” He nods.
I mutter a ‘thank fuck’ as I burst out of my chair and flee just like Janessa did.
It isn’t until I’m laying back down on my borrowed couch, in the soft quiet of the bedroom, that I realize I didn’t have to sit there and let myself get stared at.
I could’ve gotten up and left at any time.
He didn’t tell me to stay, or command me to wait until I had permission to leave. He just sat there.
“What the fuck…” I whisper to myself, scrubbing tiredly at my eyes with my palms. And while I lay there, lamenting my stupidity, old memories resurface against my will. Not the horrible ones I try to avoid, but still not ones I want to think about right now.
I’d been in a Daddy-style relationship once, a couple years ago. He was paying me for it because at the time, I only ever had sex if I was getting paid, but he begged me to leave that life and become his boyfriend full-time.
It was a brief fling, and I could tell he had a hero complex and thought pampering me would turn me into the sweet boy of his dreams. He wanted to save me, and I considered playing the part and letting him, if only to get the perks of it, but after a while I felt…
skeezy. He deserved a good boy, someone soft and sweet and cuddly.
That was the kind of boy he wanted, and I’d never be that, no matter how hard he tried to soften my hard edges by praising and spoiling me.
And while some of the Daddy stuff was kind of nice–I even managed to cum with him once or twice–I eventually cut him loose so he could find whoever he was really looking for.
Someone who, when saved, would become a soft, sweet boy.
It would never be me. I think parts of me will always be jagged. I’ll always be a fighter.
Daddy stuff hasn’t come up for me again, and I haven’t sought it out. But fuck. Why did I just sit there and let Young-gi stare at me like that? And why am I laying here thinking of that short fling years ago, and the Daddy stuff we did?
Young-gi is nothing like the Daddy I was with.
Bruce had been very romantic, really into the caretaker-type dynamic, and a little too sweet to match all my mercurial moods; we’d had a tumultuous relationship full of me being bratty and spiteful and him trying to help me help myself.
I know there are different kinds of Daddy/boy relationships out there, but my experience with him was just… too nice.
I felt guilty after a while. Like I was just hurting him for no reason.
“This is stupid.” I roll around on the couch and try to sleep, shoving all those thoughts back down. “He’s the straight uncle of the girl you’re pretending to date, for fuck’s sake,” I scold myself in a whisper, so as not to wake Kira. “Get it together. He’s not trying to Daddy you.”
And even if he was, I wouldn’t want it! I mentally cross my arms and stomp my foot, emphatic about this point.
The Daddy play had been new and nicer than most of the other shit I was getting paid to do at the time, so of course it had stuck with me.
That’s the only reason why I sometimes think back to Bruce and wonder how he’s doing–it isn’t because the Daddy stuff does anything for me.
It doesn’t mean I want that kind of treatment. Doesn’t mean I need it.
I don’t need anything.