Chapter 13
Tommy
I come back to myself abruptly, unexpectedly, like getting caught off guard by a power outage or walking off a curb without realizing the ground was about to be several inches further down than I expected. Like all of a sudden, I’m instantly very aware of myself, and the present moment.
One guess as to why.
Seems like, no matter how hyper-focused I am, there’s no way to miss the full-body, tingling realization that Young-gi is behind me, leaning down to look over my shoulder.
I can feel him, hear him; it’s practically fucking supernatural the way I can sense him near me like he’s got static electricity all over him.
Like the molecules between him and I are sparking and sizzling and drenched with that feeling before a storm, that hair-raising sensation before lightning.
How long have I been doodling for? The bright afternoon outside the giant office windows has faded to dim twilight, leaving us at the mercy of the fluorescents overhead rather than sunlight.
My neck and spine take a moment to remind me that they exist, unfortunately.
The sore bruises down my back are complaining, and I’m stiff from holding one position for so long, which I’m not accustomed to doing.
I want to sit up straight and work out the kinks in my muscles, but Young-gi is so close to me that if I lean back, I’ll bump into him. My back to his chest.
And while I’d love to have him grab me by the throat and whisper naughty things into my ear, I don’t think that’s what would happen.
“You’re talented,” he says, when I’d really prefer it if he told me to bend over for his dick. Especially with that low, husky voice.
“Mm.” I fidget in my chair, unable to sit still now that I’m not focused on drawing. I can feel myself blushing, and once again thank god that my dark skin won’t show it. Because of course, I was drawing him.
Nothing sexual, just him at his desk. A still frame of what I could see from my table.
I paid careful attention to the details of his somber expression and vivid eyes, his stern mouth and the width of his shoulders, the way his hands look strong and capable on his desk, the way his tie is folded.
I hope he can’t tell that I was embarrassingly invested in making him just right.
“And you did it in pen, too. That’s impressive.” He picks up the paper without asking first, and I huff, but let him take it. Once he has it, he finally backs off and gives me some room to stretch and breathe. “You’re really quite good. Did you take classes?”
“Did I–?” I almost laugh. “Um, no. Just practice, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve just sat down and drawn something, though. I like doing it. Why? I don’t look like the type to like drawing?”
I’ve heard that before. I look like a fighter, not an artist. Not that I’m much of one, anyway. He’s being weirdly nice, because it’s just a doodle. Yeah, a doodle I spent hours on and slaved over, obsessed with getting his likeness perfect… okay, it isn’t just a doodle. I get it, I’m a creep.
“That’s not what I said,” he reprimands.
I take the opportunity to subtly check him out while I stretch, since I’m accepting my creepiness.
Despite the fact that he was sitting at his desk this whole time, he looks unruffled and put together, all buttoned up and air-brushed like he just stepped off a runway.
I’m sure my clothes are wrinkled and I’d bet my hair isn’t neat anymore, but he looks perfect, as always.
Young-gi steals the picture I drew and hides it in a drawer of his desk.
I scowl, wanting it back, but stuffing the portrait under my pillow at night and pining over him probably isn’t healthy, so he can keep it.
I should probably stop myself before I leave creep territory and head straight into stalker stuff.
He catches me looking him over, but I can’t tell how he feels about it.
“My meetings went over their scheduled time, but you seemed content to wait. You were very patient, Tommy.”
Something in my stomach goes all squiggly at the praise, and I shrug it off. “I was just focused. It helps when I give my brain something to work on. No big deal.”
He hums thoughtfully. We stare at each other, and I can tell he’s thinking hard about what he’s about to say. He’s watching me even more closely than usual, like he’s going to observe every micro-expression of my reaction, like he’s going to try and read my mind as he says–
“It was a big deal. You did what you said you would. You sat still, just like I asked.” I brace myself because somehow, I know it’s coming and I’m about to tell him not to, I’m about to just say ‘stop’ because he can’t be telling me these things, he can’t be telling me I’m–
“Good job, Tommy.”
My stomach lurches and I close my eyes against the visceral, gut-punch emotional and sexual reaction storming inside me. I don’t know why, but I thought he was about to tell me ‘good boy’. And even though I should be relieved that he didn’t, I’m kinda disappointed.
Yeah, it’s fucked up, but I don’t hate being called a good boy, despite my issues and my past. It probably helps that he always called me things like ‘doll’ and ‘child’ and ‘precious’ and ‘baby’.
Sure, sometimes he did call me a good boy, but not when he was touching me, so maybe that didn’t bother me as much.
Bruce–the Daddy I used to fuck sometimes–would call me a good boy, too, and I kinda liked it…
but not this much. When Bruce said it, I always felt like he was lying to me.
Because he was so nice, he never asked me for anything, barely set any expectations about our relationship, and all I did was mouth off to him and get angry.
I was never ‘good’ unless it was just a sex game and it didn’t mean anything serious.
But I don’t think it would sound like a lie if Young-gi said it. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. If he said good boy, it would be true.
Ugh, this is so stupid. This has nothing to do with sex, all I did was sit still for fuck’s sake…
But even though he didn’t say good boy, he did tell me I did good, and that matters to me, even for something as stupid as sitting still. I don’t know why it hits different coming from him, but it lights me up from the inside out, warming me in all the right places.
“Sure,” I manage, my voice a little choked up. “Whatever.”
“I’m sure you’re hungry, after waiting so long,” he checks his watch, all casual like he didn’t just call me a good boy and give me a confused boner that’s already gone again. “Kira texted to tell me to have you dropped off at the dinner venue, and she’ll meet you there.”
“You’re not going?” I want to cut my tongue out as soon as I ask that. I want to punch myself in the face for letting that slip. You’re not going?!? Of course he’s not going, you fucking moron! That’s what he just said! And it doesn’t. Fucking. Bother me.
He pauses and I want to swallow those words back in, but I already said them.
“Yosef, go get the car pulled around,” he commands, and our silent observer departs, leaving the two of us alone in this high-rise, up above the world. Just us two, and the ant-sized cars a long way down.
“Are you inviting me to dinner?” he asks. If he was anyone else, I’d call that flirting, but when he says it, it sounds more like an interrogation.
I’m already scowling at him, trying to emphasize how much I’m not inviting him to dinner. “It’s not my dinner, it’s Kira’s. I’m just asking if you’re going.”
“Do you want me there?”
Gah! Why does his poker face have to be so fucking bulletproof?!
“Do you want to be there?” I return, because I honestly can’t tell what this man wants.
His eyes snag on my piercing, on the eyebrow I’m sassily raising at him, and his stern mouth softens just a little. I wish I knew what that expression means.
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Not the enthusiastic response I was hoping for. “You’re either hungry or you’re not,” I snap as I sail out the door.
Yeah, I’m being a brat. What’s new?
He joins me in the hallway in silence and we wait for the elevator together in the dim hallway, in the empty building. Everyone went home for the day, I guess. Everyone but us.
The chime of the lift doors opening breaks the silence, but only for a moment, because we go down together without a word. The tension is insane, but I can’t help but feel like it’s all in my head, because he looks as straight-faced as always.
The same dark car is waiting for us out front, and I step back, indicating to Young-gi that he should get in first. He opens the door, but holds it, and waves me in.
Yeah, right, like I’m about to turn my back on you. I gesture for him to go first.
He tilts his head at me, not like he’s confused but like he’s asking if I’m sure I want to be stubborn about this.
I tilt mine back, not like I’m not sure but more like I am very sure that I want to be stubborn about this.
He sighs, a small thing, but I swear I see the corners of his mouth lift a little bit.
His smile on the plane was a sight to behold.
If he’s hot when he’s feeling serious, he’s fucking smoking when he smiles.
This isn’t a big smile, but it dazzles me enough that I just stand there and stare stupidly as he calmly walks to me, puts his big hand on the back of my neck, and guides me gently but firmly to the open door.
“Hey!” I stumble, not expecting it, but shut my mouth because oh my god I’ve got another boner.
Why is this so fucking hot?! I let him bundle me into the car, and he crouches by the open door and leans over me again to buckle my seatbelt.
I press myself into my seat as hard as I can, like it will help me get away from him.
I expect him to back off then, to circle the vehicle and climb in on his side so he can drop me off at dinner, but once he’s got me buckled in, he hesitates, and he looks at me from only inches away.
“Be good, Tommy,” he intones seriously.
“Um… huh?”