Chapter 17 #3
“Okay, okay!” I blurt, annoyed, as he corrects me, as he Daddies me, in front of all these random guys. I lash out and smack his chest as best I can. “Ugh, fuck you, Young-gi, get your fucking hands off me, crazy bastard! I get it!”
I think I hear someone gasp, as if in this crazy situation, what I’m doing is unbelievable. It cracks me up, and I laugh roughly, the sound bouncing right back to me from the tabletop inches away from my eyes. This whole thing is insane, and I can’t not laugh.
“Tommy, what are you to me?” Young-gi asks, his voice chilling and biting and firm, not laughing at all, and I suddenly get the feeling that he’s completely forgotten about anybody else.
He’s just making a point to me. My little joke about being his prostitute was one of those self-insults he keeps telling me not to make, and I did it anyway. Like maybe I was kinda hoping he’d correct me… but goddamn, really? Did it have to be like this?
He’s decisive, I’ll give him that. Makes my dick hard, which I know, it’s weird.
Luckily it’s under the table so no one can see it.
I don’t give a damn what they think, but I don’t want them seeing that.
What if they think I want them? That I want it, that I want them to–but I never wanted it– No–no–
Don’t think about anything else. Focus on Young-gi.
“Um…” I stop fighting the pressure on my neck and end up with my forehead pressed against the tabletop, my hands flat on either side of my head.
My erection is flagging with the weight of other people’s eyes on me, but something about Young-gi being between them and me makes it easier to hold back the fear, to just ignore the audience.
With his hand on the back of my neck, I feel… honestly? Kinda… weirdly relaxed.
Safe.
I’m such an idiot. Safe? Ugh.
“Tommy,” Young-gi warns sternly, getting me back on track. “You’ll stay here all day until you get it right.”
Goddamn, he knows just what to say. So much for being cool in front of the bratva bosses. Whatever, fuck them. I don’t care. Don’t think about them, they won’t touch me, don’t think about them, they won’t touch me, I won’t let them touch–stop thinking!
The only thing here that I give a fuck about is Young-gi, and his patience, and wearing it down to nothing. Because I’m a masochist freak like that, I guess.
I hum thoughtfully, fake and sarcastic. “Your errand boy?”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t let me up, either. His message is loud and clear; wrong answer.
“A fuckbuddy?” I pretend to guess, biting back a smirk.
He says nothing, as patient as a motherfucking mountain. Not rising to my bait.
I sigh, long and hard, like I’m very put upon, and shoot them out rapid-fire. If waiting him out won’t get me anywhere, maybe I’ll just annoy him to death.
“An employee? A charity case. Your newest toy. A convenient scapegoat in the event of a crime gone wrong. Bullet-food for target practice. A–hey alright, alright!” I shout when he slides his thumb along my jaw, changes his grip and pushes until my cheek is pressed flat on the woodgrain, and I’m forced to look at him when he bends a bit so he’s in my line of sight.
He doesn’t look amused. In fact, he looks very not amused.
Maybe I’d better let this joke end.
Fine.
Defeated, I mutter, “I’m your niece’s fiancé.”
“Shit.” Someone whispers, but Young-gi shakes his head.
“No?” I exclaim, wriggling hard under his hand. “I’m being serious, that’s the one! That’s the answer!”
“No, Tommy. You’re not her fiancé. Not really.” I freeze, my stomach dropping, something inside me flinching back and withering. I want to look away, but his eyes have me now, and I can’t, even though it hurts.
But then he continues, and changes everything all over again.
“You’re not hers. You’re mine. You’re a Sokolov, because I fucking say you are. It’s not her claim on you that matters, it’s mine.”
Wait… what?
I don’t even have time to react, to process the way my heart stops.
He yanks me up suddenly, pulling on me until I’m sitting up straight and holding me there with that hand on the back of my neck, showing me to the men at the table like I’m that baby lion in the Lion King movie.
They’re all staring at me in various states of shock, and I bristle, put on display and torn between being annoyed and horny.
I scowl, snarl at them, really, feeling a bit like an animal. “Fuck you guys.”
“Anyone want to say anything to him?” Young-gi asks, ignoring my cussing. “Hm? You have a problem with a Sokolov being at this table?”
Silence. Dead silence. Even Yosef is looking a bit pale, and the guy who originally spoke against me is positively green, looking sea-sick or some shit. I finally tear myself out of Young-gi’s hold and shove his hand away.
“Fuck you,” I snap. “Don’t hold me like that.”
He stares, and then, in another surprising move, he smiles. A small one, but still a smile. Just for me. “Tommy, you asked me to.”
Ooooh, this bastard. He isn’t wrong though. Maybe I was daring him to do something, just a little, with the prostitute comment.
I rub the back of my neck sullenly and slouch facing away from him. And I know I look like I’m pouting but goddammit, I can’t seem to help it when he pulls shit like this. He brings it out in me, along with all kinds of surprising and painful feelings.
That’s the only interesting part of the meeting. After a few minutes, it’s like it never happened, and everyone’s acting normal again. No one looks at me too long, though, and I wonder if it’s because they’re afraid that Young-gi will punish them for it. That’s weirdly hot.
I know, I’m fucked up.
I should just forget about the whole thing.
But I don’t forget. And the more I think about it, the more confused I get. Because… a Sokolov? What does he even mean by that? His? Did he actually say that? I’m his? What the fuck?
He can’t mean that shit. It’s stupid. It’s insane. And maybe I’m a little fucked in the head but I’m not that crazy. But… it sounds nice. Being his has a nice ring to it. Being a Sokolov.
Tommy… I chicken out, I can’t even think it. But I want to.
Tommy… Sokolov.
Just putting my name with his makes me shiver.
I’ve been a few different Tommys in my life, most recently Claremont, but this is the first time a last name meant anything to me.
This is the first time someone has wanted me, as me.
Not Tommy the child, or Tommy Claremont, or Tommy the victim who needs to be saved, or Tommy the prostitute who will bend over for petty cash–me, as just Tommy.
But he says I’m not just Tommy, anymore.
Don’t be stupid, he didn’t mean it like that. It was like a figure of speech or something. Just… just don’t… don’t.
Fuck me. I’m doomed. This isn’t going to end well, I can already tell.
I should get out now, while I still can.
I know that. But there’s this greedy need inside me that demands that I stick it out on this ride.
The monster inside my chest, the one that’s always there even when I wish it wasn’t, is screaming for his attention.
Screaming to take it, hold it, hoard it. Hold it in my hands, wrap it around me.
I look at my fingertips, stained with charcoal from my new pencils, and I wonder…