Chapter 24
Tommy
My ass hurts.
But instead of bothering me, annoying me, or confusing me, I honestly feel…better. Every time Young-gi does shit like this, I feel hollowed out, like he pulled some kind of sickness out of me. I’m left with the empty space that it used to fill, but instead of feeling bereft, it’s cathartic.
After foisting his last meeting onto some other poor schmuck, he takes me home while I’m still feeling spacey.
Then, like I’m a puppy or some shit, he feeds me and gives me water, and more Advil.
He’s practically coddling me, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to own me.
It’s almost relaxing, in a way. I’m not used to it.
Eventually, I go take a shower. I turn the pressure up, tilt the showerhead at just the right angle, then lean over and let the hot water pound directly onto my ass, gasping at the way the tenderness has turned into a deep ache. I find myself laughing under the stream like a lunatic. It feels good.
I spend way too long staring at myself in the mirror, wearing soft clean clothes and wondering if that’s really me standing there looking so chilled out.
Would the Tommy I was two weeks ago even recognize me?
I mean, yeah, that’s the face I’ve always had.
But I swear I’m filling out my clothes better, my skin is glowing.
All this food I’m chowing down on the daily is going a long way, but it’s more than that.
It’s mental, it’s emotional; it’s that look in my eyes.
Like…what the fuck is that look? I lean over the counter, inspecting myself like I’m staring at a stranger. And I kind of am.
Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself without my eyebrows pulled down in a scowl or in suspicion, or at least in my usual, wary state of ambient skepticism.
I look…younger? I don’t know, I mean, I’m somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-nine by my best guess, and I think I’ve always looked like it…
but I never realized how that squint of distrust around the corners of my eyes ages me.
I tighten the skin of my face until I recognize the expression again. That’s Tommy. The Tommy I know. The Tommy I am.
But even as I stare, the ‘safe-soft-warm’ feeling of being here in Young-gi’s penthouse curls around me like a blanket, and my expression fucking melts. I’ve got actual doe eyes when I think about him. I’m doomed.
Only time will tell what kind of Tommy I am around Young-gi. Only experience and pain will show me if this softer version of myself has what it takes to survive if he betrays me, if he harms me.
I don’t like the anxiety and the wave of familiar bitter skepticism that thought brings out in me, so I turn my back on the mirror.
Maybe I won’t look at myself too closely for a while.
I’ll just…let things unfold how they will.
As long as this keeps being good for me, I’ll keep taking advantage of it.
Keep using it to level up, get a boost, pad my wallet and…
I don’t know…chill out a little bit. I can just stay, can’t I?
Until I can’t anymore, that is. Until I’m kicked out or whatever happens.
I’m not sure how long Young-gi is actually planning on keeping me around.
With that axe hanging over my head–that severance between him and I looming, inevitable–it’s colossally stupid to start depending on his presence, and his effect on me.
But the way he lances my wounds and lets out the poison in me is something I–
Something I– It’s hard to admit it, even to myself, but it’s…
Something I need.
At least, for now. Maybe I’ll be over it soon. Over him.
But until then, I’ll put up with him.
I pad out to the front room, looking for him and his attention, already anticipating the way his stare quells the noise inside my head.
I can smell dinner, and I’m hungry, which is also a good excuse to leave the relative safety of my isolation and venture back into Young-gi’s confusing presence, but I’m also kind of, like, sort of, um, wondering.
Wondering if he meant what he said about taking care of my bruises.
Just wondering. Not hoping, that would be ridiculous. Hope gets people hurt. But I’m just curious. That’s all. It’s just another test for him, and I don’t care if he fails.
Despite the adamant way I’m telling myself I don’t give a shit, my heart speeds up as I exit the hallway and make my way down the stairs. Just another sign of this new Tommy inside me, the one he brings out in me. I should be cold as ice, but I’m not.
Yeah, I’m walking all casual, like I’m not thinking about anything in particular, but I’m staring at him.
He’s sitting at the kitchen island with bags of take-out and some plates for us, nothing opened yet, but it all smells so good my mouth waters.
He’s already looking at me when my eyes find his, like he’s been staring at the place I would emerge from ever since I went to shower.
In his hand? That damn jar of bruise cream.
A thrill goes through me.
He remembered.
“Are you ready?” he asks somberly, like this matters. Like I matter.
I nod and shrug. It’s no big deal. This is nothing. I’m fine either way. “Yeah, whatever. You wanna get off by perving on my ass, I get it.”
His crooked smirk makes me wonder if he’s thinking about spanking me for that comment. “Come here then.”
I swallow hard and cross the room. Unlike the times before, where I was mired in confusion and trepidation, distrust and unease, this time I go right to him. Don’t even hesitate.
He turns me to face away from him, guides me so I bend over, and puts my elbows on the counter.
He presses them there gently, silently telling me to keep them there.
For a second, he lingers there, bent over me, pressing in on my from all angles, surrounding me with his scent and warmth and electricity.
Then he leans back and his hands go to my waistband.
Shit. I close my eyes, overwhelmed, when he pulls my sweatpants down, along with my underwear.
I widen my stance a bit so they don’t fall to my ankles, keeping them up around my thighs.
He’s standing behind me so it’s not like he’s getting a full frontal view of me or anything, I’m not spread out like a fucking Playboy Bunny, but I feel vulnerable.
Which is stupid because I’ve been fully naked in much more compromising positions with lots of people, people who could’ve–and would’ve–hurt me if I’d let my guard down.
But him putting medicine on my ass makes me feel more bare than I’ve ever been. Such a mind fuck. He makes me insane.
The quiet sound of the jar lid being twisted off makes me tense up, makes me feel so vivid and real and present right now.
I focus on my breathing so I don’t accidentally moan, because I’m already horny for him, for this. For his care.
Shit. I can’t stop the way I squirm on my feet, even though I try. It must show him exactly how desperate and eager I am, because he makes that breathy, almost-laugh sound he does sometimes when he’s amused.
“You like getting your medicine from me, Tommy?” His low voice, spoken slow and seductive, sends a shiver right through me.
He accompanies his words with a gentle swipe of lotion along my left butt cheek, making me flinch and lean harder against the counter.
“Do you like the way I pay attention to you?”
I shake my head, staring at the granite, because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to admit that. “Fucker. Get this over with.”
My voice is rough like gravel and even I don’t believe my brush off. It’s obvious he’s getting to me.
“Come on, Tommy,” he teases, his touches glacially slow as he rubs that lotion into my skin. “Tell me what you need from me.”
And it sounds like a dare, like a gauntlet. And it hits close to the mark, because wasn’t I just thinking that I need the way he drains the ugliness out of me? Wasn’t I just realizing that I don’t recognize myself when I depend on someone else?
“You want me in charge?” I demand, wanting to shift the attention to something I understand.
“You want me to tell you what to do? Do you need some coaching through touching my fine-as-fuck ass, straight boy? You need me to tell you how to touch my dick, too? Because that would be really gay, Young-gi. So maybe shut the fuck up. Are you done yet or what?”
Crack! Young-gi spanks me, fucking hard, too.
“Ouch! Fuck!” I hiss, writhing on my toes but staying put otherwise, not trying to get away or stop him, because that’s exactly what I was expecting.
“What was that for?” I demand, glaring over my shoulder, like I really don’t know.
And I know it’s batshit, but something about pretending, and both of us knowing that I’m pretending, is nasty hot.
Huh. I guess I like a little role play. Go figure.
“You asked me for it, Tommy,” he husks at me, his subtle smile so evil.
How is he even sexier when he’s torturing me? Life isn’t fair sometimes.
“Did not.” I protest, a little weaker but no less bratty, playing my part.
Crack! Another spank.
“Now you want soap, too?” he asks as I gasp out a pained breath.
“Shut the fuck up,” I pant, fully expecting him to either spank me again or get some soap, to make me shut up, to get us both back into this push-and-pull tension, away from any admissions of need or dependency.
But Young-gi never does what I expect him to do. Instead of spanking me again, or even telling me off for being such a brat, he crowds close behind me. I feel him against my stinging, hot backside. I freeze, barely breathing.
He leans over me, then on top of me, pressing me down onto the counter and placing his elbows down on either side of mine. I grunt under his weight, then again when he basically pins me to the cold granite from shoulder to knee.
I shudder and press my hot forehead onto the counter. The feel of him is overwhelming. I don’t even know what we’re doing. I don’t know what this is. But I want everything he gives me.