Chapter 33
Tommy
How is this my life?
If someone told me when this all started–when Kira and Lexie first recruited me–that I’d meet a fucking psycho guy that I would fall in love with and like, want to be around all the time and get spanked by, and look forward to his attention and all that shit?
I’d probably punch someone in the face for saying all that. But it happened. It’s real.
I feel…bubbly happy. Like I could float away.
I’m warm and cozy in Young-gi’s bed, curled up in his arms, and I’m like, basking or some shit like that. It’s mental.
Last night on the roof? Like, fuck. That was intense. He said…I mean, he like, he said he loves me. That he must love me, that love is all this could be.
I’m fucking terrified. Ecstatic. Terrifyingly ecstatic?
Ecstatically terrified.
I bury my face in the pillow, squiggles in my stomach making me feel warm. His breathing behind me is even and slow. He’s still asleep, and I want to tease him about being too old to stay up late, but I’ll wait until he’s up. Right now, I’m just enjoying how goddamn peaceful this is.
The room is mostly dark but slowly lighting up from the sun peeking around the edges of Young-gi’s thick curtains. In the dimness, everything feels intimate and safe. I sigh, and its such a fucking happy sound that I can hear my smile.
I’m such a fucking sap. But I can’t help it.
His arms tighten around me and his breathing changes as he wakes up. I stubbornly don’t look at him, but he rolls me over so he can see my face.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice so deep and gravelly and sexy that I think it might have just impregnated me. He nuzzles his lips against my neck, slides his big hands down my chest. “Did you sleep alright?”
“I…” I trail off, surprised. “Yeah, actually. I think I did.”
“Good.” His little smile is secretive and smug. I remember him petting me when we fell asleep. I think he was talking to me too but I was so tired–
“Wait, are you hypnotizing me or something?” I ask, sitting up. “Like, to sleep at night while you’re with me?”
He pulls me back down onto his chest. “So what if I am?”
I scowl, then just frown, then hum thoughtfully, then scowl again. “I don’t know, I feel like I should be pissed about that.”
“You can get bratty if you want to,” he says, sliding one hand down to cup my ass.
“Well it’s not as fun if I have permission,” I say, a tad breathless.
He lets out that huff of air that counts as his laugh, and I smile against his chest, squirming as his hands get a little bolder, a little more provocative. His dick starts to get hard under me and I know what happens next.
Anxiety slithers through my chest and I pull back. My dick is soft and I’m too awake for this, too–too real and too myself.
“Listen, I’ll–I’ll never be okay for casual, happy sex like this,” I say, backpedaling, until I’m sitting up beside him, holding my knees to my chest. I want him to know this, he needs to know this now.
“I can’t–I don’t–maybe it’s fucked but I can’t just get it up, alright? That won’t ever be me. I’m not–”
“Tommy,” he interrupts me, my name sounding extra good in his morning voice. His dark eyes are intent and honest. “All I want is you.”
I blink, trying to figure him out. I mean technically I get the words; it was in English, so how come I don’t understand?
“All I want,” he repeats slowly, like even he isn’t sure how else to say it, “is you. All of you. The way you are. There isn’t any…there aren’t any wrong answers for how you feel. You don’t have to do or feel anything other than what’s already in there.”
I think about that for a while, examining his statement from multiple angles, trying to find out where the catch is.
“What if I feel like I’m a shitty person and I’m worthless?” I test him.
“Then you’ll get soap.”
“But you just said there aren’t wrong answers,” I scowl.
His stern expression doesn’t budge. “Sweet boy, you’re allowed to feel whatever you need to. But if you’re thinking or believing lies, I’m going to correct them. For your own good.”
I bite my lip and suppress the urge to shiver. I like the sound of that.
“But what… I mean, like…” I struggle to put it into words. And when I finally manage it, they hurt coming out of my mouth. “I might not ever be fixed.”
I wish I could unsay that, because who could love someone like me? But he just shakes his head.
“I don’t want you to be fixed,” he says simply. “I want you to be mine.”
“But I’m such a mess! And I can’t have sex with you like a normal boyfriend or anything–”
“Tommy,” he stops me. “I can put you in the corner if you want, or spank you, give you soap. I probably will, and probably about this very issue, maybe lots of times until you believe it. I’ll prove it to you however you want.
I don’t want fixed Tommy, I don’t want easy Tommy, or not-messy Tommy or any other Tommy except for you. All I want is all of you.”
And that hits me hard. Hits me somewhere soft, somewhere vulnerable. Because he’s right, it will probably take ages for me to believe it, I’ll probably have to get soap a bunch of times, but…but he’s trying to tell me that he doesn’t just love me because–because–
Because he wants to fix me, or because he wants to save me, or even because he likes to Daddy me or clean up my messes.
It’s not just the sweet boy in me that he likes, not just the brat or just the Tommy that can cum when he needs to.
He likes all the parts of me. He’s not trying to change me, he just wants me to know I can be his.
“Shit,” I try to blink the tears away. “Why am I such a fucking crybaby when you say shit like that?”
“If you change, I’ll still want you,” he says, like it’s fact, like it’s written in stone. “If you don’t, I’ll still want you. This is what love is, isn’t it? This need.”
“Fuck if I know,” I laugh through my emotional attempt not to cry. “I guess it is. I-I mean it feels like that to me.”
The “L” word sends a thrill through me and I get out of bed to hide my expression because I can feel it softening, brightening, and I don’t know how to let someone see me like that.
“Get out of bed,” I snipe at him while I hunt through his drawers for some clothes. “You’ve been sleeping for ages, Grandpa.”
“...Grandpa?” he repeats, his tone promising that I’ll pay for that, which is what I was hoping for. Because as much as I love it when he’s sweet, I might love it even more when he’s stern. Anyone can be sweet. But only Young-gi treats me seriously, like I’m worth it, like I’m real.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I coo at him placatingly without looking, trying to hide my glee while I pull on some soft pants. “Older men just don’t spring back after a late night the way they used to. It happens to–eek!”
I scream in surprise and elated fear when he grabs me from behind. I didn’t even hear him get up. Laughter shrieks out of me as he tosses me onto the bed, my heart pounds when he pounces on me.
He bites my shoulder hard and I can’t stop laughing, wrestling with him. He’s bigger but I’m tricky and I almost get away from him a few times. But soon he has me pinned and he leaves hickeys on my neck while I squirm and pretend to complain.
But I’m not safe wording.
His mouth kisses my neck next, soft and undemanding. But a kiss is different than a bite, it means different things.
My smile wobbles and anxiety tries to come for me.
I’m expecting him to want something from me, to start something I can’t finish right now.
Surely he wants me to take care of his erection, which I can feel pressing against me?
Surely he wants a sweet boy who can easily tumble into sex and intimacy.
My heartbeat speeds up, I flinch from my own thoughts.
Surely he wants–
All the air whooshes out of me when he suddenly puts all his weight on me, pressing me down into the bed. It’s startling but not scary, and he’s so warm.
“What–” I gasp with the little air he’s allowing me to breathe. “What are you? A weighted blanket or something?”
He hums in agreement, lacing his fingers with mine above my head. I sip air for a few more seconds, wondering what the hell he’s doing.
“Does this feel nice?” he finally asks. He lifts himself up and I take a deep inhale immediately, the influx of air making my head spin; only to wheeze it all out again when he lays back on top of me.
I tighten my fingers in his, not trying to get out or say my safe word, just kind of…
letting him do whatever it is he’s doing.
Because knowing him?
It’s for my own good.
“You want me to calm you down, sweet boy?” he asks. “I could do it like this. I could control your breathing and stimulate parasympathetic responses in your body with mine. Everything would slow down. Your breathing, your heartrate, your thoughts. You’d probably fall asleep.”
“Fuck you,” I wheeze, then heave in a big breath when he sits up. And this time he doesn’t lay back down on me, but I realize he’s right. That weird routine just fucking, like, reset my anxiety or something. Every breath feels easier, my muscles feel lighter.
“What the fuck…” I whisper, rolling over to look up at him. And I realize that he’s probably an evil genius–one that knows secret behavior hacks like some kind of mad scientist–and he’s bent on keeping me forever.
Oh my god. “You seriously are hypnotizing me at night, aren’t you?”
And he does something unexpected then. He laughs. Like actually laughs. Just once, a startled bark of it. But I feel like I just won the lottery.
“Holy shit, you laughed!”
And I don’t know how I know, it must be some kind of supernatural psychic premonition, but I fucking know he’s about to tickle me until I safe word. So I fly out of bed and run.
He follows while I cackle like a witch, but as I hustle down the stairs, I stumble to a stop and nearly have a heart attack.
“Fuck!” I grab my chest and try to stop myself from going into cardiac arrest. “Yosef, what the fuck?! You scared the shit out of me!”