sued into submission 🌷 tracob

27

Jacob Bixenman

Three hours later I find myself at his door again. 

I push the cracked door open and spot the peacefully sleeping boy. 

"Sivan, up." I speak loud and clear, making the boy flinch awake.

"Hm?" He mumbles.

"Up. Ten minutes until we leave." I direct, hands crossed behind my back, staring down at him. 

Troye groans, "Are you serious?"

"Very. Make yourself look presentable, I'm sure you'll be going viral again." I mention, nodding once to him and turning around, walking out before I can see that panicked look on his face. 

I get my things together and head to the car, unlocking it and sliding in. I start it up and wait, fairly patiently, if I may say, for him to get down here. Things would be much easier if I could shoot him a text saying down in two minutes or I'm locking you out of the car and house. I'll probably get the helpless kid a mobile one of these days.

It could come to my benefit, I know he's had a few interesting calls in the past with his ex-wife, moaning out about me. Was almost comical back then, hearing him in the washroom from our hotel room I booked for us in Dubai, him feeling so giddy and excited to be there. And when I spoiled him just a little while there, us being at Atlantis, The Palm, for starters, then getting 24-carat gold facial and treatments at a spa he was eyeing at online. I even got him to see one of the world's largest fish tanks. He was just living.

I guess it was nice seeing him so caught up in his own little world, just like he is when we fuck.

"Hmm," I hum out, my mind running loose.

"I'm coming!!" Troye yells, hands in the air as he runs to the car.

I lean my head back, watching in amusement as he does so. He jumps in, still buttoning up the buttons of a wrinkled white button up.

"I'm sorry, I'm here. Phew." He gasps, catching his breath.

I brush it off, "Didn't even have to leave for another half hour."

He seems to drop at that, giving me a faked glare, "You're a dick."

I shrug, "You look nice."

He clenches his jaw, buckling himself in, "Thank you."

"Bet you'd look nicer without all those clothes on." I muse, eyeing those black dress pants I'd never seen before.

He seems to subtly perk right back up, straightening up his posture.

"Would I now?" He asks, mind probably rattling in thought like mine did not minutes ago.

I nod, "Mhm."

"So what do you say?" I inquire, pressing down on the seat belt on his side and unhooking it from him.

"I say... no more talking." He whispers, moving forward and climbing onto my lap.

I chuckle, "I can deal with that."

...

Troye Sivan

"And he just came up to me talking shit, so you wanna know what I did?" The second nineteen-year-old stoned client of the day asks.

"Yes, Charles." Mr Bixenman sighs, the both of us already knowing the outcome.

He's here and asking Bixenman himself to defend him in a criminal case, he fucked up.

"I punched that motherfucker and stole his cat." He nods along with his words, seeming so amused with the action he made to screw up his life.

"Oh, and took his mother's oxygen tank, I was feeling a little out of breath after chasing the cat." He chirps, slumping back in the chair and swinging from side to side.

"That would explain the murder you're being accused of, the robbery, and assault. Mister Gabbel, I'm going to be honest with you, at this rate, it's time to start opening your pocket and spilling all the details if you want to keep your sentence under twenty years." Mr Bixenman explains, nudging his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose and looking back down at the papers scattered all over the desk.

Mister Gabbel scoffs, "I should be the one going after that fucker..."

"He broke my finger!" He exclaims and lifts his hand, revealing a bent ring finger that definitely shouldn't be formed as it is. He pinches it with his other hand and shows that he can't move it one bit, staring at it as if it were a robot.

"Oh my God."

"Well, Sir, I'm going to have you to seek medical care as soon as possible. Therefore, I hearby order this visit over. We will talk more after you're fixed up, take pictures while in the infirmary, will look better for your behalf." Mr Bixenman directs, standing up and taking his glasses off, almost seemimg disgruntled from the show Mister Gabbel put on with his hand.

The client only whinges, saying how he doesn't like the smell of hospitals, he likes the scent of the office and that he should stay here. With too much convincing, soft words from my party, and a threat to call security from Mr Bixenman, he does eventually get up and stagger out of the building. I stay near Bix most of the day, scared of everyone else after all the looks I've received. Not only the looks, but the shouting, the cameras, microphones, and tape recorders shoved in my face by reporters dying for this chance at a headlining article. This Just in, Troye Sivan Back to Work With Star-Crossed Lover Jacob Bixenman: The Same Man Who Fired Him in the First Place. He tries to send me on a coffee run at some point in the day, resulting in me nearly having a breakdown until he's forced to coax me into calming down and calling someone else to go do my job.

The day was long and exhausting, me flopping into bed and not moving a muscle as I'm tucked in and given a kiss on the forehead, too tired to even give a reaction. And so I fall asleep, my entire body giving out so easily.

-

a/n: (unedited and written at five am chap so excuse if it's shit)

just a lil update on my metaphorical big boom, we post-poned her to december and if i do make it through all this, there is the slightest bit of hope for 2018. and considering you guys have been here long enough, it's actually quite ironic that it's legal and life/home issues im going through, this story being somewhat centered around that. so, though im still chilling in the dark abyss we call rock bottom, im looking up through that dark ass thing and i see a lifeboat that may leave before i reach the surface. i dont know, im just hoping i can swim like a mf. love you guys, i hope you're doing well. xoxo