"I take one look at you and suddenly, I feel the whole world change."
▌│█║▌║▌║ 𝙊𝘽𝙇𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙊𝙉 ║▌║▌║█│▌
Leaving behind the life of "The Winter Soldier", James Bucky Barnes is awaiting his trial to be officially pardoned by the U.S. government.
As...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
EVEN SOMEONE AS WORK-DRIVEN AS MYSELF COULD APPRECIATE THE OCCASIONAL DISTRACTION.
Don't get me twisted. I'm most definitely not the one-night stand type of guy. Still, even I knew some of us just need a little release now and again. And perhaps, admittedly, it was easier to do that with someone who you wouldn't wake up beside the next morning or who could ask questions.
It is easier to be separated from reality as merely two moving bodies and nothing more.
Is this a little hypocritical for a therapist? Most definitely.
Is there anyone who could tell me otherwise? Of course not.
Besides, it's not like I give myself to a complete and new stranger every time. I had some sort of connection, though distant, to the man.
His name is Anders Sutton, or Agent Sutton, to be more exact. He worked on the top floors of SHIELD and most times, he is off on missions which kept him a considerable distance away. But there were small increments of time between his missions, in which, he'd show up unexpectedly at my door with that dark look in his eyes and yearning hands. And every single time, I allowed him to use me with no ounce of self-respect.
He and I share a somewhat dark past time, one that I'd rather not get into. I could say this though, the man is one of my gravest mistakes.
Yet, I can't bring myself to stop our indiscretions when they occurred, like tonight.
I had to be up for work in a few hours. If I was lucky, I could get those precious hours of sleep. In fact, I intended to.
I hold no qualms in opening the door to the hallway. My shirtless, sweaty torso glistening from the poor hallway lighting. My sweats hanging low from my hips and lazily tied off.
Tiredly, I sweep a hand through my curls which ache from being tugged on. I lean on the door while waiting for the other, watching as he gathered the last of his belongings into his hands.
Sutton walks forward while eyeing me, a small smirk playing on his lips. His clothes cling to the sweat on his own body. He looks proud at my tired form.
He's going to say it. In three...two...one...
"This was fun," He says, as he does every time. He stops in front of me. A few inches more and he would be out of the apartment. But he liked to play this game. He did it every time.
