Jerking off another guy was probably on the top of the list of things I never thought I'd ever do. Second on that list would be having one jerk me off. And yet, there I had been a handful of minutes ago, initiating both of those activities.
When I'd joined Brooks in the shower I felt kind of like an idiot because I was completely out of my element. Yes, I was horny as fuck, which I would usually know how to handle were I with Dani or another woman. Standing there in front of Brooks, though, well that had me truly asking myself if I wanted him, a man, to take care of that problem for me. I hadn't been entirely sure, not until he kissed me the way that he had. Part of me wanted to push him off, deny what I'd come to realize I wanted in that moment, but there was a much larger part of me that refused.
The reality of the situation is I had enjoyed the feeling of his hands on my body, the way they reassured me that I am still desirable. Maybe it's arrogant but never in my life have I second-guessed how attractive I am. Never. I know I am attractive. I know I am desirable. I know that I am wanted. Women look at me and swoon. It's been a reality for me for as long as I can remember. The litany of jagged, red scars covering my abdomen now have me looking at it, what I had once considered one of my best features, like it's a fucking eyesore.
Brooks didn't look at me like that. On the occasions that he had touched them I had waited for the immediate distaste, covered up by a fake smile, with an even faker string of lies telling me 'it's not that bad'. Because, just as I've always known how attractive I've been, I am not ignorant to what I look like now; fucked. Brooks has never once looked at my scars and shied away, never even batted an eye at them. He still looks at me the same way as he always has— like he wants me. Something about that sat very uneasily inside of me and I couldn't put a reason as to why. It made me feel... things.
Then there was the way how he seemed to know me in ways that I didn't even understand myself, that no one else had cared to. He knew just what I needed to hear or just how much to push me. With a sigh I sit on the bed in the room I'd taken residence in upstairs. He'd offered me the master room a million times over again so that I would be more comfortable. He even offered to move out of the guest house entirely not understanding that him moving out would make me moving in a moot point. I found myself wanting to be around him, enjoying his company.
When my parents and Brooks had left for Europe I had lost a sense of something. I hadn't understood it at the time but I had started to when he came back. After what just happened between us I'm pretty sure I'm starting to gather why. When they left I had slept in his bed, been around his things because they made me feel something.
Safe. Secure. Seen. Heard. Understood. All of those words smack me in the face one after another like a fucking battering ram. There's also another word that I am currently not going to acknowledge. But to say he makes me feel cared for is an understatement.
"We don't have to talk about it, make a big deal out of it. We can leave it."
I frown automatically thinking about some of the last words Brooks had spoken to me. He had basically just shrugged off the experience between us as a casual whatever. Maybe that's all it was to him? No, that doesn't sound right. That doesn't sound like Brooks. Not with all of the things he has told me over the past several months. Not after what he'd admitted to me in New York— that he has feelings for me.
My stomach grumbles, notifying me of the fact that I am currently starving. I push off the bed and head down the stairs then in to the house. The smell of the dish he made wafts through my nose and makes my mouth water.
"I was starting to get worried about you." He's stirring something on the stove with two plates beside him.
"I was just getting dressed." I lean my back against the counter next to him. "Then my stomach reminded me how hungry I am." He lets out an amused laugh then begins plating the food. He doesn't look at me as he shoos me away, telling me to go sit. I head into the dining room and sit myself at the head of the table. It's not long before he joins me, setting down a plate with a massive serving of chicken marsala on it. It looks good, smells even better, but I can't shake the off feeling inside of me.
"Is something wrong?" I look over to Brooks who is studying his dish thoroughly. "Is something burnt? Is there some—"
"There's nothing wrong with the food."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"If it's not the food then do you care to share what is bothering you?" He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Does it have to do with, uh, what we just did?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"Why the fuck would you say that?" He flinches at my tone.
"Because you're upset."
"I don't know who wouldn't be upset when hearing someone say they're sorry to have had sex with you." Not that we'd had sex but still. I cross my arm over my chest and kick back in my chair. His brows raise in amusement. "I am failing to see what's amusing here."
"So, let me get this straight, you're not upset that you and I had... relations."
"No."
"Okay, so then why are you upset, Tor?"
"I'm upset because you're acting like it's no big deal and we should leave it and it's whatever!" He gives me a knowing look that does nothing but piss me off. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"You know exactly why I said that, don't you?" I look away from him. "Come on, Torey. You know you would've freaked out if I would've said anything other than that." The problem is I don't think I would have. "If I were to have said that it meant a lot for you to be vulnerable like that with me what would you would have done?" Not really knowing, I give him a shrug. "You probably would've packed all your shit and moved back into the house, putting some serious distance between us."
"I wouldn't have."
He barks out a laugh with, "yeah, sure you wouldn't."
I flick my eyes to his angrily and hold them seriously. "No, I wouldn't have." He stops laughing, mouth snapping shut. "I enjoy the smell of homemade cooking in the morning too much and the sound of that stupid song you hum when you whip up some culinary fucking masterpiece like this." I nod at the food in front of me, looking away from him again. "And you're always looking out, you know? So, yeah, I'm not going anywhere." He's quiet, too quiet. I feel like I have to fill the air between us with something. "You want me to leave? Well, too fucking bad. You're stuck with me." He abruptly pushes away from the table and walks away from me. Great. What the fuck did I do now? "Brooks?"
"I'm fine. I just—" His pause has me getting out of my chair. "I just need a minute." The words sounded off somehow, strangled. When I get into the kitchen he's leaning against the counter, palms gripping it firmly. "Go on and eat. I'll be in, in a minute."
"Brooks—"
"Go on. You don't want it to get cold. It's no good reheated a second time." Instead of doing what he asks I lean on the counter beside him. We're both quiet for a moment. "Please, I don't want your food to get cold."
"I do not give a fuck about the food right now, Brooks. What I give a fuck about is telling you that you're stuck with me and you running away from me. What the hell is that?"
After a good while he finally stands up straight and looks me in the face with, "I have certain issues regarding people leaving. The majority of my family were taken from me at a very young age. Then there was my sister." I remember him telling me he'd lost his sister to addiction back when we were at The Harvey Watch. "The people I care for have a tendency of leaving."
"Ah, so what you're trying to say is that you care for me and don't want me going anywhere." I joke but the serious face he gives me lets me know that it is not the time. "I'm sorry."
"Just do me a favor and don't make promises you cannot keep, Tor. Don't say things you don't mean. You have a knack for pushing people away and needing your space." Brooks makes a valid point but I no longer have to push anyone away. There's no reason to. I don't have to pretend to be anyone anymore.
"Okay, I won't."
✩✩✩
Some time in the middle of the night I'm awoken by the mattress dipping on the other side of the bed. I know who it is by his familiar scent and from the sheer fact that no one else would dare slip into a bed with me. When he doesn't say anything I do, "that's ballsy of you."
"No, walking butt naked into someone's shower is ballsy." He's not wrong. "And so might this be." He presses the front of his body against my back, wrapping an arm around me.
"You are not making me the little spoon."
"It would appear that I am." His fingers graze my scars lackadaisically going from one to the next. "Are you really going to cover them?"
"I do not want to have to see them every single day for the rest of my life, so, yes." I remove his arm and roll onto my back which has him scooting away from me. I cock an arm behind my head and look over to him. "You know, if we're going to be sharing a bed together and everything, can we at least do it in the one downstairs?"
A/N:
Happy weekend!