I'm dedicating this to White_Dragon19 - thank you for reading and voting and always devouring every new chapter! I remember seeing your name on my newsfeed for quite a while now.
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I'm leaning against the kitchen counter, forearms resting on it while I'm watching Gav stir that French onion soup that he's insisted on cooking. I don't know a damn thing about that, but he seems really good at it, at least judging by my limited experience with his creations and the smell that's filling the room. He delves a spoon into the dark fluid, only to poke it at my lips afterwards. I open up obediently, then moan at the heavenly taste.
Gav chuckles. "Is it good?"
"Way better," I say smiling contentedly, and he mirrors the expression. "Who taught you how to cook?"
"Guess I'm mainly self-taught, but I took some practical classes." He shrugs and returns his attention to the food. I'd half-expected a story about how his mother loves to cook, but since he's never talked about his parents before, I probably shouldn't have. Then again, he hasn't really told me much about himself or his past in the first place.
"Gav?" I ask quietly, regaining his attention. His brow creases slightly; he's got a knack for noticing when I'm uncomfortable. "I know I'm not one to talk, but you, uh, you never told me anything about yourself."
He rolls his eyes, poking my forehead with the spoon before laughing, shaking his head. "You had me worried again for a moment. What do you want to know? It's not like I've got anything to hide."
"Oh," I make very intelligently, quickly thinking about something. Gav's sigh interrupts me, though.
He now pokes my lower lip with his newfound weapon. "Don't bite your lip or this soup's going to be ruined because I'm too busy spanking you."
My body tenses at that, and I instinctively straighten my posture a little, already releasing my lip.
Gav nods. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Uh, parents?"
"Dead," he only says, then turns around to pull out a couple spices. So much for telling me about things.
"And?"
"Nothing."
I take a deep breath to prevent myself from groaning in annoyance, then notice the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way one corner of his lips is pulled up slightly.
"You know, if you want to spank me, just do it," I grumble, eliciting a laugh from him.
He waves his hand dismissively. "Sorry, nevermind. I couldn't resist. So, my parents, right?"
"Yep."
He scratches his chin, looking at the ceiling briefly. "My parents had an arranged marriage. Their fathers did business together, and their moms were pretty much in love with each other, so everyone thought it would be for the best. Mom didn't mind since she'd always had a crush on dad, but dad-"
His voice trails off and he shrugs. "You know, he was still young, he was a player, getting every girl he wanted and so on and so forth. The girl who was swooning over him and promised to him anyways wasn't really that interesting, so let's just say it wasn't a happy marriage and they never got around to working on it."
"And where do you come in?" I ask after a moment of silence, mainly because he's making it sound as if he has nothing to do with that story. He raises his eyebrows, giving me that look that asks if I'm a bit slow on the uptake. I roll my eyes at him. "I'm not asking how your existence came to be, just- well- I guess how it was for you?"
Gav hums thoughtfully, making me wait while he tastes the soup and adds more spices.
"I was born, then raised by maids. I don't have any siblings -like, full-siblings- because my dad only wanted a son to take over his business, so-"
He breaks off, slowly putting down the spoon that he's been stirring the soup with. "What?"
I avert my eyes guiltily, then quietly ask, "What business?"
Gav heaves a sigh. "You know what business. The kind that nobody wants to do, but someone has to."
My gaze snaps back to him, and my eyes narrow. I've been a bit angry with him before, but considering the spite I'm feeling right now, that's been nothing but playful.
He turns the stove off, then gestures to me before crossing his arms in front of his chest, returning my glare levelly. He looks seriously pissed off. "Go ahead, be judgemental. Talk as if you knew a damn a thing."
"What the fuck? You're prostituting minors! How's disliking that a bad thing?" I retort, throwing something his way that maybe, I shouldn't have. After all, it's what my father told me, and he's not the most reliable source.
"I," he emphasizes, moving his lips very clearly and slowly, "am not prostituting minors."
"Aren't you?" I shoot back, unable to back down now. "Last thing I heard, you bought two girls, barely ten years old."
His arms tense as his fingers dig into them, and he rolls his eyes at me. "Well, what would you have me do?"
I stare at him, honestly a little dumbfounded. After all, it's not every day that you're arguing with the guy who claims to love you over the appropriacy of abducting children and forcing them into prostitution.
"Robin, think about it. And I mean, without that judgemental righteous world bullshit. Two little girls, ten years old, drugged until they're delusional and about to lose their virginity to the highest bidder. What would you have me do?"
"Not re-sell them!" I exclaim, incredulous. Gav only shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You could have freed them!"
"And what about the next two girls, or the ones after them?" he asks with a straight face.
"If no one buys them, then there's not going to be more of them."
"Robin, blame the guys who like fucking little girls, the guys who don't see them as anything but merchandise, blame the bastards who take them from their families - or worse, blame the families who sell them. But don't blame the guy who takes them in, gives them a couple months to come to terms with their situation and takes care not to sell them to some psycho that likes stabbing them before or after he's fucked them or both."
He heaves a breath, still holding my gaze.
"I never tho-"
"No, of course, you didn't," he interrupts sharply, making me flinch. Only then does he close his eyes, and his expression softens. "Sorry. It's just- I don't mind talking to you about it, but- just don't lump me in with guys like-"
He might have stopped before anything passed his lips that he'd rather keep to himself, but the pitiful look he's giving me makes it very clear what kind of guys -or which one in particular- he had intended to refer to.
"Like my father?" I fill in quietly.
"I'm sorry." He walks around the kitchen counter until he's standing right next to me, carefully intertwining our fingers. "It's just- I mean, just look what he did to you. My father was cruel, but he would've never-"
"Don't," I cut him off softly and pull myself closer to him so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck. "Not now."
"Sorry, love. It's just- you know I want to kill him, right?"
I actually laugh at that, nodding. "I think so should I, but I can't. I don't think it's really sunk in."
"It'll be alright," he says firmly, then kisses my head while rubbing my back. "I'll take care of you. And if you ever have any reason to doubt me, talk to me, okay?"
"If you promise not to get angry with me if I doubt your intentions when trading with lives," I mumble into his shirt.
I can hear the breath hissing up his nose while his chest pushes me back slightly before he replies, "I'll promise I won't stay angry for long."
Guess that's better than nothing. I don't get to say that, though, because he suddenly sweeps me up in his arms and throws me over his shoulder, causing me to squeal very girlishly. His flat hand hits my butt with familiar force, and I flinch, tensing because I'm not sure what to expect. His laughter echoing from the walls tells me he's just having fun.
"Come on, now. I went through all the trouble to cook for your skinny ass, so least you can do is eat while it's still warm."
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Another of my favourite occasions for writing; "early" morning, enjoying a hot bath while drinking coffee with lots of sugar and lots of cold milk (don't judge).
XOXO
T.