“It’s not that.” He turned and rested his chin on his hands again, staring into the middle distance.
He’d only had one good experience at being a bottom. His first few times had almost been forced upon him—payment exacted for a place to stay so he didn’t have to sleep rough on the streets.
Then he’d met Ian.
Thinking about him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d enjoyed bottoming for Ian. The pleasure/pain combination had made him as if like he was actually alive, at a time that he’d felt almost dead physically and emotionally. But he’d also given up too much of his power during those lovemaking sessions. He’d been under Ian’s control, willing but weirdly helpless. It had felt okay at the time, partly because he’d thought he could trust Ian, partly because he’d believed they cared for each other, and partly because he’d been too weak to question what his role should be during sex. Ian had wanted to dominate him, and he hadn’t had the confidence or self-respect to question it. Except Ian had betrayed him in exchange for money. What good was any of that stuff in the face of a fat cheque?
When he’d decided to live by his rules and take control of his life, he’d promised himself he’d never put himself in a submissive position again. And yet, as the question had left Michael’s lips, he could almost imagine the feel of the man’s cock inside him, making love to him tenderly and gently, mindful of what he needed and enjoyed rather than seeking to dominate him. He bit his lip and chased the stupid fantasy out of his head. He was starting to feel all kinds of messed up over Michael, which was yet another reason why he needed to end whatever it was they were doing.
He braced himself for more questions, but Michael remained silent. His hand trailed up and down Jag’s back again, long lazy movements that could have easily lulled Jag to sleep. He fought against the heaviness in his eyelids, trying to convince himself that it might be time to get on a train and move on. Except he didn’t want to. He loved working at Heaven and Hell. Hanging out with the other dancers was fun, and he enjoyed fucking Michael. But most of all, he actuallylikedMichael; more than he’d expected.
He gazed at the club owner. What was he doing? Getting attached, that’s what. He was growing fond of Michael, breaking one of the rules that he’d created to keep himself safe. He was a fucking idiot. He needed to stop it before they both got in too deep.
Michael brushed Jag’s hair behind his ear. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Jag winced at how cracked and fragile his voice had sounded.
His walls were crumbling to dust in Michael’s presence, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Leave.
Not just for the night but forever.
Leave.
He didn’t move, even when he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted ‘normal’, damn it. He wanted to be able to have a home and a job and not have to constantly look over his shoulder. He wanted someone he could love and hold on to. Someone he could trust. He wanted to feel safe and live without fear. He wanted his Goddamn family to leave him the fuck alone so he could have those things.
“Jag…” Michael’s voice was soft as he brushed his knuckles over Jag’s cheek. “I wish you’d talk to me.”
Jag shook his head fiercely. “I can’t.” He rolled over and sat up, hugging his knees to his chest tightly.
He’d made that mistake before with Ian. He’d thought he could trust him. Thought that Ian had loved him, but when push came to shove, he’d chosen the princely cheque his father had handed him. Jag had barely gotten away that time. They’d had their hands on him and had tried to force him into their car, but he’d managed to wrench away and run. Somehow, he’d made it to the station and onto a train, without them catching up with him again. He’d lost everything that time, except the money in his pocket and the now expired passport he kept on him at all times. He needed that to prove his age to club owners, who couldn’t risk the wrath of the police by hiring an underage dancer.
It was after that terrifying incident that he’d set his rules in stone, hardened himself, and erected emotional shields that had been impenetrable. Until now.
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I should go.”
“Don’t,” Michael said softly. “Stay. You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong.”
He sat up and enveloped Jag in his arms. Jag suddenly felt very small and fragile as Michael’s overwhelming strength and size surrounded him. He stiffened in the older man’s arms.
“I don’t need saving,” he whispered harshly. “I don’t need protecting.”
“But you do need to be held,” Michael said. “Let me hold you.”
Despite his screaming instincts, Jag relaxed into Michael’s embrace. He knew it was a mistake. He knew he was giving Michael signals he’d never be able to take back, but for a few moments, he wanted to feel the man’s arms around him and forget how awful things were, how lonely he was, how empty and meaningless his life had become. Tears fell from his eyes as he lost the ability to keep it all inside any longer. His body shook with silent sobs, and his throat ached from the effort of not making a sound. Michael stroked his hair and made soft, calming sounds, but it didn’t help. Jag twisted, digging his fingers into Michael’s shoulder as he pressed his face to the man’s strong chest. He knew he shouldn’t be turning to Michael for comfort, but he couldn’t help it. For a few minutes at least, he needed to be in someone’s arms. He needed to be held and comforted.
Eventually, his tears dried up, or maybe he’d shed so many he had none left. Either way, he felt more capable of speech. He pushed away from Michael, who instantly let him go, wiped his eyes and grabbed his clothes. Internally, he threw his barriers back up, built them stone by stone, stronger than before. He wouldnevercrumple like that again.
“I don’t normally fall apart like that,” he said gruffly as he pulled on his jeans. “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Jag stood and glared at Michael. “I think we should stop doing this.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Is that really what you want?”
Jag tried to force the word ‘yes’ out of his mouth, but his lips wouldn’t move, and his throat tightened up. It had been a long time since he’d felt so at war with himself. The last time had been when he’d told the lies Dr Miller had wanted to hear so he’d be released from the facility he’d spent a whole fucking summer in, and be allowed to go back to his parents’ house: a building that wasn’t secure, that he wasn’t locked inside, that he could escape from.
