#Chapter4
And yet that man, that image of terror, he had helped Lucien from his car, a sleek, glossy Land Rover, steadied him on his feet and then taken the Hello Kitty bag from him, slinging it over his shoulder.
Stunned, jaw slack and eyes wide, Lucien had watched him strut down the street with zero fucks given. A few people passed him a sideways look, but Angel drove through them as though none of them were there. As though they were nothing more than ants that dared walk the same stretch of tarmac as him. It was the kind of confidence Lucien aspired to have.
/"Angel's nice,/" he whispered again. This time there was force behind his words. Sincerity. The recollection of the man's earlier action, along with all the other infinitesimal things he did that had his heart squealing like a teenage girls', settled him. Calmed him enough that even though his hands still trembled, he found the will to reach for his jim-jams.
They were his favourite. It was an all in one and the detail to it was amazing. He always felt so tiny when he wore it, which was usually the point. Tonight, he pulled it on with a grim determination, refusing to give in to the beckon of his diddy side.
Angel was a Daddy and he knew he was a Little, but they were still too new. They hadn't really discussed that aspect of themselves at much length. And while his new boyfriend was nothing like he'd first expected, Lucien wasn't sure he was ready to expose himself, to display his most vulnerable quality, just yet. He didn't want to face the same disappointment, or the same notion of hurt he'd felt with Kyle.
Once he was bundled in and zipped up, his stuffed tail wagging behind him like an extra limb, his hand reached for his pacifier. Ronan had bought it for him not long after they'd first become friends. He'd noticed that Lucien had been using a toddler paci and scolded him. He'd claimed he'd hurt his teeth and potentially damage them. He'd ordered the adult sized one the same day.
And because Ronan was Ronan, he'd made sure to find one with a design he knew Lucien would love. There hadn't been any Pokémon ones, but pirates were the next best thing!
He toyed with it, his thumb tracing over the rounded edge, before he tucked it deep into his pocket pouch. It was a comfort item. Just knowing it was there always made him feel better. Not as much as using it would, but close enough.
He eyeballed his tiger. He'd been snoozing in his Hello Kitty bag but had tumbled out onto the floor when the entire thing had toppled. After neatly folding and packing up the clothes he'd just taken off, he kissed the good boy's nose and gently tucked him back into the bag, making sure he was in a comfortable position, and leaving a gap in the zippers so he could still breathe.
Grabbing the doorknob was possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Every atom that built him up, every molecule of who he was protested as his will overrode his doubts, spinning the thing and yanking the door wide open. And there came the paradox. He felt free; he felt like he couldn't breathe.
One foot in either frame of mind, he tried to spoon-feed himself his brother's words of comfort again. It got him moving. Had him throwing down one fluffy foot in front of the other. He ditched his bag by the front door. The apartment was surprisingly spacious, creating a dumbbell design. The kitchen and living room were to one end, and the two bedrooms were to the other. The hall was a long, wide stretch that separated them.
Black granite for walls and charcoal marble for the ground, Lucien found himself wondering if Angel, who'd made it very clear that black was the only colour in his rainbow, had decorated the place, or if it had come furnished like this.
He didn't ponder it for long. As soon as the hallway broke off into an open archway that led to the living room, his thoughts rerouted. The kitchen and living room was divided by a thin wall with a long, open hatch that allowed you to peer through. A long, leather sofa had been pushed underneath, another floating around to the right, orbiting the coffee table and strategically facing the t.v.
Angel was beautiful in the 'I've fallen from grace' kind of way. Hair so dark it resembled oil spills tickled against his olive flesh, creating a pattern of shadows against his brow, and his dark, dark eyes were intently focused on the t.v screen. Lucien spared it a glance. It was some black and white western.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there but the other man's eyes eventually lifted from the screen. They settled on him, sweeping him up and down. Lucien braced himself. Prepared for the worst.
/"Orange looks good on you./"
And like a balloon meeting the business end of a tack, he deflated. Relief had his body sagging, the tension leaving his shoulders in unsteady waves. He tried to smile but it felt shaky and placid. Too hard to hold into place.
Had Angel's opinion really meant that much to him?
/"Thanks,/" he muttered shyly. /"I — I didn't think it through and — and I packed—/"
/"Stop./"
Lucien froze beneath the command. His eyes bugged. The pounding against his chest intensified until it rang through his ears like a twisted melody.
/"Stop,/" Angel said again, softer this time. /"You don't have to justify yourself. It looks comfortable. Is it?/"
/"Yes,/" he whispered, dropping his gaze. Angel's was deep and invasive, so intense it felt as though a single meeting of eyes was all the invitation he needed to see he deep and most inner thoughts. He felt bared to him.
/"Good. I want you to be comfortable in my home,/" he murmured. He'd been sitting sideways, his back to the armrest, but he sat up, wincing slightly, and patted the seat beside him. /"Come sit. Please./"
So he did. He shuffled up beside him, perching on the edge of the sofa, his feet curling into the hardwood.
He'd felt at ease with Angel on their dates. He'd grown used to the harsh air the man carried with him and had even come to find solace in it; once past the rough exterior, he didn't seem that scary at all. But this was different. This wasn't a date. This was . . . this was the real deal and his intestines were flipping up a storm of cartwheels for the occasion.
/"You were in there for a real long time, boy,/" Angel said softly. /"Were you having second thoughts?/"
He almost lied. But it was that damn gaze! It made it next to impossible. Instead he gave a small shrug. /"I—/" Swallowing hard, he tried again when the words clogged in his throat. /"I panicked. I packed the wrong things and — and—/"
Angel nodded slowly. One of his hands, a shovel compared to his own dainty mitts, reached over. His index brushed against his cheek softly, paired with a soft hum, and then it dropped down, tapping against the watch that snuggled up on Lucien's wrist.