I stretched my limbs and nuzzled into Loukas' body. His fingers played in my dark hair, twirling a curl now and then. It could have been morning, but with the windows covered by the curtains, I was not sure. Not that I cared when I could spend that morning with the comfort and massive dick of the man next to me.
He yawned and said, "M-Maybe we should get up about now."
"Any reason for me to leave?" I asked as I kissed his cheek.
The boy shook his head. "Hm, no. Not one. I . . . I just want to spend my day with you."
He held me even closer and buried his face in my hair.
"Well, I would enjoy it more without that shirt on," I smirked.
He had this faraway look in his eyes at the request, holding it on the curtain-covered window as if there was something there.
"If it's about your scars, it's okay," I said, pulling away from his grasp.
He looked away, fingers gripping the bed sheets. "You're too nice about that. You don't have to lie," he said in a low whisper.
"I'm not lying. Why would I? If you were ugly, I would have said so," I said, propping on my elbows and tilting my head to meet his gaze. "Loulou, I know your secrets."
Another silence.
Maybe this all made sense. This young aristocrat invited older men to his place for companionship. Alex threatened me earlier, so once they eventually had their fill and Alex . . .
Killed them.
He seemed like the jealous protective type if that eyeball gift was an indication.
Makhi . . .
What have you got yourself into?
"Y-You're—you don't hate me?" he asked, mouth agape.
Then after what felt like ages, that unreadable gaze felt even more intense, almost as if he wanted to dig into me.
"Of course not! Just tell me everything. I don't care. I don't like how the staff talks about you, and I don't like how they look at you." I paused. "I . . . I don't like how you talk about yourself, either."
His lips suddenly quivered and his hand raised to his face trying to stop the inevitable tears . "Okay, you . . . You don't hate me?"
I held his chin and managed a stern voice. "No, I don't. I just want you to be happy and not beat yourself up."
The boy's breath was rapid as he said, "Why? You . . .You wouldn't like everything about me. You would just hate me and-"
I grinned with my usual jovial air and said, "Try me. I want to see everything about you."
"So you w-want to see, right? Want to know how sick I am?"
Pardon?
Although it was not where I thought this was going, I played smart and replied, "Yes, I want to see it."
He bit on his thumb, his lips curling into a frown. His every feature seemed to be in a debate at whatever decision roamed in his head. Finally, after what felt like ages, he stammered, "We have to get dressed first."
I practically tumbled off the bed as the boy rushed to his side of the room to find his discarded trousers and then to his wardrobe for even more proper attire. He already had kept that shirt on, which was more than enough clothing. I could not understand going through all that. My next duty would involve stopping him from being so shy about it, maybe even proud of his body for once.
"Why rush? Don't you wanna take a bath or at least eat first?" I yawned.
He paused in his haste and gave me an odd look. It could have been me, but I swore I saw some unquenchable longing and sadness in it. As if I was on a train and he was about to wave me off.
"You know, you're right. I want to s-stay with you a little longer this morning."
"As I thought. Maybe taking a little bath together makes you happy."
Loukas dived back into the bed and held me against his body. I allowed it since I was also not too fond of getting up from the comfort so soon.
In breathy pants, he asked me one thing. "You would not run away when you see how awful I am?"
I did not know what he was getting at, but I felt it best to nod and reply, "You're my Loulou. Of course, I wouldn't."
"I . . . I like you," he whispered, and I could not bring any words similar to my lips.
Maybe I was overthinking it; he could not have meant it that way, right?
He should not have meant it that way.
Why me?
The tub we shared that morning allowed me to enjoy the warm water and relax my muscles. Even more a treat was the sight of the young, fully-nude man as he came for a soak. My curiosity about his body was finally quenched once I saw him jittery and attempting to cover up the thick, rugged mass of scars on his chest. It was like a fleshy spider's web that weaved across the front of his body. A shallow river winding and segmenting through faded and fresh marks of pain and suffering. It brought up so many questions to me about him. Were they from an accident? A fire? Was my impression of him wrong and this meek man actually was the type to get into brawls?
Were they self-inflicted?
His other scars were just as numerous upon his skin, a large messy expanse of flesh that ran from his chest to his groin, joining the small, clean cuts along his thighs and arms. I was tempted to ask their origin, but I held my tongue. My eyes fell on his cock, and I gave a low whistle at the beautiful sight. Although flaccid, it was still an impressive size—thick and lovely in every way.
"Can you stop staring?" he mumbled as he sank into the water.
"Why should I? You're absolutely handsome," I said, pressing my body against his flushed chest.
I laughed as I saw him quip something under his breath, yet he still held that slight smile.
"Am I? I know you said you wouldn't lie about it, but how can I be sure," he said, keeping me against his body.
"Want me to blow you again to prove it?" I threw my head back into him, laughing. I added, "I understand that. My skin's not the usual kind around here or anywhere. Everywhere I go, people stare, gawk, or think of themselves as comedians throwing their best insults." The water showed nothing more than smears of mismatched colours. Hideous to all, every bloke in the streets would only see me as a creature only fit to be kicked or in a freak show. An ugly unwanted blight of humanity. But it was not real; it has never been real. Only a distortion trapped within the water. Loukas, unlike everyone else, did not see me as that. Yet he could not do the same for himself.
"And I don't care. They can keep laughing and staring. I know my worth; they chose not to see. Your scars and skin are beautiful. If you were ugly, I would have told you the second I saw you."
His hug became even tighter.
"Thank you. Thanks for everything. You're a good person."
I paused, unsure what to even say. My eyes followed the steam that rose from the hot water. I watched it curl and drift in the silence. "You're not that bad yourself. You're alright, better than a lot of guys I know," I said, trying to ignore the implications of what I was admitting.
