Page 78 of What I Should Have Done

The simple drumming of Mikey’s fingers through my hair drew my attention. Maybe I should talk to him. Distract my mind with his voice as I closed my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I coaxed my eyes shut. “When’d you meet Thompson?” I asked, hoping that he would come out of whatever dissociation he was in.

“Hmmm?” His chest vibrated with his hum.

“Thompson. You knew him as a kid. When’d you meet him?” I asked again.

“Oh.” Mikey shifted his weight, hoisting me closer to his body. “Right after shit went down with my parents. He caught me fighting a kid after school. Gave me a roof over my head, some food, and started training me. Kept me going straight for a while.”

“What happened?” I asked, staring at the back of my eyelids.

“He took a new position in the military and disappeared. I got roped into the stupid MMA shit by a different trainer who wasn’t quite as honest as he was. Then got caught up in, you know, some illegal things, ended up getting arrested and at the recruiter’s office, and here we are.”

“So, you haven’t seen him in like fifteen years or so?”

“Uh, he called off and on as I got older, but the last time we talked was almost ten years ago.” Mikey leaned his head back as exhaustion, blissful exhaustion, finally crept through my bones.

“I’m pretty tired,” I mumbled.

“Then go to sleep. I’ve got you,” he quietly said, tenderness creeping back into his voice.

“I’m terrified I’ll dream about Merlin,” I confessed. “Specifically his shriveled up dick.”

“You mutilated it pretty good,” Mikey lightheartedly replied.

“I did, didn’t I? And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I know this will sound so cliché, but like, at least the bad guy actually had a small dick. You know how guys with small dicks try and act all tough and stuff? He lived up to that.” I giggled, finding some comfort in the dark humor surrounding my trauma. Fuck. I actually giggled. Damn you, Mikey.

“Small? I thought it was fairly average,” he answered.

I would’ve opened my eyes, but my eyelids were so heavy, they remained shut. “Average? Mikey, have you not seen your own?”

Mikey chuckled, and I could only imagine the cocky-ass smile on his face. “You haven’t even seen my cock, Scotch.”

“Yeah, but I know how it feels,” I lazily bantered.

“Oh, I’m very aware that you know how it feels…through pants.”

“Shut up, Blondie. Though, I will admit I didn’t expect you to still be a bit of a grower.”

“Mostly in girth, but yeah.”

The world was slowing, the hazy feeling of sleep inching its way closer and closer. “I bet you’ve had issues getting it to fit in some girls before.”

“Two things. One, you’re getting very comfortable talking about my fucking cock.” He brushed a thumb across the tip of my ear, and I was too wrapped up in the comfort to slap his arm. “But two, you talk as if I’ve had a lot of partners before.”

“Have you not?” I inhaled deeply, letting his sweet and musty scent of sweat coat my nostrils.

“No, believe it or not. I still only need one hand to count them,” he quietly replied.

“You know what else I want to know?” I mumbled, rather enjoying this clearly across-the-boundaries discussion with him.

“What else do you want to know?”

“How is it comfortable-like running around with all that junk? Doesn’t it slap against your thighs or get stuck to your skin?” I blurted out, unfiltered.

“Well, for one, I wear compression boxers for a reason, and powder helps. But two, you should go to sleep,” he replied with a gentle chuckle.

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