Bruises • Luke Hemmings a.u

Three.

Three.

It's Sunday morning and Luke must be downstairs cooking bacon, as the smell fills my bedroom. And I hear faint rock music coming from the speakers in the kitchen, his usual Saturday morning routine.

I haven't spoken to him much since the night we argued, since the night he told me he needs me. The only thing he's done is make me realise how much more I need him. Because if he has any doubts in his mind of my being around him, it would break me. And I don't want to live a life that doesn't have him in it.

I've been lusting over Luke for years now, first being completely in denial, trying not to entertain the notion, then finally coming to terms with it.

Him making me happy is harmless, as long as no one ever knows the extent of just how much I do like him. While most of my thoughts where he is regarded usually start harmless, they usually end in an erotic way. And while it should probably disgust me, it doesn't. And I'm still trying to understand that myself.

His cotton t-shirts that I often see him in outside of his work hours always stretch perfectly across his strong chest and arms. With working the long hours he does and looking after me and the house, I often wonder how he makes the time to work out, but he always does. But it's not just his looks that make him so fucking attractive, it's just him.

Ever since that night, he has done nothing but apologise, so much so that it is starting to get annoying. I know he feels bad for upsetting me. He's never upset me before, always being the person I go to to cheer me up when I am upset,  but he's been making it up to me since, leaving me small gifts such as my favourite chocolate, a bottle of my favourite drink in the fridge, and random sticky notes from his office, scattered around the house with silly jokes to make me smile, and makes me feel guilty knowing he feels obligated to make it up to me.

But it's such a him thing to do. He always regards my feeling before his. He always priorities me over himself. It just proves how selfless he truly is. And how beautiful he is of a person. He makes it too easy to love him.

"Mornin'," he says when I walk into the kitchen, as he stands over the cooker, frying bacon in a frying pan.

He's wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. I've seen him shirtless before, many times, but it's not a view you can just get used to. His shoulders are so broad I'm surprised he fits through door frames, and I can see the muscles working in his back when he flips the bacon, the sunlight coming through the windows casting perfect shadows that emphasise how toned he really is.

"Good morning," I say in the most normal voice I can manage, while my head imagines how his muscles would flex if I were to touch him in places I never have before.

I take a seat at the breakfast bar and watch him put the bacon in between bread.  I could just watch him all day doing the most mundane things,  and never get bored. He's just too beautiful.

He turns around to give me my sandwich on a small round plate and I gulp at the sight of him.

His pectoral muscles bulge under his skin and his abdominal muscles look like they have been sculpted from marble, but he's just lean enough to not make his skin look too hard, like he would be soft to the touch, and my fingers twitch slightly, eager to feel his skin beneath them.

A line of hair arrows down from his belly button into his pajama bottoms, and I would give anything to see where it leads. His body is phenomenal, and I can't help but lick my lips at the sight of him.

Luke lets out a small cough and hands me my plate. He's not looking at me, his gaze focused on my plate, and I know he saw me ogling him. I look down at the food in front of me and blush, knowing he caught me ogling him like I've never seen another human male before, and I feel embarrassed, because he probably thinks my ogling is so juvenile, and I don't want him to see me like that. I want him to look at me and see me as the woman I am.