The Real Scömìche

Mitch

I inhaled deeply. No more scent of straw, candles and bleach. I was home. Grabbing the handle of my bag, I wheeled my way towards the lift in our building. I couldn't wait to see Scott. I missed hugging and kissing him, and even just seeing him. A photo isn't the same as the strong, sexy body of Scott Hoying. He was my rock, always so confident and kind. He took time to have proper conversations with our fans and sacrificed so much for other people. He completely knew who he was, a strong, steady, handsome man, damaged in the past, but a true fighter and winner.

I clutched my keys, pushing the door open, immediately smiling at the sight before me. It was so cheesy, but it made my heart melt anyway. A scarlet trail of petals led to a bouquet of flowers sitting on the table, around the chairs to the hallway and into Scott's bedroom. And there he was. My freaking angel. He grabbed my hand, pulling me gently closer towards him. His hand snaked round my waist as he leaned in.

"You take my breath away every time I see you, Mitch Grassi." He whispered before tenderly placing his lips on mine. He pulled me closer, our hips touching with sparks of electricity, and his hands on my waist and neck. He suddenly swung me around so I leant backwards like in the old romantic movies. His soft lips continued to kiss mine, growing more urgent. I allowed his tongue to enter my mouth, before going to shut the curtains, leaving him standing there, an amused, loving smile on his face. He took my hand, pulling me swiftly back, beginning to unbutton my grey shirt. I felt the soft fabric slide down my arms then Scott kissing my neck. I ran my hand over his shoulder and down his back, standing on my tiptoes to reach the hem of this tight tee, my eyes zoning in one his abs once more. I pulled the material over his head, stealing more kisses. He breathed in deeply, inhaling my aftershave as if he was reminded of a treasured childhood memory. I pushed him gently on to the bed, undoing his belt. His hands reached down to mine, pulling me on top of him. He pressed his lips to mine as he wriggled out of his designer jeans. He caressed my neck as he unzipped my trousers, whipping them off my legs. I wrapped my hand in his, our fingers entwined. I kissed him back more urgently than ever.

We lay beside each other, trying to catch our breath.
"Well, you seem happy to see me..." Scott joked as he left out of bed for a shower. I sighed happily. I was home. After two weeks in Texas it was strange and yet so relieving to be back in LA. I sat up with a content smile on my face. Swinging my legs out of bed, I slipped on a black tee and combed my fingers through my unruly hair. I absentmindedly ran my finger over the hickey on my neck that Scott left as I padded out of the messy room. I reached for a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen, drinking it at the table as I checked my busy Twitter feed. A thought popped into my head and I slid off the stool and headed towards the bathroom. I opened the door to see my beautiful boyfriend standing with a towel round his waist, blonde hair dripping, and staring into the mirror at something on his flawless face. I shamelessly ran my eyes over his perfect chiseled frame and as my eyes travelled up his muscular arm. I suddenly spotted several ugly wounds on his bicep. My hand flew to my mouth and my eyes filled with tears. I let my hand reach to the scars, and he flinched as I touched the damaged skin. I pulled him round to face me, noticing the glisten in his eyes. His head dropped in shame and a fat tear rolled down his cheek. I squeezed him in a hug, ignoring the questions racing round in my head. I clung tightly to his damp body, letting him cry into my shoulder. Something was seriously wrong; Scott never cried.