Plan Of Seduction

11. The After-Work

Edit/Rewritten: May 1, 2021

Warnings: Uh, Blowjobs. Also, I'm like 96% sure that 'after-work' isnt a word but I didn't know the word so ncdjnjnjknfjjfbb.

___

Logans POV

_________

Chapter Eleven: The After Work

Having your feelings returned after a painstakingly long period of time of denial, was . . . odd. Aside from the constant spout of butterflies that made their home in my intestines, there was also this sinking feeling that accompanied the flutter. Tripp, unsurprisingly, has always had the upper hand when it came to helping me focus and calm down. After the fight with my dad, I had become slightly paranoid in my surroundings, leading to the occasional break-down in random settings.

They were beyond annoying, especially since the smallest thing that reminded me of the fight triggered an episode. The frequency of the episodes had decreased since moving in with Tripp but they quickly morphed into something else. Whereas before they would be episodes of paranoia and safety concern, now they were simply anxiety attacks. During these I learned about 'grounding', which is a way to calm down from an attack. There are many healthy techniques that are considered grounding, but for some reason my body zeroed past those and stuck with scratching.

It was terrible, at most unhealthy, and borderline unpleasant. I'm sure the technique managed to shock Tripp too, because I have never intentionally put myself in danger. Well, except. . . I pulled my gaze away from Tripp's phone, looking down at my thigh, the end of the scar tilting up to be visible from the top of my muscle.

But that was important! I convinced myself, because it was. If it hadn't been me, it would've been my brother and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if it had been my brother.

I looked upwards to Tripp, nose scrunching as he moved around the kitchen. As guaranteed, he was making me his famous chocolate-pancakes. I am convinced that if Tripp had cooked for me during high school, I would've come to fall for him a lot sooner. But his impeccable cooking skills were just a plus.

A warm heat creeped up my cheeks and I tore my gaze away from Tripp's body, focusing it instead on his phone screen. An annoyed grumble escaped me as the red-screen met me, catching Tripp's attention. Maybe because I almost never got annoyed with playing the world-creation game.

"What happened?" He asked with genuine concern, stepping closer to look down at the screen, an easy feat since I was sitting on the counter next to the sink. He looks at the screen before snickering, "Ha, you died? What a loser."

My jaw dropped and I kicked my legs out, hitting his hip with the bottom of my foot repeatedly. Tripp giggled at my very ferocious attacks, as if they were actually tickling him, and that spurred me on further.

"You're the loser!" That was a perfectly thought-out rebuttal. "It was your fault!"

With an amused glint, Tripp's lips tugged upwards in a smirk. With little effort he gripped my ankles, maneuvering me until he was gazing up at me from in between my parted legs. "Oh? And how did I do that? I was minding my business, making breakfast." 

"My breakfast," I grumbled, pouting. Tripp's eyes flickered to my lips and without hesitation he leaned in, giving me a quick peck.

And no, it did not make me blush. I don't blush, "That's right, baby. Your breakfast."

"Well!" I began, having come up with the perfect reason behind blaming Tripp for my loss at a game.  "I'm just so hungry, and - and well, the pancakes smell really good. So it was distracting."