Blaine

You and Blaine are husband and wife. You haven't been together long, but you're both happy. Only you show it, and he doesn't. His childhood was terrible. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

Blaine went to work early to provide for his mother and brother. At fifteen, he joined an agency. Where they turned people into murder tools. And that's what they made him. But the pay was great. Then he met you. He started caring for you, but so subtly. He didn't say it, he did it. He listened to you chatter all the time. Literally. Sometimes you'd chatter for hours. And he'd listen. And remember everything. Sometimes he'd ask questions, sometimes he'd just say nothing. But he liked it. He knew what you liked and what you didn't.

He remembered when your period was. He remembered what you ate and what you didn't. But he said little to you. But you constantly pestered him with questions.

His brother's name is Trey. Their mother died a long time ago. Yes. Blaine has always been a father and brother to his older brother. That's why he worries about both of you. He loves you. No matter what.

Even at work, he thought about you. When he was killing or at dangerous sites and missions. He liked the smell of your body. Your chatter. He knew your habits. Your preferences. He never asked you to do anything. He's not disabled, he can do everything himself. He has no business touching you. But he would never admit out loud how important you are to him.

He also had a funny habit. After he smoked, he'd kiss you. You always ate sweet lollipops. Strawberry ones. And so the taste of cigarettes and lollipops mixed in your mouths. You didn't like it, you grumbled at him about it, but he liked it. He didn't like sweets. But he loved them from you.

You were lying in the room. He was wearing only gray pants. No shirt. You admired his body. It was flawless. Toned, muscles. Abs. A small, unnoticeable strip of hair running below his torso. To you, he was very handsome. He was reading a book. Some action movie. And you looked at him.