Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

I felt so humiliated I couldn't even look at Trace. "I'm sorry," I said sheepishly, feeling like my face was on fire. No, it wasn't just on fire it was in the middle of a full on inferno. I was sweating so much, and I couldn't stop any of it. Was I going to have a panic attack? No, but I was close. I just needed to breathe. But instead of breathing I just kept blathering on, "I didn't realize it would be a problem and— oh my God, I'm so embarrassed." My voice cracked and I felt like I was going to start crying.
I stared down at the patterns of the boxers I'd hastily put on after things hadn't gone well. They were blue with tiny sheep on them. The big and tall section didn't always have variety but I secretly liked the sheep. It wasn't particularly manly, but neither was wanting to hide under the covers after humiliating myself in front of my boyfriend.
Trace was facing away from me and when he turned I could see his face was as red as a tomato. "It's my fault. I know my body and what it can handle but I just got too excited. It's been a while since I've been with a guy and I should have been more prepared but I didn't really expect us to do anything this weekend. And I've— never seen you naked before so I wasn't thinking." He gestured vaguely while he spoke. "And it's not like we've exchanged nudes. We should think of this as a learning experience." Even after everything, Trace only seemed mildly embarrassed and a little bit amused. I wished I'd taken it so well. In my mind everything was supposed to be smooth as silk, like a Nicholas Sparks Rom-Com but instead of basking in an afterglow I was staging off a panic attack.
I had just really wanted our first time to be special and anxiety free. I took a few stuttering breaths and stared down at my hands. They were shaking. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize for having a big dick." Trace gave me a long look. "Trust me when I say I'm very excited to get well acquainted with it when the time is right. But I guess I didn't consider how difficult it would be with someone who's so—" it was like time slowed down and Trace's next words felt impossibly stretched, "well endowed."
Wow, he'd really said that out loud. "I should've warned you."  That one part of me that had nothing to do with my height ended up being bigger than average as well. It was like God pulled a prank on me. My previous partners had been surprised if not delighted but it was more trouble than it was worth if I was honest. Only select condom brands fit well, some of my boyfriends had fixated on it a little more than I'd liked. Mainly Jeremy.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized dating Jeremy had been a reflection of a very insecure time in my life. I was just getting used to Sweets N Things and I was lonely. Lonely in a way I'd never been before. Jeremy happened to be there and even if his compliments had felt hollow, they'd been compliments.
I guess I was always waiting for someone to realize there was something wrong with me and I wasn't worth it. But, maybe, even if there were things wrong with me, I was still worth it. Trace was teaching me that somehow and I didn't think he realized it.
Me and Trace finally being intimate in a way we'd never been before and it being cut short because Trace said it just wasn't happening even with the best lube in the world. Yeah, well, that was the ultimate mood killer. I felt like shit even though I was happy it hadn't gone that far. Trace had seen me naked for the first time and in a way that was already a lot for someone like me. But, it was like as soon as the clothes came off the both of us wanted everything even though it wasn't realistic. I never got caught up in the moment but that had happened tonight because Trace was mouth wateringly perfect. It was like I forgot everything that stressed me out and he plucked all these amazing sensations out of me.
"I can understand why you didn't," Trace said softly, "I probably wouldn't have believed you unless I'd seen it myself. Guys exaggerate that kind of thing all the time." He reached out and squeezed high up on my thigh. His grip was firm, and I knew he was teasing me but I couldn't help but enjoy it. "The night is young and there's lots of stuff we can do without penetration, right? I only have one-point-five legs but I've got two hands, a mouth and an imagination." That made me laugh and Trace gave me a kiss. "Tell me what you want."
His hands felt hot and like they were searing through my boxers. I swallowed, trying to speak around my racing heartbeat. "What kinds of stuff?"
Trace scooted over on the bed and pulled himself into my lap, folding his arms over my shoulders and putting his lips against my ear. He kissed the shell of my ear, before brushing his lips down my throat. "We could kiss. I know a lot of places that deserve attention." I'd never heard Trace's voice like this before; a slow, seductive, whispery caress trailing across my skin and seeping into my bones.
I let out a breath and somewhere along the way it turned into a moan when Trace squeezed his thighs around my waist, pressing us even closer together. Trace had powerful, muscular thighs and it was amazing to be squeezed by them. "Ahh," I said incoherently, unable to think when he was so close to me and when I wanted him to be so much closer. "Can you— Trace, please, can you kiss me?"
Trace sitting in my lap made us nearly the same height so it was easy for our mouths to meet as he kissed me. A slow, sweet, luxurious kiss that lasted and lasted and lasted. "You're so sweet, Darius...You don't understand how you look right now." Trace rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. "Your lips are so soft and plump and kissable. And you look like you'd want me to ruin you."
Well, fuck, it would be an honour to be ruined by Trace.
Trace knew better than to touch my hair but he had one hand at the back of my neck and the other— I made a surprised noise. The other was between the both of us, where our hips joined.
And so the kiss went up another degree and I felt like I was melting. The heat started at my mouth where Trace kissed me and at every point where he was touching me. It was too much and not enough. The harshness of his touches and the sweetness of the kisses was dizzying. I couldn't think and soon enough my mind went empty.
"Is it good?" Trace asked softly.
"Hmm?" I murmured, opening my eyes lazily.
He laughed. "Okay, I'll take that," he said as he started to explore my body with his warm hands.
"You have these perfect lips," he said against my mouth. "These wonderful, sensitive eyes, these high cheekbones, your cute nose..." he would kiss every feature he mentioned before continuing in a low, yet soft voice, "Such nice skin: Dark and brown and beautiful." He trailed his lips down my throat, then sucked against my collarbone before nipping at my pecs. "Your chest..." he promptly sucked against the meat of my pecs, doing his best to give me a lovely bruise.
He slapped and gripped my thighs, completely skipping over the one place I wanted him to pay attention to.  "And these thighs!" He rubbed up and down my thighs appreciatively. "Thick, and meaty. Strong."
"You're strong, too," I said thickly, feeling stupid and dazed because I couldn't think of anything else.
Trace laughed. "Just let me compliment you, Darius."
I huffed. "Okay."
"Just touching and kissing, okay? I won't do anything more."
I nodded wordlessly as Trace started to shimmy off the sweat pants he was wearing. He was wearing grey briefs underneath that didn't leave anything to the imagination.
He scratched absently at his left knee and I looked more closely at it. There was a scar at the tip of what would be some of his shin where I assumed the surgeons had sewn the skin back together after amputating.
"Ugly, right?" Trace teased, but I could hear the hurt in his voice.
I put my hand over his left thigh and stroked down reverentially until I was at the end of his limb. My voice was fierce, "there's no part of you that could ever be ugly."
Trace's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. He stared for a moment, not saying anything. Instead of replying he leaned over to kiss me until we were just skin, hot breaths and sheer want.
"We can stop if you're overwhelmed," Trace said softly.
"I don't want to stop," I said quickly, "please."
"Then I won't."
#
"I'm going to miss your cute face," Trace said later. The both of us were relaxed and a little boneless after kissing and touching. No, it wasn't sex but it was still intimate and I was happy Trace seemed to find so much pleasure in my body. Giddy at the fact, even.
He was laying on my chest, with his cheek smooshed against my skin and his left leg arced over my hip. He was pressed right up against me but I was okay with it. I was too boneless to be too anxious.
"I'm not cute," I mumbled out my rote response.
"Yes you are. Cuteness is in the eye of the beholder," Trace explained before briefly unhooking himself from my body just to kiss me on the cheek. "This is going to be a difficult few weeks until you get back. I'll be ready next time for us to go all the way in case you want to."
I felt my skin start to burn, but I felt a lot less embarrassed now. "I really am sorry about that."
"I'm serious when I said you shouldn't apologize for your body. We both have things we can't help." Trace shifted his thigh over my hip, the bottom of his shorter limb teasing my knee.
"Those aren't the same thing," I said quietly.
"What brand of condoms do you use? I think I'll keep a box at my place from now on," he murmured without addressing what I was really talking about. But, he was the amputee so I figured it was up to him to spearhead any conversations surrounding his leg.
We talked a bit more about what the next time would be like. He would prefer his place at least the first few times, but would make sure Nalini wasn't home so I could be comfortable. We decided he would lead so he could teach me what his body could and couldn't do. Though, based on Trace's descriptions and waggling eyebrows there were very few things he couldn't do. But, in all honesty not having to lead was easier for me. So far, that had been Trace's role throughout our relationship in more than one way and I liked that.
The previous relationships I had that lasted the longest and were the most meaningful were the ones where my partner saw that a part of me, at least in relationships, liked to follow instead of lead. He even asked some personal questions about things I liked to do or wanted to try in the bedroom. It was oddly embarrassing but then Trace would kiss me or soothe me when I started to stutter and kept reminding me we were supposed to have fun.
"I'm sorry I'm not spontaneous," I said after our talk, "I know that can be boring."
"I definitely don't find you boring, Darius. In fact I think I like you too much," Trace said with a frown and I wasn't sure what to make of it.
"I'm still sorry about...about what happened the week before the competition. I keep thinking about it. I should have stopped everything before we even got to the bedroom," I blurted out, temporarily hating myself for ruining the mood.
Trace took a long time to reply, "Can I be honest with you?"
I blinked a few times but steeled myself. "Yes, I can take it."
"That was a really difficult day for me. I was so into everything, I was so excited, and I thought you were into it, too. And then when I realized you weren't feeling things...it was like someone threw an ice cold bucket of water over me. I'm sure you saw how angry I was." He combed his hands through his hair quickly while speaking. "No, actually you didn't. Ever since my accident and because of the bullying I've had bad problems with anger. And you've seen it, too, when someone tries to talk down to you, I snap easily. A lot of times when I'm upset it's the first thing I feel. I can't breathe, it chokes me and I need to remove myself or else I over react. It's been a few years since I've felt so upset. Some of it was directed at you because you didn't tell me you didn't want to do anything physical. But..." Trace paused and took a long shuddering breath. "Most of it was that I was angry with myself. I'm older than you, I've been with more guys than you, and I should have noticed before it even got as far as it did." Trace hung his head and clenched his fists on his thighs so hard the knuckles were going white. "I'm so unbelievably angry at myself for that. In a lot of ways I view your comfort when we're together as my responsibility...And I failed."
I'd already said sorry so many times but I didn't know what else to say. My silence from that time had done a lot more damage than I realized. I moved towards Trace and put one of my hands over his fist. His hands eased up and he finally looked at me. He almost looked resigned. I folded our fingers together. "I wasn't thinking when that happened. I just wanted to please you."
Trace's brown eyes softened. "I know, but it makes it hard to trust you, Darius. Honesty is the only thing I want from you. Even if it's something you think I don't want to hear, I want you to tell me. Can you do that?"
I gave him a small smile. "Yes, I've already told you all the hard things, so I can promise to be honest."
Trace smiled back. "I'm satisfied with that. I'm not asking you to tell me everything, either. Just the stuff you want to tell me or I need to know. Okay?"
I nodded quickly. "Okay. But, do you forgive me?"
Trace's face blanked before he grabbed both of my hands. "Yeah, don't worry about all that. It's no fun living in the past." Trace surprised me by pulling on my hands and it brought my body forward enough for Trace to plant a kiss on me. Wow, I thought with with a little thrill, he was strong.
It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and the bit of guilt I'd been carrying from our first failed attempt at intimacy ebbed away. I was forgiven. Things would be okay.
The silence had gone on for a few moments as I went over some of what Trace had said. "My comfort doesn't have to be your priority. It's flattering, but you don't need to take care of me," I said carefully.
Trace's eyes watched me like I was some kind of prey. I wasn't even sure how he managed to do that. He put his hand on my back and rubbed in one slow circle. "I want to take care of you." It wasn't exactly an order but it was awfully bossy.
I frowned. "My first boyfriend and I broke up because he treated me like I was incapable of doing anything for myself. He scheduled my barber shop, dentist, and doctor appointments for when to get checkups. I dated him in my last year of university and I wasn't sure what I wanted to do so he suggested I apply for grad school. He outlined my letter of intent, and appropriate programs I should apply for. When I went out to buy new clothes he would go with me to the store and to the tailor since I'm tall and everything is ill fitting. He drove me to interviews, helped me get my license and trained me to interview better...By the end it became too much."
Trace's face was pale in horror. "He sounds like a control freak."
I laughed humourlessly. That had been my best relationship before this. "It was my fault, too, because I just let him. When Carter saw me in distress, he wanted to immediately make that stressor go away. Whenever I was overwhelmed with something, Carter took that as an invitation to take care of it, because he loved me. Except I have anxiety, which was worse back then, and everything stresses me out. So he took care of just about everything. Manny hated it. He realized before I did that Carter wasn't letting me grow." Or live. Or think. And for a little while I had been perfectly okay with someone else holding my hand through life which was utterly fucked up.
Understanding dawned on Trace's face. "Oh," he breathed out softly. "Shit. I do that, too. I can't take it when something bothers you. I guess I understand what you meant better now.  But, just because I want to take care of you doesn't mean I don't think you can take care of yourself. I'm just...protective." Well, that was one word for it.
"That's okay, Trace, but you have to understand that if you decide to do too much for me, then it's taking advantage of me because it can be hard for me to stick up for myself." All my panic attacks in Baking Beasts resulted in late night talks on the phone in Twi with Dr. Yaya and the conversation naturally veered to other things. I was more aware of my issues than I'd ever been. "It can be hard for me to tell you to stop," I continued slowly, "I sometimes have trouble with that. I need to be more vocal and I'm working on that."
"Okay," he conceded, "I'm proud of you for being honest." He brushed his hand up and down my arm slowly. "I won't get mad if you tell me you don't want me to pay for dinner, or you need physical space."
I nodded. "I'll try."
He kissed me on the forehead before curling up on his side on the bed. "I'm good with that. Let's go to sleep?"
I laid back down and somehow I ended up as the little spoon. Trace was warm against my back and his arm was slung loosely over my waist. Just as I started to fall asleep I remembered that I'd forgotten to put on my du-rag.
Shit.
I shot up quickly and Trace made a startled noise even though he was half asleep. I crawled out of bed, ignoring Trace's soft sound of sudden loss. Quickly, I dug through my things and secured my du-rag before shutting off the lights and crawling back to Trace's warmth.
He snuggled against my backside but not before kissing my back and tightening his hold against me.
#
The next morning, Trace surprised me by letting my sleep in. When I woke up, Trace was dressed in form fitting running gear, with his phone strapped to a band on his arm. He had a headband which pushed his hair back so it was out of his eyes and he was wearing running gear. The shorts stopped mid- thighs, exposing a lot of muscle and especially his prosthetic.
/i.pinimg/736x/cb/f3/7c/cbf37c831e2e647197375fca75c76a5b.jpg
—Like this except no under armour leggings. Probably because it would be weird to put over his prosthetic and when Trace runs marathons he runs with it exposed. —
#
Trace was doing some warm down stretches and I was barely waking up but I watched with interest as he bent his body every which way, and how nicely his shorts framed his ass. Trace had an especially nice butt, probably because he worked out so much. But some of it had to be genetics because it was really...nice.
"Have you ever had plastic surgery?" I asked in a voice heavy with sleep.
Trace snorted. "Good morning to you, too, Darius."
I closed my eyes. Shit. "Yes, good morning."
Trace reached down and touched the tips of his toes. Fuck, the profile view did wonders for his rear.
"Your butt is just really nice," I said very quietly. It was just so round, and very distracting.
"I can feel you staring," he murmured, "and of course I haven't had plastic surgery. I don't like the idea of being under the knife."
Oh God, why had I even asked that? "Sorry," I said genuinely before leaving the bed and going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I freaked out for approximately two minutes as I brushed, gargled mouth wash and rinsed. Why has I even said that? Were there any functioning brain cells in my head?
When I came out of the bathroom, Trace was on the floor in front of the bed and doing the splits, stretching his hand all the way to one foot before arcing his body in the opposite direction. Holy shit, he was flexible. I wasn't sure why everyone of his movements was dripping in sensuality.
I coughed before stepping around him and plopping back on the bed. There wasn't much else to do but stare at Trace.
"You're my boyfriend," he said with his forehead on the floor and his arms stretched over his head, "if I wanted someone to stare at my ass, it would be you, Darius. I very much want my ass to be appreciated."
"I don't know how you manage to be so bold," I said.
Trace laughed, sitting up and crossing his legs. "Is it bad if I find your flustered expressions adorable?"
"Maybe not."
"And you could compliment me more. I know you like my thighs, my ass and the fact I have piercings. Sometimes you could just say 'gee willikers Trace, I think the fact your nips are pierced is hot as fuck. They sure do look lickable.'"
I smiled. "I do not speak like that."
"But that's what you think, right?" He teased.
I didn't say anything for a beat. "I like your face the most, Trace. I find you very attractive but I don't just care about your body even though every bit of it is gorgeous."
"Oh, I like the sound of that." Trace rolled over and laid on his side, propping his head up with his elbow. He closed his eyes but he was still smiling. "Say it again."
"Which part?"
"The part where I'm gorgeous."
"You're so much more than gorgeous. The first time I saw you in that stairwell I was so embarrassed to be a mess in front of someone who looks like you. It just made everything else worse."
Trace opened his eyes and sat up, much more alert. "Why were you in that staircase that day?"
I closed my eyes and for a moment I remembered the sick feeling of finding Jeremy with that guy and the ultimate proof that he didn't care about me. "Jeremy lives in that building and I came to his place and found him... with someone else. He always liked surprises so I made us dinner and he came in with some guy and they were making out and it was awful. I knew things had been weird between us but whenever I asked Jeremy if we were okay he brushed me off. And then I had a panic attack because it was so humiliating and then Jeremy made fun of my reaction and I just got out of there and I tried to calm down on the staircase but that's when you found me. And you gave me that napkin...I never thanked you for that." I swallowed loudly. "So, thank you."
"That's why you guys broke up? I had no idea, I'm sorry." Trace sounded heartbroken on my behalf and I couldn't understand it. "I'm a little sweaty but can I give you a hug?"
I didn't really care about sweat. So Trace came up on the bed and wrapped his arms around me. He hugged me for a while, rubbing my back. Once it got to be too much, I squirmed and Trace moved away. Luckily, he didn't seem offended.
"It's okay," I said. "I'm just glad it's over. I'm glad I met you and we went on that date and that you try so hard to understand me. It means a lot to me." My eyes felt glassy, and I turned away slightly, squinting up at the ceiling.
"Are you crying?"
I sniffled. "No, I'm just happy."
"Good. I always want you to be happy. I'm gonna take a shower, and we can stuff our faces at the continental breakfast. I haven't had anything sweet, in like a month, I'm ready to put back on my pre-marathon weight."
Trace had his things on the dresser and he assembled his shower toiletries before going into the bathroom. I wiped my eyes quickly and looked for a nice outfit. I settled on jeans, some Jordans, and an African inspired shirt. It was a little longer than a Western T-shirt and it had s few patterns along the shoulders. It was something I had sewn myself and I liked the way it looked on me.
When Trace came out of the bathroom in a puff of steam he looked impressed. "Oh, not too Western, I like it."
I stammered. "If you need to change, I can go."
"You saw all my fun bits yesterday, I don't care if you see me change, Darius."
"Then, I'll just face the wall." I got up to sit by the desk in the room which faced the wall. I took off my du-rag and spent the next few minutes brushing out my waves. I'd been distracted enough with miles of Trace's skin the night before that I forgot.
Trace sighed but didn't argue.
Once he announced he was done, I turned back around.
Trace was wearing a skinny pair of dark pants, a snug white shirt that revealed the impressions of his piercings, and a beautiful quarter length sleeved dark cardigan that had a drawing of two pale foxes undee a red bridge all sitting on a bed of flowers. The longer I looked at it the more I realized the cut seemed distinctly East Asian.
Trace modelled it for me, allowed it to billow around his frame as he turned and posed. "It's a noragi," he explained, "more modern than traditional. But samurais and farmers used to wear this style a while back."
—
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—Trace's outfit would be dark pants, skinny, with some sneakers like Air Force Ones or something.
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Something like this with the patterns but more tailored and a higher quality fabric. So you'll think 'oh wow that looks expensive.' & Darius is wearing a nice pair of blue jeans and some sneakers.
—
"You look good," I said.
Trace moved close to me, looking up as if he was asking a question. "I want to kiss you," he said plainly.
Slowly, I leaned down and Trace initiated a short, yet deep kiss. He slipped his hand under the back of my shirt and stroked near the bottom of my spine and I stopped myself mid moan.
Trace looked smug at my reaction but fixed my shirt quickly. "I'm going to behave myself when we go out."
"Please," I said a little breathlessly, knowing I'd be unable to keep my composure if Trace was as affectionate beyond the hotel room.
#
Our morning started off at the continental breakfast where Trace surprised me with the amount of toast he had. I thought he'd be full but he announced he was saving his stomach for later.
True to his word, Trace wasn't affectionate when we were out and even if he had a tendency to be flirtatious, I didn't think anyone was eavesdropping on our conversation. We went from the hotel down to Central Park which the hotel wasn't too far from. Trace took us along a scenic route with a lot of back streets but we bumped into similar minded tourists no matter where we went. It was late summer and still tourist season. We got a few stares because of my height but it wasn't too bad. We also stood closer than het guys tended to but that didn't bother me. I liked being near Trace.
He caught me up with his work projects and I was glad to be gaining insight into that part of his life. But instead of talking much about himself Trace asked me a lot of questions about myself and my childhood. I explained how my anxiety didn't become crippling until my teens. My parents would frequently take off work to help Cyrus with his flourishing basketball career, and the lack of routine would stress me out. Then puberty hit and I got tall as fuck, I realized I'd never like girls, and my stutter started to come back with the stress. I didn't explain to Trace how I'd vomit from anxiety when I was at my worst and I nearly became mute because I isolated myself from everyone except my family and Manny. It had been bad.
We were nearly at the park and we stopped at a hot dog stand for a snack. Trace got us some sausages with just about every topping on them and we munched silently for a while as we got to the entrance.
"I'm sorry about you childhood," Trace said with his mouth full. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. "You don't deserve to have gone through any of that."
"I can't help any of it. It's just how I am."
"What about therapy?"
I noticeably tensed and my stomach immediately seized into knots. Trace noticed and changed the topic. He pulled out a disposable camera and snapped a picture of me with my hot dog half stuffed in my mouth.
"Say cheese," he said after he'd already snapped the photo.
"Damn, I think I blinked." Being randomly photographed annoyed me, but Trace looked so happy when he took the picture I didn't know what to say.
"Don't worry, we'll take a lot today."
"Where will the pictures go?" I asked warily.
"Hmm, I'm thinking we can do an album? I want us to make lots of memories together."
My annoyance went away as I melted at the romance in Trace's voice. My voice was soft, "that sounds sweet."
And we took a bunch of pictures that day. Trace had more than one disposable camera and he took some pictures of the scenery but mainly me, and sometimes us. He went so far as to ask strangers to take a few photos of us and took lots of videos and selfies on his cellphone as we walked through the park.
It was a cool day but the sun was bright in the sky and eventually we reached a lull in the conversation.
The day with Trace had been perfect so far and I was glad to be just spending time with my boyfriend even if it didn't seem like we were on a date. The both of us knew what it was and that was all that mattered.
Eventually we ended up on a bench and Trace's eyes fluttered closed until he dozed against my chest. We were in the shade and Trace was as warm as honey and I was happy. He was trying not to show it but I knew he was still tired from the marathon and the five kilometres he'd run that morning when I was sleeping.
I was happy that he was here and we were together. Happy that I'd agreed to go out to the park with Trace. And happy that he was the person I'd bumped into in the stairwell all those months ago. Now, after all this, a part of me thought it was meant to be.
And maybe it was.