My Babyboy ❤️ (Ishman / Shubish)

chapter 7

If you're a minor then please don't read it.
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Ishan was so nervous he felt like his stomach was going to fall out of his mouth as he boarded towards the station, headed for a much posh and rich part of the dream city. As he got off one train and waited for another one, he already noticed how underdressed he was. The people surrounding him were all men and women in business suits or expensive designer brands. Ishan shivered, wrapping his arms more tightly around himself as a gust of cold wind announced the arrival of the next train. He looked down at the torn knees of his jeans that he’d owned since high school, noticing how pinkish his skin was from the cold.

His muscles were quivering from the chill, teeth chattering as his second train arrived and he gratefully stepped onto the packed train, setting his heavy backpack by his feet and grabbing a handhold as the train began to move again. The train section was packed, and he was pressed in on all sides, but after a few minutes, he felt a hand brush his ass. He scooted forward a little assuming it was just an accident, but after a few moments it happened again, more insistently, then the hand groped him. Ishan turned and looked up into the face of a young man, not terribly handsome, very bland and unassuming features. Ishan didn’t bother to keep his voice low as he addressed the asshole.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

The people around them all turned to watch the confrontation. The man who’d grabbed his ass looked angry.

“Whatever, bitch. I didn’t touch you.”

“huh. Let’s keep it that way.”

He turned back around and grabbed his handhold, one hand going down to his backpack and grabbing the handle on top, getting ready to disembark at his stop. Just as they were approaching the next station where Ishan would need to get off, he felt the hand return and grab his ass again.

He didn’t bother addressing that fucker again, he just turned, let go of his handhold and hit the groper right in the nose as hard as he could. He felt a shock of pain ring up his arm at the force of the impact, his hand immediately starting to throb, and he knew his knuckles would be bruised.

“I said, keep your hands to yourself, asshole.” Ishan barked, slipping through the crowd and off the train as everyone else was still in uproar.

He jogged through the station and up the stairs, out onto the street and to the bus stop, throwing his backpack over his shoulders as he ran. He couldn’t stop smiling, even as he shook out his hand,
turning his wrist to test the joint and make sure he hadn’t hurt it. That wasn’t the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last time he had to confront someone on the train that didn’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. A lot of men liked to think that some people were all meek and helpless, but Ishan didn’t take shit from anyone, especially not idiots who thought that having a nice ass was invitation to grope him. It had felt good to hit him, and he’d deserved it.

His knuckles were already purpling and swelling a little. He knew he’d be fine, but he’d hit the man really hard. He pressed his bruised hand to the cold metal of the bus stop shelter, letting the cold soothe the ache in his hand for a few minutes until his bus arrived and he had to hop on. He had to take two connections before he finally arrived at the stop closest to his destination. As he stepped off the bus and onto the curb, he looked around at all the fancy shops, bars and clubs, and the equally extravagant people, dressed to the nines as they walked down the streets, headed for unknown destinations. Ishan checked his phone, and saw that he was already five minutes late. He took off at a run, sprinting the two blocks to the doors of Hakkasan.

Ishan paused for a few moments, outside the restaurant. He caught his breath and smoothed his hair back, trying to bolster himself up with courage. He knew there was a good chance that the man he was meeting might turn him down, and he tried to prepare himself for that possibility. He soothed himself with the knowledge that the man had picked him, and that was something. He’d felt such an unusually strong attraction to the male after he’d seen his photo that being rejected by him would probably make him wither with shame.