Finding Bottom

Bottom

Yoongi POV

After angrily pulling on my pants and picking up a shirt, I walked quickly to the bathroom, locking myself in there, feeling confused about what just happened. I am NOT a bottom. No matter how good Angel made me feel, no matter how turned on I was, I could not let myself be a bottom. I huffed out some indistinct sounds then looked at the shirt I was holding. It was Angel's shirt. I had purposely picked it up on my way into the bathroom out of some weird need to still feel him on me. I put my arms through the sleeves, buttoning up the front. It smelled of him, his cologne, his deodorant, his scent, which always seemed to smell like a sunny, bright spring day. A smile almost broke over my face when I reminded myself that he also tasted like sun-kissed strawberries, but quickly dismissed that thought in favor of remaining angry.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, attempting to sort through my feelings. I have always had a need to be in control. But that need became even stronger the night of my party. I lost control that night. Lost control of myself, lost control of my reactions, lost control to the extent that I'm not willing to give it away ever again, to anyone, for any reason.

I gripped the sink below the mirror and, at the risk of getting turned on again, I started thinking about everything Angel and I had just done together. I reluctantly acknowledged to myself that I ceded some control when I allowed Angel to edge me multiple times. And I loved how much he took care of me, wanting to make sure I felt comfortable and pleasured. Gripping tighter, I wondered if I should have known what Angel was expecting, but I've never been in a relationship where my partner expected me to bottom. It's always been obvious that I was top, in control, even dominant in some cases. Hell, Janean called my 'Daddy,' and had from the day we met at some wild party. It was obvious that he wanted me to control him, and maybe I was attracted to him because of that, maybe that was the only reason.

With Angel it was different. Yes, he's unbelievably gorgeous, but my attraction to him started when he began taking care of me. When I felt treasured, when he talked with me, was interested in me. When he showed that he was a genuine, honest, caring person.

These thoughts continued to float through my head and acted as a calming balm. After a few more minutes, feeling much more rational, I decided that I should probably talk to Angel. I poked my head outside the bathroom door, but he was not in that room. With slight annoyance creeping up, I wondered if he had gone into my painting room, but when I opened that door he was nowhere to be found.

"That's weird," I voiced aloud, "I thought he told me that his phone would sound an alarm if it was too far from mine." With a hopeful heart, I assumed he must not have gone far and waited a few minutes for him to return, then I started looking for my phone.

I spotted my phone on the end table, the same table Angel pulled the condoms from, I reminded myself regretfully. Then I noticed that Angel's phone was right next to mine. "What the hell?" I uttered out loud. "Why would he leave without his phone?"

I waited for a solid 30 minutes before deciding to head home, pocketing both phones. My anger had dissipated to a dull edge, laced more with worry than anything. Maybe I would find Angel at home and we could finally talk. When I got to my place, there was no sign of Angel in the kitchen or living area. I walked to his room tentatively, unsure of how I should approach him. I noticed that the door was open, and when I crossed the threshold, I saw that the little bit of personal belongings he set up when he moved in were gone. I took further steps into the room, seeing the emptiness but not accepting it, turning in a circle in hopes that the hollowness in both the room and my heart would change.

My eyes finally landed on a small envelope left on the bureau with my name on the front. I picked it up and opened it while sitting down on his bed.