Tomorrow│YM

[01] Daddy

Jimin had terrible taste in men.

He was attracted to the fierce ones; men who had no trouble throwing him around in bed. They always ended up being jerks outside the sack, though.

His newly minted boyfriend, Steve, was no different. Well, he was a little different; he was rich as fuck. Other than that, he was indistinguishable from the rest; tall, dark and handsome with a generous side of narcissism.

The first clue was Steve's tendency to insist on ordering their food without any input. Jimin's order was always suspiciously lower in fat and calories, though Steve never said anything negative about his body out loud. Jimin found it a little off-putting, but the food was always expensive and delicious, so he felt he had little ground to stand on to argue. It wasn't like he was out of shape either. In fact, he was pretty proud of his body. His friends and suitors often compared him to dancers; with muscular thighs and an impressively strong core.

Then there were the gifts. Every time Steve said something untoward, or took his jealousy a bit too far, he always followed up with an expensive or extravagant gift. It made Jimin uncomfortable, but he didn't want to be considered ungrateful. As long as the gaffes weren't egregious, he tolerated the blatant attempts to distract him.

But Jimin knew he needed to jump ship the moment an irate Steve began to rip into a demure waitress with the righteous indignation of a homophobe at gay pride. Her sin; clearing his plate too early.

Jimin was even pretty sure he heard her ask for permission. In typical loud-mouth Steve fashion, he talked over the poor girl and waved her off dismissively when she spoke, only to glower at her when she had the audacity to start cleaning the table. Realizing her mistake, she dropped his plate like a hot potato, but it was too late.

Hell hath no fury like a Steven scorned.

"...useless, I'll tell you when I need a dumb blond bitch-"

"STEVE!" Jimin gasped in horror. "Let it go."

Steve looked at him with a terrible glint in his eye. Jimin knew that look, but he had never seen it on him outside the bedroom. It was the sort of look that usually preceded a punishment. Jimin liked being put in his place when he was being a brat. But not like this. Not here, not now.

Jimin should have seen it coming.

His new boyfriend was a dick.

Again.

"Wait your turn, baby boy," Steve growled and then turned back to the shaking, glassy-eyed waitress. "Just fetch me the bill," he spat. Not needing to be told twice, the waitress scurried away. "And I know it'll be hard, sweetheart, but try not to fuck this up too!" he yelled after her, immune to the judgemental looks from the surrounding patrons.

Jimin clenched his jaw. Fuck this guy. Fuck him and his expensive yuppy clothes, his disgusting slicked back hair, his flawlessly ugly face. Fuck his stupid name. Seriously, who the hell names their kid Steve anyway.

He couldn't end it in the restaurant, they had already made enough of a scene. Besides, Steve was his ride and his bank account balance was dangerously low. He couldn't let his rent check bounce... again. Jimin decided he would let Steve drive him home, and then break up with him in his precious red Mercedes outside Jimin's crappy apartment building.

The waitress never came back, no surprise there. Instead, a sharp looking man, stoic as he was intimidating, approached. Silently, he dropped the check book with a loud thump in front of Steve and crossed his arms.

When Steve opened his mouth to continue his tirade, the man leaned forward and set his palms on the table with enough force that the dishes clattered on impact. "Try me," he threatened, voice deliciously authoritative. Suddenly, Jimin felt a pull in his groin - but not for his date.

Hello Daddy.

Steve snapped his mouth shut, picked up his wallet and threw his credit card on the table with a huff. Jimin leaned back, running his fingers through his wavy platinum fringe as he watched his new Daddy run the card through his debit machine with deft fingers, admiring the view of his defined collarbone that was peeking through the unbuttoned collar of his black shirt. He was lean, but he looked strong and his profile could cut glass.

Jimin rolled his eyes when his soon-to-be-ex made a show of striking through the tip section of the receipt. The pathetic asshole applied so much pressure with the ballpoint pen that Jimin could hear the paper rip. Under the table, he discreetly pulled out what few bills he had and a business card for the club he bartended at.

"Let's get out of this dump," Steve seethed, shooting up from his seat so fast that the authentic Eames side chair screeched as it skidded across the polished concrete. He angrily yanked on his leather jacket, gesturing at Jimin to join him.

Unimpressed, Jimin finished his last few sips of water and slowly went through the motions of getting ready, timing it so he could slip the cash and card into the check book after Steve had stormed away.

He draped his trench coat over his arm because he was wearing his good jeans, the ones that made his ass look like a full course meal. It would have been a shame to cover up such a masterpiece.

His fingers grazed the lower back of Mr. Collarbone as he walked passed, whispering "Come find me, Daddy," in the his ear. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder and drank in the stunned expression that now adorned the man's previously hardened face. Jimin bit his lip and winked, bursting with satisfaction when the other's initial shock faded into an intrigued smirk.