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He was shaking, but no tears came. So much was bottled up, the pressure was threatening to shatter him. He was bending forward into her, not seeking an embrace, but folding up over the pain in his midriff. She scrambled out of the way, catching him around his waist and shoulders to ease him to the ground as he toppled there, shaking so hard she felt a spurt of fear.
Grabbing the blanket off the bed, she used it to cover them as she curved up behind him, wrapping as much of her body around him as she could.
"I'm here," she said. And kept saying it.
She'd stayed away from his childhood, yet now that she knew the root of the problem, it was time to follow her gut. He was hurting, spiraling down into a dark, lonely place, and she could feel his pain. She'd handle it the way he needed.
She started to rock them, holding him to her. "Ssh, ssh, easy..." She rubbed her hand over his chest, his stomach, pressing her mouth between his shoulder blades. "Hush...sweet boy. So sweet. So brave. So strong..."
Closing her eyes, she began to hum. It was a formless tune until it wasn't, until she realized she was humming a lullaby to him, the mockingbird lullaby they'd all heard at one time or another in their lives.
"Hush, sweet boy, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird..."
He shuddered, but he gripped her hand on his chest like he'd never let go. And he was letting her rock him, rocking with her. She kept going, telling him if the mockingbird didn't sing, then she'd get him a diamond ring. Lyric after lyric, saying that no matter what thing didn't work out, mama was going to make it okay. And no matter what happened, she was going to always think he was the sweetest boy that had ever been born.
She wasn't his mother, but there was a serious, deep purpose to Mommy/boy play that wasn't play at all. She had maternal instincts, and he needed them. He was plunged deep into the abyss of his childhood, where his mother hadn't protected him, hadn't been capable of thinking of anything but her own survival, the two of them merely random strangers trapped in the same prison with a monster.
He didn't cry. He never even spoke or made a sound at all, but he held onto her. Slowly, his heart's racing started to slow, and his body relaxed into a more natural position, rather than the tight fetal coil. She kept singing, kept rocking, kept stroking. After a long, long time, a little sigh lifted his shoulders. Then he was still.
They lay like that for a while. She thought he slept some while she hummed to him. Eventually, she curled an arm all the way around his chest and squeezed, a way to partially wake him. "Let's move to the bed."
He nodded and rose. Though he helped her up, he moved as if in a groggy dream state, collapsing onto the mattress after they reached it. Removing the shirt she'd taken from him so she could press her bare skin against his back, she pulled the blankets over them and curled back around him. She also resumed her singing, taking him back to dreams.
She went there herself, but it was a slumber populated with some dark and disturbing shadows. That was okay. If they were his nightmares, she'd hold them off as long as he needed.
Tonight, she would make sure he had peace.
When the shadows dissipated and her eyes opened, there was only him. Early morning sunlight filtered in through the panel, outlining his upper body. He was facing her, his head propped on his hand, elbow pressed to the mattress.
She stroked his jaw with light fingertips. He looked tired still, but not as haunted. Not right now. Just pensive.
"If you're a proper sub," she said, "you know how to make your Mistress coffee."
His eyes were more blue-gray this morning, becoming even more blue when they warmed and he agreeably left the bed. She watched him. He'd slept in the jeans, though they were unbuttoned, riding so low it hinted at the crease between his buttocks. As he stood in front of the coffee maker, he had one hip cocked, upper body curved in an easy slouch he made look appetizing. But she enjoyed the simmering effect of the lust, keeping it in check while she considered other things. He had the first question of the morning, though. He delivered it with his back to her.
"I guess you figured out why I asked you to come, even if I'm not sure of it myself," he said quietly. "But I don't know why you did. Or why you stayed after you found out you'd come to a freak show."
She frowned at his choice of words, but decided to not start the day with contentiousness.
"I wanted to give you a safe place." When he turned his head to look over his shoulder, she swept a hand up and down to signify her entire body. "This is it."
His weary expression showed amusement. "That's a hell of a padded cell."
"Watch it, boy," she warned.
He grinned and returned to the bed while the coffee brewed. Sliding in under the covers when she gestured, he came into her arms and rolled her to her back. His heat and weight were welcome. She was a Domme who held control on the top or the bottom, so she enjoyed either position equally. Her leg hooked around his hip, and his hand closed over her wrist, holding it pinned at her side, his gray eyes measuring her response. She cocked her head, gazing up at him. "What, baby?"
His gaze flickered. "You do that. You bring up the anger and then, you take it away. I don't want to hurt you and be angry, but I am, and I can't stop it. You make me stop it. I can't figure it out. That makes me feel..."
"Out of control. Which makes you mad again. You're trapping yourself in a cycle." She lifted her other hand and traced his shoulder, the one with the armor tattoo. "How about for now, you not try so hard to figure it out? Just ride the ride for a little bit."
His gaze sparked. "Was that an invitation?"
She chuckled. "Only if you're always thinking about sex. Oh, wait, you're male. That answers the question."
"Well, I am lying on a hot, naked woman. Kind of hard not to think about it."
"Kind of hard, period." She undulated against his morning erection and purred as he answered in kind, rubbing himself against her mound. "That's nice." She curled her fingers in the short hair at his neck. "When you're ready, I want you back inside of me."
