“Tommy,” I murmur, hoping to gently nudge his subconscious mind back into that relaxed, submissive state he was in before; the state that let him drift to sleep so quickly in the first place. But rather than comfort him, my voice does the opposite.
He sucks in air like he’s dying, and explodes into motion so fast that I can’t dodge it. One of his hands grabs my throat hard, the other claws at my shoulder and holds my shirt to keep me where he wants me; in arm’s reach so he can choke the life from me. He snarls, his eyes wild and far away.
I grab his wrist, but before I can even pull, he’s awake and yanking himself away from me, breathing hard.
“Shit!” He gasps, scrambling back on the bed. “Sorry, sorry. Shit.”
“My fault,” I tell him, trying not to cough because damn, he had me good. “I startled you.”
“No I–wait, where am–?” He looks around, getting groggy as his adrenaline fades. “Oh shit, right, I’m here. Is it time to leave?”
He tries to struggle up and out of bed, but I lean over him and bundle him back under the covers. His weak attempts to wriggle back out as I just keep rebundling him are cute, funny, and I grinat him. That seems to help, and he stops squirming, staring up at me as I tuck him in.
“No, it’s not time,” I say firmly. “Go back to sleep. I’m still working.”
“Working?” he slurs. He grabs my wrist when I try to back off, so I sit down on the carpet next to his bed instead of in the chair. He dazedly pulls my hand to his face, rubbing his cheek on it like a kitten, then scowls and shoves it away.
“Fuck off,” he grumbles, completely nonsensical. “Choke you out again, bitch. Don’t make me…”
I can’t help it, I smile again, because he’s just that adorable. He lets me pet his hair and run my fingers over his face and down his neck, his shoulder, and back up again.
The poor boy really is exhausted.I can’t imagine how he was up and fighting only a few hours ago, beating the shit out of some scumbag on what appears to benosleep. In less than a minute he’s falling back under again, his eyes drooping and blinking until he’s down for the count. I keep petting him, soothing him, occasionally murmuring his name so he gets used to my voice while he’s asleep.
Maybe, if I subconsciously connect myself to a decent sleep, he’ll come to crave me as I crave him. Maybe, if I’m the one giving him what he so clearly needs, he’ll decide that I’m the only thing he really wants. Hmm… it’s basic Pavlovian training, associating one thing with another. Logical, useful, proven to work.
Sounds like a plan to me. Anything to keep him coming back for more. Because now that I’ve had a taste of his chaos, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
And speaking of Pavlov… I huff with a smirk when I remember his tantrum in the car a few nights ago, outside my office. He dropped the Daddy clue then, and again tonight. Once? Could be nothing. Twice? That means he’s thinking aboutit already, especially in connection to me. The two things–me, and Daddy play–are already linked in his mind.
I wonder what started the association for him. Did I do something early on in our interactions to make him mentally link me with that? And how can I keep doing it? The way he reacts to my promises of consequences is a bright flashing neon light, a signal that begs for me to go full speed ahead with more. He likes being told he’s a good boy, too, that much is obvious. It was a guess on my part, because some people like that kind of thing, and Tommy reacted so well. He enjoyed it.
And I enjoyed correcting him, corralling him, giving him what he needs; maybe things he doesn’t know he needs, or doesn’twantto need.
It’s unusual for me to enjoy something. To like it. To want it. It’s not like me. Maybe I’m getting something I need from him, too.
“Daddy play, huh?” I mutter to myself, tracing his jaw, enjoying the way he isn’t tensing up or getting nervous with my touch.
I’ve never considered that kind of lifestyle before. Never cared to. Why would I?
Why indeed?I run my fingers across his shoulder and back again.
But what I’m doing with Tommy isn’t kink. Not yet. We aren’t doing anything sexual. Does it still count as Daddy play if that’s the case?
Seems to.
Maybe I’d better look into this. See what I can find out.
******************
Tommy
I feel the ghost of something tracing my jaw, my temple, my neck. Fingertips, I think. Someone’s touching me while I sleep.
My heart skips a beat in terror and I sit bolt upright, ready for violence and rage… only to realize no one is in the room with me.
Must have been a dream.But I remember Young-gi wrapping me in the blankets. I remember choking him first, too. But I get a little hazy after that. Did he… pet me to sleep? Why is that thought so terrifyingly good?
I’m so keyed up that I jump about two feet off the bed when the door opens, and the blood rushes to my head and makes me dizzy when Young-gi walks in with a giant steaming mug of coffee, and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He’s still wearing his pajamas, but I’d guess by the items in his hands that he’s about to get ready for his day.
