With gentle movements, he wipes away my tears. After they’re cleared, he holds a folded tissue to my nose, telling me to “blow” like it’s no big deal. I would normally argue to do it myself since boogers are gross.
I don’t have the energy for it tonight.
Once he’s content with my face, he throws out the dirty tissues and pulls the cloth away. His fingers spread the cream around until I’m liberally coated.
“Let’s get your undies back up. We’ll skip the pants for now. You don’t want all that material rubbing.”
I nod at his words. It doesn’t sound like much fun for me to spend the second half of today wincing anytime my shorts shifted against me.
My voice comes out hoarse when I say, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I shouldn’t have been a brat.”
“Thank you for the apology, pretty boy. It’s all forgiven. I know you just missed me.” He kisses the top of my head. “Next time, I need you to use your words. Don’t act out for attention. I’d rather you ask me to stop early so we can enjoy cuddling and snacks.”
“Okie-dokie. I can do that.”
Daddy sets me up on the couch with a big fluffy blanket. He brings me a glass of water, along with a couple of painkillers to combat the worst of the ache. After grabbing some popcorn for us to nibble on, he comes to sit beside me and puts on a silly cartoon.
The volume is so low it’s not really even something we’re enjoying. It’s more about the closeness after such a tough punishment. It’s about how he holds me as I drift in and out of the fuzzy place aftercare always sends me to.
I nuzzle closer as the movie progresses and Daddy strokes his fingers stroke down my jaw. It’s so relaxing.
“I love you,” I mumble.
Arms tighten around me. “I love you too, pretty boy. More and more each day.”
Chapter Ten
Brett
The week has been long for both of us. Konnor’s not been feeling the best. He’s not sick, but he’s also not at full capacity. The easy, playful energy we usually share has been stretched thin, replaced by exhaustion.
But my boy invited me over tonight, a welcome request after too many days apart. He’s a touch subdued; his body curled on the sofa scrolling on his phone instead of chattering.
I finish plating our lunch, then bring the food over to the table. The living room is lit only by the single lamp in the corner. It gives the space a sort of glow, creating a majestic type of feel.
My pretty boy looks up with tired eyes. “All done, Daddy?”
“Yep.” I sink onto the couch beside him. “How’s the world looking today? Anything interesting?”
He turns the phone my way. The image on the screen shows a detailed cathedral amid a gothic backdrop with winding streets and impossible architecture. It’s beautiful. It’s also very much unlike my colorful, creative boy.
“Just some mindless scrolling,” he murmurs, putting it aside.
I reach out and run a hand through his hair, my fingers combing through the long strands. He leans into the touch like a cat, his eyes closing. “You’ve had a tough week, pretty boy. I know you haven’t felt your best.”
A small hum is his only reply.
“Look at me.”
He opens his eyes. I can see the pain in them. The heaviness he’s trying so hard to hide. He wants to be a “big boy” and handle it all.
“You don’t have to be tough for me, pretty boy. I can and want to take care of you.”
His lower lip trembles for a second before he bites it. That small sign is all the invitation I need. I lean in and kiss him.
It’s meant as a way to comfort him. A reminder that I’m here and willing to be the support he needs—even when he doesn’t have the words to ask.
You’re safe with me.
