Page 74 of His Holy Chaos

I watch them. Alfie is tucked into the corner of the green couch with his legs drawn up, his socked feet, one black, one navy, a detail I've noticed because I notice everything. Jude is angled toward him, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his torn jacket still on, the ripped denim at the collar a wound I haven't stopped looking at since the sidewalk.

"Your socks don't match," Jude says.

The words are so absurdly mundane, so aggressively ordinary after what's happened tonight, that we all laugh.

Alfie glances down. "They're both dark. Nobody notices."

"I noticed."

"You spilled an entire pint of Guinness on my laptop three years ago. You noticed it was full right as you knocked it over."

"That was a sacrifice to the gods of system uptime. That laptop sucked, so I did you a favor."

"You little shit," Alfie tells Jude. Jude laughs. Alfie starts laughing too.

The relief is real. But beneath the relief, something else is humming. Something that has been humming since I let Jude drive alone to a confrontation with a man who chokes people during scenes and doesn't stop when they safe out. Alone. Without backup. Without me.

The laughter on the couch is still going. Jude is describing something, a BratWorld incident, a drink-related catastrophe, and Alfie is shaking his head. They are beautiful together. I see that clearly. They complement each other: Jude's chaos and Alfie's containment, the extrovert and the introvert, the sun and the moon. Two people who kept each other alive through the worst of it.

I step forward, and they look at me like two puppies.

"While I'm glad everyone is safe…" I say, and it's my deep voice. My Daddy voice. The laughter stops abruptly. "Jude requires punishment."

"What?!" Jude asks. Alfie laughs. The horror of what happened lies forgotten.

"For confronting Carlos without backup. I understand you wanted to help Alfie. I understand the impulse, and I respect it. But you drove alone to a confrontation with a violent man. You put yourself between that man and harm without waiting for support. You could have been seriously hurt." I pause. "You should have waited for me."

"But it's not his fault. He was trying to help me," Alfie says, but he's having fun. They both are. It's exactly what they need: a moment to feel normal again, to see the danger is gone.

I smirk at them. "We would have come anyway, but rushing there without me was a dangerous mistake."

Jude's throat moves.

I turn to Alfie. "Would you like to participate in Jude's discipline?"

He looks surprised. His eyes widen. Then narrow. A mischievous glint surfaces. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Yes," Alfie says. His voice is quiet and precise. "I would."

I nod. "Jude. Color? How are you, sweetheart? Do you want to do this?"

"Fuck yes, Daddy! Green!" he exclaims, cussing on purpose. I chuckle. That little brat.

"Great. The dining table, then."

Jude walks to it. He doesn't hesitate, or rather, he hesitates in the particular way that constitutes its own form of obedience. The brat's version of compliance, which is to pause just long enough to demonstrate that the compliance is a choice. His shoulders are tight. His breath has changed, and I can see the outline of his cock straining against his gray sweatpants.

I help Jude strip out of the jacket. Then the sweatpants and boxers. I was right. He's hard, flushed red, leaking. I direct him to bend over the table. The muscles in his back tense as he lowers himself to the scarred oak.

Alfie moves without being told. He rounds the table and lowers himself until he's across from Jude, his elbows on the wood, his face level with Jude's. His hands reach forward and take Jude's, wrapping around them, pressing them flat against the surface.

I remove my belt. The leather slides through the loops with a sound like a whisper. I double it over in my hand.

I begin with my hand. The first slap lands and Jude flinches, but moans. I keep going, strike after strike, building the rhythm. Jude's breath shortens. His back arches with each one, the involuntary, beautiful curve of a body receiving what it asked for and discovering that the asking was the easy part. I watch his skin, the pale reddening under my palm.

Alfie is extraordinary. I see it from across the table, the switch in full operation, both currents running simultaneously. One hand holds Jude's with an authority that mirrors mine, pinning them to the wood with real strength. But his other hand moves to Jude's face. His fingers brush Jude's cheek. The touch is gentle, and then it firms, his palm cradling Jude's jaw, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.

“You're doing so well," Alfie murmurs, low, warm. "Being so brave, taking your punishment. Just a little more. Stay with me."