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It wasn’t long before the noise of littles and their keepers got louder. Not far from the main nursery complex, but far enough to offer some privacy. Very nice.
A large, rugged looking man greeted them with handshakes for him and Hux, and a big smile for Tamsyn.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Jethro Del Bosque. Yeah, that Del Bosque,” he grinned. “This is my family’s place so if you need anything or have any questions you let me know. You must be Shannon.”
Tamsyn nodded, silently, and then Hux must’ve squeezed her hand because she said, “Yes, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too. And your daddies. You’ll have to tell me which one is which.”
Tamsyn’s mouth popped open and then just as quickly pinched shut as she frowned. “I-I’m sorry, sir. This is Elder. And this is…”
She looked up at him with those eyes that at first appeared not so different in color from his own. But with more careful study, there was a ring of dark blue around the outside with a burst of green radiating from her pupils. But the color shouldn’t be commanding most of his attention right now; the disconcerted look on his little girl’s face should be.
Right, introductions. He hadn’t been to the club during open hours yet, and hadn’t thought of a scene name like Hux and Tamsyn had. Or should he say Elder and Shannon.
As much as he enjoyed subterfuge, he preferred to save it for work. It would be nice to be more completely himself at least somewhere outside of with Hux and Tamsyn, and these people seemed like probably the most trustworthy a person could hope for.
“You can call me Lowell,” he told Jethro, and didn’t fail to notice the rise of his brother’s brows out of the corner of his eye.
“What about the littles?” Tamsyn asked, tugging at his hand.
“Some people go with Mr. First Name, or in Gunnar’s case Mr. Last Name. If you’ve got a close relationship with a little, sometimes they’ll call you Uncle. We don’t really do the Master thing in this crowd but you could go with Sir. If you wanted,” Jethro volunteered.
“Oh, I know! Mr. Lolo. That’s perfect. Very friendly. It will make you less scary.”
His pretty little princess beamed up at him, and despite the idea making him want to tug at his collar, he wouldn’t. Mr. Lolo, huh? He struck fear into the hearts of most of the beltway and she wanted to give him a moniker fit for a clown.
He bent to nip at Tamsyn’s ear, and murmured, “Am I scary then, princess?”
In the bright light of the sun, her cheek flushed and he bit her neck. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but firmly enough that she’d be reminded that he could.
“Not to me.”
The predator in him wanted to bite her harder, because she ought to be, but if he started, he’d never stop, and they were in public. He’d toss her over his shoulder and drag her home to have his way with her, but she’d been so looking forward to this, and he could have at her when they were done here.
“May want to reconsider that, precious.”
With another nip, he straightened and offered Jethro a the-things-we-do-for-these-littles smile. “Mr. Lolo will do.”
* * *
Tamsyn
When they’d first arrived, she’d been self-conscious. It had been hard to be very little with just Hux and Lo in the privacy of Hux’s home, and in front of all these people? Yes, it helped that they were either all little themselves or clearly adored littles, but still…
It was the kind of thing that was fine for other people, and not for her. Brains were stupid that way. Or at least hers was.
But eventually she’d found herself getting lost in the pleasure of letting go while they were playing games, and now that they were doing the last scheduled activity for the day, it felt more comfortable. Probably like some fancy dress or costume she’d have to button buttons on, with fiddly zippers, and a million snaps to do whenever she wanted to put it on for a while, but there was also—on the distant horizon—a possibility that it would get easier.
It was easier to access the little part of her when she was doing something she could focus on and that she liked, and this was perfect.
“Could you hand me that pink sparkly butterfly?”
Cosima was sitting on her right and pointing to a pretty butterfly on a thin stick on the other side of her. There were half a dozen littles seated at the picnic table, and four picnic tables. All of them were working on their fairy gardens, and they’d been trading and swapping and handing things to each other. After they’d finished squealing about all the pretty things they got to play with, of course.
“Cosy,” Hudson admonished gently from across the table where he was chatting with some of the other bigs.
“Oh! I mean, if you’re not going to use it.”
