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“I loved watching you out there,” he whispered. “So mean and rough and strong. But every time someone knocked into you I wanted to tear their head off.”
I laughed and it turned into another groan when his thumbs slid up the sides of my spine, his fingers wrapping around my sides. “Just a game,” I told him. “Plus, it means you can take care of me after. I bet I’m covered with scrapes you can put band-aids on. Bet that makes your dick hard.”
“Youmake my dick hard,” he growled, leaning up against my shoulder, kissing the back of my neck until I shivered all over.
“I got you something. Made you something.” My voice faltered, my throat going rough as I blurted it out now instead of a more normal time because I wasn’t fucking normal and he didn’t care. “I have something for you.”
“You have something forme?” he asked, and he was so fucking surprised I wanted to give him more things, all the things, but this was the big one. The one I could only really do once. Maybe. If I didn’t die first.
“Yeah. It’s not shoes or anything. It’s not… I was nervous. Waiting for Mendleton to grade my test. So I used that notebook you gave me. For writing lines. To calm myself down. You know, just write something over and over until it gets stuck in your head. Instinct. All that shit.”
He didn’t say anything, probably because he was waiting for me to say something that made sense.
“It’s in my pocket.”
He was still for a second and then he sat up, settling on the back of my thighs as I breathed hard into the pillow. He groped my ass, sliding his fingers into both my back pockets, and then fished out that folded up sheet of paper I’d stuck back there, not even sure if I’d been hiding it or saving it or what, but this was what, I guess.
“This?” he asked me, reaching out and holding it in front of my eyes, like there was some other piece of paper in some other pocket I might mean. “This is for me?”
The edges were bent, and the creases were dirty, and it wasn’t much compared to new shoes, compared to everything he gave me, but it was everything I had. It was all that mattered. I nodded because I couldn’t say anything else.
The sound seemed ridiculously loud as I listened to him unfold it again and again and again, and then like an absolute asshole, he put the paper down on my back and smoothed it out with his hand, the soft crinkle sending shivers up my spine.
He was quiet for so long, too long, long enough for me to wonder if my handwriting was really so bad, if it was too dark to see, if maybe somehow it was too much or not enough, or not what he wanted to hear. And then he cleared his throat. “I think you need to read this to me.”
I dropped my head into my arms and groaned because obviously he couldn’t make it easy, obviously he had to fucking torture me the way he knew deep down I needed. “Come on, Beast. Give me a break. I wrote it, didn’t I? I wrote it like thirty fucking times. That’s enough.”
“Oh, that isnotenough,” he told me, wrapping one arm underneath me, kissing my shoulder, and snuggling close against my neck. So close, too close, the way I liked. Making me feel real the way nobody ever did, nobody ever had. “That’s nowhere near enough.” And then he fucking flipped me over with his giant paw, manhandling the fuck out of me, so rough and so gentle at the same time somehow that it made me dizzy.
I felt like I barely knew where I was or who I was when he settled down on top of me again, holding the page of lines out for me to read. I stared at my own handwriting that looked serious and official. Neater and straighter than I wrote most things. The easiest and hardest thing I’d ever written, staring back at me all the way down the page.
And then I looked up at him, those soft, intense eyes that tore me apart every time he looked at me, put me back together again and again, turned me into the kind of person who thought that kind of crap, wrote this kind of thing. A person I never would have believed existed.
The way he looked at me,thatwas a gift. Better than anything I could give him, better than anything he could give me. I would do fuckinganythingfor him. Even this shit.
“Go on,” he whispered. “Read it.”
“I love you.” I don’t know how I didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even torture him back, make him wait. I didn’t even read it really, I just knew it. Like instinct.
He sighed so hard his breath made the paper flutter. The kind of lonely, desperate, indulgent sigh I thought only I was capable of making, and I could feel how much he needed to hear that. As much as I’d needed to say it, because for god’s sake it felt like candy on my tongue and I hadn’t been expecting that.
“The next one. Read the next one.”
“Shut up,” I told him, shaking my head because I was still a fucking asshole, and he still liked me that way. “I said it. You heard it. You know what it says.”
“The next one,” he repeated, in that low rumbly voice I didn’t argue with, and I know he felt my fucking dick get hard.
“I love you,” I said again, and it was even easier that time. Like I’d just been ready and waiting forever to say it, like it wasn’t really any big deal at all. “I love you. They all say I love you. Over and over. I love you. I love you. I think about you all the time. I just wanna be with you. You take care of me. You make me feel good. You make me… You make everything better. I didn’t know things could get better. I didn’t knowIcould. I wanted to hold your hand all week. I wanted to… I want to… All of this, all of you, I justwantit. I love you. I’m serious. I really do. Happy?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Are you?”
That wasn’t a question I ever thought I’d be able to answer with a straight face, let alone with a yes that was actually true. I didn’t have all that much to stack it up against, I didn’t know what happiness was supposed to look like, how big it was supposed to get, how the fuck you took care of it. But I wasn’t miserable. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t numb. And I wasn’t fucking lonely.
I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
THE END
