Chapter Ten - Drake

H ow can it be too…oh.

Oh!

This is even more proof of Vince’s warning ringing true. Anson really does just throw himself into things, doesn’t he? But even though we spoke about him potentially wetting, I didn’t actually believe he would do so so soon.

I’ve never been with a Boy willing to be so open and vulnerable so early on in our playtime. I’m ecstatic that he feels so comfortable and trusting of me already, but that makes it harder for me to know whether things are going too fast for him to handle or not.

Is he pushing himself out of his comfort zone? Is he doing this for himself, or for my benefit?

Anson’s beaming, playful smile sets aside my concerns about that for the moment though. He swishes his hips again and squeezes the front of his onesie-covered crotch, adding, “All wet, Daddy. Squishy, too.”

It blows me away that he’s not shy about any of it at all, nor does he seem even slightly embarrassed or anxious. I’m so used to reassuring anxious Boys through our first diaper change experiences that it takes me a moment of consideration before I respond.

I extend my hand towards Anson again and smile. “Daddy can fix it, sunshine. Let’s get you all dry and cleaned up before we eat dinner, okay?”

He takes my hand and I help him make his way around the coffee table. His gait, already previously widened by the padding of his diaper, is now more of a distinct waddle. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’ve got supplies in my room, sweetheart,” I tell him when he hesitates in the hallway, and I give him a gentle tug towards my bedroom door in the opposite direction to his, “come on.”

Even though I haven’t entertained a Boy in my cabin in a long while, I know exactly where to find my custom designed changing pad, the barrier cream, wipes and spare diapers. Anson watches me with avid interest as I turn the bed into a makeshift changing table, but he cocks his head at me when I turn and hold my hand out again.

“Traffic light, Daddy?”

If I hadn’t already had a huge crush on this man, that would have sealed the deal. The fact that he cares about my level of comfort, even while he’s in Little space and experiencing God-only-knows how many new feelings, only makes me fall a little harder for him.

“Green, sunshine. Thank you for checking.” When he places his hand in my outstretched one, I ask, “And you? Traffic light color?”

“Green!” Anson practically bounces on his onesie-clad heels. “You gotta change me. The wets is gettin’ cold and icky.”

I want to eat him all up. The cuteness is too much.

“We can’t have that, can we?” I tug him against me for a cuddle and kiss the top of his head. I’d love to lift him up, but he’s a little too tall and lanky for me to manage it. “Can you climb onto the bed and lie down on the mat, sweetheart?”

He races to comply, his excitement palpable. Without having to be instructed, he lets his legs fall open and nibbles his bottom lip as his big, blue eyes track my movement towards him.

The onesie he’s wearing has a two-way zipper which runs from his feet to his neck, and I work it open from the footed end, unzipping him to his belly button. It’s an innie, I note, and just as adorable as the rest of him.

There’s still no sense of anxiety from him after I’ve pulled his legs from the pajamas. Instead, he’s relaxed on the mattress and is nursing on his paci in slow, rhythmic sucks, studying the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

“Still green, sunshine?” I ask as I bring my hands to the tabs of his diaper. It’s one of the cute, more expensive ones, with a cartoon fox emblazoned on the front and a wetness indicator which has turned the previously blue line bold green.

Anson lifts his head to look at me and smiles around his paci, nodding. “ Yeth , Daddy,” he answers, not bothering to remove his soother. He gives his hips an insistent wiggle. “ Ith yucky.”

The padding has bulged out significantly, so I can imagine the weight and dampness is getting quite uncomfortable. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His head drops back and I peel back the sticky tabs and pull the sodden front of the diaper away from his skin, exposing his beautiful cock. He’s half hard, but I ignore his arousal as I remove the diaper entirely, rolling it up and setting it aside to be tossed into the trash. This isn’t about sex. This is about taking care of him and letting him explore being Little for the first time.

Later, if he wants to, we can talk about the romantic aspect of the relationship we’ve agreed we both want.

It still boggles my mind that he wants more than just the next couple of nights. More than just a platonic experience between Daddy and Boy. Even though I know I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, I also want to take his declaration at face value. He wants to see if a relationship with me can go anywhere, and I want the same thing in return.

Maybe Christmas miracles really do exist.

My own personal Christmas miracle wriggles on the bed, whining in the back of his throat. “Cold air,” he pouts around his pacifier, the impediment turning his ‘r’s and ‘l’s into a more rounded ‘w’ sound, and I want to wrap him up in my arms and squeeze him tight. He’s too adorable for his own good. “ Huwwy , Daddy.”

I chuckle and smack the outside of his thigh gently. “Don’t get bratty, sunshine.”

Nevertheless, I take care to warm the wet wipe between my palms before I run it over his skin, cleaning him up before I apply a layer of barrier cream. He giggles and tells me it tickles. This time, I can’t resist bending forward and nibbling at the pale, smooth skin on the inside of his thighs, making exaggerated ‘Nom Nom Nom’ sounds that only make him squeal and giggle louder still.

Because I’d grabbed a diaper from my emergency stash and not from his duffel bag, the one I slide under his butt and over his cock is plain white, without any cartoon creatures or fancy moisture indicators in sight. It’s also not as luxuriously padded as his private stash, either. Anson doesn’t complain about the difference, though. Instead, he wiggles his hips and beams at me around the paci in his mouth. “All dwy !”

“I bet that’s much better, huh?” I ask the question as I wrangle his long legs back into his onesie.

“Yup.” He’s a bundle of squirming energy as I zip him back up. He pulls his pacifier from his mouth and clutches it in his hand. “Thank you, Daddy!” I barely have time to register him moving before he has pushed himself back up into a seated position and has launched himself at me. With his arms around my neck, he peppers kisses over my bearded cheeks with infectious enthusiasm.

Laughing, I cuddle him close to me. “I just did what a Daddy’s supposed to do, baby.”

“An’ it made me feel good,” he declares, popping his paci between his lips again. “I like havin’ a Daddy…havin’ you as my Daddy.”

Oh, God, my heart.

Any hopes I had to keep my crush simmering slowly in the background just got obliterated, and my pre-existing feelings for Anson seem to expand inside me. How am I supposed to take things slowly and rationally when he says stuff like that? When he’s so content to just barrel headfirst into everything?

“I like being your Daddy,” I reply a little gruffly, fighting back emotions. “Even if it has only been a few hours, I know you’re the perfect kind of Boy for me.”

Anson’s tummy growls loudly, interrupting the moment. He blushes adorably while I chuckle and nudge him towards the bathroom.

“Go wash up, sunshine. Then we’d better feed you before that bear in your belly escapes and eats us both.”

Anson giggles raucously and does as he’s told, while I fold the changing mat and set the wipes and cream aside. With how comfortable he seems in his headspace, I figure we’ll be needing them again.

Taking the old diaper and discarded wipes into the bathroom, I drop them into the little trash can beside the sink, washing my hands while Anson dries his own. After my hands are dry, I guide him back into the living room, where our bowls of pasta are still waiting.

After settling Anson on the couch, I take our food into the kitchen and zap it in the microwave until it’s good and warm again, then bring the bowls back to the living room.

“Would you like me to feed you, sweetheart?” I ask as I sit beside him on the couch.

My Boy straightens up and beams at the suggestion, nodding his head with so much enthusiasm that I almost tell him I think it will fall off his neck. He pulls his paci out of his mouth and drops it carelessly on top of the coffee table, narrowly missing his bowl of pasta. “Please, Daddy?”

I’m never going to get sick of hearing the title falling from his lips. Not when it’s directed my way.

It’s been so long since I’ve had someone call me Daddy that it almost feels brand new again. The instincts haven’t gone away, but I am afraid that I’ll do something to fuck this up…which is the absolute last thing I want to happen when I’m being given a chance with Anson.

Reminding myself that he trusts me to take care of him, I shake the distracting feelings of inadequacy off as I get us into comfortable positions, each sitting sideways on the couch so we’re facing each other. Yeah, it would have made more sense to eat at the little dining table in between the living room and the kitchen, but this feels more intimate. Plus, it’s our Christmas getaway. If we can’t break the rules on Christmas (okay, Christmas Eve-Eve), when can we?

Twirling the fork in the pasta, I lean towards him, his bowl in one hand and the fork suspended over it.

Anson’s blue eyes darken as I move the fork towards his mouth.

“Aren’t you gonna blow it, Daddy?” he asks with a devious little smirk.

Oh, I love his cheeky side.

I gasp. “How could I forget?!” Even though his meal is no longer steaming, I pucker my lips and blow gently over the loose loops of pasta, watching Anson’s Adam’s apple bob while his eyes seem glued to my mouth. “Open wide, sunshine.”

Anson doesn’t need to be told twice, and suddenly it’s my turn to swallow roughly as his perfect, pink lips wrap around the fork, taking the offered food carefully.

“Mmm,” he says, closing his eyes as he chews and savors his first mouthful of my cooking. “That’s nummy, Daddy.”

Jesus Christ, he’s going to be the death of me.

It’s all I can do to keep my hands busy and not reach down and adjust myself. The knowing look on Anson’s face tells me he’s onto me, too.

Adorable little shit .

He opens his mouth expectantly and I feed him another forkful of his meal. This time, there are less theatrics as he enjoys the bite of food. We do this on repeat until his bowl is empty, which doesn’t take long, then I swap his bowl for my own, eating my once again lukewarm pasta while I watch Anson sit back and rub his belly, his eyelids drooping once more.

Just when I think he’s drifting off, he asks, “Can I draw a kiss-moose tree, Daddy? We can stick the picture on the wall an’ Santa can put presents under that.”

What kind of Daddy doesn’t decorate for Christmas? I ask myself again.

“We’ve got tomorrow to decorate,” I remind him, glancing towards the window. It’s pitch black out there now, but I’m hopeful that the snow will lighten up overnight. “If we’re not fully snowed in, maybe we can even go looking for a little tree tomorrow, too.”

Anson nods. “Okay. An’ if we’re stuck inside, I’ll draw a pretty tree.”

I don’t question him on whether he plans on being Big or Little tomorrow. Like I told him earlier, however he wants to explore this side of himself, I’m here for it.

“That sounds perfect to me, sunshine. I bet you draw the best Christmas trees.”

He visibly squirms under my praise, his cheeks turning pink. “You’re silly, Daddy.”

I really hope that he wants to be with me after this holiday is over, because I’m already addicted to him.