Chapter Fourteen: Drake

B ath time was a great idea. My clawfoot bath is just big enough to hold us both, and I love having Anson’s back plastered to my chest, his body cradled between my legs as he splashes in the mountain of bubbles I arranged specifically for him.

“Look, Daddy,” he chirps, sounding really Little to my ears, “I is Santa! Ho ho ho!”

He does his best to turn around to show me his bubble beard and bubble hat. I can’t help smiling dopily at him. He’s just too cute for words.

“Oh, Santa! Are you sure? Your beard almost looks like my beard.”

He rolls his eyes and lifts a dripping, bubble-covered hand to point at the precariously perched mountain of bubbles on his head. “Santa hat, Daddy. You is silly.”

After the mind-blowing orgasms we’d shared, I didn’t think our dynamic could get any better, but this bath has proven me wrong.

It’s hard to think that we’ve only been together for half a day. I’m already so attached to this Boy, it’s ridiculous. Now, I know we’re moving quickly —even for the BDSM lifestyle— and I know that we’re experiencing the intense endorphin rush that comes with a new relationship and fantastic orgasms…but knowing that isn’t going to stop me from feeling the way I feel.

Yes, once we’re back in the drudgery of our day-to-day lives, we’re going to have a lot to work out logistically. We’re going to need to work out how to date between our working schedules, and we’ll need to arrange a routine to fit in the age play stuff, too. I’m sure we’ll clash on random issues as they pop up, and we’ll probably frustrate each other when our quirks and habits stop being cute and start becoming annoying.

But the fact remains that I can easily see us doing it all together. We just click so well, it’s almost frightening. Being snowed in with him is the best Christmas gift I could have asked for.

I let him splash around in the tub until the water cools too much, and then I get us dried off once we’re out. Keeping him wrapped in his towel, I strip the bed and replace the sheets with efficiency.

“Um, Daddy?” Anson swivels his hips, still wrapped in his towel, entertaining himself like a toddler would.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I, um, stay Little? For sleep times? An’ can you read me a story an’, um…” his cheeks turn pink and he looks at the floor. “Can I sleep in here with you?”

Am I surprised by any of his requests? Not in the least. I promised him that he could explore his Little side at his own pace, and we’d already arranged to stay here until the day after Christmas, though I am concerned that the heavy snowfall might extend our stay a bit longer. I can’t see any reason to rush him into a routine or into facing his discoveries in his adult headspace.

“Of course, sunshine. Did you want me to get Oinky for you?”

He gasps, his blue eyes going wide. “Oinky! I forgotted him!”

“That’s okay. He’s just been waiting in your room. I’ll go get him.” I’ve got to get his bag with his spare onesies and diapers anyway.

Earlier today, I threw the outfit he was wearing when I rescued him from his car into my washing machine, and then into my dryer. I grab them on my way to the second bedroom, neatly folding them and placing them inside his duffel bag before I take it back down the short hall to my bedroom. I assume he will appreciate having clean Big clothes at some point over the next couple of days, but I’m still aiming on trying to get back to his car to collect his actual bag, too.

“Oinky!” Anson makes a grab for the stuffy as I enter my room, and I laugh, tossing his bag on the bed while he hugs the pig to his chest. “Come on, sunshine. Let’s get you dressed in your jammies.”

“Piggies?” he asks sweetly and, sure enough, when I look in the duffel there’s a pale green footed onesie, decorated in tiny cartoon pigs. And I’d thought the ducks were adorable.

“And a diaper?” I pull one of those out, too.

“Yes peas, Daddy.”

‘Peas’. Not ‘please’. The regression talk is going to make my heart explode. I love that he’s really letting himself sink into his headspace now, discovering how Little he wants to be, clearly not worried that I’ll judge him for the baby talk.

He’s comfortable with me.

Has it really only been a day? Not even a full day?

I grab the changing mat, barrier cream, and wipes, then get Anson out of his towel so he can lie down for me. It’s a quick process now, and I think he loves being taken care of as much as I love taking care of him. He hums happily, wiggling his feet as I zip him up.

Once I’ve packed away the supplies again, he bats his lashes and looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Bottle, Daddy? An’ my paci for later?”

“And a story book,” I agree with a nod. “Get yourself all comfy in bed. Daddy will be right back.”

When I return from stoking the fire in the living room, nabbing his pacifier and warming a bottle of milk, I find Anson curled beneath the blankets in the middle of my bed. He’s got Oinky tucked under his arm and his eyes already drooping.

I hand him his bottle and then pull a story book out from my nightstand drawer. It’s always been a favorite of mine, and I’ve always kept copies in my nightstands, even when I’ve been single or dating guys who weren’t in the lifestyle.

“Oh!” Anson eyes the cover, taking in the fuzzy blue Muppet with excitement. His next sentence is mildly garbled courtesy of the bottle’s teat in his mouth. “Da Monstah Adda En’ O’dis Book! I lub Sez’me Stweet.”

Honestly, I could have predicted that after seeing his excitement over the movies we watched earlier. Still, I smile softly and settle against the headboard next to him, propping myself up with pillows. He dives into the space under my arm and snuggles in, holding his bottle up at an awkward side angle, making it hiss and gurgle as he sucks from it.

Strangely, the rhythmic sound is kind of soothing, so I let it go in preference of reading the book.

And, yes, I do do the Grover voice.

Anson giggles as I start to read, but not even five pages in, he goes lax against me, the bottle drooping from his hold. It’s held in place only by his teeth and I set the book aside to carefully pry the half-empty bottle away. I replace it with his pacifier, which he instinctively suckles at, sighing happily.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep in a lover’s arms, feeling content and wanted instead of lonely.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, I’m momentarily disoriented. There are arms wrapped around me and a long, firm leg slotted in between mine, the other thrown over my hip. My cock is extremely happy with this discovery, and only grows happier as my brain catches up and remembers yesterday.

“Mmm,” Anson mumbles sleepily, stretching and nuzzling further into my chest, the side of his abs grazing my morning wood, “someone’s woken up happy, huh?”

“It’s hard not to when I wake up with a gorgeous Boy in my arms.”

“It’s hard alright,” he jokes, then rubs his crotch into my hip in reciprocation. Even through the padded layers, I can feel his answering hardness. “And so am I.”

I loved having him Little for most of our time spent together yesterday, but it’s also nice interacting with him in his adult headspace, too. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

He hums again and then complains, “I’ve gotta take a leak.” The statement is followed by a groan of disappointment. “It’s so warm and snuggly in here. I don’t want to get up.”

“I mean, you are diapered,” I suggest, keeping my tone nonchalant. It makes no difference to me if he wets. “And the bathroom is probably freezing right now.”

I need to get up and re-stoke the fire and woodburning stove which do the bulk of the work keeping the cabin warm. They’ve dwindled during the night, but I also don’t want to leave the warm cuddly bubble we’ve got going right now. I do have a small space heater which I use as backup for warming the bathroom but getting that running also means having to leave the bed.

Anson snorts. “Yeah…that doesn’t really appeal to me while I’m Big.”

I sigh. “Guess we’re getting up, then. Stay put: I’ll go get the bathroom warmed up.”

Wearing only my soft pajama bottoms, I slide my feet into the old man slippers I keep under the bed and head into the bathroom, getting the space heater set up and turning it on before I head back into the main living area to get the fires burning in the big fireplace in the living room, and the little woodburning stove in the kitchen. I have ceiling fans turning clockwise to circulate the warm air through the rest of the cabin, and as I shiver my way back into my bedroom, I hope that it starts warming up again soon.

Anson is all bundled up inside my warm blankets, a tuft of blonde hair the only part of him visible as I draw near. Chuckling, I slide back under the blankets, ignoring his protests that I’m letting the cold air in.

“Bathroom should be tolerable by now,” I tell him.

He gnaws at his lip and looks down in the direction of his feet. “I’m gonna have to get out of the onesie, aren’t I?”

“You’re at least going to have to undo it to your crotch, yeah.”

Despite being Big, he pouts. “It’ll be cold.”

I shrug. “Hopefully not too bad now that I’ve got the space heater going in there.”

“Shoulda’ just used the diaper,” he grumbles under his breath as he begins squirming around under the covers. I hear the zipper of his onesie lowering and I can’t contain my amusement.

“You want a hand, sunshine?”

“…Maybe.”

He’s so cute when he’s petulant.

Sitting up, I pull the covers away and he yowls at the exposure to the cooler air of the bedroom. “Come on, get undressed in the bathroom where it’s warmer. Do you want to change into your adult outfit from yesterday, or back into your onesie once you’ve gone pot—er, once you’ve done your thing?”

“You can still say stuff like ‘go potty’ while I’m Big,” he says as he climbs out of bed, his onesie gaping open to reveal his mouth-watering torso. “It’s cute. I like that you’re in Daddy- mode twenty-four-seven.” He cocks his head. “But I’ll go for the adult outfit for now. When I want to be Little again, I want the full ‘Daddy, dress me’ experience.”

“Duly noted,” I grin. “I’ll grab your stuff. Go pee.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he responds playfully, then heads to the bathroom. I can hear his sigh of relief when he enters the warm room, and I busy myself getting his clothes out of his duffel.

I feel a slight pang of something as I pick them up. It’s not quite disappointment or loss, but it’s in that vicinity. And it’s dumb, because I know I’ll see him in his Little clothes again before our Christmas getaway is over. Plus, Anson looks hot as sin in his molded jeans and henleys. I won’t be missing out on anything when he’s dressed as his usual adult persona again.

But maybe a part of me is worried that, once he is, he’ll decide that what happened was a fluke. That he had a momentary lapse of judgement caused by an emotionally intense day. That he was only convincing himself to enjoy the Little stuff because he had no other options.

I know it’s unlikely, but it’s still a fear simmering in the darkest recesses of my brain.

I’m so used to things not going my way that I can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe it was a bad idea to get so attached to him so easily and so soon after all.