Chapter Eighteen: Drake

C hristmas Day is spent in a blur of good food and even better company. Anson and I settle in to watch more Christmas movies, tell each other stories from our childhoods (which start as Christmas stories, then move into birthdays and random events), and we send and respond to messages from friends and colleagues, too. After a call with Vince, who does his best not to pry about Anson’s kink exploration as he wishes us both a Merry Christmas, Anson asks if he can be Little for a while. I am more than happy for that to happen, feeling a pang of melancholy that tonight will be our last night spent here.

The snow has stopped falling and the sun came out earlier, which was both a relief and a disappointment. I would have loved to have the excuse to stay in this little bubble of kinky domestic bliss for a while longer, but we do have jobs to return to and lives to reclaim outside these cozy timber walls.

I’m equal parts anxious and excited for that. Anxious because I know I won’t have twenty-four-seven access to this sweet Boy anymore, but excited because we will be moving on together. I’ll be able to take him on public dates, and even to The Grove as my Little. I’ll have someone to bitch to about the pitfalls of my job, and he’ll also be able to rely on me to help soothe the emotional and physical toll of his job, too.

Accidental and unplanned or not, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that this relationship we’re forging really is the best Christmas gift I could have imagined.

I sip a mug of steaming coffee as Anson plays with the toy train, making cute ‘choo-choo’ sounds as he watches it go around its tiny, circular track. He has put the big snow globe in the middle of the circle and drew himself some paper passengers to ride on the train.

His happiness and excitement are infectious, though I still want to give him a more magical festive experience than this. The plans and ideas I started formulating on Christmas Eve start to solidify in my brain. and I promise myself that I’ll make them happen.

For all the joy he has given me over these past couple of days, my unexpected ray of sunshine deserves everything I can imagine and more.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re comfortable driving back to the city?” I ask Anson anxiously as I buckle him into the passenger seat of my truck. It feels like we’ve come full circle in such a short amount of time. But now that we’ve reached mid-afternoon on the day after Christmas, we finally have to leave our magical Christmas behind for the real world.

He nibbles his bottom lip. “As long as it starts and isn’t too damaged from drifting into that tree, yeah.”

“Alright, well, I’ll be right behind you, okay?” I know he’s a grown man, but he’s my Boy, and it’s understandable if he’s shaky after having crashed his car the last time he drove it. When you’re not used to driving in sleet and snow, especially with the risk of black ice, it can be a scary experience. “You drive as slow as you need to, and pull over if you need a break, or feel—”

“Daddy,” he interrupts me, and the amusement and affection in his tone buoys my spirits, “I’ll be fine. I promise. The reports online said they’ve de-iced the roads, and I know you’ll be right behind me if I need you.”

I nod. “Okay, fine.” Shutting his door, I wander around the truck and climb into the driver’s seat, casting one last glance towards the cabin door. “Are you sure you don’t need to go potty before—”

“Daddy,” he laughs his complaint and shakes his head. “I went, like, five minutes ago. Stop stalling.”

“Fine,” I grouse, but a smirk tugs at my lips because I know he secretly enjoys me Daddying him, “so sue me if I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Awww,” he teases, reaching across the console to pat my thigh, “are you getting back into your grumpy lumbersnack character now that we’re heading home? Because the cranky bear thing is super hot.”

“Shut up,” I demand, but I can’t help grinning. “You’re getting bratty, baby.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause I want my cranky Daddy bear to spank me.”

I groan and turn to glare at him. “That’s unfair. I’m going to be half hard for the entire drive back now.”

“Only half?” He folds his arms and pouts playfully. “I should be worth a full erection, Daddy.”

“God, give me strength,” I mutter before I put my truck into gear and start the slow, cautious drive down my driveway.

I can hear the smile in Anson’s voice when he says, “Viagra works better than prayers. I should know; I’m a doctor.”

My laughter echoes around the cab as I drive towards his car, leaving the cabin and our Christmas bubble in the rearview mirror.