Chapter Twenty-Two: Drake

D id he just…?

As Anson rushes away to save some kids’ lives, his words repeat in my head. I don’t know how long I stand there in that hospital hallway, struck dumb with my heart pounding.

The sweet dismissal was a reflex, I know, but it doesn’t make the words feel any less real.

‘I love you, too .’ I think, far too late to actually reply.

I want to tell him. I want to race after him, pull him into my arms like some cheesy Hollywood montage, with orchestral music building to a crescendo before I declare my feelings and then kiss him within an inch of his life.

But, for obvious reasons, I don’t do that.

What I do instead is force one foot in front of the other until I’m back in my car, then I concentrate on getting home, knowing I have work to do.

I spend hours decorating my living room. This is something I’ve been planning for the past week, and I’ll be damned if I cut corners or give my Boy anything less than the perfect vision in my head.

I lug boxes around, string lights along the ceiling, and lay out the gifts I’ve bought since Christmas. Yes, it’s New Year’s Eve, but I don’t think a few days’ delay is going to worry my Boy at all. Especially when he’s got no idea any of this is coming.

I’m surveying my handiwork when Anson texts to let me know he’s heading my way. The clothes I picked up from his apartment are already hanging in my closet and folded in the drawer I cleared out for him, and I realize I’ve got less than half an hour before he’ll be here.

Equal parts nervous and excited, I make my way into the shower to wash off the sweat and grime from my evening activities. I trim my beard and style my hair with gel, splashing on cologne just as I hear his car pull into my driveway.

Hastily tugging on the Henley I spent far too long picking out, I rush down my short hallway to greet him at the front door, turning off the lights along the way. Glancing into the living room, the fairy-lights I strung up twinkle merrily in the darkness, giving the space a magical ambiance.

“Hey,” Anson says awkwardly, stepping through the front door. He nibbles his lower lip and looks at the tiled floor. “Um, about earlier—”

“Wait.” I interrupt, causing him to whip his head up to look at me. I reach for his hand, and he takes it, easing some of my anxiety. “Come with me.”

The hallway opens up with a large archway on the left, leading to my carpeted living room. I glance around again as Anson gasps and squeezes my hand, and I wait with bated breath to hear what he thinks.

The ceiling is strung with rows of twinkling lights, and so is the large, decorated pine tree in the bay window which looks out to the street. My driveway is on the other side of the house, so I doubt Anson would have seen the display as he walked to the front door.

I’ve gone all out with my festive decorations, from the lush tree, to the large train set circling it, to the statues of reindeer and snowmen, also lit from within by LEDs. There are also beautifully wrapped boxes containing presents for Anson, and there’s a checkered picnic rug spread out on the floor, where the couch has been pushed aside, with an epic charcuterie platter and goblets of mulled wine.

“ Drake… ” Anson takes it all in and I can’t tear my gaze away, watching as the emotions play out over his handsome face. “This is beautiful.”

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” I murmur. “I wanted to give you the holiday you deserved.”

He turns to look at me, shaking his head. “Christmas was a week ago, and it was perfect! You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” I insist. “I want us to always remember our first Christmas together as something truly special.”

Those wide, blue eyes of his alight on the small pile of presents and he frowns. “But…I still don’t have anything for you.”

I recall the time in the cabin. The feeling of embracing being a Daddy again. Being given his trust and seeing him at his most vulnerable. Being the first man in a decade to sink inside him. Being told that he wants a relationship with me.

Then earlier tonight, when he was so genuinely overjoyed to see me at the hospital. His adorable possessive streak when that other guy flirted with me. The sweet, impulsive, reflexive way he told me he loved me…

“You said that you love me,” I answer softly, hoping that my tone truly conveys the awe and warmth that the memory inspires inside me. “Baby, there’s nothing more in this world you could give me that could possibly top that. And I know it just slipped out and you weren’t thinking,” I add with a light chuckle when he cringes, and I bring his hand up to my lips so I can brush a kiss to the backs of his knuckles, “but you still said it, and it made my entire year.”

“Daddy…” his eyes are shining with more than just the reflection from the lights, and his voice wobbles.

“I suck with words sometimes, Anson,” I continue, then I use the hand not holding his to gesture around the room, “but this is hopefully my way of showing you that I feel the same way.” My heart thuds in my chest so heavily and rapidly that I’m convinced he can hear it. Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and finish, “I love you, too.”

There’s a brief, terrifying moment where I’m afraid he’s going to tell me that his reflexive farewell earlier was a mistake, but a heartbeat later, his arms are around me and he’s kissing me deeply. Relief and arousal shuttle through me, my hands traversing his firm back and shoulders, kneading his ass, wanting to touch every bit of him that I can reach so I can reassure myself that this whole surreal night — week , even— has been real.

When we finally part, his lips are reddened and spit-slicked, the skin around his mouth also rubbed a little raw from my beard. I have the urge to mark him all over, to lay my physical claim on him so everyone knows that he’s mine and only mine.

“Come on, let’s sit and drink the wine before it gets too cold,” I tell him, fighting against the primal urge to drag him to my bedroom. I set this night up for him: it shouldn’t go to waste.

Anson takes the room in again and then, biting his lip, looks up at me from beneath his lashes. “Can I…um…” I wait for him to finish the thought, but he shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s dumb,”

“Nope.” Gently reaching out to hold his chin between my index finger and thumb, I look him in the eye. “Ask. This is a safe space, remember? Nothing is silly, or dumb, or off-limits. If I’m not comfortable, I will say so, and we can go from there if that’s the case. Okay?”

He swallows, then nods shortly in my careful hold. “Yes, Daddy.”

Trying not to let the sweet and still somehow incredibly sexy way he’s answered derail the conversation, I let go of his chin and prompt. “So. Can you…?”

“I want to sit in your lap while we eat.”

I blink. There’s nothing strange about the request. Just as I’m about to say as much, he sighs.

“I mean…like…I want us to be naked. And I want to sit…um…sit on your cock. While we eat.”

Holy fuck.

My brain short-circuits.

Anson takes my stunned silence in the worst possible way and blushes, stepping backwards, “See? I told you it was dumb. I don’t even know where that came from. Too much porn maybe? Just…just forget—”

“Nope.” I interrupt him, reaching out so he can’t pull back too far. I grab his hand and squeeze it as I look him in the eye. “That came from somewhere. Is it something you really want? Because it’s hot as fuck, but until Christmas, you hadn’t even bottomed…”

“I really have been watching a lot of porn,” he repeats, but I know that can’t be it. “And, um, I’ve always enjoyed watching cockwarming scenes. They just…they look so much more intimate, you know? Because it’s not about the race to the finish line or whatever.”

“True, but sometimes it’s about control, and I might be your Daddy, honey, but I’m not into power plays.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t want that. I just…” his cheeks turn bright red again.

“You just what?”

“I want you to be a part of me.” He scrunches his nose and looks away. “ Ugh . That sounds so stupid out loud.”

My heart squeezes. “Hey, no. Look at me.” With burning cheeks, he does as he’s asked and I smile at him. “It doesn’t sound stupid. I like the idea of being connected like that, too. You’re right: it can be intimate and special. I feel privileged that you want to do that with me.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you don’t think it’s ridiculous? Because—”

“Strip,” I interrupt him, tugging my Henley over my head, figuring the best way to show him how serious I am is to follow through with actions. “Now.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Anson, that was an order. Don’t make me spank you.”

The surprise on his face melts into contemplation, a naughty gleam overcoming those pretty blue eyes of his. “Maybe I’d like a spanking.”

I groan. “Now is not the time to show me your bratty side, sunshine. Not when you’ve gotten me so hard it hurts.” I reach out and grab his wrist, guiding his hand over my crotch so he can feel the corroborating evidence of my claim. “Now, strip.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he repeats, and there’s still a hint of that temptation to try me in his tone.

I swat his ass hard enough to make him yelp. “That’s a taste of what you’ll get if you’re naughty, baby.”

He rubs the sore spot and nods. “Message received. Cock warming and food first, bratty play later.”

I snort, but my reply dies on the tip of my tongue as he deftly undresses, leaving his clothes in a puddle of fabric on the floor. When we’re both naked, our excitement is more than obvious, and it takes all my self-control while I’m kissing and stretching him out to not just fuck him right here in the middle of my ‘Christmas 2.0’ display.

“I-I’m good, Daddy,” he stammers. “Sit on the picnic rug. I’m hungry.”

“What happened to bratty play later, hmm?” I ask with amusement, despite moving over to the rug and sitting cross-legged in front of the tray of food.

Anson crawls over with a cheeky grin and kisses me on the lips before he turns away, kneeling with his back to me. It takes some maneuvering, but it’s not long before he’s slowly sinking down on my aching cock, making us both moan.

The urge to thrust is overwhelming.

“Y-you good?” I ask him once he’s properly seated, our flesh pressed tightly together.

It seems unbelievable to me that a week ago, he considered himself a top and now he’s suggested something like this. Something so intimate and deliciously torturous for us both.

“Uh-huh,” he exhales. “So full. But…fuck, Daddy, I just love having you inside me. I want you to live there.”

The heat and clench of him is incredible. “I’d never get anything done if I did,” I reply honestly and he laughs, which makes him bounce a little on my dick. The sensation is stupidly pleasurable, and I groan. “Fuck. I might just come like this, baby.”

He cranes his neck to glare at me over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare. Not yet. We haven’t even eaten anything yet.”

I groan some more as he leans forward to collect bits of cheese and cured meats from the platter in front of us, carefully twisting once he’s upright so he can offer me a tasty morsel of food over the smooth expanse of his shoulder. I nip at the tips of his fingers as I take the bite from him, barely tasting the burst of salt and umami over the rush of affection and adrenaline his actions have set off inside me.

“My turn, Daddy,” he demands, and it takes me another half a second to understand that he’s grabbed my hand and is putting a cracker with some selection of cheese and meat into it. “Feed me.”

I grin, loving this brazen, cheeky side of him, and I lift the food up, straightening my back so I can attempt to see what I’m doing.

He moans, and I don’t know if it’s at the taste of the food that he’s just taken from me, or at the accidental movement of my cock when I straightened up.

“More, Daddy,” he insists, moving his hips in a slow grind, “I need more.”

“More food?” At this point, I’d give him more of anything he asked for.

“Mmmhmm.”

I try to bite back my own moan as he leans forward again to layer another cracker with meat and cheese, and I’m definitely breathing heavier as he places it between my waiting fingers and thumb. I bring the food to his mouth and this time he licks at my digits as he takes the bite from them.

Swallowing roughly, I ask for my wine.

The scent of cinnamon and cloves wafts to my nose as I take the goblet from him and raise it to my lips. It’s barely lukewarm now, but the fragrant red wine is sweet and decadent as I sip at it, trying to moisten my dry throat.

Anson sips at his own, too.

“Wow,” he declares, setting his goblet back down on the tray, “that’s really nice. I’ve never had mulled wine before.”

“I made it myself. Well,” I relent at the arched eyebrow he casts over his shoulder, “I took two bottles of already great merlot and added some spices and sugar and put it all in the crock pot.” I press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m glad you like it.”

It would have been even more enjoyable at the cabin, with the snow falling and the fire crackling, but this way is nice, too. Especially with him warming my cock so beautifully as we enjoy the spread of goodies I organized.

“I’m a pretty crappy cook myself,” he admits, lifting a gooey slice of brie on a thin wafer cracker for me to take from his long, elegant fingers. “I mostly eat takeout or microwave meals.”

I can’t help cringing at that. “You need to take better care of yourself, sunshine.”

“It’s usually healthy takeout,” he replies defensively, then turns his nose up. “I am a doctor, Daddy.”

Why do I love his petulance so much? Or is it just the adorable way he adds ‘Daddy’ to the end of his bratty rebuttal that gets me deep in my core?

Or maybe it’s that he’s still sitting on your cock like a good boy…

My inner thoughts might be onto something.

“Well, baby,” I respond with exaggerated patience, feeding him an olive and a cube of cheese, held together by a toothpick, “when you’re with me, I’m going to make sure that you’re fed properly.”

“I do like it when you feed me,” he agrees. “When I’m Big or Little.”

I think he just likes being looked after. I get the feeling he hasn’t had a lot of that in his life. Instead of voicing my suspicions, though, I smile. “I’ve told you before: I love taking care of you no matter your headspace.”

He’s quiet for a long moment after that, buying himself some time to reply by sipping at his wine again. I sip at mine, too, listening to the quiet soundtrack of Christmas carols playing out of the small speaker near the tree. They’re mostly instrumentals, chosen because they made me think of the snow globe at the cabin. The one which Anson adored.

“This should all feel too fast,” he eventually muses out loud, leaning back against me. He rests his head on my shoulder, nuzzling his forehead against the underside of my jaw. “It doesn’t,” he continues, “but it should.”

“Who makes the rules on how we should feel?” I can’t help but counter. “Who says how fast feelings should develop? And why do we have to listen to them anyway?”

“That sounds incredibly idealistic for a man who, only a couple of weeks ago, was a grumpy hermit-type wanting to avoid any and all festivity or cheer.”

Rolling my eyes, I resist the urge to tickle his bare sides. “So sue me, I had a change of heart. That can happen, you know.” My tone softens out into something warmer and more affectionate, and I turn my head to kiss his forehead. “You made me feel again, baby. I know that sounds cheesy, but…being your Daddy over Christmas was…well, it was magical. It was more than just playing a part for a scene or scratching an itch. I got to see you exploring your Little side for the first time and that…that was something really special, sunshine.” Tears spring to my eyes as unexpected emotion swoops through me. “You really did brighten my world again.”

Just when I think I’ve been too sappy, Anson sniffles. “I love you so much, Daddy.”

“And I love you.” I kiss his temple softly. “Merry Christmas, baby.” Then, glancing at the clock on the wall, I add, “And Happy New Year, too.”