Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Dean Aavik

“Good morning, Daddy—ugh, crap, I mean Master! Good morning, Master.” Gael giggled and smacked himself on the forehead.

I’d thought waking up to the smell of coffee and hearing him rustling around the kitchen was the absolute best, but the sound of his sweet giggling clearly topped that.

“Good mornin’, my darlin’ peach.” I tucked my shirt into my pants as I went over to him, and I kissed the top of his head and eyed the feast he was preparing. Scrambled eggs, turkey bacon that wasn’t half bad, actually, grilled tomato halves, toast, and coffee. “You keep spoiling me like this, I’ll never wanna go back home.”

He grinned up at me, goofy and smug. “That’s the goal, Sir.”

He knew how to wrap my heart up in a warm blanket, didn’t he? I cupped his face in my hands and dipped down to get his soft lips. “You don’t know how much you already mean to me, Gael.”

“Ditto,” he whispered.

You can’t be real. Dreams don’t come true like this.

I brushed my thumbs over his soft skin and peered into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Did you take your insulin, Sir?”

I grinned faintly. “I did.”

“Goodie—then please take your seat,” he said. “I charged your iPad, and my homework that we forgot about last night is waiting on the table.”

Christ. The boy almost rendered me speechless. To be fair, I’d been incredibly distracted by Joshua’s and Gael’s naked bodies from the moment we’d returned from the city.

“You really want to serve me, don’t you?” I murmured.

“So much, Da—Master. I mean Master.”

I narrowed my eyes briefly. This second slip appeared less accidental.

He flashed another smile, one I found a little too innocent, before easing away to plate my food.

Was there something wrong with my title? Did he prefer something else?

I let it go for now and trailed over to the kitchen table by the window. It was still dark out, and it was one of the few things I enjoyed about the winter. Dark mornings, a fire crackling, coffee steaming, and morning slippers warm and soft. He’d even lit a couple candles on the table.

I ignored my iPad and picked up Gael’s little notebook instead, much more interested in seeing what he’d written.

In the meantime, the boy hummed to himself, and I was utterly charmed by another morning with him.

Hello, Sir! Here are the chores I’m hoping to establish with you. I confess, they might contain fantasy elements of Professor/student.

I smirked to myself. At least he was honest.

Chore 1: Breakfast. Totally my turf! I want to prepare your breakfast every morning. And when we don’t spend the night together, perhaps you can stop by Waffled on your way to work, and I can fix you something there.

Oh, I was torn. I wanted to spend every night with him and Joshua—at the same time as I loved the idea of stopping by for a quick breakfast date on my way to work.

Chore 2: Cam takes care of Master Lucian’s dry cleaning, and I want to do that for you also, Sir. And I can shine your shoes too! Cam sent me a tutorial on YouTube.

My chest constricted, though the sensation wasn’t necessarily bad. It was more… It was the gravity of the situation. How quickly he reeled me in and unconsciously showed me a future I desperately wanted.

Given that Gael was, as far as I knew, primarily a Little—or Middle—I didn’t believe our high-protocol structure would take up too much of our time. And as I read, I found myself itching to simply create something for us around these chores. These tasks would be ours. They would belong to him and me. This would be our thing.

Additionally, I had to admit to myself that I didn’t want domestic servitude to take over too much. I glanced over at him as he was pouring my coffee, and it was perfection right there. He might be performing a task for me, but he was also shaking his butt to music only he heard, and today’s pajama set had cartooned waffles on them. That was the boy I wanted to know everything about.

I couldn’t foresee a reality in which I put him on speech restrictions regularly or told him to bow his head when he kneeled for me. I wanted his goofy grins and the ants in his pants to show.

I dropped my stare to the next chore on the list.

Chore 3: I would very much like history homework, like our own private classes. With tests and STUFF. And I can help you sort through papers and books and notes, etc. And clean your office, maybe?

I chuckled under my breath and rested my chin atop my knuckles.

Tests and stuff.

Chore 4: Last but not least! This isn’t a chore as much as a routine I’ve been dreaming about. Like, if you sit in your chair and read or work, I want to sit by your feet and just decompress and be close to you.

Fuck. That one got to me.

I swallowed and closed the notebook as a swell of want soared within me. The most bizarre feeling—it was as freeing as it was crushing. Those damn doubts were responsible for the crushing feeling, because I couldn’t fucking lose him. Both of them. They’d given me a taste of what I’d lost hope of finding, and if all this was taken from me, I’d have nothing left but memories to shatter me every morning when I woke up to my harsh reality.

Except, my actual reality was the opposite of harsh, and I had to fucking stop thinking this was going to fail.

Before Gael came over to me, I noticed he jotted something down in a notebook I’d seen Joshua use, and I suspected it was related to my food.

“What are you and Joshua writing in that thing?” I wondered.

“Daddy asked me to do a nutrition estimate for every breakfast,” he responded frankly. “He drew a bunch of circles for me so I can turn each meal into a pie chart. It’s not super accurate—we just wanna make sure you get all the nutrition you need.”

They truly were taking over from Walker. Although, he’d definitely never drawn a pie chart over my sugar intake.

It was equal parts frustrating and endearing.

Maybe a bit more endearing than frustrating. They cared about me. With type 1 diabetes, I had less wiggle room than someone with type 2, and Joshua and Gael were adjusting. For me…it was the story of my life. I had to stay within the lines. Too much or not enough, and it could have disastrous consequences.

“You’re very sweet for fussing.” I reached out and stroked his lower back as he set my plate in front of me. With the coffee. My mouth watered. “I don’t suppose you’ll feel appeased by the fact that I know how to fend for myself.”

He offered a curious little grin in return. “It’s not about that, Master. Of course you can fend for yourself. So can Daddy and I. But now we wanna fend for each other, because we like the together stuff. You know?”

You know?

I exhaled a laugh and scrubbed a hand over my mouth and jaw.

I was being schooled by someone who’d been born during the Clinton administration.

Because we like the together stuff.

“Is everything okay, Sir?”

I smiled and shook my head at myself. “More than. On your knees, please.” I took a sip of my coffee, and Gael sank down to his knees on the floor next to my chair. “I’m just glad I have you and Joshua to remind me of the together stuff.”

With a bit of luck and a whole lot of patience, perhaps they could teach this old dog to sit.

A relationship wasn’t about what we could do on our own, but what we chose to do as a unit.

I was a damn fool sometimes—and that ended now. I’d promised Joshua I was all in, which I’d failed at showing him because my doubts had cautioned every step forward. That had to end too.

“You did a wonderful job with your homework, peach.” I combed my fingers through his hair, and he smiled up at me. “Beautiful boy. My only question now is what I can do for you—how I can be a great Master for you.” I touched his cheek. “When you hand over control to me, I want to take a weight off your shoulders as well.”

He scrunched his nose and squinted at me. “Surrendering control is a weight off my shoulders, Sir.”

A ridiculous smile broke out—I couldn’t help it, but damn if that wasn’t the most perfect response.

“I understand that part—but I mean something you struggle with or…I don’t know. Something you wish Daddy and I took care of for you.”

He put his thinking cap on and lowered his gaze. “Hmm.”

“You can think about it.” There was no rush. I tucked into my breakfast and remembered—Gael was trying to get closer to Lucian’s pet. “Maybe talk to Cameron? I take it you’re seeing him on Tuesday.”

“Yes, Master. For the pasta class. I can’t wait!”

His excitement was infectious. I couldn’t wait either—for evenings of watching Joshua and Gael together in the kitchen.

Like a flip of a switch, I was assaulted by dream scenarios of our future, and I wondered if it would be possible for Joshua to perhaps work less. Down the road, of course. But I knew he itched for more time to spend right here. He wanted a garden and shelter dogs and… It was all too easy to picture us living here together. At least I’d done well for myself, so if Joshua and Gael wanted to work part time and focus more on whatever hobbies they felt they couldn’t dedicate themselves to now…I would be very fine with that.

Dinner was the time of day I wanted us to gather around every day. Even more so since Gael and I were early risers, whereas Joshua was anything but, though I was the only one interested in breakfast at all. Joshua’s breakfast was lunch, and by then, Gael had eaten his cereal in front of the TV.

They should both envy me, to be honest, because what Gael served me was heavenly. I was extremely fond of the grilled tomato halves, something Walker had never understood. I absolutely loved tomatoes. As long as they were kept off my burgers.

“You make the best grilled tomatoes I’ve ever had, pet.” I finished my last one and savored it. “My brothers used to poke fun at me for being obsessed with tomatoes when I was younger. For every Mother’s Day, I bought my foster mother a tomato plant.”

Gael got comfortable on his bottom instead, and he rested his chin on my knee. And that fit better—he shouldn’t be kneeling. He should sit comfortably.

“I had them once when my parents and I had breakfast in a British pub in San Francisco,” he said. “I guess it’s common in a full English breakfast.”

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee.

“Do you consider yourself more European than American, Sir?”

Hmm. My childhood had been undeniably American, not counting my earliest memories. “I’d say fifty-fifty,” I replied pensively. “When my mother died, I foolishly tried to forget everything about my heritage because it simply hurt too much. A wonderful woman had taken me in, and it wasn’t long before Walker and my other brothers followed. I tried to be as Southern as they were.”

“Did it work?”

I smiled ruefully. “While I was a child, I suppose. But I grew up during the last peak of the Cold War, and when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan, it triggered memories and questions. I wanted to know why we had fled, why my parents had fought and sacrificed so much for their country—that I couldn’t stop trying to understand. Every chance I got, I was at the library.” Those memories came back to me now too, and it felt wrong to have Gael at my feet. I wanted him closer. “Come on, let’s go have a seat in the living room instead. If I’m going to bore you with childhood stories, I want you in my arms.”

He gasped animatedly. “I could never be bored by your stories, Master!”

Well, he did like history, and mine was practically ancient compared to his.

Not that my sweet Gael had history. He had current events.

Gael rushed ahead, with my plate, and I refilled my coffee before I joined him on the couch in the living room. A place that looked much homier already with paint on the walls and books and knickknacks on the shelves. Joshua’s next project was to assemble the dining room table, and Gael wanted to unpack Joshua’s records and movies.

The boy had marveled at Joshua’s DVD collection.

“Have you heard of something called Netflix, Daddy? Everyone streams today!”

Not everyone. Hmpf.

“Master, can I ask you something that’s not about your childhood?”

I chuckled and sank down on the couch with a grunt. “Of course you can.”

I noticed he was hesitating a bit, and he grabbed my coffee from me and set it on the coffee table while he thought about what to say. To my surprise, he crawled up in my lap and locked his arms around my neck, effectively hiding his face so I couldn’t read his expression.

What on earth?

“Is somethin’ wrong, pet?” I rubbed his back and kissed his shoulder.

He shook his head. “I was j-just wondering…” he whispered. “Could I maybe—I mean, sometimes… It’s just—crap.” Poor boy, what was so awful to ask that he became so flustered? “I love these mornings, Sir,” he admitted softly. “I was only thinking…the way you c-come across to me, and how I react…you’re kind of also like, um, a Daddy…?”

Fucking hell, that was all? With the amount of fumbling and stammering, I’d grown tense, and now I had to restrain myself so that I didn’t laugh in sheer relief.

My darling boy—I squeezed him to me and couldn’t contain my grin.

Rivers of contentment flowed through me, and I let out a long breath. I had to see his face. I bet it was a nice shade of pink.

“I love our mornings together too.” I kissed his neck, then coaxed him back so I could get a look at him. True enough, a sweet blush covered his cheeks. “If you feel like Daddy is a more fitting title—”

“Sometimes,” he said, rushing out the word. “I want both titles for you, if you don’t mind.”

I smiled and nudged up his chin. “I don’t mind a teensy little bit.”

I’d already discovered I was taking a gentler approach with Gael, because that’s what felt natural with him. And I adored his Little-isms. I could think of worse things than being called Daddy by this little sweetheart. In fact… Hell.

He grinned shyly. “Are you sure?”

I leaned in and brushed my lips to his. “Absolutely certain.” Heat slithered through me as he squirmed on my lap, and we’d have to postpone our chat about my upbringing. One day, I would tell him that I was American enough to be a football fan and Northern European enough to find it a travesty that we didn’t have floorball in the US, and he’d snicker at me. Or wonder what the hell floorball was.

He locked his arms around my neck again, and we deepened the kiss, perhaps feeling the same need to solidify another milestone in our relationship. I didn’t quite know how to explain it, but it felt significant, nevertheless.

“Let me hear you say it,” I whispered.

He shivered and fiddled with the buttons on my shirt. “Daddy.”

That’ll do.

Fuck.

Gael bit his lip and fought a cute grin as he undid the buttons. “My Master Professor Daddy.”

I let out a chuckle, though the amusement faded when I saw the need growing in his eyes. It intensified my own hunger, and I was done talking. So was he. We came at each other with a level of fire that was entirely new to me. For as long as I could remember, Walker had described me as frustratingly mellow and said that nothing could ruffle my feathers, but that was exactly what Gael and Joshua were doing. I was becoming fucking unglued because of them.