Twenty-Three

TWENTY-THREE

REN

I could have gone home for the break this year. With ten days off, there was time. I'm not entirely sure why we didn't plan for that, but it definitely worked out in my favor. There's no way I'm going to be leaving Felton on his own. Especially with the guys on the team he's closest to going home for Christmas.

Instead, my parents and brother planned to come here since it's rare that I get this much time off during this part of the year. We don't celebrate Christmas like Westerners. My family isn't Christian or religious in any sense of the word. As with the majority of China, we practice a combination of Buddhism and Taoism with a Confucian overview—which is widely known as the Chinese folk religion.

Thus, no Christmas.

When I brought up the holiday to Felton to gauge where he stood on it, I gathered that there wasn't a lot of religious meaning behind the holiday for him. Which is rather fortunate because I could probably emulate some commercial and ‘lovely' Christmas traditions—since we also celebrated that aspect to an extent back home when I was a child—but as far as the Christian aspect of the holiday… Not something in my wheelhouse.

Felton seems almost detached from the holiday entirely. I'm a little sad for him. Over my years in the NHL, I've witnessed that the vast majority of people are very excited about the holiday. Even if there isn't a religious connotation to it. It means something to them. There are traditions and family and childhood memories.

Yet, thinking back, I'm not sure that Felton's ever expressed any of those emotions. If he's always had to go home to his parents, I'm not surprised he's not excited. Likewise, if he's chosen to stay home because there's a game the day before or after, he's been alone.

I've realized that maybe Felton's been alone a lot. I've also realized over the last couple months that he doesn't enjoy being alone.

Over the last week, I find myself wishing I knew this about him sooner. I'd like to think that perhaps I'd have made sure he wasn't alone as often as I suspect he had been.

He's been here for less than twenty-four hours. Already, it looks like there's a weight off his shoulders. He hasn't once taken out his phone, or even wanted to turn it on. When I woke up this morning and found him curled in a blanket on the couch with his tablet in hand, the smile he gave me was… beautiful.

How had I never noticed before? Maybe he's never smiled at me like that. Has he smiled at anyone like that before?

The selfish, possessive part of me hopes that the smile he gives me is for me alone.

I pause at the back of the couch and lean down to kiss the side of his head. Felton gives me a shy smile. "Morning," I say.

His answer is just as shy as his smile. It's made even more adorable because of his deep voice. A voice like that isn't meant to sound shy, so it's ridiculously adorable when it does.

"Did you get something to eat?"

Felton shakes his head.

I set him up in the guest room that I've had him in periodically. The one where he'd been gang fucked and came like a stallion. Twice.

That wasn't at all hot and burned into my memories.

The thing is, I know he's going to have to move. I have two guest rooms. One I have dedicated to my parents alone. The second, the one I've used for Felton, is for anyone else.

But given the option of who's going to be in my house, the only one I'd like to share a bed with is Felton. I haven't broached this subject though. In hindsight, it was kind of silly to set him up in the guest room. I just don't want to put pressure on him.

"I'll make breakfast."

"Do you want me to help?" he asks.

I kiss his head again. "No. Relax, okay? We'll get a workout in after we eat."

Felton smiles. It's remarkable how much less stressed he looks than he had last night when I intercepted a call from his father. Turning his phone off entirely must help. Maybe knowing he's here and safe, somewhere that his father doesn't have access to him, helps.

As I prepare something to eat, I consider the problem. While I'm not an expert in any kind of mental states, I have a feeling that most of Felton's biggest obstacles derive from his father. The way he's been treated and raised to think of himself.

By eliminating his father as a force in his life, I can likely mitigate what's going on now. I can make sure that his future is as stress free as possible while also working on his confidence and helping him develop a clear view of himself.

This doesn't help the past damage. The lasting scars. How do I help him with that?

It isn't until after I prepare a couple bowls of congee and steamed bao buns that I realize this is probably not the breakfast Felton had in mind. I quickly fry up a couple eggs and dig out some sausage links too. Just in case.

I should probably run to the grocery store today to make sure I have the kinds of foods Felton likes.

When I bring in a tray loaded with breakfast, his eyes light up. "I can come out there," he says, turning off his tablet and setting it aside.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I eat here sometimes."

I sit a little closer than necessary because I enjoy the feeling of him against me, but not so close that it makes eating difficult.

"Is it oatmeal?" Felton asks when I hand him the bowl of congee.

It kind of looks like oatmeal, but whiter. And soupier, depending on who prepared it. "Rice porridge," I tell him. "It's more savory than sweet." I have a few options for garnishes and to change the flavor. It's considered a plain dish until you add to it.

"These are steamed buns. Again, with a savory filling. But I also made you some eggs and sausage in case these aren't to your palate."

Felton looks at me and I swear his eyes sparkle. "You didn't need to do that. I'm not a picky eater and this smells amazing."

I gently bump my shoulder into his arm. "Eat."

He bows his head and does as he's told. I watch him to gauge whether he likes what he's eating. I'm amused when he adds the eggs and sausage to the congee as opposed to the other options. But his favorite seems to be the steamed buns.

While he's eating, I decide now seems like an opportune time to bring up the sleeping arrangements. It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed. But most of the time, that's been more happenstance than it was intentional.

"My parents and brother will be here tomorrow," I say.

Felton glances at me and nods.

"How do you feel about sharing my room for the duration of their visit?"

He freezes mid chew. The way his eyes widen makes me smile. Then he quickly finishes chewing before he speaks. "I don't have to stay here if you?—"

I press my finger to his lips to stop his words. "Fel, I want you here. I'm just short on guest rooms and this is the most obvious solution. But I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or feel obligated for… anything. At all. I can sleep on the floor."

Felton shakes his head adamantly. "No."

He leans forward and sets his bowl down before looking at me. "I uh…" His cheeks flush and I try not to stare at the way his skin pinks prettily. So I don't make him uncomfortable, I turn away and set my bowl down as well. "Uh… I haven't… had sex in a while. I just… well, I kind of…"

The light pink is now bright red. He's adorably flustered and while I quite enjoy this side of him, I press my hand to his cheek. His eyes snap up to mine.

"I meant what I said. No pressure. Not to kiss or touch or cuddle, and certainly not for anything sexual. We can have completely different blankets. I'll make a wall of pillows. Whatever you need, Fel."

He melts into me before shaking his head. "That's—Thank you. But that's not what I was trying to say with a mouth full of cotton. I just… I'm probably almost always hard in bed because, well… it's been a while. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Oh," I say, trying to contain my grin but failing miserably. "Tián xīn, I'm not offended by your hard-on."

"Tián xīn," he murmurs, doing pretty well getting the pronunciation close. "What does it mean?"

"Sweetheart," I tell him.

He smiles, leaning toward me. I'm not sure he realizes he does so. Bringing my hand around to the back of his neck, I guide him closer and kiss him. "I'm not worried about your arousal, Felton," I say quietly. "I've seen you very turned on."

"Ohmigod," he says and pulls back suddenly, covering his face. "I just remembered exactly everything you saw of me!"

I grin and pull him close again. "Yes, I saw a lot. Want to know a secret?"

He peeks at me through his fingers and nods.

"It's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Felton shivers. "It is?"

"Yeah. It was a struggle not to be a part of it, but more than anything, I wanted to make sure you knew you were safe. That I'd protect you. I wanted to make sure whatever you wanted, you'd have and all you had to do was feel good."

His hands slowly come down from his face as he stares at me.

"That's still what I want. I want to make sure you're getting everything you want. Everything you need. And all you have to do is enjoy it. I'll always make sure you're safe and taken care of."

Felton's lips part. He's not blinking at first, just staring at me with big eyes. Then he's blinking rapidly and dropping his gaze as he inhales deeply.

It doesn't take a genius to know he's never been treated well.

"You really want me," he whispers, and I think it's more to himself than it is to me. Like he's convincing himself that this moment is real. It's happening.

"I really want you," I emphasize.

"I just…" Felton shakes his head, staring at his hands. "I make really bad decisions, and struggle to make any decisions at all. Even stupid small ones. It's probably going to get annoying."

I gently pull him to me and hug him tightly. "How about we do something about that?" His shoulders tense. "You're a very expressive person. Especially when it's the two of us. I can usually tell right away when you're uncomfortable or don't like something. How do you feel about me making some decisions for you?"

"I—" He inhales and holds it. "Yes. Fuck, Ren. I hate making decisions. It's like, no matter what I do, it's always wrong! More than anything, I just want to be told what to do, so I know it's right."

"No, qīn ài de. Trust me when I tell you that you don't always make the wrong decision. You've just lived a long time being told that you do."

"It feels like I do," he whispers.

"We'll work to get you to a point where you don't feel that way. But in the meantime, I can do it for you. If you're comfortable with that."

"Everything?" he asks.

I don't miss the hopefulness in his voice.

"Everything," I promise.

"All the little things too?"

"Every little, tiny thing too. If you want me to tell you how to breathe, I'll do that."

After a minute, Felton picks his head up and for the first time ever, I think I see what Felton Badcock looks like when he's free from pressure. All pressures. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at me and he shakes slightly.

He nods. It starts small but then gets bigger. As a tear tracks down his cheek, quickly followed by several more, he buries his face into my shoulder. I hold him while he lets it out.

As this man shakes and trembles in my arms, I realize he might be one of the biggest men I've ever known, but it's all just a shell. Felton is actually the softest, sweetest little bunny I've ever met. And he's let people walk all over him for far too long. If he doesn't have the capacity to protect himself, I'll do it for him.

The destructive behavior ends now.