15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Morrie
I eyed Scott carefully where he sat on the couch beside me, open and inviting. My head was a mess of thoughts and memories that were eating me alive inside, but one question seemed to burn more than the others, though it hardly made sense.
“Why do you do this?” I asked. “This Daddy thing?”
“I just am a Daddy,” Scott offered, gently and carefully. “I love taking care of littles like you, because I get to watch joy and freedom. I lived a life knowing that I was a spare child, the last of three sons born to a man who only needed one to carry on the legacy of the company. When they ended up with two, my dad had been overjoyed and had started making plans for them to run things together when they grew up. Then I came along, but no provision was made for me. I went to school as was expected, and when I was done I received some of the shares in Malcolm Property Management, but I will not inherit a bigger portion when my Dad passes away as my brothers will. That’s been clear from the beginning.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, unable to imagine it. Scott was smart and so well put together compared to me. Compared to others I’d met. I couldn’t picture him as a spare anything.
“I don’t care, Morrie. I have more than enough money to get by, but I don’t have anyone to share it with. I don’t have joy and excitement, and I love littles, like you, because you bring me that. I get to let go of business Scott and just simply be Scott, as I am. I don’t come second or third best in this world because there is no real first.”
“I think I get it. You do this because there’s no competition.”
“That’s part of it, yes. But it goes deeper, I get to share who I am with someone, to take care of someone who wants to be taken care of. To have a partner who is equal, even if we play different roles. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” I went silent as I thought over things, but Scott hit me with a question I didn’t expect.
“Tell me why you like being a little.”
I hesitated for a moment, eyeing him carefully before looking down where Blitzen was, squashed against my body. “I like playing and I like knowing that while I’m playing, I don’t have to worry about anything. I can just color or stack blocks and there’s no expectation of anything else from me. And nothing gets taken away. Ambrose makes sure that the tub of toys for Perry and me and whatever other little comes along is always there and nothing in it ever gets taken away. Even if we’re shitty and mean. One time, Perry got mad at me for not playing right and threw a crayon at my head, but Ambrose didn’t take anything away from us.”
“Has that happened a lot to you?”
I reached down and started fingering the edge of my new blanket, resting my chin on my knees and letting loose a small, sad sigh. “I used to have a blanket like this. My dad gave it to me when I was just a baby. When he died, I took it with me into foster care but over the years I lost bits of it. One of the foster homes decided it was too dirty for me to have and instead of taking some care with cleaning it, it got tossed into a washing machine that ripped it apart. I kept the scraps for as long as I could, carrying them from home to home with me, but over the years, the pieces I had left were thrown away by people who decided that my things were too dirty or too broken to have in their house.”
“Oh Morrie,” Scott breathed. “I’m so sorry. That’s not right.”
“They gave us garbage bags,” I continued, the memory of hauling my things away in garbage bags tonight still stinging when I thought about it, “to carry our things in. I’ve seen lots of videos of kids in care now carrying backpacks and getting suitcases, but I always had a garbage bag and one backpack to put all of my stuff in. I always thought it was kind of funny that they gave us garbage bags to put everything we owned in and then got mad when our items looked like trash.”
“And tonight…” Scott said, trailing off though I could tell he understood.
“Tonight, I was removed from my home and had to carry my things in garbage bags. I felt so much like that little boy again, Scott, and I can’t shake it. I feel like unwanted trash all over again.”
“Your items aren’t trash,” Scott offered, “and neither are you. You are precious, Morrie. You are important.”
I nodded, letting his words wash over me like a wave of warmth for a moment, but I wasn’t done talking just yet. “And then I come here. To this beautiful home where everything is perfect and everything has its place, except for me. I’m the outlier and I can feel it.”
“You aren’t.”
I smiled sadly, shaking my head. “I don’t belong, Scott. I’m not made for pretty places. They make me feel uncomfortable. The cleanest, prettiest houses with the nicest people were the worst ones. I used to believe that the smiles and gentle touches and hugs were real, but quickly learned how those things hid the truth.”
Scott leaned forward where he sat. “What do you mean?”
I smiled, though it was tinged with sadness and exhaustion. “The foster carers that would smile and put on a good show for the workers that would come by to check on the house or the school teachers that would call them in. Those were the ones I learned to be careful around. They got good at lying and pretending they were nice and loving, but behind closed doors, they’d treat me like I was a piece of garbage. Sometimes, they’d hit me, or take a belt to my ass if I’d done something they didn’t like, but whenever they were around other people, they’d smile and hug me and pinch my cheeks like I was the cutest thing and they just loved having me in their home.”
“So you learned…” Scott trailed off, my reality coming crystal clear to him.
“That anyone who touches me like they care about me is a liar. And I know it doesn’t make sense. I’ve tried hard to let go of my childhood but whenever someone gets close to me, or touches me gently, my entire body screams at me to leave. It’s stupid, really, because I rationally know that not everyone who tries to give me a hug secretly wants to slap me upside the head, but my brain just reacts and I panic. If I go slow, I can sometimes trick it into thinking I’m okay, but when I go fast, all I want to do is claw my eyes out and tear my skin off.”
“But not with me.”
“Yeah,” I responded, with as mall smile. “Because I know that if I said no, or told you to stop, you would. You’re good at tortoises, remember?”
Scott reached a hand up, carefully cupping my cheek with his hand. He held me firm in his palm and my skin bristled a moment before settling down. “I can’t make the room feel better and I can’t take away memories that are making you unable to sleep, but I can help you feel good, if you’d let me.”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you feel about a massage?”
I snorted a laugh, shaking my head. “A massage? I just said touch freaks me out and you offer me a massage?”
Scott’s eyes sparkled at me in the darkened living room and he took his hand away from my cheek and smiled, that serene, sure smile he gave me often. When he thought he’d figured something out about me, I knew. “You said gentle touch freaks you out, but what about hard touch? Firm, sure, slow touch where you can say Hare and know that it will stop entirely?”
I swallowed hard as I looked into Scott’s eyes, the need to trust him rising inside me. My body was prickling, both with nerves at agreeing but also with the desire to let him touch me in the way he’d just described. “Maybe I could try if it isn’t too much.”
“I promise I will stop when and if you say so. You’re in control. A massage can hopefully make your whole body relax and your brain settle down so you can sleep before work tomorrow, but I ask for trust and honesty in return.”
I glanced at the clock and shook my head. "I might call in sick to work. I’ve worked so much this month and I’m not sure I can focus. I mean, my shift starts in four hours.”
“Then you call in and meet me in my bedroom so I can help you sleep.”
I eyed him carefully as caution met with curiosity in my brain. Some sleep sounded amazing, but Scott was right. I was too unnerved to get any rest tonight and knowing that I wouldn’t be able to go back to the one place I was comfortable wasn’t helping. “If I say stop, you’ll stop.”
“Always.”
“And if I start feeling like I want to punch you in the throat, you’ll back away.”
Scott laughed softly, nodding. “Give me warning first, but yes. I will stop if you tell me to. What’s our word?”
“Hare.”
Scott’s chin dipped in a nod, then he stood and headed for the hallway that led to his bedroom. I took a deep breath, then went to find my phone to send a text message to Zeke, my supervisor, to let him know I wasn’t able to come in. I couldn’t remember where I’d left any of my things, but I eventually wandered into the spare room to find it on the dresser, right on top of my neatly folded pants. I picked it up, sent my message, then put the phone back down on the dresser before reaching out and grabbing my jeans. I tossed them onto the bed with a small thrill, then grabbed my shirt and threw it on the floor in a pile, almost laughing at the tiny piece of relief that uncurled inside me.
A satisfying bit of mess made, I left the otherwise tidy room behind and made my way to Scott’s room, the last room on the right at the front of the house. I crossed into the space, breathing deeply as I took in what I was seeing. His room was warm, far warmer than the rest of the house with a thick deep red blanket on the bed and the walls painted a rich cinnamon shade that made me heat inside a little bit. This was such a different feeling from the rest of the house that I couldn’t stop the smile from crossing my lips. Scott stood by the bed, smiling at me.
“You like this room,” he commented, walking over to the bed and pulling the cover and top sheet open even more for me.
“It’s comfortable.” It wasn’t the mess I thrived in, but it was the best part of the house for me so far.
“If you’re okay, I’d like you to take that onesie off for me.”
“All the way?”
“If you’re comfortable enough with that, yes.”
I played with the zipper on the reindeer onesie for a few moments, breathing heavy and hard into the room before I finally unzipped it. I slid out of it, coming to stand in the room in just my underwear.
“Brave boy,” Scott murmured, the reminder of who he believed me to be giving me something to cling onto. “Lay down for me on your back, okay?”
“Yeah,” I responded, climbing onto the bed and puling my shirt off. I dropped it on the ground by the side of the bed and lay back, waiting nervously for Scott to start touching me again and hoping that I wouldn’t want to shove him away from me when he did.
Scott gently sat on eh edge of the bed, reaching down and grabbed a tube of lotion from his bedside table, squeezing some into his hands before reaching for the front of my shoulders. With a small noise of surprise because the lotion was damn cold, I settled back onto the bed and rested my head on the pillow, watching his hands work the lotion into my dried skin.
His thumbs swirled circles around my upper chest before dipping a bit. His one thumb grazed my nipple and I felt that touch like a bullet right to my groin. I inhaled a sharp breath as he did it again, not making eye contact as he rubbed at my skin. I shivered as his other thumb brushed my other nipple, quivering as my cock rose to attention in my pants. He kept moving on me, swiping painfully slow yet deep circles into my skin, rubbing the nubs of my nipples as he passed by. I gasped as he stopped brushing over them, moving to circle both of them, one after the other, with his fingertips.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, glancing up to my face where I was sure he was a mixture of anticipation and discomfort.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, because I was jittering inside like someone had spilled a jar of butterflies into my stomach. This touch was sensual, slow and methodic. I couldn’t seem to find a reference to anything like it in my past and without that I felt adrift. It wasn’t bad though, at least not entirely. The pressure was nice against my skin and while there was care in his hands, it didn’t feel like a complete lie to my broken brain.
“I learned something about you. You like sure touch. Firm touch. Slow and steady, like a tortoise, and if I keep moving on your skin like this, you’ll relax, I bet.”
“Maybe,” I mumbled, though he was probably righter than I expected him to be.
“Can I keep going?”
“Yes.”
Scott gave me a smile that felt like the words 'good boy' or maybe 'I’m proud of you' before returning to caressing my chest and nipples in slow, circled movements. His fingers crept downwards, hands splaying on my stomach as he created more circled lines in my skin with his fingertips and palms. By the time his fingertips dipped below the waistband of my boxer briefs, I was rock hard and starting to ache a little bit.
“Was I right about you? Is this touch easier than other kinds of touch?” he asked, his fingertips delving again and again into the top of my underwear.
I nodded my head, unable to lie. “Feels different.”
“How so?” he asked, fingers moving deeper into my pants now.
“It feels… good. Not bad. Nobody has ever… uh… touched me like this.”
I stopped talking, feeling my face heating up a little bit, but he wasn’t done listening. “Tell me more, brave boy. What do you feel?”
“It feels like butterflies,” I whispered, as he moved lower with his touches, reaching deeper inside my underwear and brushing over the small thatch of hair I kept at the base of my cock. “Like warmth and butterflies. I don’t know. It feels different. I don’t have good words.”
Erotic, was what I was really thinking, but was that a good word to use? Scott seemed to accept my ham-fisted butterflies and warmth explanation in any case. I watched as he gripped the waistband of my underwear and looked up at me in question. “Do you feel comfortable taking these off?”
I nodded, lifting my butt off the bed as he slid them off me, leaving me shivering a bit now that I was naked and splayed out in front of him. My cock arched upwards, slapping on my belly and Scott eyed me from my head to my toes, a slow smile on his lips.
“You are so lovely like this,” he murmured, reaching down and rubbing my thighs with his hands. He gripped me tight in his hands as he worked my muscles, lotion long having been soaked into the skin of my chest. I whimpered as he leaned forward, gripping my hips gently and rubbing circles with his thumbs into my skin. I felt captured and held, but it wasn’t scary, even though my brain was trying its best to remind me that I didn’t like touch and that the fact that it felt good was a bad thing. I inhaled a deep breath, closing my eyes and resting back on the bed, breathing slowly through my nose and mouth as Scott’s hands kept moving on my body, not touching that one part of me that craved it the most.
“Morrie,” he asked, breaking into my concentration and breathing. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I responded, breathing out a puff of air. “It feels good. My brain is telling me to make you stop but also to let you keep going. It doesn’t know what to do with how my skin feels.”
“How does it really feel? Not what your brain is telling you, but how your skin feels, how your muscles feel.”
“Okay,” I whispered, because there wasn’t really a better word for it.
“Can I touch you here?” Scott asked, waving his hand over my pelvis.
“I don’t know.” The words falling from my mouth surprised me because I had known the moment my clothes came off this was where things could be headed. My hesitation was solidified as I looked into Scott’s warm, caring eyes.
“What’s hare about this?” he asked, moving his hands away and giving me space.
“I think…” I trailed off, not knowing how to explain to this gentle, caring man that it would be easier if he gave less of a shit about me. How did I even start to explain that the caring was too much and I had never done anything remotely related to sex with someone who looked at me like he did?
“What if you touched you, instead of me?” Scott asked, bringing me out of my head and into the moment again.
Sadly, my brain didn’t catch onto what he was saying and I ended up sputtering a confused noise at him that sounded like some kind of goose honk. “Hehn?”
Scott laughed softly at my sound then, reached out, taking my hand in his firmly. He placed it on my hard length, then moved away. “Touch yourself. Show me what you like.”
“What about you?” Was it bold to assume he was feeling aroused as I was? Maybe, but I could see the outline of his own cock pushing against the pajama pants he wore. I curled my hand around myself, giving my cock a stroke that sent shivers spiraling through my body as Scott smiled.
“What if I touched me, while you touch you?” he asked, slipping off the edge of the bed. He gave me a questioning look and I nodded, stroking my cock again. My hand wasn’t slipping easily over my skin, but it felt good enough for the moment though as I watched Scott slip out of his pajama pants. I inhaled a breath as his cock sprung out of the confines of his pants, slightly curved to the left where it jutted from his pelvis. It was rooted in a trimmed nest of reddened curls and I could just about make out a small smattering of freckles on his lower stomach that matched the ones hidden in the lines of his face.
I thought he was about to crawl onto the bed again, but instead he reached into the bedside table and pulled out a small bottle of lube. My grip tightened on myself as he opened the cap and coated his hand in slick liquid before reaching out to drop some onto my fist. He grinned at the small breath that left my lungs, then capped the bottle and tossed it onto the bed beside me as I spread the slick liquid over my length.
That was a thousand times better against my skin, but Scott finally taking himself into his large hand was the best part of what was happening. He stood beside the bed where I lay on my back, stroking my cock, the head of his slipping in and out of his fist as he touched himself with long, slow strokes. The thought that some day that cock could be inside me, stroking into the deepest parts of my body made my toes curl and heat rush into my lower body.
“Can we try something?” Scott asked, still moving his hand on his cock as I stroked myself and watched.
“Yeah,” I said, a soft moan falling from my lips as I tightened my hand the tiniest bit on my cock.
Scott smiled, then crawled onto the bed and moved to sit beside me. The heat of his body pressed against my side sent butterflies bursting in my gut, but he didn’t move any closer to me than that and they quickly settled down. He leaned against the headboard of his bed and I let go of my cock to scoot myself upwards on the mattress until I came to sit beside him instead of lay.
“This okay?” he asked, as he leaned into my side again, his heat pressing against me and the fresh, clean scent of his shampoo filling my nose.
“Yeah,” I responded, because it was. We were touching, but this was good. His pressure on my skin was safe and comforting, and had me heating inside even more than I already was.
I looked down at his hand, watching as the head of his cock slipped in and out of his fist. He’d tightened his grasp on himself and his strokes were a bit faster now that he was sitting down. I held onto my own cock, matching his pace, imagining that he was inside me, fucking into my body, his hips pushing his cock deep into me. He wasn’t overly thick, which was a good thing, but his cock was long and the head was well defined where it popped through his fingers.
I shivered as I stroked my cock, eyes stuck on Scott as he touched himself beside me. My orgasm was coming quickly, I could feel things tensing inside my body and my breaths were coming in little huffs as I slicked my hand over my length.
“Close?” Scott asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Could be.”
“Come for me, Morrie. Show me what your pleasure looks like.”
I turned my head to the side to glance at his face and noted that while I was watching his hand, he was watching me. Not my cock, or the hand that was stroking it, but my face. My cheeks heated as he smiled at me, his eyes darkened with lust but no less caring than they’d been before sex had entered the picture.
I moaned softly as everything inside me that had been building up let loose, my cum spilling over my hand while I slipped over the edge of pleasure. I stroked myself through my orgasm, body quivering and shaking slightly, until touching myself started to get uncomfortable. I let go of myself just in time to feel Scott tense beside me. I glanced down to see cum spurt from between his knuckles, slicking his fist with his release as he moaned softly into the orgasm.
We sat in silence, covered in our own spend for a few moments as we breathed together. Scott pressed up against me and I found myself leaning into him, craving his heat beside me in the afterglow.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
“Tortoise,” I responded, with a yawn.