Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
After an hour in the indoor play area, Danny had grown quiet.
Not the soft, sleepy kind of quiet he usually sank into when his Little headspace took over.
No, this was different. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
His laughter, when it came, felt rehearsed.
And when Blake proudly showed him a sparkly sticker with the words “Certified Snugglebug” and a cute little bear, Danny offered a soft “cute,” but didn’t even ask for one of his own.
Easton noticed it all.
The way Danny lingered near the bouncy castle’s edge instead of diving in. How he seemed to keep one eye on Kevin without ever looking directly at him. How his posture, which was normally loose and silly in his Little space, was drawn tight.
Jealousy? Confusion? Something had shifted. Easton could feel it humming between them like static.
He didn’t push. Not yet.
By the time they left, it wasn’t Danny who walked beside him without talking, one hand trailing along the stone wall like it might whisper answers but Darian. Easton unlocked the apartment door, guided him inside, and kicked off his shoes.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked as he sank to one knee to unlace Darian’s shoes.
The boy shrugged. “Fine.”
The tone didn’t match the word. It was too flat and indifferent.
Easton narrowed his eyes but let it slide. Whatever had taken root needed room. “Why don’t you pick something from the streaming service?”
Darian slouched into the couch and pulled a blanket around himself like armor.
Easton exhaled slowly through his nose and stepped into the kitchen.
When his hands needed a distraction, he liked to cook.
But given the time of night, he settled on making a charcuterie board.
The act of choosing, arranging, and balancing flavors helped him think.
Selecting a heavy wooden plank with a nice handle, he added creamy goat cheese, smoky gouda, and a wedge of jalapeno-laced cream cheese he knew Darian liked.
He topped it with a generous spoon of jelly, knowing sweet heat always brought out his Little’s happy hums.
Salami, thin prosciutto, and peppered capicola formed neat ribbons beside the cheese. He tucked in a small bowl of marinated olives and another with toasted almonds.
Berries went on next—blueberries, raspberries, a few strawberries for their color. He fanned out apple slices like a sunrise and added dried mango and figs in little piles. He filled two small ceramic ramekins with fig jam and a grainy mustard.
Darian loved the rosemary crisps with dried fruit baked into them, so Easton placed them front and center. A handful of chocolate-covered almonds tucked near the goat cheese was the final touch.
He carried the heavy wooden tray into the living room.
The boy sat curled in the far corner of the couch, legs drawn up, chin resting on his knees. The blanket had migrated over his head, just enough to shadow his expression. He peeked over it when Easton set the board down.
“Is Brokeback Mountain okay?”
Easton lowered the board to the side table. “Sure.”
Darian hit play without waiting for more.
Easton sat, tugged the blanket aside, and coaxed Darian onto his lap. The boy came willingly, pliant but still distant. His head found the crook of Easton’s shoulder, arms tucked between them. The movie played. Silence stretched.
Easton reached for a cracker, layered it with gouda and fig jam, and pressed it to Darian’s lips.
He bit without looking up. Chewed. Swallowed.
A soft breath left the boy’s chest. Not quite a sigh.
Easton fed him a slice of apple next. Then a curl of prosciutto. Between each bite, he took one for himself, letting the rhythm settle them both.
About halfway through the film, Danny softened.
Not all at once. But gradually.
His knees loosened. His shoulders lost that stiff tension. One hand snuck under Easton’s shirt and rested against his stomach, thumb rubbing slow little circles like he needed the anchor.
Easton didn’t ask what was wrong. Not yet.
Instead, he wrapped his arm tighter around Darian’s waist, fingers stroking absent patterns over the soft dip of his hipbone. The scent of shampoo lingered in his hair.
“You always feed me when you think I’m upset,” Darian mumbled eventually.
Easton smiled faintly.
A pause.
“I saw you holding his bunny.”
There it was. Quiet. Direct.
Easton’s fingers didn’t still, but he adjusted his grip slightly. “I wasn’t holding Kevin. I was comforting a boy who’s finding his footing. There’s a difference.”
“I know.” Darian’s voice was small.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
Another pause.
Easton pressed a kiss to Danny’s temple. “But you thought you might be.”
Darian didn’t answer. His breath hitched, then steadied.
Easton waited.
Finally, Darian whispered, “I know it’s silly. But seeing him with you…” He shook his head, like the words were tangled.
Easton tipped his chin up gently, made the boy look at him. “Feelings aren’t silly.”
Darian’s mouth worked silently for a second. “It makes me feel small.”
“You are small. My boy. And my boy gets all tangled up sometimes.” Easton kissed him again, this time just below the eye. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t help untangle you.”
Danny nodded, barely there.
“Do you want to talk about it now? Or just stay here?”
“Here,” Darian whispered, curling in tighter. “Just for now.”
Easton wrapped both arms around him.
The movie played on.
The couch was warm, but Easton was warmer.
Darian curled tighter against him, tucked between thick thighs and a solid chest that moved with every breath.
The movie flickered across the screen in splashes of color, but he couldn’t have said what it was about.
Something sad. Something with cowboys. His mind was stuck on the scent of leather and sandalwood on Easton’s skin, with a faint hint of apple from the shampoo he’d used that morning.
Easton’s fingers stroked lightly through his hair and over his back, a mindless rhythm that slowed Darian’s pulse in places but not others. His cheek was pressed over Easton’s heart, and even that steady thump did nothing to stop the flood building in his chest.
His thoughts were a snarl, too loud for the quiet scene playing out on screen.
Every inhale brought him closer to the edge of something fragile and terrifying.
He didn’t know when his hand had curled into Easton’s shirt.
Didn’t know how long he’d been bracing himself to speak.
But it finally burst out before he could stop it.
“I love you.”
The words hit the air and everything else stopped. The movie. The stroking fingers. The steady rise and fall of Easton’s chest.
Darian felt the blood rush into his face, into his ears, making it hard to hear anything but his own hammering heart. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. The silence dragged out long enough for worry to turn to panic.
He almost pulled away. He almost muttered some stupid backtrack, something that would scrape the truth back into the safety of denial.
Then Easton stirred.
His arms tightened, strong and sure, pulling Darian impossibly closer. A breath brushed the top of his head, and then he replied, “I love you too.”
The pressure in Danny’s chest shattered like glass catching sunlight. He didn’t know if he was shaking or if Easton was or if maybe the whole world was just tilting a little, but none of it mattered.
“What do you think…,” Danny started, then stopped. Swallowed. “What do you think Wilbert would say, seeing us like this?”
Easton didn’t answer right away. He tipped Danny’s chin up, pressed a kiss to his upturned lips.
“I think he’d be relieved you’re not alone anymore.”
Danny burrowed in, nuzzling his nose beneath Easton’s jaw, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Warm fingers slid under his shirt, rubbing slow circles over his back, and he let himself melt into it.
Into Daddy Easton.