Chapter 18 Enzo
Enzo glanced at Seven for the hundredth time since their scene ended.
He sat curled in the chair, a blanket wrapped around his still naked form, eating the last of the cookies Enzo had brought him.
He watched Enzo closely behind heavy lids, like he was monitoring him as he changed the sheets.
He’d been in a daze for the last thirty minutes or so, totally pliant, letting Enzo bathe him and feed him.
He’d even sat as docile as a kitten while Enzo blow-dried his hair.
But this was the calm before the storm, he could feel it. Seven was crashing in real time, even if he didn’t know it. Even if it seemed to happen in slow motion. Enzo was on borrowed time. He needed to get this done so he could give Seven a comfortable place to land.
He threw the comforter on the bed, smoothing it out, then went to the closet, pulling out the weighted blanket stuffed in the back.
He’d never had occasion to use it before, but maybe it was time.
He dropped it onto the mattress, then dumped the dirty sheets in the laundry basket.
Seven continued to munch on the last little bit of his Oreo.
Enzo sighed, then knelt beside the bed, pulling the first aid kit out and retrieving the ointment underneath.
When he stood once more, he held out a hand to Seven. “Come here, baby. Face down on the bed.” Seven blinked at him but didn’t move. “You want me to carry you?” he asked softly.
That seemed to bring Seven out of his stupor. “Huh? What? No. I’m fine. I can do it,” he said, processing Enzo’s request in pieces, like there was a lag in his programming.
He went to stand, but his knees gave out. Enzo caught him with an arm around his waist, pulling him against him until they were skin to skin. Seven stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“Hi,” Enzo teased with a smile, loosening Seven’s blanket so it pooled on the floor.
Seven started to smile, but it collapsed, tears welling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks, a sob catching in his chest before he choked it back down.
There it is.
“It’s okay,” Enzo said, hugging him tightly. “I got you.”
Seven was shaking his head, trying—and failing—to push him away. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he insisted, sniffling like a little kid.
Enzo gave him what he hoped was a patient look. “You don’t have to be fine, baby. That’s the whole point.” Seven stared at him dubiously, but Enzo didn’t waver. “Lie down…face down.”
“Why?”
Enzo held up the ointment. “I need to put something on those welts so they don’t get infected.”
“Oh. Right,” Seven said, the two words dripping with disappointment.
“What were you hoping I would say?” Enzo teased softly.
Seven pulled away from him, flouncing onto the bed so hard he almost bounced himself off the mattress and onto the floor. Enzo bit back a smile as he sullenly huffed out, “Nothing.”
He crawled over Seven, sitting on the back of his knees, opening the ointment as he stared down at his own handywork.
Fuck, he was so beautiful like this. He was always beautiful, but the lines now criss-crossing Seven’s golden skin made Enzo’s chest tight.
He carefully began dabbing the thick paste on the welts, earning a hiss from Seven, but otherwise, he stayed quiet.
So quiet it took Enzo far too long to realize he was crying again.
He replaced the cap on the ointment and set it on the side table, then gathered Seven into his arms. He tried to break free, but Enzo held tight until he stopped struggling.
“Why am I crying again?” Seven wailed. “This is so stupid.”
Seven was always so hard on himself. There was no way his brother hadn’t thoroughly explained what subdrop was in their many lessons together. Vince never wanted anyone to hide their emotional needs from him or any other dom. It wasn’t healthy or safe.
“Hey, look at me,” Enzo said softly, brushing his thumbs over Seven’s damp cheeks. “This is all normal, baby. This is just…part of it. I’m sure you’ve read about subdrop.”
“Yeah, sure. But why is it happening to me? Vince said not everyone experiences it. I didn’t think I would. I wanted this. I do want this. I like it. Now, you’re not gonna want to do it again.”
Enzo sighed, his chest constricting. “Whoa, okay. Let’s unpack that.
First, if subdrop only happened when people were engaged in play they didn’t want, that wouldn’t be subdrop, it would be assault.
Second, you crying isn’t going to deter me from playing with you like this unless it’s because you truly don’t like what we’re doing.
I think you look pretty when you cry. Third, and most importantly, subdrop isn’t some gauge we use to measure how well you did or how much you wanted it. This is purely chemical.”
“Chemical?” Seven muttered.
“Yeah. You just went through a scene where your brain, your body, your emotions—everything—were firing on all cylinders. Your adrenaline was up, your endorphins were flooding you, your oxytocin was spiking. That’s what made you feel high and floaty and invincible while we were in it.”
He cupped Seven’s jaw. “Now? All those chemicals are crashing. Your body’s trying to level out again, and the drop feels like this—like confusion, like you need to cry, like you’re not sure why.
This is what subdrop is. It happens because your body’s been through something intense, physically, emotionally, or both… and now, it’s recalibrating.”
Enzo leaned in, resting their foreheads together.
“Nothing bad happened to you tonight. You’re not weak for feeling this way.
It’s just your system resetting. My job is to take care of you while it does, to hold you through it, keep you grounded, feed you, get you warm, and make sure you know you’re safe. ”
“Oh,” Seven said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
Enzo took the weighted blanket and draped it over Seven, tucking the sides underneath him so it was snug.
“Is this okay?” Enzo asked. “Doesn’t feel too…claustrophobic?”
Seven rested his head against Enzo’s shoulder, shaking his head. “No, it’s…nice.”
“Good,” Enzo said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But tomorrow, we’re having that talk. The one you’ve been avoiding for months.”
“What talk?” Seven mumbled.
“The talk,” Enzo emphasized. “We’re going to talk about all of this. Soft limits. Hard limits. Rules. Consequences. Boundaries. We’re gonna put it all in writing so that there’s no ambiguity. For both our sakes.”
Seven was quiet for so long Enzo worried he’d passed out, but when he glanced down, the boy’s pretty face was pinched with worry. When he caught Enzo staring, he asked, “Did I…suck at it?”
The question threw him. Suck at it? Was he crazy?
He was amazing. He’d exceeded every one of Enzo’s expectations.
This was just the subdrop talking. It often caused insecurity, uncertainty, and a need for constant reassurance.
And it was Enzo’s job to give that to him.
Sometimes, he forgot about how deep Seven’s self-esteem issues ran.
It was all Stan’s fault. There was a reason Seven preferred to call Enzo Daddy.
But he wasn’t going to make him talk about that. Not now when he was already so vulnerable. “Have you ever sucked at anything in your entire life?” Enzo asked. “You were perfect. Beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
Seven glowered at him. “Let’s not go overboard.”
Enzo booped his nose. “I can do whatever I want. You’re exceptional at everything you do. That’s why everyone loves you so much.”
Seven scoffed. “Not everyone.” He glanced up at him, miserable. “My dad seems to think I’m worthless.”
Or maybe they would talk about it now. Fuck that man for making someone so beautiful think he was somehow unworthy of everything he deserved.
Enzo pressed another kiss to the top of his head, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose.
When Seven tipped his face up for more, Enzo obliged, pressing their lips together softly.
Seven deepened the kiss, lips parting with a needy little sound.
Enzo bit back a groan, lazily exploring his mouth until Seven pulled away.
“You mean your dad, the career criminal and serial philanderer? The man who turned abandoning children into an olympic sport? That guy?”
Seven gave a pathetic sniffle once more. “Well, when you put it that way…”
Enzo squeezed him tighter. “You should put it that way, too. He’s a scumbag. Don’t let him have all the power when he deserves nothing.”
After a minute, Seven snickered. “A scumbag? Sometimes, you’re so old.”
Enzo grinned. “Sometimes? I’m always old. And I’m gonna keep getting older. You just like me that way.”
“I’m such a cliché. Shitty dad equals weird kinks,” Seven mumbled, dropping his head back on Enzo’s shoulder.
“Not everyone who’s into kink has daddy issues.
For some people—like me, like Vince—it’s a way to safely fulfill a need for structure, for control.
There’s safety in that predictability. And I get off on knowing you trust me enough to let me have that power over you, that you trust me to keep you safe when we play like this.
I like being the one who takes care of your needs.
Providing for you makes me feel needed. And that doesn’t come from some traumatic childhood.
My life was pretty bland,” he said before tacking on, “aside from the bullying, I suppose.”
“What was your real dad like? Do you remember him?” Seven asked after a minute or so.
“Yeah, kind of.” The words stuck in his throat as a sudden wave of emotion hit him.
“Tell me about him?” Seven asked. When Enzo hesitated, he hastened to add, “You don’t have to.”
Enzo smiled, resting his chin on top of Seven’s head. “No, it’s okay. I just don’t really think about him much anymore. Which is kind of fucked up, I guess. But it’s more self-preservation than anything. If I think about him…like really think about him, I miss him too much.”
“So…what was he like? Is he like your stepdad? All hot and polished?”