Chapter 60 Stuart
Stuart
Elliot scoots a little closer to me on the sofa.
His legs are curled up under him. He’s squirmy, wriggling around now and then to take his weight off his ass.
He has his head nestled into my shoulder, silky dark hair tickling my chin when he moves.
My palm is hot and tingling. My dick is tingling too.
I’ve had my arm around him since we sat, and I won’t be moving it anytime soon.
Arrangement or not, there’s no way on Earth I’ll ever let a boy who needs comfort go without.
We’re half-watching TV, half-drifting in and out of a conversation about what happened between us earlier.
He’s still a little shaky and subdued. I’m still a little amped and protective.
We’re talking to each other in a way that’s different from how we’ve talked to each other before.
There are veils between people all the time.
Strangers. Friends. Family. Almost every interaction you have with someone else is veiled in some way.
And that’s okay. It’s necessary, even. No one would get anything done if we were all laying our truth on everyone around us all the time.
There’s still a thick curtain between Elliot and me, but a veil dropped tonight, and we’re both feeling tender from it.
“Is there anything else you need me to do differently?” I ask. He’s silent, but I feel a slight falter, a hesitation. “Tell me.”
“It’s dumb, and I know it’s a me thing, but like, I can’t stand it when people tell me what to do. It makes me feel stupid ‘cause half the time, I don’t know how to do shit.”
“What should I do instead?”
His voice is small and breathy. “Teach me.”
I let that sit with me. I let it sink in. It touches me that that’s what he wants. It touches the best parts of me. Honorable parts. Noble parts. I’m impressed that he knows this about himself, and I’m glad he’s told me. It explains a lot, and I know it’s something I can help him with.
We watch another episode of whatever is on. It’s getting late by the time the credits roll.
“So,” I say, “what have you learned from your antics this evening?”
He peers up at me through thick, dark lashes. His brows shoot up, and he replies earnestly, “I learned that you do know how to spank hard.”
He looks adorable when he says it. A picture of boyish innocence. For a second, I think he might mean it, but then his eyes flicker with humor, alerting me that any innocence about him is faux.
“Elliot,” I warn, trying not to laugh, “you should know that if I have to spank you more than once in a day, the second time will be just as long and hard as the first time.”
He turns his face into my shoulder and lets out a warm breath. His shoulders shake visibly as a deep tremor quakes through him. He keeps his face hidden. “I learned that you’re not a mind reader. I have to tell you what I need.”
There’s a sudden fullness in my chest. A deep-seated sense of well-being. A feeling I used to know well but one I haven’t felt in so long that it feels strangely unfamiliar.
“That’s right. And how should you tell me?”
He takes a while to answer but manages at last. “Any way I can, ‘cept without the shouting and swearing.”
“Yes, because what’s going to happen if we have any more shouting and swearing?”
He presses a hand to his face, shielding himself, breathing shakily, “You’re…you’re going to teach me the difference between a spanking a-and a th-thrashing.”
And with that, my dick has had about all the fun it can handle for today.
“You’ve had a big day, Elliot. Are you ready for bed?” He gets up quickly, nodding and aiming for a bright smile but landing on one that’s not quite as high voltage as usual. “Would you like me to come and say good night when you’re in bed?”
A flash of white. Pure mischief. One thousand volts, easily.
My body reacts, but it’s fine. It’s been an intense night, and I’m human.
It’s normal to have a physical response to this kind of stimuli.
All I have to do is remind myself what Elliot and I have agreed on four or five times per day, and I’m positive I won’t run into any problems. This is a platonic arrangement, not a sexual relationship.
Elliot is Jeff’s son. He’s much younger than I am. I’m still coming to grips with a breakup, and I’m not in the right place for anything more.
Jeff’s son. Very young. Bad breakup.
Jeff’s son. Young. Breakup.
See? It’s not hard.