17. Charlie #2
The bathroom is full of steam, and he sets me down on the toilet lid for a second while he runs the water, and then stands next to me, his thigh warming my whole side.
He doesn’t turn on the lights. It’s all humid shadow, the only illumination slanting in from the cracked hallway door.
I can see his chest rise and fall, still breathing heavy, but his eyes are on me, scanning for god knows what.
I can’t stop shuddering. My insides have turned to slush, and snot’s running down my face, but I don’t really have the strength to care.
Daddy leans over, kisses the top of my head, and murmurs, “One sec, baby,” before vanishing into the blurry brightness of the hallway.
I just sit there, soaking the towel, my knees drawn to my chest, and wait for the next thing to happen.
I guess I always do. My brain feels like a cracked egg, yolk and white running everywhere.
The noises that come out of my mouth are thin and wet and not really words, just the ghosts of words.
I try to wipe my nose on the towel, but my hands aren’t working right.
When Daddy comes back, he’s got a glass of water and a smaller towel.
He crouches down like a parent at my level, delicate and patient, and dabs at my face until I’m less of a mess.
“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he promises. “You’re safe. You did so, so well for Daddy tonight.” I hear the pride in his voice, and weirdly, it makes me want to sob harder.
He hands me the water and waits for me to sip, which is good because my arms feel like noodles.
My mouth is working, but I can’t taste the water, and when I try to swallow, it feels like my throat is made of cloth.
Daddy waits, holding the cup steady, until I manage to pull down a few mouthfuls.
He makes a low, pleased sound and rubs my shoulder.
Then he stands me up, supporting almost my whole weight, and leads me to the edge of the tub.
The air inside the bathroom is thick and wet, and I think I’m supposed to get in, so I do, or try to, but my legs fold under me, and I collapse.
The water is hot, almost scalding, but even that can’t snap me back.
I float for a second, then sink, then suddenly Daddy’s arms are in the water up to the elbow, pulling me upright and draping me back against his furry chest.
He’s cradling me in his lap, my knees sticking up, my arms floating, useless.
He reaches around to grab a plastic cup and ladles water over my head, then starts to soap me with gentle, thorough hands.
He washes everywhere. My hair, my face, my chest, my arms, my spent, sticky cock, and my messy hole.
He even washes between my toes, and when I’m clean enough, he starts on himself, still holding me with one arm.
I feel like a doll, jointless and slack, and Daddy’s hands are the only thing keeping me upright.
When he says anything, it sounds distant, like underwater radio.
I try to answer, but what comes out is a gurgle, so deep in my chest it rattles my bones.
Still, he keeps talking, washing, holding, not letting up.
The water’s gotten cloudy, the surface filmed with sweat and soap.
Daddy slides his arm behind my back and arranges me so my head rests on his shoulder, his face close enough to mine that I can feel his breath, patient and careful.
I can’t stop shivering even though I’m hot, and I keep blinking, losing track of time.
There are whole minutes I think I just black out.
One time, I come back and the water’s clear, like he drained it and refilled the tub with fresh, clean water.
“Charlie, baby.” His lips brush my ear, and he squeezes my hand in both of his. “I need you to look at me.”
It takes a few tries. My eyelids are so heavy. But when I finally manage it, I see his face, his eyes all worried and dark, and the gentleness in his mouth makes something in my chest seize up. If I could cry anymore, I would.
He leans in a little more, hand squeezing mine again. “Was that too much for you, sweetheart?” His knuckles stroke my cheek, the way you’d pet a startled kitten. “Did I hurt you?”
I want to tell him no. Or yes. Or that it hurts, but it’s the kind I want, the kind I need, that I’m pretty sure that was the hottest sex anyone has ever had in the history of the universe, but my mouth’s out of commission.
My tongue is thick and slow, the words get snagged in my throat and come out as a raw little whimper.
“It’s okay, don’t force it. We can talk about it more later, but for now, you squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Got it?”
I squeeze his hand.
“Okay, baby. Did you enjoy what we just did?” he asks.
I squeeze his hand.
He says something under his breath that sounds like a prayer. “Good. Me too. Now, are you hurting anywhere?”
I squeeze his hand.
“I figured. Is anything too painful?”
I squeeze his hand twice.
Nikolaus lets out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief.
“Good boy,” he whispers, and the words are so soft I almost miss them.
He holds my hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it, then runs his thumb over the tiny ridge of my knuckle like he’s memorizing it.
I can feel the tension draining out of him, and with every gentle touch, I feel less like I’m going to come apart at the seams.
He lets us float for a while, my back against his chest, and I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes again, the bathroom’s gone, and I’m cuddled in bed with Niko, clean, in cozy pajamas, and hugged comfortably by a diaper.
I think if it turns out my time with Niko has all been a dream, I’d spend the rest of my life asleep.