Chapter 17
Paxton
I’d been my boy’s Daddy a few days before he invited me to see the playroom. The idea of seeing it had been on my mind from the moment he gave me permission to take care of him.
The playroom was the thing he’d been most careful about. I hadn’t pushed. I understood without being told that the playroom was the innermost room of who he was. It was a sacred space for him. A comfort I didn’t feel right forcing myself into.
He needed to welcome me. Needed to feel right about it on his own.
Even though I’d been a Daddy before in the sense of the dynamic, there’d never been anyone who was mine specifically. I knew I needed to keep things at his pace or I’d lose him.
My boy had been Little for years and never had a Daddy at all. We were both learning the particular ins and outs of us. It was going well, and every day there was something new that clicked into place.
When he did invite me, it came in the form of a text while I was in a team meeting. It had taken everything I had not to jump up and cheer. My teammates would probably laugh it off, but I still didn’t need the questions they’d ask.
My boy: Want to come over today? I have something I want to show you.
Daddy: Tell me when to head over.
I showed up to the office before he got the chance to text. I was far too excited to wait.
When I walked in, Moseley gave me a look that said he knew we had big plans for the evening. His eyes took me in from head to toe like he would find the answers in my appearance or something.
Cheyenne called out to let my boy I was there, then told us to have a good evening in a tone full of approval. I had to hope it was because she knew I was taking good care of her boss.
The drive to his place was short. We took separate cars since I came from the gym. I pulled up just behind him in the driveway, then waited while he unlocked the front door and held it open.
Inside the house was the same as it had been the two other times I’d come over since that first night. My boy put his things away, then turned to look at me with a cautious expression. It was at that moment I confirmed what he wanted to show me.
"You okay, baby?" I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him in a loose hug.
He sank against me. "I'm nervous, Daddy."
"You don't have to show me if you're not ready. There’s no rush."
"But I am ready. I want to so bad."
"Then take a deep breath and lead the way, baby. Nothing you show me will change how I feel about you."
He led me down the hall past his bedroom to the door he kept closed and locked tight. Not that I’d tried to open it. I knew from the few times he’d mentioned it he believed in locking that part of him away.
The sound of the lock disengaging rippled around us. When he pushed it open, he looked back at me one more time. I waited him out, much like I’d learned he needed in every aspect of things related to his Little nature.
My boy went inside first. Following him, I couldn’t hold back the awe I felt seeing the space. My jaw ached with the force I used to keep it from dropping open. I didn’t need him to think I was judging him negatively.
Every inch of the space was soft. There wasn’t a sharp corner or hard item in the place. He could roll around the room and not hit anything until he reached the walls of the space.
From the blue-gray color of the walls to the piles of blankets and stuffies, it screamed Grizzly. He was woven into the space in a way that brought tears to my eyes.
This was my boy. Plain and simple.
What a fucking gift it was to experience.
I took in more of the details as I worked to hold back my tears.
One whole wall was shelving, floor to ceiling, holding an organized collection of stuffed animals that ranged from small enough to fit in a pocket to large enough to need both arms. There were soft boxes on the lower shelves with labels in my boy's loopy handwriting.
A low table with rounded edges sat in the center of the room with cushions around it.
Along the opposite wall, there was a changing table that had been repurposed as a shelf for snacks and eating utensils. A small refrigerator sat right beside it. A little further down there was another dresser. I suspected it held his Little outfits.
Everything I’d seen him in so far had been borderline between his big side and his Little one. I hoped he’d trust me enough soon to grant me a chance to dress him up like the sweet baby he was.
I stood in the middle of the room, happy and intrigued. It took me a second to gather my words because the moment deserved more than a quick reaction.
My boy was standing next to the door, as if he would flee if my reaction wasn’t what he hoped. I could feel his eyes on me even though I wasn't looking at him yet.
"This is who you are," I told him. It wasn’t my asking. It was simply me telling him I saw it.
That I saw him.
"Yes," he replied quietly.
I turned around to fully face him. His arms were crossed, keeping him closed off in a way I instantly hated, and he’d ducked his head down.
Crossing the room in a couple of long strides, I didn’t stop until I was close enough that he had to look up to see me.
"It's incredible, baby. You built the perfect space."
"You think so?”
"Absolutely. The care you took, the layers of you… It’s obvious that nothing here arrived by accident. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to come in.”
His shoulders dropped. "I’m glad you like it, Daddy."
I reached out and ran my fingers over his cheek, noting the blush that formed. He leaned into it the way I loved. Like he couldn’t get enough of my touch.
He looked at me for a moment. Then he unfolded his arms and stood up a little straighter and said, "Can we pway now?"
I grinned. "That is exactly what I hoped you’d say."
As if he could read my mind, my boy grabbed some clothes from the dresser before taking off to change. I wandered around the room while waiting for him. My fingers trailed over items, taking in the different textures and cataloging what all he had.
It was best to know the gaps in his collection in order to be able to spoil him properly.
When he came back, I nearly swallowed my tongue. He was literal Little perfection.
He had on a shirt several sizes too small, the material stretching across his beefy upper body like one wrong move would have the seams splitting wide open.
Paired with it were a pair of shorts that bordered on obscene.
His thick thighs made the fabric ride up, turning them into more of a diaper situation than they were designed to be.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He looked younger, more relaxed. Even with how arousing it was, I could sense how his Little side peered at me.
“Is it… is it tew much? I go change,” my boy said nervously.
He’d mistaken my silence for judgment. I needed to rectify that immediately.
I ate up the space between us, then gripped his hips tightly. “Baby, you’re not too much. And don’t you dare go change. I’m fighting to not scare you with how attracted I am to your body right now.”
“Oh.”
The soft reply shook me out of my lusty stupor. “Don’t worry about Daddy, baby. Right now is about you getting the time you need to relax. My cock can wait.”
Biting his lip, he gave me a quick nod before heading to his toys. He selected several stuffed animals, then carried them to the large blanket pile in the corner and began arranging it all.
I settled onto the cushions by the low table and watched. It would be interesting to see how he navigated playtime. The only other time he’d truly been in Little state was at Jake’s party. And of course, my surprise appearance there interrupted him.
This would be new. It would be a chance to observe.
I could tell the arrangement he was making was deliberate. Stuffies were being grouped by size, smaller ones against larger ones, with blankets sectioning them off. His hands were gentle, as if he meant to make each feel special.
My boy was already deep in his Little space, the professional, careful Grizzly set aside for the moment.
"What are you making?" I asked, keeping my voice soft.
"A bwed," he said, not looking up. "For babies."
"Are you taking care of them?"
He nodded, then settled back on his heels to assess his work. After a moment, he leaned forward to adjust a small bunny who’d apparently been placed incorrectly.
"I'm their mama," he said.
I let the statement hang between us for a minute. "Yeah?"
"Mamas are soft," he said factually, as if there was no way I could question its validity. "And I is soft. I soft mama."
I turned this over in my mind, thinking about how to handle it. Because what he was saying made its own kind of sense, and I didn't want to bulldoze over the logic of it, but I also knew this was a learning moment for both of us. I wanted to get it right.
"Can you face Daddy for a minute, baby?" I asked.
He looked up.
"Mamas can be soft. That's true. But softness isn't only a Mama thing. Daddies can be soft too." I held his gaze. "I'm soft with you, aren't I?"
He considered my words, his brow dipping as a frown etched over his previously neutral expression. "Yeeessss," he said slowly.
"Then the soft part doesn't have to mean Mama. You can be soft and still be Little. And I can be soft and still be your Daddy." I tilted my head. "Does that make sense?"
He looked at the babies, then back at me. "But who care them if I the Little?"
"We both do. You can still be their mama if that's what feels right. I just wanted you to know you don't have to be Mama because you're soft. You can just be you."
Something shifted in his face. Like my words brought forth a revelation. He looked down at the stuffies and then back at me, his gaze earnest.
"Otay," he said.
"Okay," I agreed. "Now tell me about the babies. I want to know all of them."