Page 73 of Viking Ink

Daddy’s soft command was easy to follow. I wasn’t planning on moving anywhere. Daddy wasn’t gone long, and he came back carrying a colourfully printed bag and a soft looking rug.

“You awake, little bear?” Daddy softly touched my foot and I gave him a sleepy smile, my ‘Yes’ came out slightly muffled around my pop.

“Okay, baby, Daddy’s going to get you into a nice soft diaper and PJs , and then we’re going to make a cuddle pile and fall asleep. How does that sound?” Simon’s hair was all undone and framing his face in an orange curtain of curls. He’d never looked more like a Daddy bear than at that moment.

“Yes, please, Daddy.” Any nerves I expected to be there weren’t—if anything, my body was craving my Daddy’s control right now.

Daddy’s strong hands curved around my hips, gently urging me up so he could remove my underwear, and then he laid the soft blanket beneath my hips. I gave my pop a lazy suck, letting myself melt under Daddy’s hands. I stifled a giggle when I felt him dusting my groin with powder. The scent of it triggered pleasant, distant memories of my mum. I hardly noticed when Daddy slid the diaper beneath my legs, his gentle movements barely stirring me from my pleasant near drowse.

“All right, baby bear, lift your hips for me.”

I lifted my hips, trying not to put too much pressure on my sore feet as I did, but it still caused a throb of dull pain. Daddy must have heard the whimper I let out because his hand was quickly on my hip, stroking it soothingly.

“I know, baby. We can get some rest soon.”

I focused on Daddy’s voice and the soft words and sounds he made as he fastened the diaper around my middle. It felt a little strange— constrictive, but at the same time comforting. The diaper almost felt like a physical manifestation of Daddy’s love—it surrounded me, kept me safe and held me. I sunk deeper into my little space, clutching at my teds and watching Daddy as he slipped my pyjama pants up my legs.

I closed my eyes and let myself just be, floating in the surety that I was safe, and that my Daddy loved me.

Chapter 21

SIMON & RHYS

Simon

My arm was numb and I had a mouth full of hair, but I couldn’t be happier. Rhys was starfished across my chest, his head tucked under my chin. I contemplated not moving, but my bladder was giving me some serious grief, and I was also aware of a growing pool of drool on my chest. As tempting as it was to stay cuddling with Rhys, I needed to get up.

Rhys seemed to hardly notice as I slipped out of bed. I wanted to wrap up the design I had been working on in secret for the last few nights. It was something special for Rhys. He’d asked for a tattoo—something that was significant for the both of us—and I’d happily agreed to design it. I would let Mitch tattoo him, though, because I knew that at the first sign of discomfort on Rhys face, I’d be a goner.

It had been two months since his father had attacked and tried to kill Rhys.

He was currently being held on remand, pending his court appearance. The charges just kept mounting up against the man—attempted murder, theft, misuse of police resources, not to mention the videos and evidence they’d found at The Farm which implicated him and his congregation in a long history of systematic child endangerment and abuse. I hoped they threw the fucking book at him. Rhys had lived his life in fear of that man, and the bastard had nearly taken the most precious thing in my life away from me.

I grabbed my coffee and sketch pad and sat in my favourite armchair. I stared down at the final design. I hoped Rhys would love it as much as I already did.

It was a teddy bear—Mr Ted to be precise—sitting with alphabet blocks. The three blocks had mine and Rhys’s initials and a love heart between them. Corny, I knew, but it was perfect for my baby bear.

After discussing it with Doc, it was decided to give Rhys’s scars a few more months to heal before we started working on his back piece. I’d be keeping that design under wraps until I was ready to show Rhys.

He’d seen sketches of his bear, though, and even without having seen the final design, had declared that it belonged over his heart. God, we were soft, but fuck it. After the last few months, I felt we’d earned a little extra softness in our lives.

Things hadn’t been plain sailing. Rhys still suffered nightmares and panic attacks. The attack by his father had left more than just physical scars, but under Doc’s insistent but genuine guidance, we’d found a therapist in the next town over who was able to help Rhys talk through everything he’d been through, and not just the shit from the last few months.

We were still exploring our dynamic together, and it seemed to only grow better and stronger. We realised that Rhys needed structured play time each night to help decompress from his day. And for me, it was a way to connect and dote on my boy that settled something deep in my bones. Mitch had accused us of already acting like an old married couple, and frankly I agreed.

It was fucking brilliant.

The sound of shuffling footsteps and yawing alerted me to Rhys stumbling down the hallway. I set my drawing pad down and opened my arms as he happily climbed into my lap, still yawning.

“You should have stayed in bed. I would have woken you before it was time to head down,” I said, bussing a kiss against his head.

He snuggled deeper into my arms and yawned again. “I woke up and you were gone. I didn’t like it.” He lifted his face up as he spoke, silently asking for a kiss, which I was more than happy to provide.

“Next time Mouse asks us to go clubbing with him, remind me of how my head felt this morning,” he whined softly.

“I don’t think Mouse is feeling much better than you, babe. Cal had to carry him to the car.”

Rhys looked up, smirking,

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