Page 38 of Viking Ink

“Frinkles. Like wrinkles, but they only show up when you frown really hard.” I ran a fingertip over his forehead, brushing some of his long curls aside. “You get them right here.” I tapped his forehead with my index finger gently. “What’s worrying you, Daddy bear?” The nickname slipped easily from my lips.

He let out a soft breath, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I worry that I’m pushing you too hard, that what I want for us may be more than you’re ready for—that I’m asking too much.”

I ran my hand through Simon’s hair, coaxing him to look at me. “Simon, can I tell you a story?”

Simon nodded, his cheek pressed against my fingers.

“A while ago, there was this young guy. He lived a pretty cloistered life, in a small town surrounded by narrow-minded bigots, and he spent most of his time alone. This guy knew he was different. He liked guys, which his father and minister had told him was a sin, but he knew deep down it wasn’t wrong. But he had nobody to talk to. Thanks to this man’s grandad, he found the internet and found out he wasn’t so different from other people. And in his searches, he found porn—and not just any porn, but stuff that showed him sexy Daddies and their boys. This led him on a search, and he found out his deepest desire was to have a Daddy all of his own, one that would love and cherish him, little or big, and would be there when the world was at its darkest, and bring some light into his life.” I tapped Simon’s chest. “And you know what?”

“What, baby bear?” His voice was husky.

“In my head, I had this picture of a perfect Daddy, the perfect boyfriend. Not what he looked like, but just the idea. That was, until I met you.” I leaned in and kissed him softly before I pulled back. “You’re everything I wanted, everything I dreamed about.”

“Fuck,” Simon husked out.

“Is that a question, Daddy?” I giggled, rocking slightly in his lap and earning a playful swat to my arse. The soft impact of his hand on my bottom drew out a surprised moan from me.

His eyes darkened, and his smile turned devious. “Oh, did you like that, baby bear?”

I wore my best prim expression, fighting an embarrassed smile. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Simon shook his head, smiling. “It’s probably a discussion best left for when we’re not at the breakfast table—and don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve not eaten all your porridge yet.”

Sprung.

Ugh. I needed to break it to Simon that no matter how much he dressed it up, porridge was still porridge, and nothing would encourage me to eat it. I just didn’t find the beige mess palatable, little or big.

“I think I’m going to have to say a big no to porridge, Daddy bear. I know you think it’s healthy, but I really don’t enjoy eating it. I’m happy to try something different and healthy, but it’s a hard pass on the porridge.” I felt proud of myself. Only a few short months ago, I wouldn’t have said a word and just eaten it, but Simon wanted me to speak my mind, to give me the autonomy I had been lacking for so long.

Simon tipped his head and gave me a searching look. “I’m proud of you for telling me, Rhys. And I perhaps got a little carried away with needing to feed you up. My dad always swore porridge was the mainstay of every breakfast, but I get it’s not for everyone.”

“Good,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“This is why we need to talk, and why I was worried about moving too fast.”

“I agree. I admit it’s easy for me to let you take control of situations, but I need to speak up when I don’t like something,” It was something new for me, being able to speak my mind and offer an opinion.

Simon nodded. “How about this? You can leave the porridge, but I want to see your fruit slices and toast eaten. We can find an alternative to porridge, but Coco Pops will still be a treat, and not an everyday cereal.”

I could agree to that, as long as porridge was off the table.

I moved off Simon’s lap, but not before we shared another kiss. I was growing addicted to the taste of Simon’s lips, and the soft brush of his beard against my skin. Before I could get carried away, I moved from the warmth of his lap and back to my seat. I pushed the offending bowl of gruel away and munched on the fruit and toast Simon had made instead.

“Did you still want to go to the music store today?” Simon asked between bites of toast. “I know you brought it up last night. Or would you rather stay in?”

The idea of buying a new guitar felt weird. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mum’s memory by getting something new, but her guitar was beyond repair. I had salvaged some of the broken parts—the headstock and fretboard—hoping I could make or do something with them eventually. I missed busking. Working for Doc was interesting and he paid me well, but busking was about more than money, and I hoped I could spend time in the square on my days off.

Looking at a new guitar sounded exciting and fun, but my brain also latched onto the idea of a day spent here in the flat, playing in my little space. I was just getting to know what I enjoyed when I was in that space.

I let out a frustrated huff, not sure what to do. I didn’t want to miss out on either of those things.

“I want to do both,” I finally said, unsure how Simon would react.

His grin and nod made me feel better about my decision. “Sounds like a good plan. Greg only keeps the music shop open till lunch on a Saturday, so we can head there, you can check out the guitars and then we can pick up things for lunch and head home.”

I nodded, wondering if I could convince Simon to make hot dogs again, with lots of sauce and mustard, and maybe even a little bag of crisps alongside.

“Okay then, decision made. Eat up, and we can head up to the store. I also want to stop by Mags’s. She put aside a couple of things for me,” Simon said mysteriously. I wondered what Simon had gotten. Mags had the clothing stall near the square, and sold a lot of fun, colourful T-shirts and jumpers, and even hand painted sneakers that I loved to look at. Simon wasn’t forthcoming with information, so I didn’t ask, but he did have a pleased smile on his face.

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