“But—”
“I’ll do it for you if you don’t want to.”
Illias shot up straight. “What? No! Absolutely not.”
“Why? You clearly don’t want to, so hand it over,” she countered, gesturing to give her his phone.
He unbuckled, grumbling under his breath as he pulled his phone from his back pocket. “This is a bad idea.”
“As if you don’t chronically have those,” she said, yanking the phone from him the minute he unlocked it.
Illias watched her with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She stopped typing and Illias held his breath. Seconds later, his phone dinged. A satisfied grin spread across Charity’s lips and she handed his phone back.
“Problem solved, lover boy.”
His heart became a wild thing as he stared down at the two message bubbles that were about to alter his entire night.
Illias
I've been thinking about you. Are you busy tonight? Maybe we can go out to Rose Lake?
"Unknown"
I have coverage for Saint Anthony's tonight so I should be free. 8pm sound okay?
Illias arrived ten minutes early to set up. He laid out the blanket that Charity found at Barb and Lou’s, then grabbed the wicker basket he purchased from there, kneeling on the blanket to arrange everything. Two tea plates, a charcuterie board, cups, water, and of course, the food. On the charcuterie board he put various types of cheese, deli meats, small pickles, crackers, and a bundle of grapes. Lastly, he pulled out a plate of cookies that he made the previous night. He remembered the first time he made them, Cantrell had expressed wanting to try them, but didn’t get the opportunity to. Illias just hoped they weren’t too stale.
Wheels crunched against gravel, and Illias looked over his shoulder to see an ancient, square sedan park next to his coupe. The dull yellow lights faded with the engine, then Cantrell stepped out. Illias didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t gawking. Cantrell’s dark gray button up shirt was rolled up to his elbows, putting his vine of thorns on display, conjuring wild andinappropriate images of his hand around Illias’ neck. The top three buttons of Cantrell's shirt were undone, revealing a sparse patch of silver hair. Illias’ gaze continued down Cantrell’s body until he got to the black, scuffed leather boots that Cantrell wore.
“I’ve got to say you are incredibly fucking hot dressed like this.”
Cantrell chuckled. “I took a bit of inspiration from my younger years.”
Illias shuffled on the blanket to make room for Cantrell. “Do tell.”
Cantrell let out a small grunt as he got down. “God, I’m getting old,” he grumbled, angling himself so that his boots were off the blanket when he stretched out his legs. “I used to wear something like this when I was still in the lifestyle. Although,” he added, wiggling his feet, “these boots have seen much better days.”
“Maybe I can clean them for you,” Illias offered, inching closer. “Have you sit in the recliner while I service them.”
“Service them, hm?” Cantrell raised an eyebrow.
He grabbed the end of the slip chain collar Illias wore, then gave it a small tug. On instinct, Illias leaned closer to loosen it.
“You mean service me, isn’t that right,”—Cantrell’s eyes flickered down to the leather dog collar Illias wore—“puppy?”
Heat gathered in Illias’ face, knowing he only had himself to blame for wearing the collar he bought years ago as a so-called statement piece. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”
Cantrell tightened the chain collar until the links bit into Illias’ neck. He leaned in closer, the scent of frankincense and woodsy cologne filling Illias’ nose. “Don’t think I won’t take you over my knee just because we’re out here.”
“Can’t punish me for nothing, Father,” Illias retorted, enjoying the sharp pinch of pain from the collar.
“I can, because I know how much you enjoy it,” he countered. “You admitted to being a glutton for punishment. That’s reason enough, don’t you think?”
“Then do it,” Illias challenged. “Bend me over right here and now.”
Cantrell leaned back, a subtle smugness on his face. “No.”
Illias blinked a few times. “No?”
