His knees almost gave out.
The L-shaped couch sat exactly where it always had, deep cushions pulled in tight like it was waiting to catch someone small and hurting. A low white shelf lined the opposite wall, its bins still bursting with toys. The bright colors clashed painfullyagainst the knot in Danny’s chest. The television loomed above the entertainment center, dark and silent, as if holding its breath. In the far corner, the straight-backed armchair faced the wall, like a warning whispered. And then there was the armoire. The implement cabinet stood tall and silent in its corner, its presence as commanding as ever, humming with the weight of memory Danny wasn’t sure he was ready to feel.
It was too much. A kaleidoscope of comfort and grief.
He swayed.
Easton’s hand closed around his arm. His touch was firm but not unkind.
“Breathe,” he ordered, guiding him to the couch. “Sit for a moment.”
Danny obeyed. He perched on the edge of the cushion, spine stiff as a board, arms wrapped around himself like he could hold his insides in place.
Easton crouched beside him, lowering himself until their eyes were level. “This isn’t punishment.” Easton’s voice was a balm and a challenge all at once. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Danny.”
Danny’s gaze dropped. “Feels like I have.”
“I know. Grief lies like that.”
A beat.
“Grieving someone you love bruises the soul.” Easton caught his gaze and held it. “And it breaks your heart. It makes you feel hollow and heavy at the same time. Like everything hurts… and nothing matters.”
Danny’s throat clenched, eyes stinging with sudden heat. His shoulders hunched inward as if making himself smaller would make him hurt less.
It didn’t work.
Easton reached out, his fingers grazing the underside of Danny’s forearm in a light caress. “What we’re about to do itisn’t about control. It’s about letting your body speak when your words can’t. It’s about release. For you. Not for me.”
Danny nodded, once, hard. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His heart was too high in his chest.
“I will spank you”—Easton stroked Danny’s arms and kept his gaze—“until I feel you’ve let enough go. I’m not going to ask you to count. This isn’t a game or discipline. If you need to, you can stop me at any time. Your safeword is valid here. Yellow for pause. Red for stop. Say either, and I will.”
Danny looked up at him. “Okay.” He swallowed. “Y-yes, Sir.”
“One more thing.” Easton’s voice dipped, serious. “This is not sexual. We’re not mixing your Little space with sex.”
A flicker of disappointment shot through Danny. Followed by relief. Followed by guilt for the disappointment. “I don’t… I don’t want that either. Not like this,” he murmured.
Easton nodded once. “Then we’re agreed.”
When Easton fluidly rose, Danny’s pulse jumped.
Easton offered his hand, palm up.
Danny hesitated only a moment before slipping his hand into the long-fingered, callused one waiting for him. The warmth of that touch shot through him like a pulse. He let himself be drawn to his feet, legs wobbly with nerves and something far more disturbing.
“Come here.” Easton guided him to the high-backed armchair near the corner. It was solid, broad, and dignified like something from a grandfather’s study.
Easton sat and gently tugged Danny forward until he stood next to his knees. Danny’s breath came shallow, his eyes flicking to the couch he’d just left, then back to man seated on the chair like royalty. He swallowed hard.
“I loved him too, you know.”
The words hit low and deep. Danny’s throat closed, his knees nudging inward like he could protect the ache inside him. His chest rose too fast, his fingers curling into his palms.
Easton guided him down, helping him lower over his lap until Danny’s chest rested across the broad thighs. As his upper body tilted, blood rushed to his head with a dizzying whoosh, making the world feel briefly unsteady and off-kilter in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. There was vertigo, yes, but also a strange sense of surrender. Of being exactly where he was meant to be.
Danny tried bracing one hand against the floor, but he wasn’t tall enough. Looking to steady himself, he curled a hand instinctively around Easton’s ankle.
