“Exactly.” Easton patted his leg again. “Come on, baby.”
Danny unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them and his briefs down in one go, then draped himself over Easton’s thighs. His skin was still faintly pink, marked with shallow scrapes and irritation where the hay had scratched him earlier.
Easton scooped some of the salve onto his fingers and started to smooth it gently over Danny’s sore bottom. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the faint rustle of clothing. The balm glistened as it sank into the skin, and Danny exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of him with each pass of Easton’s hand.
“You’re safe,” Easton murmured. “You’re loved. And you’re not too much.”
Danny let out a shaky breath and let himself melt.
Danny followed Easton’s quiet command, his heart thudding with something more complicated than nerves. His cheeks burned, but not just from embarrassment. The balm was forsoothing, and Easton’s touch wasn’t sexual, but Danny’s cock twitched anyway, pressing up against the firm support of Easton’s thigh.
He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified. Not now. Not when he was finally feeling safe again.
But his body wasn’t listening. Every brush of Easton’s fingers as he applied the salve with gentle circles made things worse. Or better. Or… both?
The coolness of the calendula was a relief on his sore skin, but Easton’s hand was warm and almost reverent. Danny’s breath hitched when a fingertip skimmed closer to the crease of his cheeks. There was nothing inappropriate about the caress, but it was just close enough to make his hips twitch.
“Easy, boy.” Easton’s hand stilled. “You’re all right.”
“I know,” Danny whispered into the crook of his elbow. “It’s just… everything feels big right now.”
Easton rubbed a soothing circle. “Big good or big bad?”
Danny didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, trying to adjust his leaking hardness without being obvious, which was laughable at this point.
“Both,” he finally admitted. “I feel safe. And stupid. And seen. And… ha—hard.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Sorry.”
Easton didn’t laugh or scold. He just kept rubbing in gentle, slow motions. “You don’t have to apologize for how your body reacts. Especially not with me.”
Danny squeezed his eyes shut. “But I don’t want to ruin this. It’s not about that. I mean… it kind of is, but not only.”
“I know,” Easton said softly. “You’re allowed to want. You’re allowed to feel.”
Danny blinked fast. His cock pulsed against the fabric of Easton’s slacks. But the shame wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.Not with Easton’s hand still moving in slow, careful strokes, not with his voice steady and low.
“Thank you,” Danny whispered. “For not making it weird.”
“It’s only weird if we pretend it’s not happening.” There was a smile in Easton’s voice now. “And I’d rather you be honest with me. Even if that’s difficult.”
Danny exhaled shakily, sinking a little deeper into the moment. His skin still stung, his pride still smarted but under it all, warmth bloomed like a hearth fire.
Easton’s hand lingered and the warmth from his palm seeped through Danny’s skin, settling deeper than the salve ever could. He felt the way Easton’s thighs shifted beneath him.
Hard, manly thighs.
Everything inside him buzzed.
“Are you feeling more like Danny or Darian right now?” Easton’s voice curved around something like curiosity or maybe need.
Danny tilted his head just enough to glance back, breath catching as his gaze met Easton’s. “A little of both,” he murmured. “Being bare-assed over your lap makes me feel very Little… but also kinda like a grown-up with… different wants.”
Easton hummed, fingertips brushing gently down the cleft of Danny’s ass, not teasing, not accidental. “And which side is stronger?”
Instead of answering, Danny rocked his hips forward just slightly. The friction of his aching cock against Easton’s thigh made him moan. His eyes fluttered shut, then opened again.
A low laugh rumbled in Easton’s chest, and the vibration reached Danny through every point they touched. “Yeah, boy. I want you to say it.”
“Darian.” The name came out hoarse, his voice nearly breaking on the second syllable. Another roll of his hips, hungry and deliberate. “I want to be yours, Sir.”
