I ran the bath hot, then cooler, testing it with my hand until it was just right. Steam curled up, fogging the mirror.
I helped him undress without ceremony, and when I guided him into the tub, he sighed in relief as soon as the water hit his skin.
I knelt beside the bath and began to soap up his upper body, massaging his tight shoulders when I got to them.
“You were very brave today,” I said.
He shrugged faintly. “I didn’t feel brave.”
“Well, you were.”
I washed his hair carefully, fingers gentle but thorough. The scars on his back and arms were faint now, but my eyes tracked them anyway. Memorized them. Catalogued every mark likeevidence burned into my skull.
I scoffed inwardly at the notion that Elior had fucking consented to his abuse.Complicit, my ass.
Elior shifted, noticing. “You’re mad.”
“Yes,” I said honestly. “Not at you. At a lot of things, but never you.”
I rinsed the soap from his hair, cupping water away from his face. When I was done, I wrapped him in a towel before he could even think about standing.
“Up,” I murmured.
He didn’t argue. Just lifted his arms so I could pick him up again, towel and all.
I carried him straight to the bedroom this time, set him gently on the bed, and sat beside him.
“You’re not going anywhere alone for a while,” I said, not asking.
He looked at me funny. “I don’t go places alone, Daddy.”
I stood and went over to the dresser to get his pajamas out. As I pulled out a pair of soft terry shorts and one of my old t-shirts from the Academy, I explained, “I mean, even in this house, baby. I want you at my side or on my lap at all times.”
He considered that, chewing on his lip. Then, softly, “Okay, Daddy.”
Elior sat still, letting me dress him and towel-dry his hair.
I tossed the towel aside once his hair was mostly dry, then crouched in front of him again, hands settling on his knees. He was calm now—soft-eyed and pliant—but I could still feel the tremor under his skin like an aftershock.
“Sit back,” I told him.
He obeyed immediately, palms bracing behind him as he leaned against the pillows. Trusting. Too trusting, if you askedthe wrong part of my brain.
I climbed onto the bed, shifting until I was sitting behind him, legs spread so I could pull him back against my chest.
My arms wrapped around him—one hand splayed flat over his sternum, feeling the steady thump of his heart; the other slid up to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing slow circles against his carotid.
“You did everything right,” I murmured into his hair. “I meant it when I said I’m proud of you. It’s just… hard for me to have so many eyes on you. Do you understand, baby?”
“I think so?”
I nudged him fully into my lap. He made a tiny sound of surprise, then settled, instinctively tucking his legs up and curling into me. I adjusted him without thinking, one arm under his thighs, the other banded around his middle like a seatbelt.
“There,” I said. “Better.” I pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, lingering a little longer than necessary. “At least you were in chastity. That helped.”
“I think it helped me too,” Elior admitted quietly, his face reddening. “It made me feel held by you, even though you weren’t up there with me.”
“Good.”
