Not because I doubted he would protect our son. That part I never doubted.
I just didn’t know he’d be so patient. So careful. So ridiculous about the little things. He checks the baby monitor like it’s a security feed for a world leader. He memorized the pediatrician’s notes. He knows which stuffed animal Ari likes best, though he pretends not to.
And every now and then, when he thinks no one is looking, he presses his mouth to our son’s hair with this expression that makes my chest ache.
Six months.That’s how long it’s been since the hospital.
Six months of healing and feeding and surviving the first wild stretch of parenthood. Six months of my body becoming mine again in pieces. Six months of wanting him and not quite trusting myself to reach for it fully, not with stitches and fear and sleep deprivation still hanging over everything.
He never pushed. That somehow made it worse.
Because the patience was kind. And kindness is its own kind of seduction.
One night, after a day that felt three years long, I come out of the shower and find the nursery empty.
For a second I tense. Then I spot the line of light under the sitting room door.
I walk in quietly. And stop.
Aleksei is asleep on the sofa with Ari on his chest.
Both of them are fully out.
Ari is curled into him in a little milk-drunk sprawl, one tiny fist hooked in the open collar of Aleksei’s shirt. Aleksei’s head is tipped back against the cushion, mouth slightly open in a way that would be funny if it weren’t so disarmingly human. One hand is still braced protectively over our son’s back even in sleep.
The sight of them hits me straight in the heart.
I stand there for a second and just look.
This.This is the part no one could have explained to me.
How your whole life can rearrange itself around a couch and a sleeping man and a baby drooling on his chest.
I move closer and carefully, very carefully, lift Ari off him.
It takes some effort. Our son makes one deeply offended little noise, then settles again against my shoulder while I carry him to the nursery and lower him into his crib.
He stretches. Sighs. Sleeps on.
Good. I stand over the crib for a moment, smoothing the blanket with pointless care.
Then I go back.
Aleksei is still asleep where I left him, one hand now resting over the place where Ari had been. His shirt is still open at the throat. His belt is still on. He looks exhausted.
And suddenly I have a very bad idea. Or a very good one.
Depends who you ask.
I move quietly to the sofa and kneel between his knees.
Even now, even after everything, there’s still a little thrill in it. The secrecy. The fact that I’m about to do something wicked while the house sleeps around us and our son is down the hall dreaming baby dreams.
I slide my fingers to his belt. Undo it slowly. Then the button. Then the zipper. He stirs but doesn’t wake, and my pulse skips hard.
When I reach in and wrap my hand around his thick, veiny cock, he groans in his sleep. That almost undoes me before I’ve even started.
I lean down and take him into my mouth. Fuck, he’s so big he barely fits in there. I moan around him, trying to take as much as possible.
