Page 4 of Merry Little Christmas
Instead of going straight to bed, I knocked gently on the guest room door. When no response came, I nudged it open. Peyton laid on top of the blanket, still fully dressed and fast asleep. Bless them, they’d tugged the trash can over to the bed. After a quick check to make sure they hadn’t been sick, I topped up their drink and covered them with a blanket before retreating to my own room.
It couldn’t have been long before I woke up to noises in the hallway. I thought it was Jesse at first, but soft whimpering had me bolting upright. Sniffling, and thelinencloset opened? What the hell?
Pulling myself from bed, I crept into the hallway. Peyton was stretching their arm high above their head, reaching for the… spare sheets? “You okay?” I asked.
Startled, they whirled around, sheets crashing to the floor behind them. “I’m sor—” They gagged, rushing into the bathroom.
Poor thing. I followed, kneeling beside them to brush sweaty blond hair out of their face. “It’s okay, baby,” I soothed. “Get it out.”
The name had slipped out, but I wasn’t going to correct it. My Daddy senses were on fire, and Peyton needed me.
As I rubbed their back, I fumbled behind me for the light switch. Peyton tried to speak between waves, but to no avail.
By the time they were finished, tears poured from their pretty eyes. When their stomach finally settled, they sat back on their heels and it was then that I noticed why they’d been reaching for the spare sheets: Their pants were wet. “I’m sorry,” they whispered, voice hoarse. “I got sick and?—”
“It’s okay,” I hushed, retrieving a pack of makeup remover from under the sink. They weren’t wearing makeup, but I hoped the aloe would help soothe their angry skin. Tugging one of thewipes free, I gently rubbed at their soft cheeks. “Why don’t you get yourself in a cool shower? I’ll worry about the bed and get you something clean to wear.”
Peyton fiddled with the hem of their shirt, sniffling. When they spoke, it was with a soft, bashful voice that only a Daddy would recognize—they were regressing. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” I straightened, turning on the shower.
“Take care of me.”
Despite their protest, they let me help them to their feet. I shoved the flannel off their shoulders and it fluttered to the floor. When they didn’t stop me from unbuckling their belt, I knew they were deep into their safe space.
“We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, Peyton. Have I ever struck you as someone who does things they don’t want to?”
“Yes, because you’re too nice to worry about inconveniencing someone.”
Damn it; they were right. I rolled my eyes, choosing to show them rather than tell them that I wanted to do this. Their Rubik’s cube of belts and chains turned loose, and I lowered the zipper for them. When my hands found the hem of their shirt, they raised their arms pliantly.
“That doesn’t count when it comes to you,” I said quietly. Leaving them to completely undress, I moved for the door. “Toss your clothes in the hall and I’ll wash them for you.”
Peyton nodded, and I shut the door behind me. Once I’d collected the clean sheets from the floor, I straightened up the guest room—but they weren’t going back in there if I could help it.
Peyton’s clothes were sitting in the hallway, so I combined those with the dirty sheets. Before I started the machine, I picked out Peyton’s jeans to clear their pockets and remove their belts. As I did so, something small and blue fell into the washing machine: A pacifier–adult-sized, to accommodatea larger mouth. Grinning, I tucked it into the pocket of my sleep pants. They’d be wanting that soon.
With the shower still running, I left a T-shirt on the counter for them and did something I hadn’t been able to for quite some time: I prepped my space for a Little.
Chapter Three
Peyton
I. Was.Mortified.
No, no; that was an understatement. Was there a level of embarrassment stronger than mortification? Death. It had to be death.
I was hoping that I could sneakily change the sheets without anyone knowing, but it hadn’t crossed my mind that I’d need to change clothes—I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
I should have known that “Daddy” would kick in instead of Cole. God, I’d dreamt of being his Little for as long as I could remember, but not like this—not after throwing up and pissing myselfin his bed.
Ugh!
Face on fire, I peeled myself out of my soiled clothes and tossed them outside the door. I should have been ashamed at the idea of someone else washing them, but I couldn’t spare the energy. Cool water splashed my skin and I gasped, but it was refreshing. My legs shook with the effort of holding me upright, but asking Cole for helpbathingmay have been pushing the line a bit. My throat tickled, and I coughed, groaning when my abs protested. Shakinghands made a pathetic attempt at washing my body, but it was better than nothing. Wetting my hair under the spray, I called it quits.
When I stepped out, I smiled. Cole had put one of his T-shirts on the counter. My binder had been drenched in sweat but thankfully, I swam in Cole’s shirt. It hid my chest and covered me to mid-thigh. Knowing that he kept toothbrushes under the sink, I fumbled around until I found one. I smiled in spite of myself: it had Cookie Monster on it.
I could have put it back and grabbed an adult toothbrush, but I didn’t want to. My regression was entirely involuntary. I was sick. My tummy hurt and… damn it, I just wanted to be held.
