Firm Hand

by Nora Phoenix

He didn't say anything more, wanting to leave it to Brendan and Raf how much they were willing to share.

  "We usually check with people to make sure it doesn't make them uncomfortable," Brendan said, half apologetic. "Raf tends to drop into little-mode when he's around people he trusts, like Rhys, but if you object to that in any way, we’ll make sure to keep it limited."

  Cornell chuckled. "Vanilla is boring," he said. "Please, be yourself. I've seen pretty much everything there is to see, so not only won't it shock me, it doesn't bother me in the least. I'm always happy to see people expressing their true selves."

  "See, Daddy?" Raf said, his clear voice ringing through the room. "I told you Cornell was cool."

  Brendan smiled at his boy, the love radiating from his eyes. "Yes, you did, baby boy. But you know I'm always careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

  Without any embarrassment, Raf climbed on his Daddy's lap and snuggled against him. "That's why you are the best Daddy in the whole world."

  Rhys came back carrying a tray with the drinks, which he handed out one by one. "Does he want to play for a little bit?" he asked Brendan, and Cornell realized he was talking about Raf.

  It warmed his heart, this complete acceptance Rhys had of his friend. He wasn't merely tolerating his relationship with Brendan, he was completely embracing it, facilitating it even.

  "He had a rough day at work," Brendan said quietly, and he held Raf a little tighter. "If it wasn't for the fact that we knew you'd be okay with it, we would've canceled tonight, because he really needs some time to relax."

  Rhys nodded. "I figured as much. I'll get out some toys for him."

  Cornell watched in amazement as Rhys brought out a special playing rug, then put down a box of cars on the floor for Raf. "Here you go, buddy," he said. "Have fun."

  The smile on Raf's face was blinding, and he immediately slid off his Daddy's lap and crawled onto the playing rug on the floor, reaching for the cars. It did something to Cornell, watching the genuine care Rhys had for his friend. When he looked up from studying Raf for a bit, he found Rhys’s eyes locking with his. Something burned in them, something he hadn't seen there before. Whatever it was, it was mesmerizing, and he couldn't look away. Their eyes stayed locked, until Rhys finally smiled at him before looking away. What had that been about?

  Conversation flowed easily, and Cornell discovered he and Brendan had a lot in common. Brendan worked as a real estate agent, and he and Cornell both shared some amusing incidents with completely oblivious clients. All that time, Raf was happy playing with his cars, taking a sip from his apple juice whenever his Daddy handed it to him.

  "Dinner will be ready in five minutes," Rhys said after coming back from checking on the lasagna in the oven.

  That seemed to be some kind of signal, because Brendan got up from his seat and crouched down next to Raf. His hand found a spot on his head, caressing his curls. "I'm sure you can play some more after dinner, but we need to get ready first."

  Raf let out a little sigh, but then leaned into Brendan's touch. "Yes, Daddy."

  Brendan helped him up, and the two of them disappeared into the guest bathroom. Before Cornell could even say anything, Rhys said, "He's deep into little mode tonight."

  It only took a second for Cornell to decipher the meaning of that. "He's wearing a diaper," he concluded.

  Rhys nodded. "I noticed when they came in. He doesn't usually wear them during the week, but as Brendan said, he had a rough day at work, and he needs it then. It's his safety net."

  "You're a wonderful friend to him," Cornell said. "Not many people would have as much understanding as you do. He's lucky to have you."

  "I'm just as lucky to have him," Rhys said, his voice breaking a little. Cornell didn't understand why, until he saw the look in his eyes. The sadness wasn't for himself—it was for Cornell, for losing Jonas.

  It hit him out of nowhere, this horrible cloud of dark grief that descended on him. His throat clenched up, his breaths painful as he had to force them out, his eyes filling with tears so fast they were already spilling down his cheeks. A sound erupted from his mouth, inhuman. He hardly recognized his own voice as he made another sound, something that sounded an awful lot like a wail.

  Rhys held him, a strong wall around him, and Cornell gave in to the grief that battered him, wave after wave after wave. And then he did wail, loudly, crying and yelling over and over and over again, until his voice gave out and he had no more words.

  "I miss him. I miss him so much."

  * * *

  Needless to say, this was not how Rhys had planned for things to go. Out of all the things he had anticipated, Cornell breaking down like this had not been one of them. And yet, somehow, it seemed inevitable at the same time, as if it had been coming for a long time. Rhys held him, first loosely, but as Cornell crawled into his arms, as tight as he could manage on the couch.

  When it became clear that this was not a simple crying fit, but something much deeper, Brendan signaled him that he'd taken the lasagna out of the oven. Rhys nodded, sending him a grateful look as his two friends quietly left. He didn't even feel guilty, knowing that as much as he and Cornell needed privacy right now, Raf could use it as well.

  Cornell never even seemed to notice them leaving, his face buried against Rhys's chest. Did he even realize he was completely on top of Rhys, their bodies pressing against each other everywhere? It wasn't even sexual. Sure, it excited Rhys, but the emotional impact far outweighed that.

  When Cornell finally calmed down, it was almost half an hour later. His body had gone slack on top of Rhys's, his breathing slowed down to a soft trickle now, no longer the desperate sobs. Rhys had held him, alternating between holding him tight and softly rubbing his back, his head, even his ass. He wanted him to feel his touch, to let Cornell know he was not alone.

  He could pinpoint the exact moment Cornell became aware of what had happened. One second, his body had been completely relaxed, the next, tension filled it, and he shifted. Rhys heard him take a breath. "If the next words out of your mouth are in any way an apology, I don't want to hear them," he told Cornell softly but firmly.

  As he had expected, Cornell closed his mouth again.

  "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, and if you try to anyway, I will find a way to punish you that you will find distinctly unpleasant."

  He wasn't even sure why he took this approach with Cornell, this firm tone. Call it instincts, but something told him this was what he needed to hear right now.

  Cornell's quiet "Yes, Sir" told him he'd done the right thing.

  "Did they leave?" Cornell asked maybe a minute later.

  "Yes. But again, not something to feel guilty about. My guess is that if the dinner hadn't been set up to meet you, they would've canceled, what with how Raf was feeling."

  "I didn't notice anything off with him," Cornell said. "Is he okay?"

  "Like you, he's good at pretending. Good thing he has a Daddy who sees straight through his bullshit."

  Cornell was quiet at that for a bit. "I wasn't aware I was pretending," he said finally. "I really thought I was past this stage of grief."

  Rhys held him tight, his fingers slipping under Cornell's button-down and finding some tense points in his muscles to knead. "It's not a linear process, grief. Everyone is different. And if you don't allow yourself to feel the pain, it will sneak up on you later."

  Cornell let out a soft moan as Rhys massaged a tender spot on his back. "How did you get so wise?"

  Rhys let out a short laugh. "I'm not wise. I'm winging it, as much as you are. I just happened to have read a few books on grief recently."

  "You always were a bookworm," Cornell said. "Like me."

  "Not so much a bookworm as someone who prefers theoretical knowledge before trying something out. Whenever we got some new tool or appliance, Dad would start flipping buttons and turning knobs, whereas I would read the manual first."

  "And what does the manual on grief say?"

&nbs
p; "That it takes time and that you have to allow yourself to feel whatever it is you're feeling. There's no timetable here, no pressure to move through this process in a certain way or at a certain speed."

  Cornell breathed in deeply. "I felt like I should've moved on by now, like it wasn't normal for me to still be at this stage of such intense pain."

  "Oh sweetheart," Rhys said, the term of endearment slipping out of his mouth all by itself. "It's okay for you to miss him as long as you need to. No one is telling you you need to move on."

  "I don't understand how it's so different for you. He was your dad. I know how much you loved him. Why aren't you suffering in the same way?"

  It wasn't an unreasonable question, and Rhys had thought about it as he’d held Cornell during his breakdown. "First of all, like I said, everyone is different, and everyone grieves differently. There is no worse or better way, no right way. And second, I had a fantastic support system from day one. Say what you want about my mom, but she was there for me those first weeks. And so were Raf and Brendan, as well as Ford."

  Cornell's exhale sounded a little shaky. "I never realized how small my world had become until this happened. I have a shit ton of acquaintances, people I have gotten to know over the years, that I've worked with or played with. But no one was as close as your dad, and losing him robbed me of the one person who understood me."

  How accurate had Ford's analysis been, Rhys realized all over again. "I know, sweetheart," he said, this time deliberately using that term to see how Cornell would react.

  Other than a quick intake of breath, he didn't react at all, but he stayed in Rhys's arms, and that spoke volumes.

  "I'm exhausted," Cornell said after a while.

  "I can imagine. Do you want anything to eat before you go to bed?"

  "A light snack, I think. Something to tide me over."

  "Okay, why don't you go take a nice, hot shower to help you relax a little? When you're done, I'll help you get into bed and bring you a snack."

  Rhys wanted so much for Cornell to accept his care, but he couldn't force it on him. It had to be his choice to submit to it. And so Rhys waited, with bated breath.

  "I’d love that," Cornell whispered, and Rhys's heart did a happy little dance.

  He helped Cornell get up, and when the man studiously avoided looking him in the eye, he grabbed his chin and forced it. "Don't you dare feel ashamed or any of that crap," he told him sternly. "You needed this."

  Cornell's face softened. "Thank you."

  Rhys didn't trust him to be steady enough, so he held him as they shuffled to his bedroom, Cornell a good deal slower than usual. The lines on his face were deep, showing how tired he was. Of course, his swollen, red eyes didn't exactly improve his look either.

  Rhys didn't let him go until Cornell had lowered himself on the bed, and then he walked into the bathroom to start the shower. It was one of the few disadvantages of the house; it took forever for the warm water to reach the showers, so you had to run the water for at least a minute before it had the right temperature.

  When he walked back into the room, Cornell was sitting exactly as he'd left him. "Let's get you undressed," Rhys said calmly, taking charge.

  Cornell let it happen, another clear indication he was beyond exhausted. Rhys took off his shoes and socks, then gestured for him to stand up so he could unbutton his shirt and drag down his pants and underwear. Cornell didn't react to standing naked in front of him, and Rhys wanted to hug him something badly. Instead, he gently steered him toward the shower.

  "Take a brief shower. Relax a little. I'll be right back."

  He prepared an apple for him, one of the slightly sour Granny Smith ones that Cornell loved so much, then added some almonds and a few cubes of cheese to it. That would have to do, combined with a glass of milk.

  When he walked back into Cornell's bedroom, the shower was still running. He put the tray with the food down and went into the bathroom, where he found Cornell standing under the hot water like a zombie. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, then filled with compassion.

  He switched off the shower. "Come on, sweetheart, time for bed."

  Cornell allowed Rhys to dry him off with a towel, something that would be unthinkable under normal circumstances. Rhys found him a clean pair of boxers, then wanted to put his pajama pants on, but Cornell shook his head. "Too warm. Just the boxers."

  Rhys helped him into bed, where Cornell almost immediately closed his eyes. "Don't fall asleep yet," Rhys told him. "You have to eat a little."

  "Too tired," Cornell protested, then yawned loudly as if to underscore his point.

  "If you don't eat a little something now, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night because you're hungry," Rhys pointed out.

  "Yes, Sir," Cornell said, then opened his mouth like a little bird, his eyes still closed.

  Rhys smiled as he popped a bit of cheese into his mouth and watched him chew it, never opening his eyes. As soon as his mouth was empty, he opened it again, and Rhys fed him another bit of cheese. It took a few minutes before he'd cleared his plate.

  "Good boy," Rhys said, unable to hold back the praise that he had earned.

  That made Cornell open his eyes, and the look he shot Rhys was a mix of shock and pride. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then closed it again. Rhys tucked the covers under his chin, then couldn't resist the urge to caress his hair.

  "What did you want to say?" he asked him softly.

  "I don't want to be alone right now," Cornell said, his voice barely audible.

  Rhys's insides fired up with a deep sense of victory. This was the first time Cornell had admitted his needs so clearly. He didn't hesitate, but stripped down to his own underwear within seconds, carelessly throwing his clothes on the floor. Then he switched off the light and climbed into bed next to Cornell.

  Before he had even positioned himself completely, Cornell rolled against him. Well, half on top of him, more correctly. He moved around until he found a comfortable position, it seemed. His head was on Rhys's shoulder, his arm wrapped tightly around his stomach, while his one leg had found a spot between Rhys's legs. Rhys was effectively trapped by Cornell's body, but hell if he cared.

  Within seconds, Cornell was asleep, and much to his own surprise, it didn't take Rhys long to follow him.

  14

  Cornell woke up disoriented, his throat parched and his head throbbing behind his eyes and temples. Where was he? What the hell had happened? Then he became aware of the warm body he was draped all over, and his priorities shifted. For one glorious second, he thought he was with Jonas again, but then reality came crashing in on him.

  Breathe, he told himself. It's okay. Slowly, his heart rate came down and as a result, so did his breathing. No, it wasn't Jonas, and it would never be again. But he'd bawled his eyes out over that yesterday, hence the dry throat and the slight headache. Shame bubbled up inside of him, but Rhys's words echoed through his mind. You needed that, he’d said, and how right he had been.

  He'd always thought that when you were in your forties, you'd completely know yourself to the point where you couldn't be surprised by your own feelings or emotions anymore. Ha! How wrong he had been. That outburst yesterday? He'd never seen that coming.

  He'd thought the grieving over Jonas had been coming along. Sure, it had been hard to think about it, much less talk about him without finding it hard to breathe, but that seemed to be consistent with mourning, with grieving. But he hadn't been aware that he hadn't let his feelings out, not until they had forced themselves out.

  And when he'd finally come down and Rhys had held him, he’d been struck by the inevitability of that breakdown. As if finally his mind allowed him to see what had been building up all that time. He'd cried, and he'd been sad over Jonas plenty of times, but never with the full force of his emotions. He'd always held back, maybe because he'd been scared of them.

  Now he knew. Now he knew that as horrible as that sensation of bein
g swallowed whole by the grief had been, he’d survived it. That meant he could do it again if he had to. There was no reason to be scared anymore. He'd hit rock bottom, it felt like, and he'd found his way back up.

  Not by yourself, his mind whispered at him, and he only had to feel the warm body underneath him to know the truth of that thought. He hadn't done it by himself, because he hadn’t needed to. Rhys had been there, like a rock, his anchor, holding him for as long as he had needed. Cornell had clung to him as if he'd been the only thing keeping him afloat in that ocean of grief. Maybe he had been.

  One thing he did know: their relationship would never be the same. Then again, they kept shifting their definitions, their boundaries, anyway. The massages, Rhys watching him come, then that aborted scene, and now this outburst. Hell, they were in bed together now, having spent the night together. To Cornell, that was far more intimate than sex, than playing together.

  So maybe in light of the realization that he clearly hadn't been honest with himself about his emotions, maybe it was time for a long, hard look at how he felt about all of this. About him and Rhys, and if someone had told him a year ago there would be a him and Rhys, he would've laughed them out of the room.

  The expected rejection after their aborted scene hadn't come. They hadn't really talked about it after the initial conversation, but Rhys's behavior toward him hadn't changed from before, much to Cornell's surprise. If anything, he'd been even more caring and attentive. Cornell wasn't sure how Rhys felt about that scene, but clearly, he didn't full-on blame Cornell. Or if he did, he seemed to have moved past it. Had he moved past it to the point where he was willing to play with him again? Cornell wasn't a hundred percent sure, but the signs indicated he might.

  Before, his own biggest issue had been whether or not he could trust Rhys, fueled by the fact that he'd conveniently forgot to tell him he was a Dom at first. As big as that breach of trust had seemed in the beginning, it now felt more like a misunderstanding, a blip on the radar. Rhys had shown such care of him since, such trustworthy behavior, that he couldn't find a single reason not to trust him. And boy, was it easy to obey him. That, more than anything, surprised Cornell.