Finally Calling Him Daddy (Daddy Kink Snippet)

Ellis prays Quinn will show up the next day; he must have picked up his car sometime last night. He feels fairly sure Quinn will come. But you never know, with the kind of hurt Quinn’s been through. You just never fucking know. He tries reading, but Fitzgerald’s short stories swim on the page. He tries cooking, uses up all the flour, makes a pasta salad, and can’t figure out what else to do. So he resorts to cleaning, even though he pays a maid for that. He’s changing the sheets when he hears a knock at the door, sometime around three. Ellis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He opens the door to Quinn standing on the front steps, all dressed up like a frat boy. “I brought a suit before you bitch,” he says. “And I’m clean.” He hands a piece of paper to Ellis. “Here’s the proof. Happy now?” Ellis kisses him on the forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “What a good boy.” It slips out before he can stop himself, and he curses inwardly. “Have you had lunch?” “No,” Quinn says. Not a shock. Of course he hasn’t eaten. Quinn doesn’t take care of himself. Ellis leads him to the kitchen, and points at a chair. “Sit,” he orders. He turns on the stove and begins cracking eggs into a pan. “What are you doing?” Quinn asks. “Feeding you an omelet. You’re still growing. At least I suspect you are, based on your consumption of food in general. How the hell have you managed not to eat today?” Quinn shrugs. “I wasn’t around anything.” Ellis doesn’t mention that he was probably at his apartment all day. That tells him all he needs to know about the food Quinn keeps in his fridge: probably nothing but condiments. “You have to take care of yourself.” Ellis glances back from the stove. Quinn shrugs again. “I do.” “You don’t. And you didn’t eat because you’re hungover,” he says, taking in Quinn’s red-rimmed eyes, the bags under them. “Which bar?” “Huh?” “Which bar did you and your friends get drunk at?” “Frog and Toad doesn’t card.” Quinn rubs his temples. Ellis sighs. After he sets the omelet in front of Quinn, he fetches him some aspirin and mixes up an Alka-Seltzer. “Drink it all,” he says. “One true cure for a hangover.” Quinn looks up slightly belligerently. “How d’you know?” “That’s what my father used to say. You think I’ve never seen someone hungover?” Obediently, Quinn scarfs the food — of course, he was half-starved — then drinks the Alka-Seltzer in one long chug. Probably dehydrated. Ellis brings him a Gatorade, one of them he keeps for working out. He hands it wordlessly to Quinn, who downs it. “Better?” Ellis asks. Quinn nods. “Thank you,” he says, without meeting Ellis’s eyes. Ellis senses he’s embarrassed. No one’s ever really fussed over Quinn before, it seems, and he doesn’t quite know how to deal with the attention, as much as Ellis can see he craves it. So much why me? in his whole attitude. Quinn flew into a rage the other night because he doesn’t think he’s good enough and he loathes when people remind him of it. “Quinn?” Ellis says gently, once he’s finished the Gatorade and looks down at the table, seemingly unsure of what to do next. “You want to stay down here and watch TV, or you want to go upstairs?” “What’s upstairs mean?” Quinn asks. He seems skittish, this brat who tried to tease Ellis yesterday by stroking his own cock through those goddamn briefs. Ellis thinks about it, thinks hard. Quinn wants the attention, the omelets, the Gatorade. He craves someone to take care of him. But Quinn associates sex with people leaving. If he sleeps with Ellis, Ellis will leave. Probably subconscious, but it’s there. “Quinn, we only go upstairs if you want to. And if we do I won’t leave afterwards or kick you out or decide not to see you again,” Ellis says. “We can always stay down here and watch a movie, if you’d rather.” “No,” Quinn says. “I asked what it meant.” Ellis shrugs. “What do you want it to mean?” Quinn bites his lip. He looks down again and looks back up without raising his chin. Ellis hardens almost immediately— god, Quinn knows how to destroy him. “No,” he says. “What do you want it to mean? Sir?” And this “sir” doesn’t have that snarky little twist to it. Ellis takes a deep breath. He needs to control himself. “Quinn, you’re killing me.” “What do you mean?” he asks, with the same posture, with those big eyes, blue today, blinking innocently. It doesn’t help that Quinn’s sitting and Ellis stands. “Do you want me to do something, Ellis?” Ellis’s carefully maintained self-control snaps, a breaking thing stretched too far. “Get upstairs,” he says, using his deep, commanding voice. “Now.” Quinn stands, politely pushes in his chair, and walks up to Ellis’s bedroom. He goes inside, kneels on the floor, clasps his hands behind his back, head lowered, and waits. Sweet Jesus. Ellis’s harder just walking in the goddamn door. It doesn’t help that Quinn’s tenting his shorts. Perfectly innocent, ready to do whatever Ellis asks. God, he’s clearly played sub before and it’s delicious. God, what a picture: Quinn’s blond head bowed down, his hair a curtain over his face, his hard cock jutting out. Ellis wants to grab that hair and fuck his mouth, make Quinn take it just because he looks pretty kneeling there. But he has to be gentle. Quinn needs it. More than that, Quinn deserves it. He expects Ellis to walk into the room, fuck his mouth, and kick him out. Ellis has to make this different for him. Quinn needs taken care of. “Quinn,” Ellis says, so goddamn reluctantly. “Get off your knees.” “What did I do?” He sounds panicked. “Isn’t this how you want me?” “Not right now. Eventually. But not now. Now it just plays into every fucking insecurity you have. Get up.” “Not supposed to say ‘fuck,’” Quinn smirks. “Shut up and get in bed,” Ellis orders. “Brat. Take off your shirt and shorts first. You don’t get in bed with your clothes on. Just your briefs.” “You like my briefs,” Quinn says. “You like me in briefs a lot, Ellis.” “I do,” Ellis says. “They make your cock look good. Get in bed.” If he acknowledges it, he hopes Quinn will stop teasing him about it. And wear them all the goddamn time for him. Ellis strips to his boxers. He watches Quinn as he lies on his back. Hard, of course. His hand slides below his washboard stomach and he begins rubbing himself. He makes a small noise, holds himself, and plays on that sweet spot under his head. Ellis loftily ignores him. “You like watching, Ellis,” Quinn taunts. “And you like being watched.” Ellis lies next to him and pulls the covers over them: the white sheets, the light down comforter. It seems to startle Quinn. “Come here.” Quinn immediately presses against Ellis, his lean, muscled chest against Ellis’s, that delicious hard cock tucked in those briefs deliberately rubbing against his own. Quinn tangles his legs up with Ellis’s. “What?” he asks. “I should spank the hell out of you,” Ellis says. He tugs Quinn’s hair. God, he’s wanted to do that sofuckingbad. Quinn’s hair was made for pulling. “I asked you to come here, not burrow into me.” “But you feel so good,” Quinn says, big eyes looking up at him, mischief flickering in them. “Daddy.” Ellis immediately hardens further. His breath catches. That fucking brat. Of course Quinn notices. His lip pouts out. “Daddy?” Quinn says, his voice rising into a question. Big blue eyes, Ellis’s hands tangled in that hair. Ellis should spank Quinn’s ass red for acting like such a little slut. And he would, if he weren’t so goddamn hard. Dammit, Ellis tries so fucking much to shove this down. He isn’t supposed to think like this. It’s not … it’s not the type of thing you can talk about. It’s not acceptable. It’s not normal. “What, Quinn?” he asks, his voice careful, even. Ellis has learned that much self-control, at least. “Are you gonna fuck me now?” Quinn asks. “I really want you to fuck me now. I’ll be such a good boy for you.” He picks up Ellis’s hand. “See how hard you made my cock, Daddy?” Ellis’s dying over that sweet little voice. Quinn has him now and he knows it. He’s going to get whatever he wants out of Ellis, godfuckingdammit. Ellis has waited too long to play this game, and his self-control is close to snapping again. “No,” Ellis says. “I’m not going to fuck you, Quinn. You’re being a brat.” “How am I being a brat?” Quinn asks. “I’m doing everything you’re asking, Daddy.” His lower lip trembles a little. That tiny little quiver, oh god. Suddenly Ellis realizes: Oh fuck, this isn’t just his kink. This is Quinn’s kink. This is more than Quinn’s kink. I’m not good enough. I’m never good enough. Quinn fucking his way through the gay population of greater Savanah. Quinn getting ignored by his parents. Quinn coming back to get bossed around. Quinn eating up any little kindnesses Ellis doles out. Quinn wanting to hold his hand. Quinn showing out at the clinic, trying to get back at Ellis, yes, but also, in a fucked up way, trying to make Ellis comfort him when he was hurt. Quinn appearing hungry and hungover — Quinn’s not only teasing him. Quinn’s feeling him out. Quinn isn’t merely tormenting him, calling him Daddy. Quinn wants to know if Ellis will let him call Ellis Daddy. And if Ellis will agree to play the role. Which, as much as Ellis tries to push it to the back of his mind, to shove it away, he desperately wants to do. Ellis has waited for this, has craved it, no matter how much he’s sublimated it and ignored it and shunted it onto some other impulse. Ellis wants a boy so badly, a boy to cuddle and care for and love and fuck. They’ve held each other at arm’s length. He calls Quinn “brat.” Quinn sneeringly calls him “sir” or just plain Ellis. All at once, Ellis lets it go. He wants this and he thinks Quinn wants this and why the fuck not? The desire almost chokes him. “You are doing everything I ask, sweet boy,” Ellis manages. “You’re being so good.” Quinn lights up. His eyes widen; he squirms a little in Ellis’s arms. “Am I? Am I being good? I’m trying so hard, Daddy.” Ellis kisses his forehead. “I know you’re trying, sweet boy.” He’s so fucking hard right now. He rubs against Quinn. Quinn eagerly thrusts back. “You need fucked, don’t you?” “Mmm-hmm. Please, Daddy?” Quinn grinds against him shamelessly and cuddles closer. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll be so, so good you won’t believe it. Please?” “Here, turn over on your side, boy,” Ellis says. Quinn will like this, and at his age, with his experience, he’s probably never done it. Ellis grabs the lube from the side table. “Be a good boy and take everything off for me.” Obediently, Quinn removes his underwear. “Now, don’t touch your cock,” Ellis says sternly, but indulgently, kindly. “I know you’ll want to but I’ll tell you when. So be a good boy and keep your hands off it. It’s mine, and you’re not allowed to play with it unless Daddy says so. Do you understand?” “Yes, Daddy,” Quinn says. Oh god. Ellis has wanted to hear those words forever. Ellis gently bends Quinn’s legs at the knee and guides it upwards to spread him, then strokes lube onto Quinn’s ass, oh, that perfect little pucker he’s been jerking off about. Quinn purrs. “That feels so good,” he says. “Are you going to pet my ass now? Will you do it the way I like?” “I’ll have to figure out what you like, sweet boy,” Ellis says. He strokes, then circles. Quinn still whines a little, and keeps whining until Ellis starts fucking two fingers in and out a little bit, at first not even past his tight ring. Then he hums with pleasure and arches his back. “Like that, baby boy?” he asks. “You like when I fuck my fingers in your ass?” “Mmm-hmm.” “Tell Daddy how much you like it. I like to hear my boy talk.” “I like it so much, Daddy,” Quinn says. “Do it deeper and deeper.” Ellis uses a lot of lube and slowly, carefully, opens Quinn up, fucking him a little deeper every time and oh god, Quinn feels so tight, and knowing he gets to fuck that tight little ass while Quinn calls him Daddy has Ellis almost painfully stiff. He finally crooks his fingers and presses, finding that spot he knows Quinn will like, and Quinn cries out, wiggling wantonly on him.” Good boy,” Ellis says. “What a good little slut for Daddy. You want more?” “Please Daddy please I’m not full enough yet. Please?” Quinn’s growing breathless. Carefully, Ellis works another finger into his tight muscles. He slowly strokes them, relaxes them. “Breathe for Daddy,” he says. “C’mon, Q baby. You can do it. Relax, baby boy. That’s it. This’ll feel so good.” His third finger gradually joins the others. He fucks Quinn with them, who soon starts, bucking and whimpering and begging. “Can I have your cock, Daddy? Can I please have your cock? Will you fuck me now, Daddy?” “Have you been a good boy, Quinn?” he asks, a little sternly. “I’ve tried,” Quinn says. “I promise I try so hard.” He arches on Ellis’s fingers. “I’ll go slow, okay, sweet boy? But I can’t see your face so you have to tell me if it hurts. Will you tell me if it hurts?” “Yes, Daddy.” Ellis doesn’t bother with a condom; Quinn’s clean and so is he. His boxers come off; he slicks himself, then nudges at Quinn’s now-slicked entrance. “Open up for me,” he says. “C’mon now, sweet boy.” As he begins to push inside, he feels that luxurious stretching, that wonderful opening as Quinn’s tight circle widens for him. “Good boy,” Ellis says, working him a little. “What a sweet boy, to let me in like this. Such a good boy with such a tight ass.” Quinn groans. Ellis slowly slides into him. Quinn’s ring stays so tight. When Ellis’s head touches that good spot, Quinn shudders and makes a small sound. “Oh, good boy,” Ellis tells him, settling into him, pressing against his back. “You’re so tight and hot for Daddy. What a good boy.” He lies still. Quinn moans on him and moves slightly so Ellis’s cock rubs his prostate. Ellis rests his lips on Quinn’s neck and rocks in him. He’s so tight and hot, oh god, whimpering and twisting on him. Ellis feels his muscles tautening. He holds Quinn tight and strokes over his body. “Are you close, baby boy?” Ellis asks. “I’m so close, Daddy,” Quinn moans. “What’ll make you go and what’ll make you last?” “I think I’m going to go unless you stay totally still, Daddy, I’m so full. Your cock’s so big Daddy and it feels so good, and when you talk to me I get so hard. If you fuck me and talk to me at the same time I’ll come so much.” “I want to feel it, sweet boy.” Ellis begins moving in and out of him. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you shoot hot come for me. C’mon, baby boy. Show Daddy how much you come at once.” Quinn almost immediately arches against him and loses it. Ellis keeps fucking him, breathlessly, hard. “That’s it,” he whispers into his ear. “Come hard for me. Wanna see you come a lot, baby. I like all that sticky come from my sweet boy.” Quinn makes all sort of nonsense noises, bucks and shoots and keeps going. Ellis can’t take it anymore and goes along with him, a hot flood in Quinn’s tight ass that sends Quinn moaning again, that’s so good Daddy, oh god Daddy, come in my ass, I love your hot come in my ass. He only pushes Ellis’s climax to last longer, to feel more intense. They finally both finish. Ellis holds Quinn and doesn’t move for a long time. When he finally slips out, he brushes Quinn’s cheek. Quinn turns, sleepy-eyed. Ellis finds his lips and kisses him gently, plays, sucks and tastes. He draws the languid, lazy kiss out for a long time. You don’t kiss guys you just bring home to fuck. He knows it and Quinn knows it. “You were a good boy, Quinn,” Ellis says. He strokes down the length of Quinn’s side. “I tried to be, Daddy,” Quinn tells him shyly. He buries his head in Ellis’s chest and wraps around him. Oh god, his thighs are sticky. Oh fuck that’s hot. Ellis wants him again now. “You liked that,” Ellis says. “You want a daddy, don’t you? Tell me the truth, Quinn.” Quinn doesn’t answer. He only nestles closer into Ellis, a warm, lithe little bundle all tangled up with him. They’ve kicked off the blankets. Ellis pulls them back on. Quinn’s smaller than he is, and Ellis doesn’t want him to get cold. “Quinn,” Ellis says gently after a few moments. “Tell me what you want.” It’s easier to say, even without sex, knowing Quinn wants it too. “Do you want a daddy?” “Yeah,” Quinn finally says quietly. ”Yeah, I guess I do.” He sounds like he’s admitting something that frightens him in its enormity. “What do you think that means?” Ellis asks. He keeps his voice low and soft, and he strokes Quinn’s hair. Quinn shrugs. Ellis has noticed that Quinn talks a lot, but he doesn’t often say very much. He realizes, with a start, Quinn doesn’t think he has very much to say at all. “C’mon, sweet boy,” Ellis coaxes. “You tell me what it means to you, and I’ll tell you what it means to me, okay?” “Like you said the other night,” Quinn stumbles. “Someone to take care of me and pet me and cuddle me and fuck me too, but — I don’t know. Like you said.” He burrows closer to Ellis, and Ellis realizes he’s the first person to listen to Quinn in a very long time. “I want to take care of you,” Ellis says gently. He pets Quinn’s blond head. “I want to help you Quinn. You’re kind of a mess, baby. And I know you’re unhappy.” Quinn curls up a little tighter. “I know you’re lonely.” Quinn curls up tighter still. “Sweet boy, you can tell me,” Ellis says. He can almost feel the sadness coming off Quinn in waves. If you can touch a person and feel them lost, Quinn is lost, and has been for a very long time. “You’re shit at pillow talk, Ellis,” Quinn replies. His voice shakes a little. “Quinn,” Ellis says, and lets a little bit of warning sneak into his voice. “Tell me how you feel. You don’t have to hide it from me. I want to help you get better, baby boy.” “‘M sad. And lonely.” He talks to Ellis’s chest, not to his face. “I’ve always been sad and lonely, since I can remember. No one wants me around. So I just don’t. Stay around, I mean. It’s easier.” “I want you around, honey. I’d be happy to have you in my bed every single night, to cuddle you to sleep, to take care of you, and to make sure you were a good boy. Would you be a good boy for me, Quinn?” Those long, sticky thighs are distracting. He wants to finger Quinn and feel how slick his ass is. “Yes,” Quinn says eagerly. “I’d be so good, Daddy.” “That means you’d go to class. No drugs. No crazy partying. Waking up early and civilizing yourself. If you’re bad, you get punished. Do you understand that?” “What’s punished mean?” Quinn asks suspiciously. “You’ll get spanked. I won’t let you get off. Extra chores, but you do them naked. All sorts of things. You’d also get to play all kinds of fun games. But only if you want to.” Quinn perks up. “What kind of games, Daddy?” “I’ll teach you all kinds of things. You were so good to come in here and get down on your knees for me. What a good boy. Do you know how hard it was not to fuck your pretty mouth, with that hard cock and all that blond hair? I’ll teach you how to wear a cock ring so you last longer, and you’ll get all kinds of fun toys to play with. I’d play with you until you were so tired you couldn’t play anymore. Would you like that?” “Maybe,” Quinn says shyly. “I’ll teach you how to be a good boy and be patient and wait for what you want. Do you think you could learn that? I’d play with you as much as you’d let me, sweet boy.” “I’d like that,” Quinn says. Ellis realizes he’s doing something with his hand and grabs at him suddenly. Brat’s hard already and playing with his cock. It’s not a little hard either; Quinn’s standing stiff. “Quinn,” Ellis says, warning in his voice. “You’re obsessed with sex. One of the first rules: you’re not allowed to touch your cock unless I give you permission.” “Daddy!” Quinn protests. “That’s not fair!” “It is when you need to learn self-control. No touching. You can always ask permission. But I can always say no.” “Can I play with my cock?” Quinn asks sweetly. “No, you may not. You just came all over my sheets, you’re probably still sticky, and we haven’t cleaned up from last time. You may not play with your cock, Quinn.” Quinn huffs. “The second rule is no sulking.” He earns a sigh. “You know what the rest are. Wake up early and stay away from drugs, and get to class. Don’t party. We’ll work on the rest of them together, okay, sweet boy?” Ellis makes his voice gentle again. Just that change in tone flips a switch in Quinn so immediately that Ellis feels guilty. “Okay, Daddy,” he says, and cuddles into Ellis’s chest again. Still stiff, of course. But at least he’s ignoring it and learning some semblance of self-control. They clean up, but Ellis does it as quickly as possible — partly so he doesn’t have those sticky thighs as a distraction, partly so he can nestle Quinn back into him. He feels like a small, hurt thing. God, Ellis would have done anything to have this when he was Quinn’s age. Anything. He remembers the ashen taste of unwantedness, of covering it up with drugs and parties and sex. Never drinking. Drugs, but never drinking. “You wanna go to sleep like this?” Ellis asks, playing with Quinn’s hair. “You’re a sleeper, baby boy, aren’t you?” “Mmm-hmm, Daddy, I think so. I just never had anyone to sleep with so I’m not really sure? But I think I am. I always feel so tired and heavy afterwards.” “I’m a sleeper.” Ellis laughs. “I always nap after sex. Here. Put your head right here.” Ellis lies on his back and pulls Quinn half onto his chest. Quinn wraps around him and yawns. “You feel good,” Quinn says. He sounds so sleepy. He and Ellis have sunk into the down mattress, the down comforter, the down pillows, the white sheets. “Go to sleep, sweet boy. I’ll wake you for dinner.” “Mmmkay, Daddy,” Quinn slurs. He’s already asleep.