I need to prepare myself for the very real possibility that a reconciliation between myself and Leo might not be possible now, and damn sure isn’t guaranteed.
Especially considering his boy has just freely offered himself to me.
Has given himself to me.
Asked me to take care of him.
I know for a fact there was a time, before me, when Leo would have given anything to hear those words fall from Elliot’s lips.
Too late now.
My Sir has never struck me as a petty, punitive man, but he’s got the better part of fifteen years invested in Elliot.
I don’t think I could blame Leo if it pisses him off at least a little that Elliot finally had his come-to-Jesus moment and chose me instead of Him.
Except it’s irrelevant.
My focus is Elliot and taking care of him. If Leo can’t understand and respect that…
Then maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.
Chapter Twenty
Where Elliot’s kneeling and leaning against me, it gives me a moment to take a breath and get my bearings. I hold his forehead pressed against my abs so I can cradle his head in my hands and massage his scalp.
With his arms wrapped around my hips, his hands once again slide up under my blazer and press against my back. Like this, I can imagine there’s no impending campaign storm about to sweep us into its vortex.
For a little while, I can pretend this man and I are alone in the world.
That he is choosing me because he wants me, not because I’m his best option or because he knows he’s going to need me.
“You really think I’m hot?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Yes, Sir,” he says. “You’re always dressed perfectly and look damn hot. I don’t understand what Leo sees in me when he’s got you.”
I tip his head back, so he has to look up at me. “I always thought you were the hot one.”
He scowls. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I run my hands through his hair. “Dude, you’re fucking hot. You don’t realize that?”
He kind of shrugs, and that’s so perfectly Elliot. I’ve had contact with countless politicians and political wonks. One thing always struck me about Elliot, and that was his self-effacing, genuine nature. He never centers himself, not even when it’s politically wise to do so, or politically expedient.
Not even when he should be centering himself, or, at the very least, engaging in self-care.
I pat him on the head and step back, holding my hands out to him and wiggling my fingers.
He knows the drill. He takes my hands and rises. I back him against the padded bench at the end of his bed, where he sits after I move his suitcase. This way, he’s shorter and has to look up at me.
Starting with his blazer, I help him remove it and I set it aside. I’ll transfer his flag lapel pin in the morning onto whatever jacket I put on him then. It’s not just decoration, it’s got a tracker in it. Both he and President Samuels have one, so Secret Service always has their position. It’s not just a piece of statement jewelry.
Taking my time, his tie is next, followed by his shirt and undershirt.
I’m not going to undress just yet. I want him naked first. I don’t understand all the psychological underpinnings of why Leo did things the way he did, but I know they worked.
I have a perfect roadmap. All I have to do is follow it.
WWLD—What Would Leo Do?
With a quick squeeze of Elliot’s right shoulder as a silent command for him to stay, I circle the room and prepare it before I go any farther with him. I turn off the lights, except in the closet and the bathroom. I stage his walker near the end of the bed, because there will be a shower in our immediate future, and I make sure his shower chair is set up and ready. I also grab a towel, because I’ll need it for the next part.
For tonight, I plug my phone into its charger and play a Pandora channel I love, with some of my favorite artists, like Arctic Monkeys, Lizzo, Phillip Phillips, and others. I’m aware of Elliot watching me as I do this.
If he can tell what the items are that I removed from my pocket and set on his nightstand, next to his glasses, he doesn’t react.
When I return to him, I pause, studying his torso.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous. That’s never been in doubt.
I unfasten his belt and slacks before I drop to one knee and remove his right shoe and sock. Now, I’m glad Leo showed me this routine and made me pay attention, even if I slightly resented it at the time. This is an emotionally charged process for Elliot and always has been, having someone else see him vulnerable like this.
The ironic thing is, he has no problem with being in shorts around people and them seeing Duck, or talking to people about it, or even indulging and encouraging countless questions from kids about it. Then, he never shows the slightest bit of self-consciousness.
But there’s something about this particular step—putting it on or taking it off in front of someone—that Elliot’s always acted self-conscious about. Leo admitted to me that he still isn’t sure exactly why. It’s something Elliot’s never been able to verbalize to Leo. It was always a frustration for Leo, too, that Elliot felt that distress around him, and he couldn’t find a way to ease Elliot’s mind about it.
Tied to Elliot’s injury is the belief, in Elliot’s mind, that he failed the men in his command by not ordering they turn around sooner. He feels his injury is one part karma, and one part justified payment for surviving in the first place when others died.
Of course, that’s not what it’s about, but keep in mind this is also a man still terrified and deep in the closet, so he doesn’t always have the healthiest views of himself or the world at large.
We’ll be working on that, too. Leo was always hesitant to push him too hard out of fear of pushing him away.
Except now, Elliot asked me to take care of him, agreed to my terms.
That means I’m going to do some poking and prodding to see if I can finally get some answers.
Hopefully Leo will be on board with all of that and able to give me guidance.
Normally, Elliot does all of this alone, even eschewing a personal valet for everything other than shopping, laundry, and coordinating his luggage—after Elliot packs it himself. He’s fully capable of self-care, but when he’s in my care, the boy will be forced to let me do these things for him.
Before we hit the campaign trail, Elliot will need to learn to let go to me in all the ways that he can so he can focus on the big picture.
I rest one hand high on his left thigh, above where I know Duck’s sleeve ends, and cup his right calf with the other as I look into his eyes. “We okay?”
He finally nods despite the pensive scowl that darkens his gaze and folds furrows in his brow.
Next step, I remove his left shoe and sock from Duck. He doesn’t use a foot shell on the bottom of this leg, just a regular sock over the foot. Then I have him stand so I can pull his slacks and boxers down to his knees before I make him sit again and finish stripping him.
He’s not hard now.
I get it. He’s having a difficult time looking me in the eyes, too.
I reach up and cup his cheek. “Watch me,” I gently say. “Eyes on me.” It’s what Leo told him in the past when I’ve witnessed this.
I know it’s always bothered Leo that he’s never been able to really pierce Elliot’s walls to find out why he reacts like this. Leo did some research, and, sure, some people have a more difficult time emotionally adjusting to being an amputee than others.
Except Elliot’s overall reaction isn’t the norm. Even his PTSD doesn’t adequately explain why he acts borderline ashamed of this part of the process.
Now, I wish I’d kept the larger picture in mind back then and queried Leo about it. My emotional pain kept my mind slammed shut and tamped down on my empathy. I didn’t really care back then why Elliot acted so damned goofy about donning and removing his leg.
Damn right, I ca
re now.
I roll down the sleeve first, partway down his thigh, using the towel as I go to dry the sweat that’s accumulated both on his leg and inside the sleeve. Once I roll the sleeve down, I help him lift his leg from Duck. I set Duck aside, remove the two socks he was wearing over the liner, and then roll the liner down and off his leg while watching his face for any reaction to indicate pain that he might not otherwise disclose to me.
All this will have to be washed, of course, because of sweat. Next, I carefully strip off the inner sock he wears over his limb. It’s a moisture-wicking kind to help pull the sweat away from his skin.
I pat his skin dry and then shove away the memories of Leo doing this.
This has to be us. Me, and Elliot.
We have to establish our own “dance,” our own protocols. Which we’ll build on the foundation of what Leo gave us, but still, we need something that’s ours. Elliot wants me to lead, which means he’ll need to follow me, not Leo.
He shivers as I lightly stroke his left leg, down, around his knee, the shrapnel scars there. Lower, along his limb, and the scars from his amputation. I look for any signs of redness, blisters, or other skin issues, although I’ll have to wait until I have him in the bathroom and under better light to closely examine him.
I didn’t want this first time to be under bright lights, though. I knew that would only amplify his stress.
Except I follow Leo’s lead—I lean in and kiss his left knee, feathering my lips down and around his shin, to the bottom of his limb, around again and up.
In his lap, his cock twitches.
Smiling, I stand and hold out my hands to him. He takes them and stands, and I get his walker. He’s bad about hopping around when he shouldn’t. Leo scolds him about it, swears Elliot’s going to fall and bust his ass one day, hurt himself, and be sorry he didn’t listen.
Last thing I need are stories in the news about Elliot hurting himself—and calling into question his physical fitness to serve as POTUS. Right now, his opponents will be desperately looking for anything to leverage against him to tip the scales from “decorated wounded veteran” to “disabled guy won’t make a strong leader.”
Yeah, I paid a lot of attention to Leo, Kev, and others during my years working in the White House. I listened.
I learned.
I’m going to be ruthless in my support of Elliot.
Sure, there’s an element there of me wanting to make Leo proud of me, but I’ve already beaten plenty of odds in my life, as has Elliot. As has Leo. Not to mention, I still have my “disguise.”
People tend to talk more around me than they should. They see a young guy, a sweetheart, a nice guy who’s always smiling.
If they’d seen behind my disguise, they’d have watched themselves a little more carefully.
I know that I am far more than Elliot’s secret—I’m his secret weapon.
They’ll never see me coming. As a chameleon, it’s easy for me to blend in.
I toe off my shoes and remove my blazer, but I don’t completely strip yet. My tie, shirt, and undershirt come off, as do my socks. I put my glasses on the nightstand next to his. Still in my slacks, I grab Duck, the liner, and the used limb socks, and head to the bathroom.
“Come on,” I tell him. “I want to get a shower before we collapse.”
I don’t wait for him. I’m already washing the liner in the sink when he makes it into the bathroom. This part I know how to do. When it’s clean, I pat it dry, roll it right side out again, dry that, and then stick it on the little rack he has to hold it so it can thoroughly air dry.
“Show me how to clean Duck again.” Of course I remember, but I want him to show me. I need him to see that I’m in this all the way.
I need him anchored to me.
We go through the process, which isn’t complicated. Since this is his “everyday” Duck, I’m a little more familiar with it than I am his other legs.
He’s got a dedicated plastic basket on the counter to hold the outer and inner limb socks that need to be washed, so they don’t get mixed up with the rest of his clothes in the laundry.
“I’ll need to put a kit together,” I tell him. “Everything I’ll need to keep close at hand for you for Duck when we make appearances. A messenger bag, or backpack, or something. More than what you usually carry.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “And, like it or not, we’ll need to keep a cane, or crutches, and wheelchair on hand, just in case. Last thing we need plastered on the nightly news is you being rolled out onto a stage in an office chair because something broke on Duck, or you’ve got a bad blister forming, or something.”
He deflates a little and stares at where Duck is now drying. “Yeah.” He hates making day trips with a lot of baggage, literal and metaphorical.
I reach up and cup the back of his head again. “Not tonight, but you and I will do a lot of talking.” I opt to go there. “There’s stuff Leo didn’t tell me, and I know he didn’t push you because you hadn’t asked him to take over permanently. But just like you’re going to wear a day collar for me, you and I need to talk about stuff.”
I gently tap his forehead, between his eyes. “Leo didn’t push, but I will. You have to let me in. I’m not talking about state secrets. I’m talking about your secrets. I think I’ve proven myself trustworthy. If I was going to burn you, I would have done it when I left DC. We’re doing this, but we’re doing this my way. I promise I’m going to take good care of you, boy.”
His eyes go too-bright again as he nods. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
I hug him. He holds me tightly, his head tipped over onto my shoulder, and the relief washing from him threatens to break my heart.
Yes, it’s ironic that the guy I woke up resenting like holy hell this morning is now the center of my universe and a man I’ve sworn to care for and protect.
After another moment, I pat his back. “Shower time, then bed.” He sniffles and is slow to move.
Yeah, I know the feeling.
Chapter Twenty-One
While Elliot uses his walker to ease himself into the shower and onto his shower chair, I finish stripping and join him, moving the walker before pulling the shower door shut behind me. He’s got a handheld showerhead to make his life easier.
“I think we’re going to be taking long, hot soaks in the tub when we’re in DC,” I tell him as I grab the showerhead and turn on the water. “That soaking tub of yours probably doesn’t get nearly enough use.” It’s a gorgeous, huge, sunken soaking tub with all the bells and whistles, and it takes up the corner of the bathroom. You could easily fit three people in it. Maybe four, if they’re cozy with each other.
Enough room for Leo to join—
I snip that thought off, because who even knows if Leo will want anything to do with either of us when he learns about our new arrangement?
I turn to Elliot and spot the amusement quirking his lips. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever used it the whole time I’ve been here.”
“Not even once?”
He shakes his head.
“Come on. Everyone likes a long soak every once in a while.” I test the water and bump it a little warmer.
“I have in hotels, where it’s easier to get in and out of a regular tub. Especially if I don’t have a shower chair, for some reason. Not here.”
“Ah.” I put the showerhead in his hands and kneel so I can get a better look at his leg before hot water turns his skin pink and I can’t tell if it’s from that or from Duck chafing him.
I notice how he tenses when I touch him, then he looks a little guilty for doing it.
“Does that hurt?” I run my hands all over his stump as I watch his face.
He shakes his head. “No, Sir.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Standing order—if anything I do hurts in a bad way, if you have any hint of pain about your leg, you have to tell me. None of this being stoic crap. That’s different, obviously, from when I’m spanking you, or otherwi
se deliberately torturing you. Got it? We can’t afford for you to have skin breakdown when we could take a few minutes for me to help you change things out or adjust something.”
A hint of his smirk returns. “Yes, Sir. So you’re saying there will be spankings in my future?” He sounds hopeful.
“You can guarantee it, boy.” I’m not exactly sure how I’ll find the will to do it, but I’ll figure it out as we go. I’ve always been the spankee, not the spanker. That was Leo’s job.
I realize there are now a lot of things I’m going to have to master, and quickly. Things I never dreamed would be my job.
Literally my job.
I grab the soap and a washcloth and start bathing him, moving to his back first and firmly scrubbing.
His head droops a little, some of his tension easing as I take my time with this.
Dammit, Leo. You had to train us exactly the same, didn’t you?
Except I’m not upset. Not really.
It makes my job easier in a few ways.
One thing it will make more difficult is setting up unique rituals with Elliot that aren’t anchored around Leo for both of us. I’ll have to do that so Elliot’s focused on me, on us, and not on Leo.
Not sure how I’ll do that, either, but I’ll also figure that out as we go. It’s all on-the-job training, I suppose.
I’ll need to have a long talk with Kevin at some point.
If anyone has good advice to offer about this sitch, I know it’ll be him. He’s one of the minuscule number of people I can talk to about this.
One of my first tasks as Elliot’s Sir will be to find my boy an appropriate day collar. Still not sure if I want it to be a necklace or a bracelet. Has to be something unassuming, very vanilla. Something not readily visible, and which won’t draw curiosity or questions if it is spotted, which is why any kind of ring would be right out.
I mean, yeah, I’m totally getting him a leather collar to wear when we’re alone in the residence, but I need something on his body ASAP. When I can’t be in the room with him, he needs a tangible reminder that he’s mine. That he asked for this.
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 20