Sullivan blinked. “But you chose Ghost.”
Tobias frowned, searching for anything that might’ve happened that could’ve possibly sent Sullivan that message, but nothing sprang to mind. “When?”
“At Spratt’s.” Sullivan tipped his face away. “You told me to go, and you went back down to him. I know what that means. I’m not an idiot.”
Oh. And then he said apologetically, “You kind of are. But so am I, because I assumed you understood. I wanted you out of the house so you’d be safe, and that’s it. I went downstairs, yeah, but that wasn’t me choosing him, Sullivan. That was faith in you. I knew that whatever happened while we were separated, whatever you did would be for the right reasons and to achieve the right thing. I didn’t stay with him because you mattered less. It was because I trusted you more. You get that, right?”
Sullivan’s lips parted, and he looked almost fragile. Like any sudden movement might have him flinching. It reminded Tobias of the uncharacteristic uncertainty Sullivan had displayed that first night when they’d tried spanking. Like Sullivan wanted so desperately to believe him, but was afraid of how much it would hurt to be wrong.
“You said you weren’t sure,” Sullivan murmured. “In the car the other day, you said you couldn’t promise how you would feel. That—”
“I’m promising now,” Tobias interrupted. “I know what I said, and it was because I didn’t trust myself, not because I didn’t trust you. But I know I won’t screw this up now. You’re too important. So if you’ll let me stay, I’m not going anywhere. Let me stay.” He paused. “I mean you don’t have to let me move in right away, although that would be nice. I understand if you need some space or time. But you’re going to be a lot happier with me here, so you should probably say yes now.”
Sullivan’s lips started to curl up at the corners. “You think so, huh?”
Tobias smiled back helplessly. “Yup.”
“You’re going to be one of those demanding, bratty subs who always gets what he wants, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. And it’s too late for you to back out now.”
“Don’t want to anyway.”
Tobias took Sullivan’s hand in his and pressed it against the base of his throat. “I’m not really sure how this works. Is there a collar thing?”
Sullivan’s eyes darkened. “If you want one. I mean, I’m assuming you won’t want to wear it all the time, like, around your parents or at work, but when we’re at home...”
Tobias shivered. “At home, we can do whatever we want.”
Sullivan squeezed, not hard enough to cut off Tobias’s air, but enough that he couldn’t ignore the weight of his hand. It was soothing and arousing at the same time, that weight, and Tobias tipped his head back.
He stared dazedly at the ceiling, his blood thrumming through his body, as Sullivan kissed and licked the skin under his ear, a tantalizing, tempting scrape of teeth coming every few seconds, an infuriating tease.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Tobias said, letting himself slump in Sullivan’s arms, knowing Sullivan wouldn’t let him fall.
“Fuck yeah, we are,” Sullivan said against the damp skin of his throat, and bit down.
* * *
Later, as their heartbeats slowed, Sullivan pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too, by the way. Since we’ve been together for months in dog years or whatever, I’m guessing you don’t think that’s too forward?”
Tobias laughed. “I put that together from your panicked desperation to avoid the breakup conversation. But thanks for saying it. It’s really nice to hear, even if you’re making fun of my completely nonscientific theory in the process.”
“Sure. Hey, that thing you said earlier that wasn’t English? I’m assuming that was you telling me to shut up?”
Tobias made a noncommittal humming sound.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Sullivan said dryly. “That wasn’t French, was it?”
“No, it was Kreyòl.”
“You’re fluent?”
“Yeah.”
Sullivan hesitated a second. “Will you teach me?”
Tobias pressed his face against Sullivan’s shoulder, inhaled the scent of his skin, and whispered, “Try and stop me.”
* * *
Sullivan felt like he’d only just drifted off when his phone rang, but out the window the morning was blue as a bruise already. It was Lisbeth.
Sullivan shook Tobias enough to wake him and sat up, the sheets puddling in his lap. Coherence, he told himself, though it was a high expectation for five-thirty. He gave her a quick and dirty rundown of everything that’d happened.
“What’s she saying?” Tobias asked, knuckling sleep out of his eyes like a little kid, and Sullivan wished he had enough dignity not to find it adorable, but such was his lot in life. The guy was cute, and Sullivan was stuck stupid on him.
Fortunately, Tobias had a similar problem.
“Let the grownups talk,” Sullivan told him, ignoring the vengeful finger that poked him in the stomach as Lisbeth filled him in on her news.
Her friend’s name was Walter Wathers, and he’d turned toward home before his daughter had managed to
