August nodded for Camden to go first.
“I was at UCLA when I met Daddy,” Camden said with his mouth full of food. “I was trying to flirt with him, and all he asked was about my school. Like, he said it was too late for me to be outside and that I should go home and watch my cartoons and do my homework.”
I laughed.
August shook his head in amusement. “This little rascal strode up to me one night. Work at the restaurant was winding down, and I went to grab a beer from the bar. He said if I played my cards right, he’d keep me up all night.”
Christ. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“It was my birthday, and I was feelin’ lucky.” Camden shrugged.
“Did it work?” I asked.
Camden scowled to himself, so that had to be a no. “He thought I was too young for him. Such a stupidhead.”
“My brain said one thing, my body another.” August smirked. “I don’t know if I deserve a reward for listenin’ to reason that first night—or if I’m just a weak bastard for foldin’ like a cheap suit the week after when he came in again.”
I smiled.
The two exchanged a brief look that made my chest constrict. Holy fuck, they were so in love with each other. In a single glimpse, August’s protectiveness and affection were as clear as Camden’s mischief and young I-knew-we-were-meant-to-be wisdom.
“It took months for us to get serious, though,” Camden revealed. “Daddy was always working at his restaurant, and I was a double major. But once we sort of morphed into Daddy and Little Boy, I stopped pretending that it wasn’t upsetting to leave his place without knowing when we’d see each other again.”
August dipped down and kissed the side of Camden’s head. “I asked him to move in with me a couple days later.”
That was sweet.
The gold bands on their fingers glinted in the rising sun.
“I had two proud daddies at my graduation ceremony the following year.” Camden smiled smugly.
“You sure did.” August handed Camden a napkin. “Perhaps you can tell Anthony what you studied since he asked.”
I’d almost forgotten.
“Oh, right.” Camden giggled and wiped some grease from his chin. “Photography, design, and computer science. It was through that I found illustration and developing.”
No wonder the photos on their NSFW account were so beautiful. He was a professional.
“Do you work as a photographer, ragazzo?” I asked curiously.
“No, I’m a content creator for a gaming company,” he replied frankly.
“He’ll have to show you his office later,” August said. “It’s like walkin’ into a rave party with all the keyboards lit up in neon colors.”
All the keyboards? How many could he have?
“I can show him quickly, a sneak peek, but I’m off till my next project,” Camden said. “Work is not a fun topic. That’s for grown-ups.”
“Of course.” August ruffled his boy’s hair and crammed a triangle of toast into his mouth, then made eye contact with me. “He loves his job to the point where it borders on obsession, but the minute he sinks back into his Little mind-set, he pretends to snore if I bring it up.”
I grinned.
“That’s how the cookie crumbles,” Camden sang. “We gotta talk about something a million times more important now.”
“Your chores?” August guessed.
Camden rolled his eyes. “Uh, no. Anthony’s next term of endearment for me. He speaks Italian, Daddy. Did you know? It’s so sexy.”
The heated look August sent me made me chuckle and shift in my seat.
“I may have discovered that last night,” he murmured.
Camden didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere. “Do you speak any other languages, Sir?”
I finished chewing a mouthful of bacon and eggs before responding. “I grew up in a neighborhood where most people speak Spanish, so it kind of became my second language quicker than Italian could.” I thought of Nicky and grinned a little. “My brother manages to butcher four languages on a daily basis. He mixes English with Spanish, Italian, and slang like no other.”
August smiled pensively at me but made no comment.
Camden wouldn’t be steered away from his topic and requested a “new, sexy pet name” for every day I was here in Nashville.
“But it has to be cute too,” he added. “Because I’m cute.”
Yeah, he was.
I racked my brain for a fitting term as I finished my coffee and landed on one of the more common nicknames for children. “Today you’ll be my topolino, then. It’s the name for Mickey Mouse in Italy and translates roughly to little mouse.”
He grinned goofily. “I can totally be a mouse. They’re cute.”
“That cute little mouse is going to clean his room today,” August interjected smoothly. “I’ve prepared a list for you.”
Camden’s look of horror was funny.
“It includes the little mouse’s arts and crafts supplies,” August added with a pointed look. “You’ve been putting that off for weeks.”
Camden sighed heavily and stared at his plate. “I don’t wanna be the little mouse no more.”
Precious boy. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hug him.
August was primarily amused, though there was an underlying current of severity that told me he could definitely be a disciplinarian.
This was one of the things that fascinated me the most about D/s and why it appealed to so many with cognitive differences. A lifestyle where structure and order were such significant factors. Music was similar, as was the way I worked with students who had autism or ADHD. Freedom and peace were sometimes found in the confines of something smaller, be it in the structure of a song or in a
