“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” he says, his expression sour.
“The agreement was you take care of the house and I take care of you,” I tell him. Not the exact words we used, but it’s the same idea. “I promise I won’t go overboard, just what you need. You have to have something to wear while your clothes are washed at the minimum, and my stuff is way too big for you.” He flushes and I hope I haven’t hurt or embarrassed him. I didn’t mean to.
“Okay,” he says eventually. He seems a little uncomfortable the entire way to the mall, and I don’t know why, but he’s fidgeting with the string on his hoodie again and chewing on his bottom lip.
I turn into the Macy’s parking lot and his eyes go wide. “You’re buying me clothes here?” he says. “But, it’s really expensive. We could just go to WalMart. I don’t need—”
“Yes, and then you would need new clothes again in a few months. This way they will last.”
He sighs but seems to relent. “While we’re on the subject of money, I don’t know how you’ve been paying for your phone this whole time,” I add, and he flushes crimson, his gaze darting to his lap, “but assuming it was neither safe nor legal, that will be my responsibility now, too. Just give me the details and I’ll take care of it.”
I expect him to argue with me, and he opens his mouth like maybe he’s about to, but then he simply bites his lip and nods, still fidgeting with that hoodie string, before he turns and takes in the view out the window again.
“Ready?” I ask, and he nods. Climbing out we make our way inside. I’m hoping they don’t judge him for his current attire. At least it's clean, and so is he.
We head over to the men’s section and I let him browse for jeans and T-shirts. He’s significantly less enthusiastic about this than he was about the trip to the library, his shoulders slumped and his beautiful smile gone, and I wonder again if I’ve said or done something to upset him. Maybe he’s worried about the money?
“I’ll be right back,” he says, rather morosely, and takes a few things into the fitting room. He comes back a few minutes later with two pairs of jeans in his arms and a few shirts—two casual and one button up. They all seem decent to me but he still seems unhappy.
“Hey,” I say, taking his chin in my hand gently and forcing his gaze to mine. “What's wrong?” I’m glad to see he’s become more comfortable with my touches in such a short period of time. He’s not jerking away, or glaring at me or telling me to back off.
He blinks at me, then shakes his head. “Nothing,” he whispers, but I see tears filling his eyes.
“Charlie, talk to me,” I plead. “Did I hurt you?” he shakes his head again and a tear slides down his cheek. It guts me to see him crying. “Then what is it?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his chest heaving. “This just isn’t me.”
I blink. “What isn’t you?” I move my hands and wipe the tears from his cheeks with my thumbs. He trembles under my touch and closes his eyes.
“These,” he says, opening his eyes and holding the clothes up. “They aren’t me.”
“Then what is? You can get whatever you want.”
He glances across the store, his green eyes filled with longing, but then his gaze is back to the floor, his cheeks flushed. I turn my head in the direction he was looking and my eyes widen slightly when I see the junior girl’s section. Oh. I don’t mind at all, I just have never been in this situation before. And I hate that I just assumed he’d want more pants and T-shirts. If skirts, dresses, and rompers is what he wants then that’s what he’ll get.
“Hey,“ I say, “look at me.” He does and I rest my hands on his shoulders, smiling at him. “Anything you want,” I reiterate. He doesn’t move so I grab the clothes he’s still holding on to and set them aside, then take his hand and pull him across the aisle to the section he was eyeing. His eyes light up like a child in a candy store. My sweet Charlie.
“You don’t mind?” he says, glancing at me.
“Not a bit. You do you, sweetheart.” God, the endearments keep flying out of me, but I can’t help it, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
He flips through the racks for a while, his smile back, and then heads to the dressing room with his arms full. I follow him and wait on a chair seated just outside.
“Papa Bear?” I hear a minute later, and it takes me a second to realize that’s me. I turn and my jaw drops. Charlie is wearing black, slim-fitting, high-waist pants with a very big bow in the center, situated right under his belly button. Two additional bows adorn the tapered ankles. For a shirt he’s wearing a white, long-sleeve, crop-top sweater that criss-crosses in the front and falls off of his shoulders. There’s about two inches of abdomen peeking out between the top of his pants and the bottom of his shirt. I can’t help but think that the only thing that would make his outfit even more stunning is high heels. They would look amazing with his slender, elegant body. Fuck, I can’t tear my gaze away, and my mouth is watering. My heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my chest. I had no idea that feminine clothes could be so striking on a young man, but Charlie is perfection in these.
“I look okay?” he asks, and my gaze finally meets his eyes. He’s fully alive, and happy. His green eyes sparkle. They’re divine, as is the smile that adorns his face. Oh, my heart.
“Yeah,” is all I manage to croak out, and he fucking giggles, his hand moving up to cover his mouth as his cheeks turn rosy. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen or heard. I smile widely.
“Wanna see more?” he asks, swaying his hips slightly, the excitement evident in his voice. I swallow and nod. Boy, do I ever. He’s so fucking pretty. Is it wrong that I want to see more? That I’m enjoying myself? Enjoying him? God, I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve felt any kind of joy that I don't want to examine it too much.
He scampers off to his dressing room again and I wait, feeling jittery and unbelievably excited to see what he’ll have on next. But I’m not sure anything can compare to the first outfit. Then he steps out in something a little bit more casual than the last outfit but equally as adorable. White skinny jeans with holes in the knees and a tie dye cropped hoodie with ribbon laced through each arm and tied in a bow at the wrists. God, that little sliver of tummy is driving me crazy. I want my mouth on it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Why is he so goddamn tempting?
It was never my intention to get turned on from this mini fashion show, but my cock didn’t get that memo apparently. “You look beautiful,” I tell him, and he must sense my sincerity because his face lights up again. “I think after this, we should get you some shoes, and maybe some underwear, too.”
“Go on,” I say, waving him off casually. “Let’s see the rest.”
He beams at me and hurries off again, and I try to will my cock to behave itself. I keep my legs crossed when he comes back out, and I almost moan at the sight of him in a pleated black and red skirt and a cropped black sweatshirt.
