"You were partially correct," I told him. "Micah does harbor darkness within him. But rather than representing danger, it makes him uniquely qualified for our work together."
I checked my phone. No messages from Micah, which suggested everything proceeded according to plan. He would arrive with Reverend Morris, expecting to begin his transformation of the man who had tormented his adolescence. Instead, he would find I'd prepared a second subject, proof of my protection, my devotion to nurturing his potential.
I imagined his arrival, pictured his expression when discovering my gift. My cock hardened at the thought of his gratitude, the perfect offering to cement his devotion. Perhaps tonight he would kneel before me, his mouth seeking comfort at my chest as he processed the significance of my protection.
Footsteps on the stairs interrupted my thoughts. Firm, steady steps, unlike the hesitant approach of previous weeks. My boy was growing into his power beautifully.
I positioned myself beside Daniel, wanting to observe Micah's reaction fully when he entered. The door opened, and he appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light.
"Daddy," he greeted me, voice warm with affection despite his formal posture. The soft glow of his moth toy illuminated his face from below, clutched against his chest with his maimed hand. The stump of his amputated finger pressed protectively against the plush creature's wing. "I've brought our guest."
He stepped aside, revealing what he pulled behind him: a collapsible wheelchair occupied by Reverend Morris. The clergyman sat slumped in the chair, head lolling to one side, clearly heavily sedated. A thin line of drool traced from the corner of his mouth down his chin. Where his eyes had been, only hollow, bandaged sockets remained.
"I see you've started without me," I observed, trying not to panic. Why had he done that? Did he think I didn’t want him here? Had I been too harsh? Too demanding?
Micah wheeled Reverend Morris into the studio, carefully navigating the steps to position him near the worktable. "I thought it would please you," Micah said, removing his jacket. "I wanted to take initiative, to show you what I’ve learned."
He hung his jacket carefully on the hook by the door, then rolled up his sleeves. The movements displayed the lean muscle definition of his forearms, the beautiful contrast of his pale skin against the dark fabric.
"I wanted everything prepared perfectly for tonight," he continued, moving toward me for a greeting kiss. His lips brushed mine, warm and slightly eager.
When he stepped back, he finally noticed Daniel secured to the table. His eyes widened, body freezing mid-motion. The moth's glow intensified against his chest, reflecting his sudden spike of emotion. "Who is this?"
"A gift," I replied, watching his reaction carefully. "Someone who presented a potential threat to our work."
Micah approached the table slowly, studying Daniel. "The photographer from the exhibition," he said quietly. "The one who kept studying your paintings."
"Daniel Harlow," I confirmed. "Photography professor. He's been investigating the materials used in my work."
Micah's eyes returned to mine, questioning. "And?"
"And he's been following you," I said, my voice dropping to a growl. "Documenting your movements, researching your background, obtaining sealed medical records." I moved behind Micah, hands settling on his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the muscle. "He believes you pose a threat to me. He came to my office to warn me about you."
I anticipated gratitude, submission, perhaps even arousal at my protective gesture. Instead, Micah stiffened under my touch.
"When did he approach you?" he asked, voice suddenly cooler.
"This afternoon."
He turned to face me, shrugging off my hands. "And you didn't immediately tell me?"
"I wanted to surprise you."
"You should have told me immediately!" The moth's glow pulsed brighter against his chest. "These decisions affect both of us now."
My chest constricted. I couldn't breathe. I stepped back, blinking rapidly as the floor seemed to tilt beneath me. This wasn't the grateful submission I had anticipated. This was something new, something I hadn't planned or cultivated.
"I was protecting you," I said, voice hardening slightly.
"I understand that," Micah replied, bringing his sleeve to his mouth for a moment before catching himself and lowering his hand. The gesture betrayed his agitation. "But we're supposed tobe partners now. You made that clear when you gave me my first independent project."
He gestured toward Daniel. "What if he wasn't working alone? What if someone notices his disappearance and connects it to us? These are variables I should have been informed about immediately."
The challenge hung between us, electric and unexpected. My instinct urged me to reassert dominance, to remind him of his place. But something about his stance made me pause. Had he overstepped? Not yet. The discourse had remained respectful, despite his agitation.
I took in the tension around his eyes, in his shoulders, the slight trembling in his hands. My boy was afraid I’d reject him for speaking out of turn. But that wasn’t what was happening here. There had been no disrespect, no breach of protocol except for the one I had made.
"You're right," I conceded, the words feeling strange on my tongue. "I should have consulted you. I apologize for the undue anxiety. How can I make it right?”
