8
Frankie
I unplug the laptop and take it over to the bed. Evan waits by the desk, and I pause before saying the first thing that comes to mind, “Com’ere, boy.”
He walks over, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s smiling under the hood. I’m not going to lie and pretend this isn’t a little different for me. It’s definitely not something I saw myself doing, but I find myself interested in it—and I don’t think just for him. Even the short clips he showed me were fascinating, but also the quiet desire I saw in Evan earlier was this sort of jolt to my chest.
He’s my friend. I care about him, and if he’s going to do this, I don’t want him doing it with anyone other than me. At least not at first.
“Come on, Pup.” I pat the bed, totally winging it here. I mean, it’s sort of obvious, in a way. He’s role-playing a puppy so that’s how I’m supposed to treat him.
He climbs onto the bed, and I lie beside him—both of us on our stomachs. I put the laptop in front of us. “What else do you have for me? Any other links?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies, and it’s again muffled.
We lie on the bed together for hours. Evan shows me all the links he’s saved, and then we Google some more together. It’s reiterated often that puppy play is about compassion, care, playfulness, and a shedding of human worries and stress. It’s a way to be broken down into your rawest form—the part of us that just wants to play or cuddle. The part of us that longs for praise and a sort of freedom we never allow ourselves to reach as people.
There are varying stages of puppy play. Some people fuck, some don’t. Some include BDSM, some don’t. Some set certain hours to be in puppy space daily and others weekly. Some people do it in a less structured way and just find what works best for them. Others attend actual human puppy training, where they teach you how to get into puppy space, and well, I guess train you to be a good pup. Owners and handlers often have training of their own too. It truly just depends on what’s best for the pup.
One thing that I do notice is that ethics and how you treat your pup plays a big part of it. Yes, there are people who use it to demean and people who want that—which hey, whatever floats your boat—but treating your pup right is important as well as making sure there’s no abuse.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice hard to understand through the hood.
“Puppies don’t speak.” I cock a brow at him. “It says when you’re in gear or puppy space, you turn that part of yourself off.”
There’s a pause, and I wait, hoping I haven’t misread the situation. I guess we technically aren’t playing right now, but he has the hood on so…
And then slowly, like he’s really unsure about himself, Evan leans forward. He noses my hand with the puppy snout and gives me a soft whimper. A little jolt rips through me, this sort of need to nurture and protect surging to the surface. “That’s a good boy,” I tell him and then scratch his neck. “Are you my good boy?”
He whimpers again. Still giving him attention, I add, “That’s why you always liked me to play with your hair, isn’t it? Pup Evan was always in there, waiting to be set free.”
He shakes his head for a moment, and I can see he’s starting to pull out of it.
“I feel stupid,” he says, sits up, and then tugs the hood off. “I mean, it feels…it feels good, but then my thoughts keep breaking in telling me I’m strange or there’s something wrong with this.”
“It’s going to take time. I’m getting used to it too, but…I think I like it.”
His eyes widen. “You do?”
Evan has always been this strange mix of insecurity and strength. Of curiosity and fear. I know there’s a part of him that thinks I’m only doing this for him, and that he’s the only weird one, but at the same time, I also don’t think he believes anyone would care enough about him to do something just for him either.
His parents really fucked with him, and Peter made it a million times worse.
“Fuck, yes. I get to take care of you, play with you, make you feel good. Come on, you know me well enough to know that hits all my buttons.”
“I don’t know how far I want to take this.”
“We’ll play it by ear. When you need to be a pup, you tell me and if you don’t feel comfortable saying the words or we’re somewhere public, just come up to me and put your head on my shoulder or grab my hand or something and I’ll know.”
“Okay,” he replies.
“We’ll need to get you some more gear too. We don’t have to start out too heavy if you don’t want to, but you’ll at least need some kneepads.” Metropolis has polished cement flooring that would fucking kill him on all fours.
“And a toy…I want a toy.”
Another thrill of excitement shoots through me. Christ, I don’t know what it is about thinking of Evan as a pup—as my pup—that gets me going so much. I can’t help but wonder what else he’ll want. Collar? Leash? A tail? Or will he be more minimalistic with it? I’m good either way. “Okay, we’ll get some toys too. God, you’re so fucking cute.” I ruffle his blond hair.
When I go to pull away, Evan grabs my hand, makes me cup his cheek, and then nuzzles me. He closes his eyes and this sort of blissful expression washes over him that makes me tremble.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Frankie.”
“You’d be fine. All I am is your friend. Nothing hard in that and you’re stronger than you know.” He’s been through a whole hell of a lot, and he always comes back stronger on the other side.
“My best friend,” he replies and then adds, “My handler too.”
“I’m also annoying, a little obnoxious, overly protective, and too talkative, but who’s counting?”
He chuckles and then yawns.
“It’s late. We both work in the morning, so we should get some sleep. We’ll talk more about it later. Think on it, see how you want this to play out. If you just wanna play around at home or if you want to try some kind of class or something? A lot of those sites said it’s about community, so it might…you might like getting to know other pups, yeah? I’m sure Z could help us find someone for you if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he replies before he leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, Frankie. I don’t know about other pups, but I know I couldn’t do this with anyone other than you. Not yet.”
Relief floods through me, heavy and swift. “That’s good because I don’t really want you to.”
I get out of bed, and Evan follows along after me. He sets his puppy hood on the bedside table and then pulls off his shirt. His skin is a pale white, his abs very clearly defined. He’s little, with such a slight bone structure, with toned, firm muscles.
I can’t help but wonder… “What?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Nothing. Just imagining you on all fours, that hood on, and maybe a tail. Something to think about.” I wink, Evan flushes, and then with a smile, I walk out of his room.
Once I’ve showered and cleaned up, I don’t go to sleep. I get into bed with my laptop and continue my search. If I’m doing this with him, I sure as shit want as much knowledge as I can, so I don’t fuck it up. As my eyes scan site after site, article after article, my pulse bangs against my skin, an excited flutter fills my chest, making me realize, I’m happier than I’d expect that we’re doing this, that we’re trying it.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re being awfully quiet,” Jackson asks as we clean the bus at the end of our day.
I haven’t stopped thinking about Evan and puppy play. We ignored the topic this morning, we’ve texted back and forth like normal today, and I’m driving myself crazy, wondering if he changed his mind, if we’re really going through with this, how far we’ll take it and on and on which I have to admit, is a little annoying. I don’t typically obsess about things like this. Not when it has to do with myself. I’m real good at sticking my nose in other people’s business, but I’m usually really fucking easygoing about my own life. As long as I’m a good person, treat people well, have a shit load of fun, a shit load of sex, play my guitar from time to time, and never become anything like my sperm donor, I’m good.
But this…this puppy thing has been playing through my head all goddamned day, and I know it’s not only because I know Evan wants this but because I’m becoming more and more intrigued by it too.
It felt…good, praising him last night. Petting him. Getting rewarded with soft whimpers and growls that, on a strange level, made me feel like I was doing something good, something right.
Something I desire.
“Hello? Are you in there? Is your beanie too tight tonight?” Jackson asks with a grin and I roll my eyes.
“Regular fucking comedian.” Playfully, I push him, but Jackson is a fucking tank and doesn’t budge.
“Seriously, are you okay? I know you had a hard time the other day.”
“Look who suddenly wants to talk. I’ve been trying to get your ass to open up to me for years and suddenly you become Derek’s daddy, and you’re all about feelings and emotions.”
“I sort of want to make a joke about you opening my ass, which is strange for me too.”
We both laugh together. Christ, love does some crazy shit. It’s changed Jackson in so many ways.
“I think you’re the ass-opener and that boy of yours is much more eager to open up for you than I would be. And yeah, I’m okay. It has nothing to do with the woman from the other day.” Evan and Jackson are the only two people who know about my past. About the abuse my mom suffered at the hands of my sperm donor.
“I’m tired as hell, though,” I continue. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Because I was researching puppy play…Evan is going to be my pup…
“As long as you’re sure,” Jackson replies. “I’m here, man. I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I’m here.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” I tease, and he shakes his head with a smile.
For just a moment, I wish I could share the puppy-play thing with him. Jackson would get it. He has no experience, but he’d understand, being Derek’s daddy and all, but I would never betray Evan’s confidence like that.
And, I think there’s a part of me that likes the idea of keeping this as ours too. Of protecting it.