Page 37 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

“Fuck, Kenny, yeah. You basically told me you want to tie me up and paddle me and you’re giving me a word in case I panic about that in Tesco. And it’s not even nine fucking a.m.”

“That’sabsolutelynot what I said.”

Aaron looked away. Bit the inside of his cheek. He hated how fast that laugh had turned into something too tight to swallow. “Then whatareyou saying?”

Kenny stroked the back of his knuckles across Aaron’s cheek with that insufferable look of bloody fucking longing.

“I’m saying you’ve spent most of your life being cornered. Trapped. Talked over. Ignored. And I’m fully aware that I take control without checking. That maybe I push you into things. Not because I mean to, but because I’ve spent four years learning you. Two years learning how to handle you and the other two when to hold you. I’ve got used to that rhythm.”

He paused. Letting it land. Because he was nothing if not fuckingexperiencedin delivering this sort of shit.

“And whilst I believe I have a very good handle on you, that I can read your thoughts before you even can, that Iknowyou, I’m also not perfect. I’m flawed, too. So I’m saying if I ever misread you—anywhere—I want you to have a word that ends it immediately. No conversation. No fallout. Just full stop. Reset.”

He dropped his hand to Aaron’s thigh.

Aaron stared at it for a second. Then slipped his own hand on top, lacing their fingers together. “A safeword’s for sex.Roughsex.”

And okay, yeah. He liked it rough occasionally. When Kenny got him facedown, grip tight around his hips or curled around his throat. Even liked the sting of a well-timed slap blurring everything else out. But that was… different. It was desperation disguised as desire. Wanting the pain to outrun whatever was clawing at him inside. And Kenny never hurt him. Never went too far. Gave him space to breathe whenever they’d done it like that.

Kenny gripped his hand. “That’s not the only reason to have one.”

“So what, you want me to use it when you’re chewing too loud? When you’re psychoanalysing a fucking Disney film halfway through the climax? Please stop diagnosing Elsa, Kenny. She’s trying to belt a power ballad, not begging for a case review.”

“I’d never diagnose Elsa. She’s clearly avoidant with a history of emotional suppression and an overdeveloped saviour complex. That’s not a diagnosis. It’s simple observation.”

Aaron groaned, flinging his head back. “Jesus Christ.”

“But no…it isn’t for that.”

“So itisfor sex?”

“It can be, yes.”

“Sex thatwehave?” He waved a hand between them. “Together.”

“Are you currently having sex with anyone else?”

“No. And if you are, or even think about it, this is me pre-warning you that I’ll use that fucking safeword, follow it with a kitchen knife, and remove your dick from circulation.”

“Noted. I’m not. Ditto back at you.”

“Great. Glad we cleared that up.” Aaron glanced out the window, then back. “Butwearen’t currently having any kind of sex. Bondage bollocks or otherwise.”

“Which is exactly why it’s a good time to have this conversation.”

Aaron tilted his neck until it clicked.

Kenny stroked his thumb along Aaron’s. “Let’s establish a word for now. We can go through the rest later.”

“There’smore? Rules? A fuckingcontract?”

“No…” Kenny sighed, patient but clearly two seconds from throwing him out the car. “No. No contract. No rules. This is just us. What we want from each other.”

“Which iswhat?”

Kenny dragged his gaze over Aaron with that lazy, knowing heat that peeled back layers. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been doing these past few weeks?”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Really fucking pissing me off.”