Care and Comfort


by Judith Rose


Sequel to Punishment


He lay curled in the middle of the bed, sobbing quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry"

"Shh," the voice whispered, "I know."

The hands held him close, gentle now, and nurturing, stroking him into silence and stillness.

"No! Don't go."

"Ezra."

Even under the softness, there was a thread of steel, a command.

"A minute, two at the most."

He nodded slightly, acknowledging the words, then lay now on his belly, hand rhythmically clenching and unclenching the sheet. He hurt.

Something light and soft fluttered down over his bottom and thighs, followed by the icy weight of the cold packs. A pleasing numbness began to replace the hurt. A hand carded through his hair, pulling slightly, petting.

"Rest for a while. I'm going to run the bath."

"Hmmm. Yes, bath."

A soft whisper of laughter and a pat on the back.

Warm hands turned him, the cold packs sliding off, and lifted to carry him into the bathroom. Sweet scented steam swirled through the air. Lavender and healing herbs. He was lowered into the hot water, gasping and tensing as the hurt returned. He grasped the arms and the hands stopped his descent, waiting for his body to adjust to the heat and the hurt to begin to fade. Words came to his ears, murmurs of comfort. Slowly he was lowered again. He sighed as the water began its healing work. He relaxed; his bottom and back settling against the thick softness of specially ordered towels instead of cold hard porcelain.

He melted into the warmth of the water and let his thoughts drift. His mind settled on the imp of perversity that lurked within. He wondered why it caused him to balk at the most innocuous of orders, take the most foolish of risks. It had caused him a great deal of trouble over the years. Others had yelled and lectured him, banished and ignored him, written him up and filed disciplinary reports. No one had ever cared enough to silence the imp. Until now. One man had taken him in hand and the imp was growing quieter. There was another now, too.

He thought about the other man who had punished him tonight. The deep, rumbling voice that called him son. He had denied the appellation, grumbled, complained, and all but stamped his foot. But the man persisted. Now, truth be told, he secretly treasured the word and the man that uttered it. He wanted so badly to tell the man that he returned the affection, to show that affection. He couldn't bring himself to do it yet. Soon, though, soon. That low growling voice and those hard, stern, caring hands were building courage and truth in him day by day, a courage and truth that he hadn't known he could possess.

"Hey now, you're not falling asleep are you? Can't have that, not just yet."

He opened his eyes. The hand was outstretched in front of him, four pills resting on it. He frowned. Two zinc to help him heal faster and two pain pills. The frown deepened into a scowl then smoothed out. He sighed, knowing he would need the pain pills' effect later.

"Open up now."

He allowed the pills to slide into his mouth and swallowed them with tea from the cup held to his lips. The tea was liberally laced with honey and he did love honey. He drank it all.

"Move up a little."

A large body slid behind his own, long legs spreading out on either side and beyond his. Water spilled over his head followed by a dollop of shampoo. Strong fingers massaged his scalp and worked up lather. More water to wash away the lather and the sweat of the night. A soft sponge soaped lightly over his body and then once again to rinse him. The body slide from his back and out of the tub. He leaned back and dozed off.

"Hunh. Hunh. Not yet. Sit up a minute."

A towel vigorously rubbed his hair dry. An arm wrapped around his waist, lifted him to his feet, and helped him from the tub. The man sat on the closed lid of the commode and pulled him between his legs. Ezra yawned as the hands supported and gently patted him dry. Once again, he was picked up and carried into the bedroom.

"I can walk," he grumbled.

"I know. Just like carrying you."

He was laid face down on the bed and he sighed happily. The featherbed and pillows were back. He stretched luxuriously and burrowed into them.

"Owww!"

"You should know better than to stretch like that just now. Lay still while I smooth this on you."

The hands stroked the cooling gel into his bottom and thighs, then replaced the cotton cloth and newly chilled cold packs. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the room being put to rights.

Soon the ice packs were removed and he was turned carefully onto his back. He stiffened but there was little pain. More gel, this time on his nipples and the small red marks on his belly, scrotum and inner thighs. The sharp pain at those places had dulled into an ache but even that was disappearing. He smiled slightly and hummed to himself. Oh yes, the pain meds were definitely beginning to take effect. He really did not like taking them; they muddied up his mind. He didn't need them often, though. There were still almost as many pills in the bottle as there had been when they'd gotten them.

The hands were gone now and he turned onto his side, curling up and pushing his head down into his pillow. He heard the strike of a match and smelled for an instant the pungent scent of paraffin. He wrinkled his nose and the voice chuckled. A hand stroked his arm.

"Wait. It'll smell better."

He reached for the arm and turned to look up.

I.. I won't do it again. I promise." Anxiety in his voice and in his eyes.

"What did I tell you about making promises you can't keep?"

He swallowed hard.

"I'll try. I really will. I'll try not to do it again."

"That's what I'm counting on and it's all I ask. That you try."

He listened as footsteps padded over to the door and a click of the switch turned off the lights. He opened his eyes a slit. A faint light still danced from somewhere behind him.

The sheet lifted and a warm body stretched out behind him. The hands turned him and a strong arm pulled him close. His head snuggled into a comforting shoulder as one hand stroked lazily up and down his arm. A breath ruffled his curls and he was kissed there, once, twice, three, times. The tranquil scent of lavender and chamomile drifted over him from the warmer next to the bed.

"Sleep, now. Sleep." The voice was low and loving. The touch, the sound and the smell washed through him, comforting, caring, melding into a green and lavender haze that pulled him down into a deep and restful sleep.


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