Playing With Spencer by Izaia Winter

Chapter Eleven

Spencer

N —Quentin, I reminded myself— crouched down with one hand on the counter for balance as he checked on his brownies through the oven’s tiny glass window. “Mmm, they’ve got that nice, crinkly crust on top, and they already smell so good, so chocolaty.”

Leaning against the counter, I crossed my legs and glanced at Ollie’s favorite kitchen timer: a large, unsightly tomato. “Only five minutes left.”

“I brought ice cream,” Quentin said as he stood and wiped his hands on the strawberry-lemon patterned apron tied around his waist. “It’s this creamy vanilla bean that is to die for.” His eyes rolled in ecstasy as if he could already taste it.

“Brownies and ice cream: the perfect pair.”

Quentin’s smile was teasing as he reached out and playfully punched my arm. “Speaking of perfect pairs, you and Turner make quite a fine one.”

I couldn’t help my silly grin as I thought of our date the day before. “Yeah, we do.”

Sensing a bit of juicy gossip, Quentin leaned against the counter next to me and knocked his shoulder into mine. “And a little to boot. So, what changed your mind? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been adamant about keeping your distance from littles. To be honest,” he said as he leaned in close to whisper. “I always thought it was a forbidden fruit type of thing. An I-want-it-but-can’t-have-it type of thing.”

“Maybe it was a little something like that,” I teased back but studied Quentin seriously.

I’d been passing acquaintances with the man for years. At one time, I’d thought Quentin had preferred to keep to himself. I’d since learned that his standoffish, withdrawn attitude was nothing more than a protective crust enveloping his warm, gooey center—not unlike the brownies still cooking in the oven.

That Nolan, a man not exactly known for his effusive personality, had seen in when I hadn’t was kind of embarrassing. Not that I would ever tell Nolan that. His ego was big enough as it was. He didn’t need me to inflate it any further.

If there was one thing about Quentin I knew, it was that I could trust him. Nolan already knew what I liked and why I’d stayed away from littles even if he didn’t know the particulars. Years ago, I’d told him about my CNC kink and why I thought I wasn’t suitable for a little. He wouldn’t ask why now. Nolan was probably just happy I’d stopped denying myself what I wanted. And Marshall? Marshall took a delicate hand when it came to edge play. After growing up with an abusive father, there were certain things Marshall didn’t care to know about. I didn’t have to ask to know CNC was one of them. And Ollie? Well, he still fell into my littles-shouldn’t-know-about-me category. If I was going to tell anyone about my past, it was going to be Quentin.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” I asked, already knowing Quentin’s answer by his smile.

“Of course.” He shifted closer after looking over his shoulder. “Whatcha got?”

“You, uh, you know what I’m into, right? I mean, surely you’ve had to have heard by now.” I couldn’t help the slight blush rushing to my cheeks.

Everyone pretty much knew what I liked, but we never talked about it. It was like the worst kept secret at the club. Like Carson liking little boys who dressed like little girls. Or Foster having a not-so-subtle love for whips and big men in boots. And then there was me. Spencer doesn’t do littles and has a thing about consent.

“I might have heard a thing or two,” Quentin replied coyly, his face open and nonjudgmental.

“When I was in college, I was just starting to explore BDSM and joined a small, local group. I’m not even sure if they’re still around. It’s been so long. Let’s just say they didn’t appreciate my desire to involve a little with CNC. People started saying other things about me. Things like… that I disagreed with basic BDSM stuff like limits and safewords and stuff like that.” The words were surprisingly easy to say.

I rolled my eyes at myself. For fuck’s sake, I was a psychologist. I knew how healing it could be to talk about past traumas, but talking about my past was something that was easier said than done. I probed at my inner scars and found they didn’t hurt nearly as much as they once had. Turner, I was discovering, was a surprisingly good cure for my ills.

“It was hard,” I admitted as Quentin wrapped an arm around me and rested his head on my shoulder. “It’s not easy having people you respect look at you like you’re scum on the bottom of their shoes that they can’t wipe away. Maybe I came on a little too strong, or I was too young, or… I don’t know what happened.”

I rested my head on his for comfort. “I stayed around for a while. I thought I could change people’s minds. But I learned the hard way that once people think a certain way about you, it’s hard to get them to see you in a different light. I wasn’t doing any good there, so I left.”

I sighed. “Their rumors followed me around for a while, but they eventually went away. They were kind of hard to believe when people got to know me. Plus, I’d decided never to mix littles and CNC ever again. I assumed my first club’s reaction would be the same with everyone else, and I didn’t want that feeling following me around for the rest of my life. I had to pick one to keep and one to lose.” I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not hard for you to guess what I chose.”

“And Turner’s different?”

I nodded and laughed. “Yeah, Turner’s different. I met him outside the club. You know I don’t go for vanilla people, but he was just too cute to pass up, you know. When I started getting those submissive vibes from him, I asked him out. It was a super spur of the moment kind of thing.”

I skipped over our will-they-won’t-they moment. “Then I saw Turner at the paint party and found out he was a little. I couldn’t just dump him and make him think it was all about him. Talk about a punch to the self-esteem, you know. I explained it to him so he’d realize why it wasn’t going to work between us, but uh… he was surprisingly receptive to the idea.” I could feel the happy grin on my face as I winked at Quentin. “Very receptive.”

“Good for him,” Quentin said with a smirking laugh. “And good for you. We all deserve someone that gets us.”

“Thanks. He’s, uh, something else, I’ll tell you that.”

“And fuck those kink-shaming assholes,” Quentin said as he pushed off the counter angrily. He spun around and jabbed a finger in my direction. “You better not believe any of their shit anymore. CNC is more common than people are willing to admit. And just because a little is a little doesn’t mean they don’t have other needs and kinks. What assholes!”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his defense of me. “You kiss Nolan with that mouth?” I asked to diffuse the situation.

Quentin blushed hard enough I could see it on his mocha skin and lifted his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a gentleman. I don’t use curse words.”

“Right,” I nodded slowly as if I hadn’t just heard him use quite a few. “You would never.”

Quentin looked over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone before asking, “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Sure, hit me.”

Quentin leaned in close. “Mr. Chamberlain likes it,” he whispered.

I snickered, totally seeing Nolan loving it when bad words slipped past Quentin’s filter. “I bet it’s because you never do it, or” —I lifted a brow— “you make him work for it.”

Quentin’s smile was full of secrets. “And I’ll never tell. So,” he said, changing the subject, “where is your littler half? He’s not in the living room. In fact, both he and Ollie are gone. I figured the two of them would be in here begging to lick the bowl. And it’s quiet. You know what they say about littles. When they get quiet….”

“First of all,” I said as the timer went off and Quentin reached for his oven mitts. “What is it with people wanting to lick the bowl? Has no one ever heard of salmonella and E. coli?”

“Oh, we know about it,” Quentin replied with a cheeky grin as he set the pan of brownies on the cooling rack. “The risk is just worth the reward.”

“It’s really not,” I argued. “You should look up the symptoms. They’re awful. I would tell you all about them, but I still want an appetite to eat those brownies.”

“Fine,” Quentin huffed, but I could tell he wasn’t annoyed with me. “No more licking the bowl.”

“And to make sure of that, I’m gonna tell Nolan about it. I’m sure the punishment won’t be worth the reward then.”

“Hey, that’s fighting dirty,” Quentin protested.

Just as I was about to reply, Marshall stepped into the kitchen. “Huh, I thought Ollie would have been in here. Do you know where he is? I get anxious when he gets quiet for too long.”

“See,” Quentin said, poking my side. “I told you.”

“That seems to be going around,” I said, winking at Quentin. “Last time I saw him, he was in your bedroom with Turner playing with the makeup Emmie got him for his birthday.”

Marshall groaned and rubbed his hands all over his face. “Hopefully, it’s just confined to his face this time. I swear I had to scrub that boy’s hair for over an hour to get all the mascara out.”

“Oh, let them have fun,” I yelled as Marshall turned around and stomped down the hall.

Quentin clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “Has that man ever heard of makeup remover?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure Emmie included some with his present.”

“And maybe Ollie hid it. Maybe Ollie likes having his Daddy scrub him from head to toe.” I wiggled my brows. “I know I wouldn’t mind.”

“Daddy! Where are you?” Turner called out.

“In the kitchen,” I yelled back, a warm bubbly feeling in my chest.

It was the first time he’d called me Daddy in front of the others. All night he’d been so careful to call me Spencer. It felt like another barrier coming down between us.

“Daddy, look at me!”

It took every ounce of will I possessed to keep my laugh inside. Quentin wasn’t so controlled. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth and turned away.

“Do you like it?” Turner preened. “Marshall said I should show you how pretty I look.”

“Did he now? Well, come here,” I said, beckoning him to me. “I need a closer look.”

I wrapped my arms around him, and he returned the favor.

“Your eyebrows look very lovely,” I said of the thick, dark brown slashes across his face that in no way resembled eyebrows. I couldn’t even tell where his real ones were.

“And your eyeshadow.” I made sure my voice was very appreciative of the bright blue and pink circles around his eyes. “Very pretty like a cotton candy raccoon.”

“Daddy,” he giggled.

“I especially love that shade of blue. And that highlight? Mmm.” Instead of highlighting a few sections of his face, Turner had highlighter all over. He practically glittered in the kitchen lights. “You look beautiful, baby.”

“Thank you.” Turner shuffled closer and dropped his voice. “But can I take it off now? It’s kind of starting to itch.”

Nodding, I leaned down and kissed his surprisingly bare lips. “Of course. Come on. I’ll clean you up, and then we can have brownies and ice cream.”

“I knew I smelled chocolate,” Turner said as I led him back down the hallway to the front bathroom.

“Yep, I was teaching Quentin how to make my brownies. Now sit,” I said, pointing at the toilet.

“Yes, sir,” he said playfully as he obeyed.

Opening the cabinet for a washcloth, I smirked at the tub of makeup remover. “Makeup removing balm,” I said as I unscrewed the cap. “Perfect. Just what I needed.”

It was a known fact that Ollie and Marshall never used this bathroom. Their master bath was more spacious and could hide all their little stuff from their vanilla guests. That someone had tucked the balm away in this bathroom only supported my theory that Ollie didn’t mind Marshall’s baths in the least.

Dipping my fingers into the pot, I scooped out a good amount and rubbed it between my palms. “Close your eyes,” I ordered.

Gently working my oily fingers over his face, I massaged his skin until the makeup began dissolving. I soaked a washcloth in lukewarm water, wrung it out, and began wiping it all away to reveal my pretty baby. I was scrubbing at the last little bit when my phone rang in my pocket.

Pulling it out by the few clean fingers I possessed, I frowned at the caller ID. “It’s Carson.”

“Is everything okay?” Turner asked, picking up on the tension strumming through my body.

“I don’t know. He never calls me.” I hit the accept button before he hung up. “Hey, Carson, what’s up? I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

After answering the phone, I returned to cleaning up Turner’s face one-handed, needing something to do to distract me from the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Hey, how’s it been going lately?” Carson asked, but I could tell he was nervous.

“Seriously? You call me on a Monday night and want to know how it’s going? For a second, I thought someone had died.” Turner snickered at the exasperation in my voice.

“No, but there is something I do need to talk to you about.” Carson paused. “It’s about your past.”

I sighed. Some part of me had always known it would come back one day to bite me on the ass. It appeared that day was today. “Do you mind if I put you on speaker? Turner and Ollie got into the makeup Emmie gave him, and now it’s my job to get it off. Thanks for that, by the way. When I was picking on Marshall, I didn’t realize I was going to be the one paying for it.”

I winked at Turner and the room filled with his giggles.

“You’re welcome,” Carson replied, a laugh in his voice for the first time since he’d started talking. “And I don’t mind if you don’t,” he continued, answering my question.

“I don’t. And Turner knows all about it.” I pressed the speaker button on my phone, rested it on the counter, and returned to wiping the mess from Turner’s face. “And tell Emmie this makeup balm stuff is a lifesaver. Tell Carson hi,” I ordered Turner.

“Hi, Carson,” Turner said, bending toward the phone in case Carson couldn’t hear him.

“Hi, Turner. It’s nice to hear you’re still hanging around the lug,” he said, then turned back to me. “So, you’re at Marshall and Ollie’s?”

“Yeah.” I nodded even though Carson couldn’t see. “We’re having a boy’s night. Now stop beating around the bush, and tell me what happened.”

Carson sighed. “It’s not that something happened per se—”

“It obviously did,” I interrupted. “Or you wouldn’t be talking to me right now, and you wouldn’t have brought up my past. We’re friends, but we’re not the kind of friends who call each other and chit-chat about nothing.”

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” Carson asked.

“Because I’m an asshole?”

Turner snorted, then quickly covered it up. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Listen, man, I don’t know who it is, but someone is talking about you again.”

Turner’s hand, which had been idly playing with the hem of his shorts, wrapped around my waist and pulled me into his body. Tossing the washcloth into the sink, I lifted my hands, ran them through Turner’s hair, and let him comfort me.

“And what are they saying?” I asked when the silence had stretched out longer than was comfortable.

“Spencer, it’s not import—”

“Carson, just tell me what they’re saying.”

“Fine, I will, but I just need you to know that no one believes a word of it. I’ve had people coming up to me all day defending you.”

I dropped my head. “That bad, huh?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry—”

I laughed and hated how tired it sounded. “I can start guessing. It’s not like I haven’t heard it before. Let’s see. I don’t listen to safewords. I gravitate toward inexperienced submissives who won’t recognize when I cross boundaries. I don’t believe limits are important. I don’t give aftercare. Not that I like CNC but that I—” I closed my eyes and forced the words out, “That I don’t care about consent and am willing to coerce and guilt my way into getting subs to sleep with me. Do I need to go on?”

“No,” Carson said quietly. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Spencer?” Turner cupped my cheeks and lifted my head so he could look me in the eyes. “None of that is true. You made me pick a safeword before you would give me a bath. And limits? You were willing to walk away from me because you thought what you wanted would cross mine. Aftercare? You are like the best cuddler ever. I haven’t felt coerced or guilted into doing anything with you, and when we finally get around to playing out that little cops and robbers fantasy of yours, I know it’ll be amazing. As for being inexperienced, I own a fucking sex shop.”

I clicked my tongue. “Language.”

“Seriously?” Turner laughed then softened. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

I kissed his lips in gratitude, then stilled when another thought occurred to me. “Carson, you still there?” I asked as I stared into Turner’s eyes.

“Yeah, just listening to the two of you being all romantic like a fucking creeper,” he replied sarcastically.

“Do the littles at the club know about me?” I asked quietly. “That I like CNC?”

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” he replied. “It seems the littles were the first to hear it all. Most of them came straight to me. If it makes you feel any better, I think more than a few already knew.”

And that was the thing about secrets, I thought. They never stayed secrets for long, especially not when they weren’t that much of a secret to begin with.

“You know, Carson, it really doesn’t.”

Turner crossed his arms and lifted a brow. “And I’m sure you only have one little’s good opinion to worry about now.”

Carson laughed so hard I could hear his hand slapping on the surface of his desk. “You got yourself a feisty one there.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said, proud of my boy. “But seriously, Carson, what do I need to do to get ahead of this?”

“Come by the club. Be yourself. Let people see you. Bring Turner and let everyone watch you be all lovey-dovey with each other. Remind people who they know. You. Not some person spreading a bunch of bullshit. Foster and I are already working on narrowing down who started all this. As soon as we know, they’re fucking gone. I don’t like it when people come after my friends.”

“Thanks for believing in me, Carson.” I couldn’t tell him how much it meant to me.

“I believe in you because I know you, Spencer, and what they’re saying isn’t you,” he replied, and that was that. “I’ll let you go now. We’ll talk when you come by the club.”

“Yeah, sure, bye.” I disconnected the call and stood there in silence.

Turner’s hands rubbed against my chest, soothing a hurt he shouldn’t have been able to reach but could. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’ve always had a feeling this would happen someday. I feel like it’s been hanging over my head for so long, and I’m… I’m kind of glad it’s finally happening. I can stop worrying about it. But…”

“But what?”

I met his questioning gaze. “Why now? This can’t be a coincidence. I meet you, and we click. I find out you’re a little, but I don’t push you away and run. I’m finally getting everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Turner clenched his hands into the fabric of my shirt. “You think someone wants to take you down a peg?”

I shrugged. “I guess. It sounds so self-centered to think it’s all about me, but it kind of is.”

“It has to be someone from your old club, someone who’d remember all that. Someone with a grudge. You should tell Carson as many names as you can remember.”

I blinked, kind of taken aback by how invested Turner already was in catching my hidden adversary. “Most people used fake names. There’s no telling if they’ve changed them since then, but I’ll tell him as many as I remember. You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

Turner huffed, a blush staining his cheeks as he crossed his arms defensively. “I was hoping you’d be madly in love with me before you found out.”

“Found out what?”

“That I have a quote-unquote ‘unhealthy obsession’ with police procedural dramas.” Turner rolled his eyes. “I don’t think it’s that unhealthy.”

I bit off a laugh at his outrage. “But you have nothing to say about the obsession part?”

“I draw the line at true crime, so I don’t think I’m that obsessed.” He sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat. “And now you think I’m weird.”

“No, it’s cute in a… bloodthirsty kind of way.” Leaning down, I brushed a kiss against his lips. “Are you gonna be my little detective now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Turner wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me back. “I gots to protect my Daddy from the big bad man.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about,” I replied, my lips taking his in a kiss that was more than the little brushes we’d been exchanging. Just as we were both getting lost in each other, something loud and heavy banged against the bathroom door.

“Sorry,” Ollie said through the wood. “I tripped. Say, now that I’m here, did you guys get lost in there? Did someone fall in? Quentin says dessert is ready, but we can’t eat without you.”

“Time to face the music?” I asked as I pulled away.

“You’re going to tell them?”

“I might as well.” I grabbed the dirty washcloth from the sink and tossed it into the nearby hamper as I  helped Turner up. “They’re either going to hear about it from me and get the truth, or they’re going to hear about it from someone at the club. If they already haven’t,” I added dryly. “And I have a feeling I’m gonna need their help.”

Taking Turner’s hand for my sake more than his, I opened the door and laughed at the sight of Ollie standing there with his arms crossed, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently, and the fakest I’m-innocent face I’d ever seen.

“Quentin won’t get the ice cream out without you guys,” Ollie said, somehow glaring while still wearing his innocent expression. “He said it would be rude.”

Something in the way we looked must have tipped him off that something wasn’t right because Ollie dropped his arms and the act, genuine concern taking its place. “Hey, are you guys okay?”

“We will be,” I answered. “But I need to talk to everyone.”

“Umm, we’re all in the living room.” Ollie looped his arm through my free one, and he and Turner walked me down the hall. “Whatever it is, I’m sure brownies and ice cream will fix you right up.”

Ollie’s solution to everything was dessert.

So was Turner’s, I thought with a rueful grin as Turner nodded against my arm.

“They’re back,” Ollie shouted toward the kitchen as he led us into the living room.

Marshall sighed as he stared in Ollie’s direction. “I thought I told you to leave them alone.”

Ollie dragged his feet as he crossed the room to his Daddy’s side. “I tripped and hit the bathroom door.”

“Really?” Marshall studied Ollie’s bare feet. “On what?”

“It was the strangest thing,” Ollie said as he climbed into Marshall’s lap. “I was just walking by the bathroom, minding my own business, and then I tripped over nothing.” Ollie lifted his hands and shrugged.

Marshall narrowed his gaze on his boy. “I should take away your dessert—”

“Daddy!”

“—but Quentin spent a long time working on it,” Marshall finished.

Ollie’s relief was palpable. Nolan, on the other hand, hid his smile, knowing full well Quentin wouldn’t care if Ollie ate his dessert or not.

“Which is why no dessert for the rest of the week, and if you complain,” Marshall said before Ollie could open his mouth, “I’ll take you to our bedroom, put you in a corner, come back here, and eat your share too. And I won’t let you out until our guests are gone.”

Ollie shut his mouth real quick and just in time, too. Quentin came into the room with six plates balanced perfectly on a serving tray, each a perfect portion of brownie and ice cream. Around the room he went, passing out plates. I couldn’t help but notice Nolan’s ice cream was a bit bigger than everyone else’s—the perks of being loved by the chef.

“Mmm.” Ollie leaned back against Marshall’s chest and licked his spoon. “Oh, Spencer said he had something to tell us.”

“Right.” I looked to Turner and took a deep breath when he nodded at me in encouragement. “Has anyone been to the club recently?” I asked, wanting to know if I had any damage control to do.

“Not since a few days ago when we were all there,” Marshall said, shaking his head.

“And we only go when we know everyone will be there,” Nolan added, motioning to himself and Quentin.

“Okay, well, Carson called,” I began. It took a while to get through the whole story. By the time I’d rehashed what I’d told Quentin in the kitchen and what Carson had said on the phone, I felt drained. And Turner was like a steady rock beside me, offering comfort and strength.

Marshall was leaning back, his eyes on the ceiling as I finished talking. “Did you ever figure out who started it in the first place?”

“No one would tell me a thing.” Taking Turner’s plate, I stacked it on top of mine and placed them both on the coffee table. “I know it was to protect whoever it was from retaliation, but it made it impossible for me to defend myself. And nobody was even willing to entertain the idea that they’d lied. I was the new guy, after all.”

“But you’re not anymore,” Quentin replied. “As the only person here besides you who has been at the club the longest, I have to say I have a hard time thinking people there will believe it this time around. It’s so far outside of who you are it’s insane.”

Nolan hugged Quentin to him. “What’s the plan then?”

“Do what Carson said?” I blew out a breath and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Ollie lifted his hand and waved it in the air like a preschooler trying to get the teacher’s attention. “Oh, me. I have an idea. I have an idea.”

“What is it, sunshine?” Marshall asked while we all smiled. Trust a little to bring a bit of joy to the moment.

“You said that Carson said that the littles were the first to hear about it, right?” Ollie turned back and grinned at his Daddy. “If whoever is doing this wants to hurt Spencer, then they’ll want to talk to Turner, right?”

Turner clapped his hands. “Ollie, you’re a genius! Spy mode.”

“Yes,” Ollie cheered, throwing his hands up in the air. “Wait, what’s spy mode?”

“Okay, settled down,” Marshall said as he lowered Ollie’s arms. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“All the littles—me, Turner, Simon, Red, Emmie, anyone that can come—we’re all in the playroom. Having fun. No Daddies allowed. And then when someone comes up to us and wants to talk about all this juicy gossip about Spencer, we’ll brush them off.”

Turner nodded. “Right. It’ll mostly be directed at me because, you know, we’re kind of a thing,” he said, looking up at me with a smug smirk. “I’ll ask for proof. That I’ll only listen to someone who has firsthand knowledge of the situation. Daddy says gossiping is rude.”

“Gossiping is rude,” I interjected.

“See,” Turner said to the room while pointing at me. “You all heard him.”

“Perfect. And all the while, Spencer is out in the main room, hanging out with friends, not a care in the world.” Ollie squealed in excitement. “When this person hears about it, they’ll come running, desperate to get Turner to flip on his new Daddy.”

Marshall gave his boy an approving glance. “Smart. It could work. But it might take a few days for word to get back to this person.”

Ollie crossed his arms and glared at Marshall. “You got something else better to do?”