This story and its characters are fictional and not based on any real people or situations. If you enjoy it, let me know at AuthorMB@protonmail.com.

PLEASE READ. After the last couple of chapters, I need a disclaimer here. I've been getting lots of fan mail for this series, which I love. I'm grateful that the private stories circulating in my head are so resonant with so many of you. However, I have had messages from some readers expressing an interest to me in having a house boy like Adrian, who is legally underage – and I have had more than one reader ask me if I knew how to go about finding one.

I would like to be clear: this is fiction. I do not condone or endorse the arrangement that takes place in this series. Additionally, at the risk of killing the mood, I feel the need to remind my readers that despite the care and compassion Scott feels for Adrian, the circumstances, structures, and power dynamics at play in this scenario are inherently unbalanced, unhealthy, and potentially abusive. There is a reason that this material is not publicized beyond the Nifty archive.

The notion of this story giving my readers ideas is one that makes me extremely uncomfortable. This is fantasy and escapism only. I love hearing from you, and I love that this story is meaningful for so many of you, but if you plan to write to me, please and thank you...

If Scott and Adrian inspire you to seek another consenting adult to enjoy this kind of partnership with, awesome. By all means, please continue to share your thoughts and comments on the story, because I have read some truly lovely fan mail and have been thoroughly flattered and gratified reading it. But please – please – be aware of the line between fantasy and reality if you choose to write to me.

Minor note: there will be peaks and valleys on the updates to this work. I don't adhere to a schedule, and life gets busy. If the story goes a long time without an update, I respect that it might suck, but please also recognize that this is a hobby for me, and enjoy what's there for what it is. :)

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The House Boy

Part 6

After our first night together, Sunday felt like a very different day, and passed by in a blink. And I'm not even sure I can put a finger on what changed, but there was a weight lifted from Adrian that I hadn't even noticed was there. It probably happened to me, too, but if so, I didn't really notice.

Most of his habits and mannerisms were the same, to be fair. He was still choosing his words carefully, he stood and moved in an efficient, dignified way. He kept himself a step ahead of my needs, learning to anticipate what I was going to want, and when. In fact, the change wasn't overly obvious...just subtle, little things I noticed as the day went on.

For one thing, he was smiling more. It wasn't that his usual, guarded poker face was gone, exactly, but when he felt like smiling, he did. For another, there were no objections to the odd `please' and `thank you' anymore when I gave him an order. And though he still preferred to come kneel by me and wait for my attention, if it was something quick he wanted, he'd simply come and stand near me, looking relaxed and content.

I still wanted to talk with him more about the previous night, what he meant when he said he was `right about me,' but for the time being, I decided to let it be. I'd been the first to awaken that morning, and discovered that he'd remained on my lap, and in my arms, the entire night. I watched him sleep for a while, unwilling to wake him and, honestly, unable to part with him, curled up so beautifully as he was. When he eventually blinked himself blearily awake, he looked up at me with a serene smile, wished me a good morning, and turned his head to latch on to my nipple again. He spent the first few minutes of the day like that, nursing on me, just like he had before. I was surprised—and relieved—that he didn't feel the need to ask. He suckled on me in the morning light filtering in from my window, gently rousing us both from the last dregs of our slumber, and it was perfect.

It would take a heart of stone to ruin a moment like that with a serious and potentially difficult talk. What was I, a monster?

So, I thought, I'd wait for a better time. I had that thought several times as the day went on, but that `better time' wasn't really in a hurry to get to us. Given the drama of the day before, I figured we could both use a full day of just existing together, working out the kinks in our new day-to-day. Not big ones, mind you, just little hiccups that come with the territory.

Up first: the morning routine. I was the type to putter around the place—have some coffee, eat breakfast, check my phone—before I washed up and got dressed. As such, when I heard Adrian turn on the shower as I shuffled out of the bedroom, I had a moment of inner conflict: should I suck it up, shower first, and tell him for next time, or should correct him now?

To my credit, it didn't take long for me to figure out which would be the better choice, and I told Adrian to turn off the shower. He left the bathroom with a respectful bow and an apology. Remembering what his father had told me about punishment being a sign that I cared, I had him put his hands against the wall while I swatted his adorably perky behind five times before sending him to the kitchen to start getting breakfast ready – fried eggs on toast this morning. He made a portion for himself, too, but still wouldn't eat it at the table with me. He kept his plate in the kitchen, taking bites here and there as he did his work.

Partway through breakfast I decided that my seat at the table, the one facing away from the kitchen, might have given me a view out the window as I ate, but it wasn't the view I wanted. I almost picked up my plate myself to move around to, but I caught myself at the last second and ordered Adrian over. He obediently changed my place setting to the other side, and now when I sat down, I was looking right at the kitchen and directly at eye level with his naked tummy. Very appetizing.

As I was almost done eating, he came over and said, "Master Scott, I don't want to be too forward, but I was wondering if you made any decisions about my training."

I paused in the middle of collecting the remaining egg yolk with my last bite of toast. "Your training?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You mean, the intimate stuff?"

"Intimate service. Yes, Sir."

I wolfed down the toast and swallowed before answering. "Remind me. If I agree to finish up your training, what am I expected to teach you? Weren't there a whole bunch of, uh...lessons? Topics?"

"You wouldn't need to worry about all that, Sir," he assured me, picking up my plate and cutlery. "You'd only be expected to show me how to meet your intimate needs."

I nursed my mug of coffee. "And otherwise, you'd have to go back to your dad's—er, his master's place—once a week?"

He nodded as he reached the sink and turned on the faucet. "That's one option, sir. My dad would teach me, and I would practice on Master Charles if he allowed it."

I may not have known this Master Charles, but that was a decidedly unpleasant thought. "What's the other?"

"Sir?"

"You said weekly lessons with your dad were one option," I reminded him. "What was the other option?"

"Oh." He scrubbed at the plate for a second before answering the question. "The other option is for me to teach myself, using materials and toys my dad would bring me."

"So every now and then you'd go into the bedroom and, uh...practice?"

"Wherever and whenever you deemed acceptable, Sir."

I studied him for a second as I took another sip of coffee. "You really don't like either of those other options, do you?"

He looked at me. I knew if I'd asked that kind of question yesterday, he'd have told me it didn't matter what he preferred if my needs were met. But today, after a moment, his answer was, "no, Sir. I want it to be you."

I nodded. "Okay. Next time you talk to your dad, tell him I'll take care of it."

There was that smile again. "Thank you, Sir."

"Well, one thing at a time. Might not start right away." I drained the last of my coffee, leaving it on the table as I stood up to stretch. "Now once you're done with the dishes, help me make a proper grocery list."

He tilted his head. "Sir?"

I joined him in the kitchen, grabbing the notepad and pen from their neatly-arranged places on the island counter. "Let's face facts: I'm no good at shopping for food. Since you know what you can cook, we're gonna put another list together. A better one."

He looked at me in wonder. "You'd allow me to make suggestions, Sir?"

"Suggestions, hell. Why don't you just put the list together?" I held out the pen for him.

He started to shake his head. "Master Scott, I could never presume—"

"Yeah, you could." Another round of food shopping this weekend would be pushing it, money-wise, but I'd figure that part out later. "You want to show me what you can do? Give yourself some stuff to work with."

"O-okay." He took the pen and swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down."

"I know." I winked. "Have it ready when I'm out of the shower, because when I'm dressed, I'm heading to the store."

Which I did, and came back laden with fresh fruits and veggies, meats, spices, starches, all the kinds of stuff I really should have known what to do with as a 25-year-old. It was clear that Adrian had a menu in mind for the week, and I wasn't about to discourage him from showing off; judging by the items on the list, I was in for some of the best home cooking I'd had in a long time.

He'd also taken the liberty of adding a few cleaning products for me to buy, and the minute he'd finished putting away the rest of the groceries, he made a beeline for the bathroom, as if determined to make up for the previous day's incomplete to-do list. After about an hour (most of which I spent sitting at the kitchen table, perusing old photos of Lisa and I and failing to delete any of them) he emerged, a little sweaty, and asked me to inspect his work. I almost told him I didn't need to, but the look on his face...I couldn't help it. It reminded me of kids cannonballing into the pool and yelling `Dad, look what I can do!' How do you resist that?

Needless to say, I don't think I'd ever seen the bathroom look that good. Pristine mirrors, gleaming counter, inviting toilet, he'd even got the gunk off the grout between the tiles. I praised the excellent work and asked what he'd like as a reward for a job so well done.

He looked so horrified that I almost started laughing. "Reward?" he repeated. "Oh, no. Sir, I'm simply doing my duty. I don't deserve anything for that."

"C'mon, sure you do." I glanced around once more. "I can practically see my reflection in the tub."

"Serving you is its own reward, Sir," he insisted, bowing low. "I don't need anything else."

So stubborn. I sighed and said, "all right. But at least take a nice bath to clean off and relax after all that work. You've earned that."

He accepted this compromise with only a touch of reluctance, and as he started running his bath I headed back out to the table, determined that I would find a way to reward him properly. Maybe I'd talk to Anthony about it one of these days.

That night, we ate salmon baked in garlic butter, with roast potatoes and asparagus, and I wondered how I ever could have been satisfied with frozen pizza. The salmon was perfectly cooked: juicy, flaky, and absolutely delicious. The potatoes had just the right amount of crisp before giving way to a soft, almost melt-in-your-mouth splendour on the inside. The asparagus was perfectly salted and had a satisfying crunch. Adrian waited on me through the entire meal while simultaneously ensuring everything was cleaned up, eating his own small portion while he worked. The whole affair was topped off with a delectable homemade chocolate lava cake for dessert, which I was almost too full to finish.

When I went to bed, he fetched me a glass of water for my bedside, brought my phone from the living room, and knelt contentedly at my bedside while I vacantly perused things I don't remember, absently stroking his hair with my right hand. When I began to nod off, he turned off my lap and climbed into the bed beside me. I opened my arm to him, and again, no words were needed to share in what was becoming our little ritual. He curled up in my lap and locked his lips onto my nipple, sucking gently in our joint moment of bonding and comfort. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, feeling the purest adoration for this little miracle who'd wandered into my life.

And again, I decided my questions could wait. The day had been free of heavy conversations. There was no sense spoiling that now.

*             *             *             *             *

Mondays always sucked (yeah, yeah, call me Garfield), but the prospect of spending eight hours of the day away from my newest companion made it that much more difficult to lug myself to work. Adrian sent me on my way with a hearty breakfast, a full thermos of coffee, and a "have a nice day at work, Master!"

Something about the way he said it made me remember something he'd said over the weekend about his kissing lessons, and before I walked out the door I leaned down and stuck out my cheek. "Where's my goodbye kiss?" He blushed a little but smiled and delivered an affectionate peck before shooing me out so I wouldn't be late.

The subway wasn't as crowded as usual, which was weird, but I wasn't about to complain. After Lisa left and we stopped carpooling, I realized it made a lot more sense to take public transit to get to work rather than fight traffic every day. The only downside was having to change when I got there, because I wasn't about to slog through the subway in my scrubs. Since the route I took to work only started running at six (and since we were `heavily encouraged' to be ready at least 15 minutes before the start of the seven-a.m. shift, catching anything but the first or second train meant a mad rush once I got in the door.

I got to the station early enough to catch the first train, so I figured I'd be breezing into work with plenty of time to spare. And as punishment for my hubris, the gods decided to cause a nearly fifteen-minute delay about two stops away from work. As such, I found myself making a mad dash to the finish line, nearly breaking into a full run as I neared the nursing home.

I realized I was on a collision course with Teri far too late to do anything about it.

Wham. She fell to the sidewalk, winded, and I immediately knelt to help her. "Oh, my God. Teri, I'm so sorry. I should have been watching where I was going. Are you okay?"

She panted a little but waved a hand as she accepted my help. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Nothing bruised but my pride." She spent a moment fixing up the chestnut hair that had been knocked loose from behind her head. "Well, now I'm officially awake. You should advertise yourself as a substitute for coffee."

"I'm sorry, I'm just running a little late." I straightened my own clothes, giving her a sheepish smile.

Stupidly early in the morning, by all accounts, but she looked more awake and alert than I felt most mornings. One of the visiting family members I ran into more often than others, Teri had a good decade on me, maybe a little more, but she wore it well. She favoured me with a warm smile over her light, colourful scarf, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her denim jacket.

It occurred to me that I didn't usually see her at this hour. "You're here really early. Is your dad okay?"

"Dad-in-law," she corrected.

I nodded. "Right, sorry."

"Don't worry about it." She hugged herself and looked at the doors. "Honestly, I've been trying to work up the nerve to go in."

My eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Oh, he had a fall last night, but he's all right."

I winced. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

She smiled, patting my arm. "Don't be, Scott. He loves you enough to know how unfair it'd be to have you wiping his ass seven days a week."

"Him and about a dozen other residents. But I don't mind." I glanced at the doors, then back to her. "So if he's fine, what's got you so nervous?"

She looked down at the sidewalk and laughed. "I'm here because Tony insisted I check up on his dad after the fall—and I mean, of course I'm happy to do it," she quickly added, "but you know how Walt is. He resents it. Gets all cranky."

"Yeah, he's touchy when he thinks we're making a fuss." I nodded. "I know what you mean. Want me to go with ya? Smooth the way?"

Relief spread across her face. "Oh, Scott, would you? I mean, I don't want to take you away from the other residents..."

"Don't sweat it," I said, leading the way inside. "I'll make sure everyone's taken care of and meet you at his room."

"Seriously, thank you," she said, parting from me to check in at the front desk. I gave her a little wave and headed back into the staff area, picking up the pace as I glanced at the clock.

I was in luck, because another PSW who'd originally booked the day off had unexpectedly come in and splitting the twenty-eight residents four ways instead of three meant I had two less on my rotation today. That would free up plenty of time for Teri and her grouchy father-in-law. I mean, I say that (because it's true), but honestly, Walt was among my favourite residents, and I couldn't quite pin down why. Something about the gracious way he allowed me to tend to his personal needs, I guess. He never acted shy or embarrassed, and he never lost his dignity. Or rather, he didn't seem to think anything would threaten his dignity at all.

Except on days like today when something out of the ordinary happened.

As soon as I could, I went to meet Teri outside Walt's room, third door down the east hallway. She'd taken off her jacket and held it over her crossed arms, leaning patiently against the wall. She grinned and shook her head as I walked up. "Boy, you must think I'm such a coward."

I waved off the notion. "God, no. There are times I feel the same way. Come on." I knocked gently on the door as I cracked it open, raising my voice a little. "Good morning, Walt. Up and at `em."

There was a weary grunt, and then, "that you, Scott? Is it Monday already?"

"You betcha," I said, grinning as I opened the door and stepped inside. In terms of layout, all the rooms in the home were identical, but the décor in Walt's was a tad sparse compared to the other residents – didn't have much that mattered, he told me once. There was a chair next to a dresser that doubled as a TV stand along the left wall, and across from me the curtains were drawn across the bay window, a sliver of early morning sunlight peeking through. The little beam fell on the cushioned bench in the window's alcove, just shy of the antique wooden chessboard that had been one of the very few possessions Walt had brought with him when he moved in. To the right, against the wall, the hospital bed and plain, two-drawered end table were just barely visible in the darkness, along with Walt's prone form on the mattress. His wheeled walker was up against the wall, a couple of feet from the bed's far side.

I motioned for Teri to hang out by the door for the moment and crossed the room toward the window. "Heads up, incoming daylight."

"Yeah, yeah," Walt muttered through a yawn.

I threw the curtains open, which brightened the room as much metaphorically as it did literally, and moved to his bedside, leaning down to help him sit up and brace himself against a pillow. He was one of the few residents in this place that still had a full head of hair, ghostly white though it was. He was almost cartoonishly skinny, though the doctors always assured us he was perfectly healthy. "How'd you sleep, friend?"

"Bah." He waved a bony arm. "Sleep is for the weak."

"That good, huh?"

He grunted. "Hasn't been coming as easily lately."

"Pain?"

"No, it's all up here," he said, tapping his forehead and stifling another yawn. "Happens from time to time. Spend a few weeks reliving old regrets."

"Well, buck up. You've got a visitor this morning."

He looked up at me, then toward the door, his wizened face breaking into a smile. "Teri!"

She ambled in a few steps, smiling back. "Hi, Walt."

"What a lovely surp—" He cut himself off after a second, then turned sour. "Oh, wait. This is one of those visits, isn't it?"

"Well, mah stars," I chirped, in a terrible parody of a southern accent, as I lowered the bed rails. "Someone's bristly today. You don't think she might have just come by to have breakfast?"

He snorted. "You're in on it, too, are you? Lousy traitor."

"Yep, that's me." I gently moved the bedcovers off him.

Teri sighed, went to the chair, and pulled it over to the bed. "All right, yes, Tony wanted me to come check in."

"I knew it," he growled, putting a hand on my shoulder as I helped him swing his legs to the side of the bed. "I don't need a pity party, Teri. I'm fine. And you can tell him that. Why does he insist on making such a fuss over nothing?"

"Because he's your son, and he loves you for some reason," Teri said dryly. "Plus, he feels guilty he can't be here as often as he wants."

"I don't want anyone's guilt!" Walt barked.

"You'll have to take that up with him," Teri replied calmly, pulling her chair to the foot of the bed so she could stay in his line of sight. "Meanwhile, tell me what happened so I can get him off both our backs."

He sighed, glancing up at me. "You're gonna ask me all that anyway, aren't you?"

I shrugged, stepping over to the window bench and sitting gently so as not to disturb the chessboard. "I can always talk to Leanne."

He made a face. "Christ, no. The way she was acting, you'd think I was on death's door."

"Then..." I opened my hands. "Give us the scoop and get it out of the way."

"Yeah, yeah." He leaned on his knees, glancing sideways at Teri. "It was nothing to worry about, Teri. I just fell. It happens. I didn't break anything."

She tilted her head. "They said you were dizzy. Disoriented."

He shrugged. "I might have had a bit of a dizzy spell."

"The attending—er, the doctor, I mean, gave him a check-up after the fall," I interjected, having been brought up to speed already. "They want to keep an eye on him, but he didn't eat much at dinner so it could have been low blood sugar."

"Okay." She looked at Walt again, who was rolling his eyes. "So I shouldn't ask why you didn't eat dinner, I guess."

"Because I wasn't hungry."

"How about now?"

"Eh?"

"Are you hungry now?"

He hung his head for a moment, then chuckled slightly. "Starved."

She smiled slightly. "Then why don't we have some breakfast together?"

"All right, all right." Walt gave her a nod, then glanced at me. "Would you give me a moment? You know how I like to—"

"Enjoy the view in the morning. I know." I got up, as did Teri, and we walked back to the door. "I'll be right outside," I told him as we stepped out into the hall.

Once the door was shut, Teri turned anxious eyes my way. "Give it to me straight, Scott. Should I be worried?"

I held up my hands. "Teri, I'm not a doctor, and I wasn't here at the time. I can't really—"

"I know, I know," she interrupted. "I don't mean the medical side of it."

"You mean, is he hiding something?"

"Yeah."

I shrugged, glancing at the door for a second. "Hard to say, but I don't think so. And even if he is, well...we'll figure it out."

She sighed, nodded. "All right. But that was weird. He was weird."

"Weird?" I crossed my arms. "How so?"

"Scott, you know him. Last time I showed up for something like this, he practically kicked me out of the room. Compared to that, he was downright pleasant today."

I bobbed my head once, conceding the point. "Well, after yesterday we'll be keeping an extra eye open for warning signs. Don't worry, we won't let him sabotage himself."

"I appreciate that." She put her hands in her pockets, a soft smile crossing her face as she looked at the closed door. "It's a shame you don't work weekends. My son came with me to visit him last Sunday."

"Oh, yeah?" I smiled, too. "Sorry I missed it."

"You wouldn't have recognized him. Walt, I mean. He's an entirely different person around his grandson." Her eyes lingered on the door for a moment, as if she were staring through instead of at it. After a moment she cleared her throat. "I'll go wait in the lobby. Thank you again, Scott."

I waved a hand. "No need. See you in a bit."

As she wandered off and I waited for Walt to call for me, my thoughts wandered to Adrian. I wondered what he was up to. What does a house boy do behind closed doors when his master's away? Of course, I knew my friends would call me insane for leaving some kid I basically just met alone in my apartment for the entire day.

Although they'd already have called me a number of other things before getting that far.

I contemplated what Teri had said about Walt and his grandson. I wondered if Adrian ever saw his grandfather. Whether the two of them would have a bond like that. I remembered him telling me that one of his grandparents – his dad's former master – had passed away. Where was the other one now? Was he still serving as a house `boy' somewhere? Do house boys retire?

I was pulled from my musings by a muffled "I'm ready," and I went back in to find Walt watching over his shoulder as he waited patiently. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?" I grinned, rounding the bed to push his walker to him. "It's the same routine as every other morning."

"I meant Teri," he said, grasping the handles as I set the brakes. "I know she and my son mean well. I'm glad she has someone to talk to."

I arched an eyebrow as I helped him to his feet. "They mean well? Boy, you're a softie this morning."

He let out a low, barking laugh. "Yeah, I suppose I am a little out of character."

"No complaints here," I assured him, staying nearby as he shuffled around the bed toward the bathroom. I shifted a little to avoid bumping the chessboard on the window bench, noticing the pieces had been in the same places all week. "Haven't been playing lately?"

"Eh?" He saw where I was looking and shook his head. "Oh, that was from last Sunday."

"Your grandson."

"Teri told you, eh?"

"I'm surprised you didn't," I replied, taking a couple of steps ahead to open the bathroom door. "I didn't even know you had a grandson."

He shrugged. "It's nothing personal. I've just never been one to talk about myself."

"Well, I'd love to hear about him one of these days." I said, giving him a gentle pat on the back. "Now let's get you ready for breakfast."

He sighed dramatically. "Yes, might as well." He paused then, just looking at me.

I waited a moment, thinking he was going to say something. When he didn't, I said, "Walt? What is it?"

He blinked. "Oh, nothing. Just...you're a good man, Scott. I hope you know that."

I blushed a bit, a gratified smile finding its way onto my face. "Well...thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

"Hey, now." He waggled a finger. "Told you not to call me that."

"I know, I know. Walt," I corrected myself. "Come on. Let's not keep Teri waiting."

*             *             *             To Be Continued               *             *             *