Their Little Beauty (MxMxM+GF)

Chapter Forty-One: Dastardly Digits and Penguin Pinches

Waking up before his alarm, sunlight barely sneaking through the curtains, Quinn yawned before looking to his right.

There at the far side of the bed was Devon, Briar cuddled into his side, head resting on the handsome man's chest and an arm bent awkwardly backwards so his hand could intertwine with Quinn's. And upside down, feet digging into the golden-eyed man's ribs, was Jesse. Snoring away, drool trailing down their chin and a pillow clutched to their chest, oblivious to the discomfort their stabbing, chicken-like feet caused.

So, all was normal in the Larson/Meyer/Everton household. Smiling to himself, Quinn carefully untangled his fingers from Briar's and slid out of bed to pull on shorts, making sure to be as quiet as possible.

He was in no mood for a feral Jesse- especially one that was hungry.

It was Friday, so he went down to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee as silently as possible, took a quick roam around his studio to make sure his commissions were drying well and looking good, before he went back inside and began preparing for the day ahead. 

It was Regression Day- the name he and Briar had deemed every second or third Friday of the month that were dedicated to, obviously, voluntary age-regression. They had celebrated this day four times before, in which all of Briar's attempts at regressing were fruitless. And it hurt Quinn to see his boy upset and frustrated that the only times he has ever wanted to enter that Little Space, he couldn't. 

But just like being told to just 'stop worrying' or 'clear your mind' were nearly impossible commands to perfectly follow without practice, regression was the same. Letting go of your adult mindset that you've always been told to adopt, to allow yourself to slip back into a headspace that is far more freeing and innocent, these were hard to get used to and were causing Briar a lot of trouble- and upset. 

Still, the caregiver made sure to always reassure him that it was okay. Expecting too much, putting stress on oneself to achieve something and so many other factors could have prevented regression from taking place. They had all the time in the world to make it happen, and Quinn was more than happy to spend those special Fridays with Briar just relaxing together. 

Today though, he had a good feeling. Going into the walk-in cupboard next to the Playroom door, he looked through his collection of Little Supplies and considered how to start Briar's morning. The submissive had agreed to follow whatever Quinn thought best, even if that meant doing something he found a little embarrassing or weird. Such as the first time when, just to see if Briar or Little Briar would have any reaction, he was asked to wear a nappy for a while and lay among a pile of pillows on the Livingroom floor as they watched all the Lion King movies.

It didn't work in the sense that no regression took place, but Briar did say he had been very comfortable apart from the nappy, which he just couldn't relax in. Felt too young for Little Briar, apparently, who they observed to fluctuate between ages. Then the last time, he put on the onesie Quinn bought him, sucked on his thumb when asked to and after a few hours of watching Disney movies and colouring in, he had partially regressed for around forty minutes before being drawn out of it by Jesse tripping as they came through the front door, knocking over every possible item on their way and shrieking like a vengeful banshee upon smacking a knee into a wall. 

He had been fine, no bruises other than the ones to their ego from having to endure the relentless teasing from their lovers at what Briar had deemed 'the mating call of Jesse'. A sound in which they tricked the poor fox into recreating, then recorded it. 

Now anytime Jesse called one of his lovers, the most horrific yet wonderfully hilarious noise played on a loop. 

Shaking his head from the memory, Quinn hummed as he moved various boxes of toys and story books to allow a better view of everything he owned. For most of his adult life he had been preparing for his very own Little, his own precious treasure to care for, buying anything he came across that made him pause as his mind became lost in imaginary scenarios. But of course, having no Little that truly spoke to the Caregiver in him meant these items reserved only for his special boy were stored away, never to be played with and only gazed upon by a wishful Quinn every now and then.