Brahms Heelshire - Lamb to the slaughter

Part Ten - You comfort me

Stepping out of the shower, still ignoring Brahms' eyes glancing over me every so often, I begin to dry myself down with one of the two towels on the shelf. Brahms steps out and grabs the other towel by the time I've gotten down to my legs. I continue to dry myself off until I feel something pinching my ass.

I yelp out in surprise, spinning around and seeing Brahms' hand moving back towards himself. He goes back to drying himself like nothing just happened. I continue to look over at Brahms as he finishes drying off. He stands up straight in front of me, the used towel in both of his hands and not making eye contact. "Brahms."

He glances at me before shifting his attention away again. "Brahms?" He shifts back at me, keeping eye contact this time. "Is there something you're wanting?" He looks down at the towel in his hands before nodding.

"Well, what is it?" I step closer to him, closing most of the gap between us, and placing my hands on his wrists.

"I... I want touch you all over, Mummy. I want to play with you like you did with me last night, except I want to feel every last part of you before I do."

My stomach does a summer salt at the thought. As much as I'd love to have such a thing done to me, I don't think I can go again right now.

"Not right now, little angel. But if you're good for the rest of the day, you'll get to play with me tonight before you go to bed. Ok, baby?"

He nods his head slightly and leans in towards me. "Can I have a kiss, then?" I nod before putting my hand on his chest and bringing myself closer to him.

Brahms pulls his head away from me before I can fully take enjoyment out of kissing him through the layer of porcelain. He shifts up the mask, exposing just enough of his face so that his lips are visible. I wrap my arms around his neck so that he won't pull away a second time. He kisses back in a slightly awkward way, as if he doesn't know what he is doing. Then again, I don't really think that he does. That can be improved in time.

Before long, my arms fall back from him, our bodies disconnect and he slips the mask back down over those perfect bow lips. Sending him back to his parents room to try and find something that fits him, I begin to think about what I can do about his lack of clothes. He glides out of the bathroom with the agility of a cat and I already feel the emptiness of his absence. Something in me wants to call him back and hold him close. To be close to his presence for a little while longer. To make him loose his mind and maybe loose my own along in the process.

I make my way back to my own room to get dressed myself. Pulling on my clothes, I begin to think about last night and what I saw in the Heelshire's bedroom, entering into a slight panic. Malcom clearly wanted me to find those clippings for some reason or another. And anyway, why would a simple house fire have so much newspaper coverage and why did the Heelshires practically horde every last piece printed about it? What was the story of this fire and was there more to it that the Heelshires prayed wouldn't seep through the cracks?

By now, Brahms is bound to have gotten at least mostly dressed. I start heading my way in the direction I sent him, hoping that I can get there before he has a chance to do something to those clippings. That's if he hasn't done something to them already.

Walking back down the corridor and pulling my shirt down over my body, the sound of little annoyed tuts keep echoing from the Heelshire's bedroom. A peep into the beige bedroom reveals Brahms trying to fight one of the top buttons on his shirt into its hole.

I can't help but laugh a little. Brahms shifts his attention to me with a grumpy look in his eyes.

"It's not funny, Mummy. This button won't cooperate."