Morning brings a thousand questions that demand answers -- but, first, it brings Roland the scent of eggs and bacon.
The bacon isn't real, of course. Outside of fish, actual meat is a rare delicacy for the colonies. But by Roland's estimation, the synthetic stuff isn't half-bad.
Neither is his view of the chef. He peers out of the padded nook where he'd been sleeping, straight into the kitchen. Penelope's back is to him; she's standing atop a small stool, working diligently to pry up a pad of scrambled eggs and fold it. The scrape of a spatula across stainless steel is accompanied by the lazy sizzle of bacon grease.
Penelope is wearing one of his tops -- a ridiculously large, absurdly bright Hawaiian shirt that nearly swallows her whole. But when she leans over the stove, the hem slides up to expose the back of her coltish upper thighs.
Her long charcoal black hair is pinned up. He can see the umber-brown surface of her nape. His eyes linger on the slightly lighter trace of a surgery scar -- where the neural chip was inserted ages ago.
Memories of last night flood his mind. Penelope, moaning and squealing, her mostly-bare figure undulating over his lap. Penelope, in his clutches. Hyperventilating. Crying out--
"Breakfast is ready." She's finished up, setting several piles of scrambled eggs and a plate of bacon on a tray. There's two tins of coffee, too. Her sweet face is split apart by a huge smile. That childhood gap between her two upper front teeth has mostly closed, but Roland can still see it. He probably always will.
He sits up atop the makeshift bed and realizes he's only wearing his boxers and a thin blanket. His chest is exposed; broad and thick, coated in a thin layer of dense, dark hair. Some of the hairs have gone silver. "...hey, um..."
"I don't know how you like your eggs, so I just scrambled them. I hope that's okay?" Her big brown eyes flash up to him as she sets the tray down on the nearby table. That look tells him everything. She's trying very hard to make this feel normal. She wants it to feel normal. She
needs
it to feel normal.
Roland slides out of bed. He keeps the blanket wrapped around himself like a toga. The sight makes Penelope's smile nearly graduate into a laugh.
He plucks her up, an arm curling around her waist. "I'll scramble
your
eggs," he announces -- and before either of them can dwell too long on the phrasing, he's dragged the now-giggling girl back into the nook.
Her back is up against his chest, again. He can feel from the way the shirt's fabric slides against him that she's not wearing anything underneath. She keeps squirming, right up until he grabs her throat. Just like that, she goes limp. A shiver sweeps through her.
Roland kisses the side of her jaw.
"We need to talk about this," he whispers. Her body tenses. He kisses her jaw again.
"Relax... it's okay." The tension lingers, then melts away.
"Okay," she relents. A sliver of anxiety creeps into her voice.
"I don't know exactly what this is." He nuzzles against her jaw, his other hand possessively sliding around her waist. It slips under her shirt and drifts up to her left-most breast. Her heartbeat quickens against his palm. "But whatever it is, I need to know that... You'll be safe."
She shimmies closer, her buttocks grinding against his hip. His swollen shaft twitches. "I trust you."
"I know, sweetie. But this is new for me. And I'm not sure I trust myself." Roland takes in her scent. Sea salt. Coconut oil. Lingering traces of breakfast.
"You're not going to hurt me," she murmurs. There's an edge of brattiness, there. "I want this."
He scrapes his teeth across the side of her neck. She sucks in a sharp breath and mewls.
"Like I said: I don't think either of us even know what 'this' is. Not yet."
"I... I want to find out," she whines.
"So do I."
As soon as those words leave his lips, her body slumps with relief.
She was worried I was going to leave her, again. She's terrified of being left alone...
Just the thought is enough to make his heart ache. He tightens his grip on her, his palm flattening her breast. Her nipple tightens and crinkles into a point against it.
"I want this," he tells her. He's suddenly taken aback by the strength of those words; as if saying them aloud uncovered some deep, unspoken truth. He
does
want this. Maybe more than anything he's ever wanted before. "I just need to make sure... Wherever this goes, whatever this becomes... You'll be okay."
"...okay." Her eyes flutter closed as she squirms to make herself comfortable. "But... that goes for you, too."
"I'll be fine, sweetie. I'm--"
"Lonely," she cuts him off. "I know you're terrified of hurting me. But I know how lonely you are, too. And... I don't want you to be. I don't want you to be some sad, grouchy, lonely old man living by the beach. I want you to be okay, too."
He closes his eyes and kisses the spot where he bit her. "Okay," he relents. "So... we need to set some ground rules."
Eventually, he manages to release Penelope long enough for them to sit down and eat. Over coffee, eggs, and synthetic bacon, they hammer out the basics.
"Red means stop, and so does tapping my hand or rapidly blinking my eyes," she explains.
Roland takes a long quaff of coffee. As the conversation continues, it becomes increasingly obvious that Penelope has more experience with this sort of thing than
he
does. "That works, yeah. Did you just come up with that now?"
She blushes and shakes her head, picking her eggs apart with a fork. "Ever since that day with the tree, I've been really into, um... like, my first partner didn't work out because I wanted her to take control. Eventually, I found someone who was really into that. They weren't -- aren't -- looking for anything long-term, just a fling now and then. But... they introduced me to a lot of this stuff. I've had a few partners since who are into it, but..."
"Damn." Roland laughs. "It sounds like you've had more experience than
me
."
Penelope looks down. Her blush intensifies. "That... that's okay, right?"
He reaches out with that enormous hand and takes her chin into it, tilting her face up. "Of course it is, sweetie."
Relief washes over those big brown eyes. She's embarrassed -- maybe even a little worried that Roland would think less of her for having experience. He doesn't. If anything, the thought that the moment of control he exerted over her had such a momentous impact that it's shaped all of her relationships since... It's both deeply flattering
and
kind of hot.
Maybe that's a little fucked up. He's not sure.
"I -- I want you to take even more control," she suddenly blurts out. "Like..." She bites her lip, nestling her chin against his hand. "I -- I really like the idea of you just... Molding me."
That familiar desire -- the one that overpowered him last night -- stirs in the pit of Roland's chest. Before he even realizes what he's doing, he feels his mind pressing against hers. "
When we're alone, you will call me 'Daddy'.
"
Her eyes open up like two yawning pits that lead down into the depths of her being. Her lips part; her chest heaves. For one long moment, the room goes quiet -- the only sound is the distant crash of ocean waves.
Then, at last:
"...yes, Daddy."
"Good girl." He pulls his hand back and resumes eating bacon. After a few bites, he stops to look up at her. Penelope looks dazed. "Was that okay?"
"Y-yes," she stammers. "That was -- yes, Daddy." Her voice is low and breathy.
"Good. I... really want to do that to you, too," he admits, finishing his bacon. "I don't want to... erase you. But I kind of... do? I..." He feels like a man who has come upon a chest filled with a lifetime of his own hidden fantasies. And now, upon discovering that these fantasies are shared, they all surge to life at once -- leaving him paralyzed by choices.
"I want to shape you, mold you, turn you into my deepest fantasy. But... I also don't want you to stop
being
you. Maybe in the heat of the moment, I want that to happen, but I want you to still be Penelope. Even after I've... turned you into something else."
Penelope's eyes have that dangerously glassy look. She nods, the motion stiff. She's trying to hide her excitement. "You... want to transform me into a thing...?"
