Chapter 33

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Chapter 33 

Nicolas 

"Baby?  What are you talking about?" 

Finn began to shiver, I'm not sure how long he had been sitting here in just his boxers so I scooped him up in my arms and carried him into the bedroom.  I sat down on the bed up against the headboard with him cradled in my lap and pulled the blankets around him.  Easing Finn forward a bit I shrugged out of my leather jacket and pulled him back against my bare chest, running my fingers through his hair.  I rubbed his cool arms and felt him starting to warm back up. 

"It's okay baby, I'm right here," I soothed as his breathing shuddered as if he were holding back sobs.  "Just relax, take deep breaths and then I want you to talk to me." 

He shook his head no and buried his face in my chest.  For some reason I had the feeling this had to do with whatever he was holding back about when we were hanging out in the ship's pub several weeks ago.  I had let it go then, giving him some time to learn to trust me, but there was no way I was going have him sweep this under the rug again this time.  I continued to hold him, rubbing his back, his arms and shoulders, kissing the top of his head and whispering soft words in his ears.  When I felt like he was calm, I asked him, "What happened tonight, baby?" 

His sky blue eyes, rimmed in red looked up at me pleadingly.  "I want you to tell me," I said in a calm, but firm voice. 

"I had a nightmare," he croaked softly. 

"And what was it about?" 

"It...umm..." he sucked in a few calming gulps of air, "it was about the night my father died," his voice turned to a whisper. 

"Tell me Finn." 

"Please..." he whimpered, pleading. 

"Finn, if you hold back from me as your Dom, I can't properly take care of you.  I need to know how best to help you and the only way to know that is to know exactly what is bothering you." 

He turned back into me, nuzzling his nose into the soft tufts of my chest hair and I took my own deep cleansing breath mustering every ounce of patience I could. 

"When I was little," he began in a small voice, "my Dad taught me how to play baseball, he coached my Little League team and brought me to baseball games.  We lived and breathed baseball together." 

When he paused, I praised him gently, "Good boy Finn, go on baby," I encouraged, caressing the back of his head. 

"When I was 8 or 9 he started taking me to see the Dodgers, and of course, they became my favourite team.  We'd go to about 6 or 7 games every season.  Well...my mom didn't like baseball so she never came and she would get kind of annoyed when my Dad took me." 

"Go on, baby." 

"My Dad got me jerseys, I had a Dodger's ball cap...we had hot dogs and peanuts, my Mom would get extra mad if we came home too full for dinner, so we had to be careful and even if we were full, eat the dinner she made us.  But it was like our little conspiracy, he'd sneak me looks and winks and if she turned around he put his hands up pretending to eat a foot long hotdog."  Finn smiled as he recounted this part of the story. 

"He coached my team from when I was 7 until...well, until I stopped playing when I was 11.  I played shortstop, which was his position...He played as a kid and even in college!" 

"He sounds like a great Dad, baby." 

"Oh, he was...he was the best!" 

"So what happened in the nightmare?" I asked cautiously. 

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