Warning: Mentions of alcoholism.
DDLB Stenbrough
All characters are over the age of eighteen
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He tried to look away, ashamed of the desperate want in his heart as he sat onto the cold tiles of his kitchen floor, leaning against one of the cabinets, the lights off.
He needed to feel the burn of the liquid as he swallowed it, the back of his throat burning, providing release and satisfaction.
Drinking it meant months of fighting going down the drain, becoming a total waste. It would mean shame, guilt, but also satisfaction. His shaking hands wanted to grip the cold bottle and chug it down.
But Stanley knew he couldn't.
He had promised to his little boy, the light and love of his life. His lips hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since he became his daddy, promising him to never harm either of them.
But it was just so tempting, to give in and pour the bittersweet drink down his throat, gulp it down like a famished animal.
"Fuck it," he thought, reaching for it. Jus tas he was about to tilt his head back, a small voice, the voice of a punished angel stopped him.
"D-Daddy?" The angel whispered, a slim, small boy entering the room, holding a stuffed bunny.
Stanley's heart raced, ashamed of himself, of how weak he was acting. He had almost lost everything just because he was too weak, because of selfish reasons.
"Baby boy, go back to bed." Bill shook his head, his curls flinging from side to side as he approached his daddy. "M-My bummie huwt. S-Sowwy for being bad today." His eyes snapped to the bottle, making him take a step back.
"D-Daddy..." He whispered, hurt. "D-Did you...?"
"No. I didn't. But I want to. So, so bad." Bill didn't say anything for a while, staring at the poisonous, addictive bottle. "If you d-do it, daddy, you w-will regret it l-later," he tried to reason with Stan, almost begging him to chug it down the drain.
"I know, Bill. It's just that... it hurts so much." Bill sat down next to him, taking one of his hands. "D-Do you know w-what happens w-when d-daddies love alcohol more than their b-babies?" Stan watched as Bill turned to his side, lifting the sleeves of his cute pajamas, uncovering deep cut that seemed unable to heal.
"P-Patrick said he would s-stop, daddy. Just like you p-promised me. H-He said that h-he wouldn't d-do it, but l-lost he himself. I-I was a bad boy and g-got punished... hurt really bad. He flung the b-bottle at me, daddy."
Stan's heart dropped as he stared at the bottle in horror, imagining the horrible things alcohol does to people, especially when drunk irresponsibly. "Daddy... p-please don't do it, d-daddy. Don't h-hurt me as h-he did."
Bill's ocean eyes had filled with tears as he begged to be taken care of. Stan stood up, grabbing the bottle with him, "Want to help me, precious?" Bill nodded, scrambling to his feet to help his daddy. Together, they chugged the bottle down the drain, Stan feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
"I'm never going to hurt you, Bill. Never, you hear me? I love you so god damn much. I might punish you, but you decide the severity. You control our scenes and punishments, and you can stop everything with just your safeword. I love you, baby boy."
Bill grinned, running to his daddy and hugging him, "Wuv you too!" Stan pulled away, pecked his soft lips, "Now, what did you say about your bum?" "Wan cream, daddy. Huwts." "My sweet baby's in pain? We can't have that. Let's go and fix it, prince."
He took Bill's hand in his, the two walking back to their bedroom.