Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The silence of the Natural History Museum after midnight was special. Not dead, but alive. The rustling of exhibits, the distant cries from the diorama room, the creaking of the parquet under Attila's heavy steps - all this created its own magical world. But for the tiny cowboy Jedidiah, this world found a true center of gravity in the person of night security guard Larry Daley.
Larry was a whole universe for Jed. A mountain of warm flesh, a reliable rock, the most amazing attraction. Jed could ride for hours in his broad palm, feeling every muscle of the giant move under him. He could settle down to sleep in the pocket of his shirt, lulled by the measured breathing and beating of his big heart. But his favorite place was Larry's chest. There, with his cheek pressed against the soft fabric, Jed felt completely safe. His tiny fingers, almost weightless for Larry, tenaciously dug into the shirt, as if afraid that this miracle would disappear.
"Oh, Gigantor, what a pity I'm not as big as you!" sighed Jed, sitting on Larry's shoulder. There was no envy in his voice, but a touching, almost childish sadness at the unattainable scale.
At first, Larry simply smiled, stroking the tiny back with his thumb. But in recent nights, Jed's affection had taken on a new, disturbing dimension. The cowboy had become literally fawning. He would settle on Larry's chest longer than usual, his fingers not just clinging but massaging the fabric. He would ask Larry to stroke his tummy, a light flick of his index finger covering most of his lower half. Or he would turn his back, purring:
- And here, Gigantor, rub your finger, the back of the saddle is numb...
Larry obediently ran the pad of his finger along the tiny back, feeling the matchstick-thin ribs and tense muscles beneath. Embarrassment snowballed inside him. This was… too personal. Too tender.
One day, when Jed was nestled in his breast pocket, humming to himself, Larry couldn't stand it any longer. He carefully lifted the cowboy out, sat him on his open palm, and held him up to his face. His own features looked like huge rocks to Jed up close.
"Jed..." Larry began, his voice a little hoarse with unaccustomed seriousness. "Why are you spending time with me and not Octavius? He... he missed you. Look.
Larry turned his palm toward the Roman diorama. There, against the backdrop of a miniature Colosseum, stood Octavius. His posture was unnaturally straight, his gaze directed somewhere into the distance, at the blank wall of the museum. Such a deep, almost childish sadness was written on his small face that Larry's heart sank.
Jed looked at his Roman friend. A shadow of regret crossed his face. But he turned back to Larry, and his eyes, bright as turquoise in the desert sun, shone with new intensity. He stepped toward the guard's huge face, wrapped his index finger around it with all his might, and pressed his cheek against it.
“He’s my friend, Gigantor. But you… you’re my attraction,” Jed whispered, and his voice was filled with genuine tenderness and some special, chosen affection. “My big, warm, reliable…”
Larry found nothing to say. Embarrassment mixed with some warm, aching feeling that he was afraid to name.
The silence of the guards' quarters after midnight was even deeper than in the halls. There was no sound of Rex or Hatshepsut, only the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Larry sat in his worn chair, and Jedidiah lay in his broad, warm palm. The cowboy was relaxed, almost sleepy, his small body perfectly positioned on the big man's lifeline.
Larry looked at him. At the twig-thin legs in their boots, at the neat vest, at the funny hat slightly askew. But most of all he looked at Jed's hand, resting on top of his own thumb. The cowboy's palm was the size of Larry's fingernail. The guard carefully, with incredible tenderness, lifted the index and middle fingers of his free hand and closed them around Jed's tiny hand. His own fingers were like a vice, but the pressure was barely noticeable, more like a light, enveloping warmth. He felt the tiny bones under the pads and the barely noticeable pulsation of blood.
"Jeddy," Larry whispered, the pet name spilling out of his mouth with an unfamiliar tenderness. "Let me see..."
He gently released his fingers, releasing the tiny hand. His gaze was drawn to Jed's thin, graceful fingers, so fragile and expressive at the same time.
“Take off your gloves, Jeddy,” Larry said, his voice low, almost velvety.
Jed looked at him. There was no fear or resistance in his eyes, only trust and a kind of feverish curiosity. He nodded and, with practiced skill, pulled off first one leather glove, then the other. His hands were exposed - pale, almost transparent in the dim light of the utility room lamp, with thin fingers and clearly defined veins. Delicate as petals.
Larry held his breath. He slowly brought Jed's hand closer to his face. Then, without taking his eyes off the tiny hands, he leaned down and brushed his lips over first one of Jed's palms. The skin was incredibly soft and warm. Then the other. His kisses were light, like the touch of a butterfly, but Jed shuddered, a small shudder running through him. Not fear. Excitement.
Then Larry looked up. Their eyes met, Larry's huge, warm brown nuts and Jed's bright, burning blue dots. The distance between their faces was inches. The giant slowly, with infinite care, brought his lips to the cowboy's tiny face. He saw Jed's pupils dilate, his eyelashes flutter. Larry touched his lips to Jed's. It was incredible, the feel of such tiny, yet so real lips. A gentle, almost imperceptible pressure, a flash of warmth. The kiss lasted a moment, but it seemed an eternity, filled with the hum of blood in his temples and the wild beating of two hearts, one huge and one tiny.
Jed leaned back against Larry's palm, his chest rising and falling. There was something new in his eyes—not just trust or amusement, but a new, conscious desire.
“Larry…” he breathed out, his voice sounding hoarse.
Larry couldn't take his eyes off him. A wave of tenderness and some crazy, forbidden attraction washed over him. He knew it was crazy. That Jed was a living wax figure. That the difference in size was insurmountable. But the feelings seething inside him were stronger than logic.
“Jeddy…” His own voice was strange, muffled by the emotion that had washed over him. “I want… to see you. All of you. Take it off… take it all off, if you can. If you want.”
The request hung in the air of the back room, bold, almost unreal. Larry waited, holding his breath, ready for a refusal, for a chuckle, for anything. But Jed was looking at him. There was no fear or mockery in his blue eyes. There was trust and the same strange, inexplicable longing that had ignited in them after the kiss. Slowly, without taking his eyes off Larry's huge, close ones, Jedidiah began to unbutton his vest.
The ticking of the clock in the back room suddenly became deafeningly loud. The air thickened, charged with the electricity of unspoken desire and fragile hope. Larry froze, not daring to breathe. His huge palm, where Jeddy rested, was warm, almost hot, beneath the tiny body.
Jed did not answer with words. The answer was the movement of his tiny hands. The fingers, freshly freed from gloves and caressed by the lips of a giant, trembled. They reached for the first button of his leather vest. The movement was cautious, almost timid, but determined. The button, the size of a tiny pearl to Larry, gave way easily. Then a second. A third.
Larry watched, fascinated. Every movement of Jeddy's seemed to him incredibly significant, filled with deep trust. He saw how the thin shirt of rough but soft-looking material was revealed under the unbuttoned vest. He saw how the tiny chest rose and fell beneath it.
Jeddy paused, his gaze meeting Larry's again. There was no fear in the cowboy's blue eyes, but a shadow of doubt, of modesty, mixed with the same burning curiosity. He slowly pulled the vest off his narrow shoulders and laid it aside in Larry's palm. Now his entire upper half was visible, in a plain shirt, emphasizing the frailty of his frame.
"Keep going, Jeddy," Larry whispered, his voice like the wind in a canyon to the little cowboy. "You're incredible..."
Encouraged, Jeddy nodded. His fingers went to his belt. The leather strap with the tiny buckle was undone with a quick, practiced movement. Then he began to unbutton his pants. Larry saw a slight tremor run through Jeddy's arms, but he did not stop. The pants were pulled down along with his long johns, revealing thin, pale legs. Jeddy quickly kicked off his boots, and there he was standing in Larry's warm palm, wearing only his short shirt, barely covering his most intimate parts.
The last stand. Jeddy grabbed the hem of his shirt. His fingers trembled again. He took a deep breath, as if about to dive into the depths, and in one swift movement pulled the shirt over his head. He tossed it with the rest of his clothes.
He stood before Larry, completely naked. Tiny, fragile as a porcelain figurine, but alive, breathing, his skin shimmering like mother-of-pearl in the dim lamplight. His body was graceful, almost androgynous—narrow shoulders, a thin waist, a smooth chest devoid of hair. Larry could see every detail: the thin collarbones, the barely noticeable muscles of his stomach, the curve of his hips. And his male essence—miniature, vulnerable, but clearly aroused by this, by the intense, fiery gaze of the giant.
"Oh God," Larry said, a strangled whisper of awe and uncontrollable desire. "Jeddy... you're... perfect..."
He couldn't take his eyes off her. The feeling was overwhelming, almost painful in its intensity. The rough, clumsy guard and this unearthly fragility in his hand. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly, as if his breath might cause Jeddy to crumble.
Jeddy stood, slightly hunched over, trying to cover himself with his hands. His cheeks were bright red, but he did not take his eyes off Larry's face. In his eyes was a mixture of shame, pride and a silent question: Well? What now?
Larry slowly, with infinite care, lifted the index finger of his free hand. He brought it close to where Jeddy stood on the palm. The pad of his finger was enormous compared to his tiny body. He saw Jeddy tense up, but he did not flinch. Larry touched his finger first to Jeddy's shoulder. It was the lightest touch, barely noticeable, but the cowboy's whole body shuddered. The skin beneath Larry's finger was incredibly smooth and hot.
The finger slid down the slender arm, barely touching. Then up to the neck, to the corner of the jaw. Larry could feel the wild pulse beneath the pad, beating in the tiny neck. He touched the corner of Jeddie's lips, repeating the path of his kiss, but this time skin to skin. Each touch was an exploration, a worship, a transmission of ineffable tenderness and a burgeoning volcanic desire that Larry was desperately trying to contain.
The finger moved lower, slid along the collarbone, barely touched the flat of the nipple. Jeddy gasped, short and sharp, and his body arched into the touch. Larry repeated the motion, a little harder, in a circle. He watched the tiny nipple swell, tighten. The finger continued down the center of the chest, to the flat of the stomach. It slid along the soft skin, causing goosebumps to rise up and down Jeddy's body. The cowboy closed his eyes, his lips parting in a silent moan.
Larry froze, his finger hovering just below her navel. He looked at the quivering, naked creature in his palm, at its obvious arousal, at the trust and desire in its eyes. The line was so thin… so dangerous.
"May I?" Larry whispered, his finger hovering millimeters from Jeddie's most vulnerable spot. The question hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. He was asking permission not just to touch, but to cross the final line in this wild, tender dance of disproportion. His heart was pounding so hard, he thought Jeddie should hear it.
Jeddy opened his eyes. There was no fear in them. There was trust, shame, and a genuine, burning need. He nodded slowly, almost solemnly. And then, overcoming his trembling, he stepped forward to meet Larry's enormous finger, clasping its base with his tiny hands, as if trying to embrace something immense. That movement, that silent invitation, was the last straw for Larry. With a soft groan, a mixture of delight and almost pain, he allowed the pad of his finger to touch the very center of the flame burning in his palm, gently, impossibly carefully.
The touch was… incomprehensible. Enormous, warm, incredibly soft. The pad of Larry's finger, almost as big as he was, rested on the most intimate place, on that center of heat and strange, frightening pulsation that flared up in the lower part of his belly. Jeddy cried out, a short, caught sound, more like a bird.
"What... what is this?"
It didn't hurt. Quite the opposite. A wave of heat, sharp and sweet, surged from the point of contact, spreading over his tiny thighs, his belly, hitting the very tips of his toes. His body arched in on itself, like a bowstring, and he unconsciously pressed himself against the warm, living wall of Larry's finger, his hands tightening around the base. His head fell back, his eyes rolled back under his lids.
"S-so," Larry whispered, his breath coming in short, hot breaths, blowing over Jeddie like a desert wind. He began to move his finger. Gently. Microscopically. Making tiny circles, barely noticeable to him, but to Jeddie it was an earthquake.
Every movement was a challenge. An unprecedented, unthinkable challenge to everything Jeddy knew about his body. It reacted wildly, uncontrollably. Where the giant's finger touched, heat arose, turning into a searing, almost unbearable sensitivity. The pulsation grew, becoming the center of his universe, displacing thought, shame, the museum, everything. It was as if every nerve in his small body had converged on that one point, turning into a fiery knot that Larry was carefully but inexorably untying.
— L-Lar… ri… — the name escaped his lips in a groan, broken and high. His fingers dug into the giant’s skin, clinging to life, to support in this raging sea of new sensations. His body shook with a fine tremor, like a leaf in the wind. He did not understand where this was leading. He did not know the word “arousal”, did not know about “points”. For him, this was a pure, unfiltered sensory explosion - blinding, deafening, frightening in its uncontrollable power.
Larry saw everything. He saw the tiny body trembling in his palm, the skin blushing and covered in a light, pearly sweat. He saw it tense up, looking for support. He heard those muffled, innocent moans. His own desire was burning, but it was mixed with a sharp tenderness and aching pity for this fragility that had trusted him completely. He slowed his movements, made them even more tender, even more purposeful, concentrating on the most sensitive point that he intuitively found under the pad of his finger.
“It’s okay, Jeddy,” he whispered, his voice booming like distant thunder. “Let go… Just feel…”
But it was impossible to let go. The tension grew, like a taut string. It filled Jeddie completely, forcing the air out of his lungs. The world narrowed to the burning warmth beneath Larry's finger and the booming beat of his own heart, echoing in his temples. He felt something inescapable, something huge, creeping up on him from within. Unknown. Frightening.
And it came.
Suddenly, like lightning in a clear sky. A wave of incredible, pure, blinding energy exploded from his very center, flooding everything. It was an explosion. A cascade of sparks behind him, a white noise in his ears, the sensation of falling and flying at the same time. His body straightened to attention, froze for a moment in a silent scream, and then shuddered in a series of short, uncontrollable spasms. Something warm and sticky spilled out of him, a barely perceptible spot on Larry's palm.
And then… there was emptiness. Deafening. Icy.
Ecstasy gave way to pure, animal horror.
"What was that? What did I do? What did they DO to me?"
The sense of loss of control was absolute. His body, his small, understandable world, everything had turned upside down. He had just been at the peak of an unknown bliss, and now he felt broken, empty, defiled by this incomprehensible force. Shame, burning and all-consuming, covered him completely, stronger than any fear of Attila or the gorilla.
The groan caught in his throat. All his muscles contracted into one tiny, tight lump. He recoiled from Larry's finger as if from a hot iron and fell sideways onto the warm palm, his knees drawn up to his chin, his face covered with his hands. The trembling came over him with renewed vigor - not from pleasure this time, but from a freezing fear and shame. His shoulders twitched slightly.
“N-no…” he said, muffled and suppressed. “No… no… no…” It was not Larry’s denial, but a denial of himself, of this strange, frightening creature he had become in those moments. His little world, where he had been the cowboy Jedidiah, where there had been the simple joys of riding on a palm and sleeping on a giant’s chest, had collapsed. All that remained was this strange, terrible aftertaste and the chilling fear of what he had just experienced, and of the huge man in whose palm he lay, defenseless and crushed by his own sensations.
Larry froze. The thrill of bringing Jeddy to climax was replaced by a sharp sense of unease. He saw the tiny body curl into a frightened ball, the way it trembled without ceasing. He heard those muffled, frightened "no's." The realization came with icy clarity: this was Jeddy's first time. And he wasn't ready for this. Not at all.
“Jeddy…” His voice wavered, full of remorse and tenderness. He removed his finger, like removing a hot coal. His palm remained motionless, warm and reliable, but he was afraid to touch again. “Jeddy, I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I’m here. It’s over. You’re safe. I’m here…”
He looked at the trembling bundle in his hand, at his whole little, upside-down world. Larry's heart sank with pain and infinite tenderness. He knew he had crossed a line that Jeddy could not even suspect. And now he had to somehow put those fragile fragments of trust back together, if that was even possible. The ticking of the clock in the utility room now sounded like a countdown after a catastrophe.
The shaking didn't stop. It shook Jeddy, a small, uncontrollable shudder, shaking his tiny body, curled into the tightest ball in Larry's warm palm. Tears flowed in streams, hot and salty, mixing with the sweat on his cheeks, dripping onto the giant's skin. He wasn't sobbing loudly - his cries were quiet, desperate sobs, the sound of a deeply wounded, confused creature.
“No… no…” he whispered over and over, like a spell that would erase what had just happened. But it couldn’t. The physical sensation was too obvious, too dirty. The stickiness in his lower belly, on the inside of his thighs, a strange, foreign, disgusting fluid that his body had somehow produced. He could feel it, cold against his own skin, and the feeling brought on a new wave of nausea and shame. He had done something wrong. Something terrible and unnatural. His body had betrayed him, spilling this shameful secret all over Larry’s hand, on his big, safe ride that had suddenly become a source of incomprehensible horror.
Larry sat paralyzed with guilt and helplessness. His heart was breaking at the sight of this miniature misery. He carefully, with infinite tenderness, raised his hand a little higher so that Jeddy was right in front of his face. Giant eyes, wet with his own unshed tears, looked at the trembling bundle.
"Jeddy..." His voice was quiet, like the rustling of papers in the silence of the halls. "Jeddy, look at me. Please."
The cowboy only pressed his face deeper into his knees, his shoulders twitching convulsively. Shame was a wall of fire between them.
“I’m sorry, baby…” Larry exhaled barely audibly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Never. I… I didn’t think…”
This phrase, full of sincere remorse, seemed to loosen the grip of panic a little. Slowly, as if with great effort, Jeddy tore his face from his knees. His eyes, red with tears, blue pools of pain and fear, met Larry's huge brown nuts. In them was a silent, painful question that he could not formulate in words.
“Wh… what?” he finally managed, his voice broken and hoarse from sobbing. “What… was… that?” Each word was difficult to utter, as if he were asking about the nature of a black hole or the meaning of life. He pointed a trembling finger at himself, at the dirty spot, his face twisted in disgust and utter incomprehension. “This… dirt? This… explosion? What did I do?”
Larry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. How to explain the inexplicable to such a tiny, innocent creature? How to explain the physiology of pleasure to someone for whom the body was simply a tool for rolling around dioramas and sitting on shoulders?
“It’s… it’s called an orgasm, Jeddy,” he began carefully, choosing the simplest words. His own cheeks were burning. “It’s… like a really strong wave of pleasure. Really strong. It comes… and the body… reacts. It throws out fluid. This one.” He nodded toward the stained area, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “It’s… normal. It happens to all men. Big ones and… little ones. When they really, really enjoy it. When they’re touched… there.”
Jeddy stared at him, his tears stopping for a moment, replaced by pure amazement. Orgasm. The word sounded strange, almost ominous. Normal? What he had just experienced—this blinding terror, this loss of self—was normal? And the sticky “sludge” was just… fluid? Like saliva? His brain was desperately trying to process the information, but the shame and physical discomfort were stronger.
“But… but I’m… dirty…” he whispered, looking at himself with disgust again. Tears welled up in his eyes again. He felt disgraced, spoiled.
"No, Jeddy, no!" Larry hastened to reassure him, his voice firmer, more confident. "You're not dirty. You just need to... wash. Look here."
He slowly, giving Jeddy time to pull away if he wanted, lowered his palm to the table. With his free hand, he reached for the box of hand wipes he always kept in the pantry. He pulled one out. To him, it was small and thin. To Jeddy, it was the size of a small towel.
"I'm just gonna… wipe it down. Really gently. Okay?" Larry looked at Jeddy, waiting for permission, a nod, any sign.
Jeddy, still shaking but somewhat reassured by the firmness in the giant's voice, nodded timidly. He closed his eyes, drawing his knees up again, but not as tightly, allowing Larry access to his filthy body.
Larry unfolded the napkin. He tore off a tiny piece, about the size of Jeddy's pinky fingernail. It was more than enough. After wetting it further with the main napkin (so it wouldn't be too rough), he brought the microscopic wet lump closer to Jeddy. His fingertips were incredibly precise and gentle.
He started with her tummy. Light, barely touching movements removed traces. Jeddy winced at each touch of cool wetness, but did not resist. Then Larry moved lower. He worked with surgical care, afraid to cause the slightest pain or discomfort. He wiped the delicate skin of her inner thighs, the most vulnerable area. The cloth absorbed the stickiness, cleaning the skin.
But Jeddy began to cry again. Quietly, hopelessly. These were not sobs of fear, but tears of deep embarrassment, helplessness, and residual shame. He lay in Larry's palm, allowing this enormous creature to perform this most intimate of procedures, and he felt completely lost, stripped naked not only physically but emotionally. His little world, a world of simple joys and friendly affection, had been destroyed by this strange, frightening "orgasm" and the humiliating cleansing that followed.
“It’s all… almost all, Jeddie,” Larry whispered, removing the used tissue. He saw new tears and felt his heart squeeze even harder. Cleaning his body was easier than soothing the shame and fear in those blue eyes. He didn’t know what to say. How to regain trust? How to prove that what had happened wasn’t a mistake or an abomination, but simply… a new, complicated facet of life that Jeddie had never known?
Carefully, like a precious relic, he brought the hand with the crying cowboy to his chest. There, where Jeddy had once found peace and safety. There, where the giant's booming, warm heart beat with a steady, soothing rhythm.
“Sleep, baby,” Larry whispered, barely audible, stroking the tiny back with his fingertip with a tenderness he was afraid to breathe. “Just sleep. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. And… everything will be okay. I promise.”
The promise hung in the air of the back room, fragile as a spider's web. Jeddie sobbed one last time, his shaking slowly beginning to subside, his exhausted body seeking the comfort of its familiarity. He moved instinctively closer to Larry's warm chest, to the familiar pounding of his heart, but his tiny fingers no longer dug into the fabric with the same carefree strength. They simply lay there, weak and tired. His blue eyes, full of tears and silent questions, finally closed, but there was no peace in them. Only a deep, traumatic weariness that his little universe had suddenly become too big, too complicated, too frightening. Larry looked at him, feeling the weight of responsibility and the sharp edge of doubt: could he ever make his little cowboy happy again?
The ticking of the clock in the utility room gave way to the deep, even breathing of Jeddy, sleeping. He lay curled up on Larry's chest, exhausted from tears and the shock he had experienced. But his sleep was restless. His muscles trembled, his eyelids fluttered, his lips whispered something inaudible. Larry was not asleep. He sat motionless, afraid to move, the palm that covered his tiny figure radiating a steady warmth. His heart was heavy with guilt and helpless tenderness.
Jeddy woke up suddenly, with a quiet sob. His eyes, still wet and swollen from tears, darted around until they found Larry's huge face leaning over him. The look was wild, scared, like a cornered animal's. He immediately tried to shrink, to hide, but the trembling froze his movements.
"Shhh, Jeddy, be quiet..." Larry spoke at once, in the voice of one who coaxes a frightened child. He carefully removed his hand from his chest, holding it horizontally so that Jeddy would not fall. "It's all right. I'm here. Just woken up?"
Jeddy nodded, speechless. He felt the residual stickiness, the ghost of shame, and the chill running down his skin. Larry saw the silent horror. His fingers reached for the clean handkerchief lying on the table. To Jeddy it was a huge, soft sheet. Larry carefully, with incredible tenderness, wrapped it around the shivering cowboy like a blanket, leaving only his head free. The thick cotton fabric warmed him, created a cocoon of safety.
"Like this... warmer?" Larry asked, bringing the hand with the bundled Jeddy closer to his face. Jeddy nodded again, calming down a little. The handkerchief smelled like Larry - museum dust, soap, something reliable and familiar.
And then Larry made his move. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a large, gold-wrapped chocolate candy, one of the ones he kept to cheer himself up on long night shifts. To Jeddy, it was half the size of the couch. Larry deftly unwrapped it, revealing smooth, dark chocolate. And the smell… Sweet, rich, with distinct notes of roasted nuts and caramel. Nougat.
Jeddy's eyes, still full of tears, suddenly widened. He was a sweet-toothed man, and nougat...nougat was his weakness. He involuntarily raised himself on one elbow in his handkerchief cocoon, his tiny nose quivering as he inhaled the enticing aroma. But then his gaze slid from the candy to Larry's face, and the shadow of fear and shame returned. To accept gifts from someone who had done...this to him? His little face became a tragic mask of the struggle between an innate sweet tooth and a deep embarrassment.
“This is for you, Jeddy,” Larry said softly but firmly. He broke off a tiny piece of the chocolate rim, about the size of Jeddy’s fingernail, revealing the creamy golden nougat inside. The aroma intensified. “You like nougat, don’t you? The good, sticky, sweet kind?”
Jeddy couldn't deny it. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, his eyes glued to the shining piece of candy. Larry slowly brought the broken piece closer to him. It was about the size of his head.
"Eat, baby," Larry coaxed, his voice deep, calm, enveloping like a father. "It will help. Sweets always help."
The temptation was too great. Jeddy carefully, as if testing, reached a tiny hand out from under the handkerchief and touched the chocolate. Then he broke off a microscopic crumb of nougat and popped it into his mouth. The taste exploded on his tongue—sweet, nutty, incredible. He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed. Then he broke off another piece. And another. As he ate, he gradually relaxed in his handkerchief nest. The trembling almost subsided.
Larry watched, breathing a sigh of relief. The candy was working. Now he had to talk.
"Jeddy," he began, when the other had already eaten a decent bite. "What happened... what you felt..." He saw the cowboy's shoulders tense again, but he continued to eat, as if seeking support in the sweetness. "It wasn't bad. And you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing at all.
Jeddy looked up at him, his eyes full of question. There was no longer panic in them, but there was confusion.
"You see, kid..." Larry searched for simple words, images. "All men, big and small, have a... special place. Like a little flower, or... like a bag of seeds. Have you seen how flowers release pollen in the spring?"
Jeddy nodded, not looking up from his candy but clearly listening.
— Well, men have these… seeds inside them too. Very important ones. And when a man really enjoys being touched… where that sac is… — Larry pointed his finger carefully in the direction, trying not to scare him — … the body itself decides: “It’s time to release the seeds!” And then this big wave of pleasure rolls over you — an orgasm. And then a white liquid comes out. It’s like… honey from a flower. Not dirt, Jeddy. Not a drop. Just… the essence of a man. That’s how it works. For everyone. For me too. I just have… more, and the wave is stronger.
He paused, letting the words sink in. Jeddy stopped chewing. He looked at Larry, his mind clearly working, processing the strange comparison to flowers and honey. The shame in his eyes began to slowly recede, giving way to timid curiosity and… relief? If this was normal… if it was like this for everyone… then maybe he wasn’t a monster?
"And... and this... orgasm..." Jeddy said the word carefully, as if tasting it. "Is it... always this scary?"
Larry smiled softly.
— No, baby. The first time… it’s always unexpected. Like jumping into cold water. Scary. But then… when you know what it is… it just becomes really, really nice. Like the sweetest candy inside. — He tapped his fingernail on the huge nougat in his hand.
Jeddy looked at the candy, then at Larry. A tiny spark of trust had lit in his blue eyes, almost gone out. He reached out, not for the candy, but to touch the tip of Larry's huge finger, lying in his palm next to him. A light, apologetic touch.
The Roman diorama was deathly silent, broken only by the distant sounds of the museum. Octavius Augustus, Emperor, Pontifex Maximus, Defender of the Fatherland, sat on the edge of his miniature marble bed in his private chambers. His posture was not imperial – his back was hunched, his elbows rested on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. His majestic purple tunic was rumpled, its folds clutched in his tiny, white-fingered fingers.
He did not cry. His grief was deeper, quieter, more desperate. He saw. He saw how his Jedidiah, his mischievous, fearless cowboy, increasingly sought the company of this awkward giant of a guard. He saw how he slept on his chest, how he allowed himself to be stroked… He saw Jed’s look yesterday - full of tenderness for Larry and only a fleeting pity for him, Octavius. And the worst thing - he saw how Larry carried Jed into his utility room, and they did not come out for a very long time.
"What were they doing there? What had he allowed that giant to do to his small, fragile friend?" Octavius's thoughts tore at him from the inside. Jealousy, sharp and poisonous, mingled with helplessness. What could he do against them? His miniature army? His oratory skills in the face of such… such raw, all-consuming physical intimacy?
He raised his head. His eyes, usually full of majesty and intelligence, were empty, lost. He stared not at the majestic frescoes of his chambers, but at the blank, dark wall of the museum beyond the diorama. His gaze was childishly lost. It contained the muteness of a question that had no answer: “Why not me? What did I do wrong?”
His fingers dug into the expensive fabric of his tunic again, crushing the purple as if trying to hold on to the crumbling world. A world that no longer had his Jedidiah at its center. And in the back room, wrapped in the smell of chocolate and nougat, wrapped in a warm shawl, the little cowboy carefully, in tiny sips, restored his trust in his giant, while his Roman emperor stared into the void, torn between greatness and excruciating, uncontrollable human pain.
The sweet taste of nougat, the warmth of the kerchief enveloping him like a hug, and Larry's deep, calm voice explaining strange things about flowers and honey—all of it slowly eroded the icy wall of fear and shame inside Jeddy. The image was unexpected, even funny, but… understandable. A flower. A sack of seeds. Pollen. Honey. Not dirt. Not filth. Just… nature. His nature.
He glanced down, stealthily, to where his most intimate place was hidden under the kerchief. And imagined it. A small, delicate flower. Maybe like a bellflower? Or like a cornflower? The one he had once seen in a prairie diorama. A flower that holds something important, something alive. And when it feels very good, very pleasant… it releases its pollen. Like that flower in the wind.
"Pollen... not dirt."
An unexpected smile, timid as the first ray of sunshine after a storm, touched his lips. He even snorted softly. What a stupid, but… sweet fantasy! That huge Gigantor, Larry, compared it to a flower!
Larry saw the smile. His own tense face softened, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"What, Jeddy? Is the nougat good?" he asked, trying to sound light.
But Jeddy's smile froze and melted away like smoke. New thoughts, sharp and heavy as stones, crashed down on him. He put down the tiny piece of nougat he was holding.
"Flower... Touch... Wave of pleasure..."
The memories came flooding back, not as blinding horror but as a clear picture. His own actions. His choices.
He was the first to fall asleep on Larry's chest, clutching his shirt. He asked to stroke his tummy, massage his back. He caressed like a kitten. He smiled and turned away from the sad Octavius, preferring the "attraction". He agreed to take off his gloves. He allowed himself to be kissed. He stood before Larry naked, trusting and curious. He nodded, allowing him to touch... there. He stepped towards the giant's finger!
A wave of guilt, far deeper and more bitter than the previous shame, washed over him. He was not an innocent victim. He was… an accomplice. He wanted this. Wanted this touch, this attention, this strange closeness to the vast, warm world called Larry. His body responded, burned, sought more – and he let it. More than that – he pushed it!
“I…” Jeddy’s voice broke, became thin and guilty. He couldn’t look at Larry. His gaze fell on the crumpled handkerchief, on his tiny hands. “I… I was trying to get to you. I… undressed. I allowed…” He couldn’t finish. Heat spread across his cheeks. The shame was different now – not for his body, but for his impudence, for his ignorance, which had led to such an explosion of feelings and the subsequent fear. For the fact that he, like a stupid moth, flew to a flame, not understanding its power.
Larry understood instantly. He saw the hunched shoulders, the drooping head. Guilt.
“Jeddy, no…” He carefully brought his hand closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing! You were just… exploring. Feeling. Looking for closeness. It’s… natural. Especially if you like someone.” He said the last words more quietly, with some awkwardness. “And I… I liked that you wanted to be close to me. That you trusted me. I… I wanted that, too. But I shouldn’t have gone so far, so fast. It’s my fault. My fault that you were scared.
Jeddy looked up at him, guilt, shame and a question mixed in his eyes: "What about Octavius?" After all, it was his rejected sadness that had become the first alarm bell, which Jeddy had ignored, smiling and hugging his "Gigantor".
The darkness in the Roman diorama thickened, and only the faint reflection of the museum's night lights fell on Octavius's figure. He was no longer looking at the wall. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, and his shoulders were shaking quietly. The majestic pose had finally collapsed. The tears that he was ashamed of as unworthy of an emperor rolled down his cheeks, leaving wet tracks on the marble dust of his face. He made no sound - his grief was silent and therefore even more bitter.
His fingers no longer clutched his tunic. They lay limply in his lap, tiny fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He thought of Jed. Of his laughter, of his wild rides through the dioramas, of those rare evenings when they would sit together by a miniature campfire in a cowboy town, and Jed would tell him, the vast world of Rome, of the endless prairies. Of the trust in his blue eyes, now seemingly irrevocably given to another. To another who could give what Octavius could not—physical closeness, the warmth of a huge body, a palm in which he could fit entirely.
He pictured them in the back room. Larry, huge, clumsy, but gentle. And Jed… his Jed… small, trusting, surrendering to these touches. What were they doing? What had he let that giant do? Jealousy burned inside him, sharper than any sword. He felt not like an emperor, but a pitiful, helpless dwarf in the face of the simple, brutal force of attraction between body and body. A force before which his greatness, his mind, his history, were dust.
He fell sideways onto the cold marble couch, curled up like a wounded bird. The tears flowed unceasingly, soaking the expensive purple fabric. He fought his feelings—his hurt, his anger at Larry, at Jed, but most of all, at himself. At his weakness. At his inability to be what was needed. At this unbearable, silent agony at the heart of his miniature empire, while his world crumbled without a sound of battle. And in the back room, in the giant's warm palm, the little cowboy, burdened with new, adult guilt, searched for answers in Larry's brown eyes, not knowing how to look his Roman friend in the eyes now. The flower in his imagination drooped slightly, acutely aware of the shadow he had cast on someone else's heart.
Jeddy's quiet sob broke off, a lump of guilt lodged in his throat. He buried his nose in the soft fold of the handkerchief, smelling of Larry, dust and... safety, which now seemed so unreliable. His own body - this strange creature that had betrayed him in a moment of bliss and horror - suddenly became an alien, incomprehensible battlefield.
“I… I didn’t know, Larry,” he whispered so quietly that the giant had to lean closer. His voice was full of confusion. “That… it could… do that. That it was… a flower. That it was… honey inside.” He swallowed, feeling the heat in his cheeks again. “I just… lived. Jumped. Slept. Teased Attila. And… that’s it. Never… touched myself. There.”
Larry froze. His brain, which had just been constructing tender explanations about flowers and pollen, seemed to stumble over that simple phrase. Never touched? It seemed… unthinkable. Even for a tiny wax cowboy with a nightlife.
"But... Jeddy," Larry began carefully, his eyebrows rising behind his glasses. "When you... well... pee?" He paused, searching for the most neutral words for the delicate physiology. "You hold... your... well... flower, right? To direct the stream? That's what all men do.
There was a silence. Jeddy lifted his head from the kerchief. His blue eyes, still wet, were round to incredible sizes. His face reflected pure, unadulterated amazement. As if Larry had just informed him that the moon was made of cheese.
— H-hold it? — he asked again, his voice rising an octave. He looked down at his bundled body, then back up at Larry’s giant face, full of genuine bewilderment. — Why?! I just… turn away. I squat down by a bush or behind a rock. And… that’s it. The stream goes where it needs to go!
Now Larry was completely stupefied. He stared at the tiny figure in his palm, trying to picture it. Jeddy. Tiny. Turning away. Squatting. And… the process happens by itself, without the use of hands. His head, accustomed to human anatomy and its simple manipulations, could not comprehend this. “HOW? Like a stream… just knows where to go? Without… control?”
"Are you… serious?" he finally managed, his scientific worldview cracking. "You just… sit down and… that's it? Without… using your hands?"
- Well, yeah! - Jeddy spread his tiny hands, his fear and guilt momentarily receding in the face of the absurdity of the situation and the giant's complete incomprehension. - How else? With your hands... it's inconvenient! And why? It itself! - He even became slightly indignant. For him, it was as natural as breathing.
Larry continued to watch. Silently. His lips twitched. Then again. And suddenly—a strange sound came from his chest. Something between a wheeze and a snort. Then another. And now he was laughing. Quietly at first, holding back, then louder. Not mockingly, but from pure, ridiculous amazement and sudden release of tension. He was laughing at his own stupidity, at the way he had automatically attributed human habits to Jeddy, at this ridiculous, disproportionate difference in the most basic experience.
- S-same thing! - he exhaled through his laughter, wiping away a tear that had suddenly welled up. - You have it...same thing! Oh, Jeddy...
Jeddy frowned at first, offended. But the sight of the huge, embarrassed, and suddenly laughing giant, shaking so much that he was rocking on the palm of his hand, was so unexpected and… infectious. A timid smile touched his lips. Then he snorted. And now they were laughing together – the giant with his booming bass and the tiny cowboy with his squeaky chuckle. Laughing at the absurdity, at the misunderstanding, at this huge gap between their worlds, which had just seemed so tragic.
But when the laughter died down, a new wave of uncertainty took its place. Jeddy looked at Larry with sudden alarm.
— And… is that normal? — he asked quietly, touching himself again through the handkerchief. — That I… don’t touch? That I… am like that? Is that… right? Or am I… not like that?
Larry's smile stopped immediately. He saw the fear in those blue eyes—the fear of being abnormal, of being inadequate in something so basic. He carefully wrapped his fingers around Jeddy's bundled form, creating a soft, protective cocoon.
“Jeddy, listen to me,” he said very seriously, looking straight into the tiny eyes. “Your body is yours. It’s unique. It’s not big like mine. It’s small, special. And if it works in a way that makes it comfortable for you to just… turn away, then that’s right for you. For your size, for your… design.” He searched for words. “There’s no one ‘right’ way for everyone. There’s just what works for you. And if your ‘flower’ knows where to direct the rain…” Larry smiled slightly, “…that’s wonderful! It means it’s a smart flower. And that’s perfectly normal. Got it?”
Jeddy looked at him, taking the words in. The fear in his eyes gradually faded, giving way to timid relief and… curiosity. He nodded cautiously.
“Smart… flower?” he whispered, and a shadow of that childish smile that had been there before the guilt and shame flashed in his voice again.
“The smartest,” Larry confirmed firmly, stroking the tiny back with his fingertip through the handkerchief. His heart sank with tenderness and a strange sense of responsibility for this fragile, confused creature discovering not only orgasm but the basic differences of her existence. And in the Roman diorama, Octavius, hearing the muffled hum of Larry’s laughter and the thin, familiar chuckle of Jeddy, clutched the edge of the marble couch with his fingers until his knuckles turned white. The sound of their shared mirth rang out in his quiet, dark grief like a final, unbearable confirmation that his little world, his Jedidiah, belonged to another. And that hurt more than any battle.
Larry's words - "smart little flower" - hung in the warm air of the back room, strange and comforting. Jeddy sat, wrapped in a shawl, on a huge palm, and his blue eyes, no longer tearful but still full of childish uncertainty, studied the giant's face. "Normal." "Unique." "Yours." These words slowly settled in his troubled consciousness, like dust after a thunderstorm. The fear of being "different" began to recede, giving way to a timid curiosity about this very self, about this... flower.
Larry saw the shift. He saw Jeddie's eyes lose their panicked edge, turning thoughtful. He continued to stroke the tiny back gently through the cloth of the scarf, rhythmically, soothingly. The ticking of the clock became a background noise again, not a countdown to disaster.
“You…” Jeddy began, his voice still quiet but no longer shaking. He looked down at the folds of his scarf covering his body. “You said… that when you know it’s an… orgasm… it feels good? Not scary?”
Larry nodded, trying to keep his tone calm and confident.
- Yes, Jeddy. Like everything new. At first it's scary, and then... you get used to it. And you begin to understand what your body wants. How it feels good.
Jeddy thought about it. His tiny eyebrows drew together. He pictured his "smart flower" again. Delicate, fragile. Holding seeds. And... capable of such a storm? A wave of warmth, sweetness... and that strange release of "honey"? He suddenly felt a slight, almost imperceptible warmth in his lower abdomen, an echo of those recent sensations, but without panic. Just... a hint. A memory.
“And… what if…” he paused, biting his lower lip. Shyness washed over him again. “If I… myself? Touch? There? To… understand? Without fear?” He said it so quietly that Larry barely heard. His cheeks were burning.
Larry felt his own heart skip a beat. The question was so intimate, so vulnerable. He saw in those eyes not lust, but pure, childish, exploratory curiosity, mixed with a desire to overcome fear. He was no longer an object of desire for Geddie, but a guide, a confidant in this new, unfamiliar world of his own flesh.
“You can, Jeddy,” he said softly but firmly. His finger stopped on the back. “If you want. Very gently. Just… touch. See what it feels like. There’s no rush. Nothing has to happen. Just… recognition.”
Jeddy took a deep breath. He looked at Larry, searching his brown eyes for confirmation, permission, safety. Saw it all. Then, with a determination that surprised even himself, he slowly pulled one hand out from under the handkerchief. It was shaking. He looked back at Larry, who nodded encouragingly.
Slowly, as if afraid of getting burned, Jeddy lowered his tiny hand down, under the warming fabric of the scarf. He felt the smooth skin of his thigh, then his tummy. His heart was pounding like crazy. He closed his eyes for a second, gathered his courage, and… touched.
Not the very center. Not yet. He touched the skin next to it. Warmth. Softness. Nothing to worry about. He moved his finger a little closer. The sensation became… different. More sensitive. A slight tingling. He repeated the movement. And again. Each touch was a careful, almost timid exploration. He wasn’t thinking about orgasm, about “honey.” He just felt. The texture of his skin. Its response to his touch.
Larry watched, holding his breath. He saw Jeddy's face tighten, his lips part slightly. He saw the slight tremor in his hand, not from fear but from concentration. It was a sacred act. A revelation of himself. He dared not move, afraid to disturb the fragile moment.
Jeddy finally slid his fingertip over the most tender spot. Lightly. Once. Then again. It was… strange. Not painful. Not scary. Just… new. Very sensitive. Like touching the petal of the most delicate flower. The warmth inside grew, a soft, pleasant pulsation. He did not probe deeper, did not seek out that storm. For now, this quiet discovery was enough, this realization: This is part of me. And touching it… can be just… calm.
He slowly pulled his hand out from under the scarf and covered himself again. His face was serious, but no longer frightened. He looked at Larry.
“It’s… soft,” he whispered, as if sharing a great secret. “And… warm. And… a little ticklish.”
Larry couldn't help but smile. A smile of relief and infinite tenderness.
"Yes, Jeddy," he whispered back. "That's exactly it."
In the Roman diorama, the darkness thickened to the limit. Octavius was no longer lying down. He was standing right next to the glass that separated his miniature world from the huge, hostile museum hall. His face, framed by the gray strands of his wig, was stony. There were no more tears. There was emptiness. A deep, icy emptiness that covered the wound of despair with a cold bandage.
He wasn't looking toward the back room. He was looking into the empty space in front of him, but in his mind's eye he saw them. Larry. And his Jedidiah. He saw the trust in the cowboy's blue eyes as he looked at the giant. He saw their closeness, their whispers, their laughter that he heard through the silent halls.
His fingers did not grip the tunic. They were relaxed, but in that relaxation there was a terrible power of renunciation. He fought. He fought the rage that demanded that he leave the diorama, challenge the giant, demand his friend back. He fought the humiliating self-pity. He fought the understanding of his own uselessness.
But the worst thing was that he was fighting love. The same love that now brought only pain. Love for Jed had been the sun of his nightly existence. And now that sun was shining for someone else, leaving him in eternal shadow. He felt her turning into a heavy stone in his tiny chest. How she was pulling him down, into the cold marble of the floor.
He took a step back from the glass. Then another. His movements were slow, mechanical. He walked to his marble throne, but did not sit down. He simply laid his palm on its cold surface. The grandeur of Rome, the glory of Augustus, the might of the legions—all of it was ashes before the simple, unrequited love of a little wax man.
He didn't know what would happen next. How to look at Jed? How to talk to him? How to exist in this museum, where every corner reminded him of lost happiness? There were no questions. There was only silence. Silence and the icy emptiness that filled his Roman heart, while in the utility room, on the giant's warm palm, the little cowboy, carefully touching the secret of his body, fell asleep with a new, still fragile knowledge of himself and with a slight smile of a "smart flower" on his lips. Two worlds. Two pains. Two revealed truths. The night in the museum continued.
The warmth of the handkerchief, Larry's deep voice, and the sweet aftertaste of the nougat created an island of safety amid the night's turmoil. Jeddy sat on the enormous palm, his exploration of the protective fabric continuing. Larry watched the folds of the handkerchief move with the timid movements within, the cowboy's figure swaying slightly to the rhythm of his own careful touches. Curiosity outweighed fear, but a fragile uncertainty remained.
— Jeddy? — Larry said quietly, almost in a whisper, so as not to scare him. — Can… I watch? Just watch. To… explain, if anything. If you want. — He wasn’t insisting, just suggesting. To be a witness, not a participant.
Jeddy froze under the kerchief. The movements inside ceased. There was a pause, filled with the ticking of the clock and the hum of Larry's own blood in his ears. Then a small head slowly emerged from under the cover. The face was serious, the cheeks were pink, but in the blue eyes there was not so much modesty as a questioning determination. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
With infinite care, Larry took the edge of the scarf that covered Jeddie below the waist with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. He did not pull it off abruptly, but gently pulled the material back, revealing a tiny, naked body curled up in his palm. Jeddie instinctively covered himself with his arms, but Larry stopped the movement gently with the tip of his finger.
"Shh, don't hide, Jeddy. You're beautiful. Just exploring. It's okay," he whispered, his heart pounding, not with desire but with awe at this fragility and innocence entrusted to him.
Slowly, Jeddy removed his hands. He was lying on his back, his knees drawn up to his chest, creating a small, protected space for himself. His right hand was hanging down. And Larry saw: Jeddy's tiny fingers were holding his own cock, gently, with incredible tenderness. Not as an instrument, but as an unfamiliar, precious find. He simply held it in his palm, as if testing its weight, its shape, its warmth. Then, with the index finger of his other hand, he pressed lightly on the very tip, as gently as if touching a drop of dew. Jeddy shuddered slightly, his legs involuntarily curled even more tightly, and his face showed a mixture of surprise and ticklishness.
"Sensitive?" Larry asked quietly, watching every microscopic movement.
Jeddy nodded, not taking his eyes off his hands.
“Like… like the most delicate petal,” he whispered.
Then his fingers slid lower, to the base. To where the "seed sac" was hidden beneath the thin skin. Larry watched as Jeddy's tiny fingertips traced the outline of the scrotum, feeling it. Jeddy squeezed it lightly in his palm, gently, but enough to feel the contents. His face took on the concentrated expression of an explorer who had discovered a new continent.
“There… are balls?” he asked, looking up at Larry. “Small ones? Smooth ones?”
"Yes, Jeddy," Larry smiled at his childish spontaneity. "Two little beans. Those are your testicles. That's where the 'seeds' I was talking about are kept. Like in a little bag."
Jeddy looked down again, his fingers continuing their exploration. He ran them over the skin of his scrotum, pressing lightly, feeling the little balls move beneath it. Sometimes he returned to his cock, taking it in his hand again, stroking his thumb along it, as if stroking the back of a tiny lizard. Each touch was slow, deliberate, full of wonder at the fact that these parts of himself existed. There was no fear, no yearning for another storm. There was pure knowing.
“They’re… warm,” he stated. “And… alive. Moving a little.” He squeezed his scrotum again, feeling the balls roll under his fingers. “And if… I squeeze them hard?” A hint of alarm flashed in his voice.
“Not too hard, Jeddy,” Larry warned at once, his voice soft and instructive. “They might hurt. You don’t squeeze your eyes or your fingers too hard, do you? Just be careful with them. They’re delicate. Like… well, like little bird eggs in a nest. You have to take care of them.”
The image of the balls seemed to appeal to Jeddy. He nodded gravely and immediately loosened his grip. His touch became even more gentle, almost caressing. He moved his fingers from his cock to his scrotum and back again, exploring their connection, their differences in texture and sensitivity. Sometimes he paused, listening to his sensations—to the warmth, to the gentle pulsation, to the strange sense of connection between these places and the depths of his belly.
- And why... when I touch here... - he pointed to his penis, - ... the heat goes there? - he poked his finger just below the navel.
"Because everything is connected, baby," Larry explained, watching as Jeddy instinctively placed his free hand on his lower abdomen. "Nerves. Like tiny, tiny strings, running from there inward. When you touch one, a signal travels along the string to the other. That's where the warmth comes from."
Jeddy nodded, taking it all in. His fear of his own body was melting with each passing minute, with each gentle touch and simple explanation from the giant. He no longer saw this place as a source of shame or a frightening force. He saw a part of himself. Delicate, sensitive, requiring careful handling, but… his. His “smart little flower” and his “bag of little bean-seeds.”
He lay there for a long time, on Larry's warm palm, under his calm, protective gaze, continuing his quiet exploration. His movements became more confident, though still timid. Sometimes he closed his eyes, concentrating only on the sensations. The world narrowed to the warmth of Larry's palm under his back, to the giant's quiet voice explaining the structure of his tiny universe, and to the gentle discoveries beneath his own fingers. The fear retreated, leaving behind fatigue, but also a strange, new feeling... of wholeness.
In the Roman diorama, Octavius stood still as a statue. The darkness obscured the details of his face, but his posture gave it all away: his back straight, painfully tense, his chin held high. An emperor. He forced himself to stand. He forced the tears to dry. He forced the emptiness inside to take the form of cold determination.
He didn't look toward the back room. His gaze was fixed on the distance, through the glass of the diorama, into the dark halls of the museum. But it was not a lost gaze. It was the gaze of a commander assessing a battlefield after a defeat. The grief had not disappeared. It had crystallized into something sharp and cold. Understanding.
The love for Jedidiah was not dead. It was too deeply woven into the threads of his nightly existence. But now it hurt. Unbearably. And Octavius Augustus, the empire builder, knew one law: that which threatens your heart, your mind, your world, must be isolated. Removed. Even if it is a part of yourself.
He didn't know how he could exist with Jed. He didn't know how to look at his laughter, knowing it belonged to someone else. But he knew one thing: he wouldn't let this pain eat away at him anymore. He would find a way. He would build a wall. He would find distraction in plotting new conquests for his miniature empire, in talking to Sacagawea about the stars, in anything. He would freeze the part of his heart where Jeddy lived.
His fingers, lying on the cold marble arm of the throne, clenched not in despair but in a gesture of firm will. Majesty does not tolerate weakness. Even if that weakness is love. He will be emperor. In his own little world. Alone. This decision did not bring peace. It brought only the icy, joyless relief that the battle with feelings, even if lost, was finally over. He gave the order to himself: retreat. And he ordered his heart to be silent. And in the back room, in the palm of the giant, the little cowboy, lulled by warmth and discoveries, finally fell asleep, his fingers still lightly covering his “smart little flower”, like a jewel that he had only just learned not to be afraid of.
The warmth of Larry's palm against his back, his low, soothing voice explaining the workings of Jeddy's tiny universe—all of it created an incredible sense of security. Fear retreated, dissolved in warmth and trust. Under the giant's gentle, guiding gaze, Jeddy continued his exploration.
His fingers, more confident now, returned to the "smart flower." He was no longer simply holding it or gently touching it. Encouraged by Larry's soft words ("Easy, Jeddy... Just like that... Can you feel it? Does it feel good?"), he began to caress. Slowly. Gently. With the tip of his index finger, he traced the delicate skin, from base to tip. Then with his thumb, he made tiny circles around the most sensitive tip.
"Oh," Jeddy groaned softly as a wave of warmth, sweet and familiar but no longer frightening, swept from his fingertips to his belly. He squeezed his eyes shut, his lips parted. His legs instinctively curled up, creating a cozy, protected space. But his hands didn't stop. Curiosity and growing pleasure drove him.
Larry watched, holding his breath. He saw the tiny body tense, the skin flush slightly, Jeddy's breathing become shallow and rapid. He saw the "flower" swell, become firmer under his master's gentle touch. It was a sacred act of self-discovery under his unobtrusive supervision.
"Don't be afraid, baby..." Larry whispered, his voice a velvet rustle in the quiet of the utility room. "Just float... Feel... It's yours..."
Jeddy nodded, keeping his eyes closed. His movements became a little faster, a little more insistent. He had found his rhythm, his spot where a touch caused especially bright sparks behind closed eyelids. The wave was growing. But this was not blind panic. This was… expected. Desired. He knew the wave would come, and he knew that this was his “honey,” his nature. And when it washed over him—blinding, sweet, tearing a short, high moan from his chest—he did not shrink into a ball of terror.
He arched, his tiny fingers tightening around his 'flower', as if trying to hold back the flow of sensation. A white, sticky drop of 'honey' emerged from the tip and rolled down onto the warm skin of his stomach. Then another. A shudder ran through him - but it was a shudder of pure, liberating pleasure, mixed with wonder. Not fear, but triumph: 'I did it myself. I got it. I wasn't scared.'
He lay there, breathing heavily, feeling a pleasant, warm emptiness and a slight fatigue in his muscles. A blissful, slightly stunned smile shone on his face. He opened his eyes and met Larry's gaze. In the giant's huge brown eyes he saw not condemnation, not lust, but pride, relief and the same tenderness that had always been there.
“H-here,” Jeddy whispered, pointing to the tiny drops on his belly. “Honey… Itself…”
- You did it yourself, Jeddy, - Larry smiled widely and sincerely. - You're a good boy. You weren't scared at all.
Jeddy nodded, the smile never leaving his face. He felt like a winner. A conqueror of his own fear and the unknown lands of his body. He relaxed into Larry's palm, enjoying the pleasant languor.
But nature took its toll. After a few minutes, the pleasant relaxation gave way to a familiar, growing pressure in the lower abdomen. Completely different. More… urgent.
Jeddy fidgeted. His smile turned to a worried expression. He looked around. He was lying on the huge table in Larry's utility room. The carpets of the Pergamon Altar or the shrubbery of the prairie diorama were far away. There wasn't much choice.
— L-Larry? — His voice sounded guilty. — I… need. To… make it rain. — He blushed, but not from shame for his body, but from the awkwardness of the situation. He pointed first at Larry’s huge palm on which he was lying, then at the stack of white paper napkins lying on the table nearby. The question hung in the air: Where?
Larry understood instantly. He gently lifted Jeddy into his palm.
"On the napkin, baby," he said calmly and confidently. "I'll put an island on you now." He carefully moved Jeddy onto one of the napkins. The white paper looked like a huge snow field.
Jeddy quickly rose to his feet on the soft surface. He walked to the edge of the "island", turned his back to Larry, hunched over slightly and... squatted. His movements were habitual, natural. Larry, holding his breath (and a little curiosity, I must admit), watched.
Jeddy just sat there. Concentrated. There was no movement of his hands. No attempt to direct or hold anything. He just… waited. And after a moment, Larry saw it. A thin, almost invisible trickle of “rain” glinted for a second in the dim lamplight and then soaked into the thickness of the paper napkin, leaving only a tiny dark spot. Jeddy leaned forward slightly, then straightened up. Done.
He turned to Larry, his face alight not only with relief but with childish triumph.
- See? - he said, pointing to the spot and his "smart little flower". - Himself! Just like I said! Without hands! He knows!
Larry looked at the tiny speck, at Jeddy's contented face, and at his "flower," which really seemed to be doing just fine without help. And again the laughter, warm and sincere, burst from his chest. He shook his head, amazed, delighted, and infinitely touched by this little miracle in the palm of his hand—a miracle that could write without holding on, and had just discovered the joy of its own body without fear.
- Yes, Jeddy, I see! - he laughed. - He really is the smartest flower in the world! And the most independent! - He carefully took the edges of the napkin with Jeddy, folded the used corner inward, creating a clean "island" again. - Well, hero? Perhaps some more nougat?
Jeddy beamed. His world, upended by fear and shame, fell into place. And it was even more wonderful. With a "smart little flower," with an understanding giant, and with a new portion of sweet nougat on the horizon. And in the Roman diorama, Octavius, who caught Jeddy's distant, clear laughter in the silence of the night, turned away to the cold wall, his fingers dug into the marble so that it seemed the stone would crack. The sound of this happiness was the last drop in his cup of icy renunciation.
Larry's laughter, warm and booming like distant thunder in a canyon, finally dispelled the last shadows of fear in the back room. Jeddy stood on the crisp, white island napkin, feeling a slight tingle of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach, both from having done his business and from pride in his "smart little flower." Triumph shone in his blue eyes, mingling with the slight weariness of the emotional storm and the physical discovery.
"Nougat?" he repeated, his voice ringing like a tiny bell. "Yes! Please, Gigantor! The stickiest kind, with nuts!"
Larry smiled, his heart aching with affection. This little boy, who had just experienced a revolution in his world, looked like the mischievous cowboy who had ridden on his shoulder again. He broke off another piece of the enormous (for Jeddy) candy, carefully peeling away the chocolate edge to reveal a golden-creamy nougat center. The aroma of roasted hazelnuts and caramel filled the air.
"Here, hero," Larry carefully placed the piece, about the size of Jeddy's head, on the napkin next to him. "A well-deserved reward for mastering... difficult territory."
Jeddy didn't keep us waiting. He settled himself comfortably on the soft paper, tucked his legs under him, and enthusiastically began to pinch off tiny pieces of the sweet. He sent each piece into his mouth with a blissful look, squinting and moaning softly with pleasure. The nougat stretched out in sticky threads, and he deftly dealt with them with his tiny tongue, sometimes helping with his fingers. Larry watched this feast with affection, resting his cheek on his fist. At that moment, his huge finger seemed not an instrument of unknown power, but simply part of the landscape of this small, restored world.
“Okay?” Larry asked, his voice low so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.
— Mmm! — Jeddy nodded, his cheeks as full as a chipmunk’s. He swallowed and wiped his tiny mouth with the back of his hand. — Better than Ahkmenrah’s cookies! But… — his expression suddenly darkened slightly. He looked at Larry’s huge face, at his kind eyes behind his glasses. — Gigantor… and Octavius? He… he looked so sadly. At the wall.
The warm wave of satisfaction in Larry subsided, giving way to a gnawing sense of guilt and regret. He sighed. The image of the Roman's averted face, his childishly lost gaze, was etched into his memory as well.
"Yes, Jeddy," he admitted quietly. "He's sad. Because he misses you. You're his friend, right?"
Jeddy looked down, picking at the sticky nougat with a tiny fingernail, his joy fading.
- Yes... a friend. A very good friend. He told me about Rome, about the legions... And I told him about coyotes and how to ride a mustang. - He fell silent, swallowing a lump that was not only from the nougat. - I... I was just so happy with you. You are so... big. Warm. I can ride on you, sleep on your chest... like on the softest dune. And he... he is small. Like me. You can't... ride with him.
Larry understood. He understood the pull of disproportion, the magic for Geddie of being in the hands of a living attraction. But he also understood Octavius's pain. The pain of being abandoned for something new, bright, different.
“You know, Jeddy,” Larry carefully reached out a finger and gently stroked the tiny back. “Friendship is like… nougat. It comes in different varieties. With nuts, with raisins, just sweet. And they’re all delicious in their own way. Your friendship with Octavius is one. With me, it’s another. But if there’s only nougat with nuts, even the most beloved one, you can miss the simple sweetness. Or the raisins. And… he’s really sad right now without his share of friendship with you.”
Jeddy listened, his forehead wrinkled with the effort of understanding. The nougat metaphor was clearer than Larry had expected.
“So… I’m a bad friend?” he asked in a whisper, guilt creeping into his voice again.
- No, baby! - Larry hastened to reassure. - You're not bad. You're just... carried away by a new toy. It happens. But a good friend remembers old toys. Especially if he sees that they are sad. - He paused. - Maybe tomorrow... you will say "hi"? Tell him how your smart flower can make rain on its own? - Larry smiled slightly, trying to defuse the situation.
Jeddy thought about it. He imagined Octavius's face. Not the imperial, arrogant one, but the lost, sad one he had seen in the diorama. He felt awkward. And… sorry. Very sorry.
- Okay... - he nodded not very confidently. - I'll tell him. Maybe... I'll give him some nougat? He likes sweets too. He hides dates in his toga.
“Good idea!” Larry smiled encouragingly. He could see the seed of the idea had been planted. Rebuilding trust with Octavius would be a long process, but it was a start. “Now…” He glanced at his watch. “The night is drawing to a close. Dawn is near. Time for you to get back to the diorama, kid. Or…” He hesitated. “Want to sleep here? On my chest? Like before?”
Jeddy looked at Larry's warm, massive torso under his shirt. An old, favorite place. A place where he felt completely safe. But now... now it seemed different. Not just a comfortable dune. It was connected to new, too strong feelings, to the storm he had just learned to embrace. For a moment, a shadow of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
“No…” he said quietly but firmly. “I… I’m going to Octavius’s. To sleep. In the diorama. Until… until dawn.”
Larry felt a slight prick, but pushed it away. It was right. The baby needed space. He needed to get back to his normal scale, to process everything that had happened.
"Okay, Jeddy," he said, gently lifting the shawl-clad cowboy onto his palm. "I'll take you. Hold on."

Chapter Text

In the Roman diorama, the darkness was almost absolute. Octavius was not standing at the throne. He was sitting on the cold marble floor in the farthest corner of his chambers, his back to the glass, to the hall, to the world. His purple tunic was a black spot in the darkness. His head was lowered to his knees, his hands were clasped around his legs. The pose was one of complete isolation, detachment from the world.
He did not cry. The source of his tears seemed to have dried up. There was only an icy emptiness and a hollow echo of pain somewhere deep inside, beneath layers of decision and imperial pride. He heard the quiet sounds of the museum – the creaking of parquet floors somewhere far away, Sacagawea’s restrained chuckle – but they did not touch him. They were part of someone else’s life.
Suddenly, a light rustling sound right next to the glass of the diorama. Familiar. Very familiar. Octavius did not raise his head. But his back, already tense, became like stone.
- Okta?.. - a thin, uncertain voice seeped through the glass.
Jeddy. He stood at the edge of the Roman diorama, just gently lowered by Larry's enormous palm. He was wrapped in someone else's shawl, which smelled of dust and... giant. In his tiny hand he clutched a piece of nougat, the size of his fist.
Octavius didn't answer. He didn't move. Every fiber of his being screamed to reject it, to maintain the ice wall. But his heart, his traitorous heart, sank at that timid "Oct?"
“I… I brought you some nougat,” Jeddy took a small step into the diorama. His voice was shaking. “The stickiest kind. With nuts. Just like you like it… remember?”
Silence. Thick, oppressive. Jeddy stood there for a moment longer, feeling his own recent happiness melting under the weight of this icy silence. He carefully placed a piece of nougat on the nearest miniature rock, like an offering.
— I... I'll tell you tomorrow how my smart little flower... — he hesitated, realizing that this was probably not the best topic. — I... I'm going to bed. Good night, Octa.
He turned and quickly trotted into the depths of the diorama, toward his saloon house, feeling an invisible, icy gaze on his back. The handkerchief, smelling of Larry, suddenly seemed foreign and uncomfortable to him.
Octavius remained sitting in the darkness. His gaze fell on a tiny golden piece on the stone. Nougat. His favorite. Brought to him by him. A sign of… what? Pity? Guilt? Or an attempt to take everything back? Bitterness rose in his throat. He turned away abruptly, staring at the blank wall. But the image of a piece of nougat lying on the stone, like a small beacon in its darkness, had already settled in his mind. The ice wall gave its first, almost invisible crack. And in the utility room, Larry, looking towards the Roman diorama, sighed heavily, knowing that the night was over, but the most difficult dawns were still ahead. For everyone.
The silence of the Roman diorama the next night was different. Not peaceful, but heavy. Like leaden clouds before a storm that don't rain but press down with unbearable sultryness. Jeddy walked to the edge of his cowboy diorama, his little heart pounding with anxiety and hope. He saw Octavius.
The Emperor sat on his marble throne. But it was not the pose of a ruler. He sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped fingers. His gaze was fixed not on the majestic frescoes, not on the miniature forum, but on the blank, dark wall of the museum beyond the glass. Empty. Unseeing. As if burned out from within.
The piece of nougat brought yesterday was still lying on the same stone at the entrance. Untouched. Even the ants, usually scurrying around at night, avoided it, as if sensing the icy field of despair surrounding the Roman.
Jeddy took a deep breath. He dropped Larry's handkerchief (folding it neatly away) and straightened his vest. In his hand he clutched a new, slightly larger piece of nougat, just for Octavius. He stepped through the invisible boundary between the dioramas.
- Okta! - he called, trying to sound cheerful, like before. - Look what I brought! Nougat again! With nuts, the best! And... and I have something to tell you!
He ran to the foot of the throne, raising his hand with the precious piece. His eyes shone with timid anticipation. He wanted to share so much! To tell about his "smart little flower", about how he recognized himself under the giant's gentle gaze, about how he learned not to be afraid of "honey". Maybe Octavius would be interested too? Maybe he would smile?
Octavius turned his head slowly, as if with invisible gears creaking. His eyes, those same beads that usually shone with intelligence, irony or anger, were empty. Completely empty. They slid over Jeddy, over the outstretched hand with nougat, without lingering, without expressing anything. No anger, no sadness, no interest. Just... emptiness. Then his gaze slowly, with superhuman effort, returned to the wall. To that same dark, uninteresting, infinitely distant wall.
Jeddy felt his own smile freeze and melt. His hand with the nougat dropped.
— Octavius? — His voice became thinner, more hesitant. — Are you… are you listening? I wanted to tell you… about myself. About what I learned. There… down there. I have a smart flower there! And he…
He paused. The words that yesterday had seemed such a momentous revelation now hung in the icy air of the diorama, sounding stupid and out of place. He saw Octavius's thin lips pressed into a barely noticeable, hard line. His fingers, clasped under his chin, were white with tension. His unseeing gaze at the wall spoke louder than any words. He wasn't listening. He didn't want to listen. He was locked somewhere deep inside, behind walls of his own pain and jealousy that Jeddy couldn't overcome with his childish revelations.
- He... he knows where to make the rain! - Jeddy blurted out, desperately trying to break the ice. - Without hands! Larry was so surprised! And... and when I touched him... there... it felt good! And it came out...
"Jedidiah." Octavius's voice was unexpectedly loud in the silence. It was low, hollow, without any intonation. Like the creak of a door in an abandoned house. He did not even turn his head. "Your revelations about the… flora… of your body… are of no interest to me.
Each word was doused with ice water. "Flora." He called him "a clever flower"... flora. Like a weed. Like something insignificant and alien.
Jeddy recoiled as if he had been struck. His cheeks were flushed with shame and sudden, sharp resentment. He squeezed the piece of nougat in his hand so hard that the sticky mass oozed out between his fingers.
“But… but I wanted…” he tried again, his voice shaking.
"Go to your Gigantor, Jedidiah," Octavius continued in the same dead, distant tone, his gaze still fixed on the wall. "He seems to find your botanical researches... fascinating. I prefer to contemplate more monumental things."
He nodded toward the wall. The irony in his words was poisonous, but spoken lifelessly. It was worse than a scream. It was a final, irrevocable renunciation.
Jeddy stood rooted to the spot. His world, which had only just begun to take on new colors after yesterday's discovery, was shaken again. Only this time it was not from fear, but from the pain of rejection. He held out an olive branch - a piece of nougat and a piece of his new, fragile truth. And Octavius threw them away without even looking, enveloping them in icy contempt. And the worst thing was that Jeddy felt that the cause of this coldness was... himself. His choice. His infatuation with the "attraction" named Larry.
He looked at the piece of nougat crumpled in his hand. At the untouched piece from yesterday on the stone. At Octavius's back, frozen in place, facing the hated wall. Tears filled Jeddy's eyes, but he pressed his lips together to keep them from spilling. He was no longer the frightened little boy who had trembled in Larry's palm. He knew the strength of his body. Now he would know the bitter consequences of his decisions.
Without another word, Jeddy turned. He did not run. He walked slowly, his head down, his little boots thumping dully on the "marble" floor of the diorama. He walked past the piece of nougat on the stone without touching it. Past his saloon. He walked back out into the neutral territory of the museum hall, feeling the invisible, icy gaze of Octavius's back. He did not know where to go. To Larry? But there were memories of another intimacy there, which was the cause of this pain. To his diorama? Where everything reminded him of the old, simple times with Octavius?
He stood in the middle of the huge, dark hall, as tiny and lost as he had been on the first night of his revival. Only now the loss was deeper. It was not from ignorance of the world, but from the knowledge that his own actions had hurt someone dear to him. And the wall Octavius stared at seemed to rise before him, high and cold and impassable. And in the Roman diorama, when Jeddy's footsteps died away, Octavius finally closed his eyes. The tension in his clasped fingers reached its limit, and a tiny, almost invisible crack ran along the marble arm of the throne. His icy armor held, but the price was unbearable. He drove him away. He drove his cowboy away. And the emptiness inside, instead of filling with pride in his strength of will, only hummed louder, echoing throughout his miniature, empty empire.
Octavius's icy silence, his blank stare at the wall, the poisonous word "flora" - all of it fell on Jeddy like a stone avalanche. He ran out of the Roman diorama, feeling shame and bitterness corroding him from the inside more than any acid. The emptiness in his friend's eyes, the contempt for his revelation - it was worse than any scream. And it was all HE's fault. His body. His "smart little flower." His stupid, shameful desire for intimacy with a giant.
"Dirty... I'm dirty!" the thought pounded in his tiny head, merging with the frantic pounding of his heart. He didn't just feel disgraced - he felt spoiled. Rejected because of the very part of himself he had only just begun to accept. "Flora." As if he were not a person, but some kind of vile bush that people turned away from.
Tears gushed forth, obscuring the already vast, frightening world of the museum. He ran wherever his eyes looked, his little boots loudly thumping on the parquet, tripping over unevenness invisible in the darkness.
— Larry! Larry-e-e! — his cry, thin, desperate, tore through the night silence of the halls. He was not calling for "Gigantor." He was calling for Larry. The only one who knew his new shame, his new pain, his "smart little flower." Who, perhaps... will understand? Although how can one understand this? How can one understand that you are dirt?

"BOOM!"

He didn't notice the baseboard, the ledge by the dinosaur display case. He tripped and fell face down on the floor. Pain shot through his knee and palm. Dust was embedded in his skin. He lay there sobbing, feeling the sticky dirt on the floor merging with the sticky shame inside him. "Dirty... Dirty everywhere... And out of me... this stuff..." he sobbed, unable to rise. The image of "honey" and "rain" no longer evoked pride, but disgust. He hated his flower. He hated the fluids that came out of it. He hated himself for letting Larry see them, for messing with it.
- Jeddy? - a booming, alarmed voice thundered from somewhere above. Enormous boots stopped next to him. Carefully but quickly, giant but gentle hands picked him up from the floor. - God, baby! What happened? Are you hurt?
Larry held the tiny, shaking, dust-stained, tear-stained figure up to his face, his eyes behind his glasses full of alarm and shock at the sight of Jeddy's hysteria.
“He… he hates me!” Jeddy gasped, choking on his sobs. His tiny hands clutched at the fold of Larry’s shirt as if it were a last resort. “Octavius! He… he called it FLORA! My… my place! My smart little flower! He said… he wasn’t interested! That I was… dirt!” The words came out in fragments, mixed with hysterical sobs. “And he didn’t touch the nougat… the nougat! He looked… at the wall! Like he was… nothing!”
Larry froze. The shock of what he heard was worse than an electric shock. "Flora"? Octavius said that? And Jeddy… he wasn't just hurt. He was back in the abyss of shame and self-loathing. For what they had worked so hard to accept.
- Jeddy, no, no, baby... - Larry hugged the tiny body to his chest, to the warmth and pounding of his huge heart. He could feel Jeddy's hysterics, his tears falling in hot drops onto the fabric of his shirt. - You're not dirt! Do you hear me? Not a drop! Octavius... he's angry. He's hurt. He's saying mean things because he's hurt, you understand? It's not true!
But Jeddy didn't hear. A wave of self-loathing washed over him with renewed force.
“I hate it!” he screamed, desperately and loudly for his size, breaking free from the warm shelter of the chest. He poked a tiny finger at himself, down his stomach. “I hate this… this flower! And this… this HONEY! Sticky, disgusting! And this RAIN! Everything! Everything that comes out! Everything is disgusting! Because of it… because of it I… I lost Oct! Because of the fact that I… got into you! Undressed! Allowed!”
He was choking on sobs and hatred directed inward. His body had become a prison again, a source of shame and loss. All the progress of the last night—the discovery, the acceptance, even the timid pride—had been trampled under Octavius’s icy gaze and his word “flora.”
Larry was horrified. He saw Jeddie's fragile world crumbling again, and this time with far greater destruction. He held the tiny cowboy closer to him, trying to hold the flailing body.
- Shhh, Jeddy, hush, hush... Breathe, baby, breathe... - he stroked the tiny back with the tip of his finger, trying to stop the trembling. - There is nothing nasty about you. Not about your body, not about what it does. It's natural. It's YOU. And you are beautiful. All of you. Every tiny part of you.
He carried Jeddy into the back room, clutching him to his chest as if he were the most precious, most wounded baby bird. His heart was breaking with pity and guilt. It was his fault. He had crossed the line. He had let Jeddy into the world of adult sensations without thinking of the consequences for his little heart and his little friendship. And now this world had turned against the little boy with monstrous force.
In the back room, Larry sank into a chair, still holding Jeddy. He cupped him in his hands, covering him with his other hand, creating a dark, warm cocoon. Jeddy's tears continued, but the hysteria was gradually turning into a dull, hopeless sob. He curled up, facing away, his tiny shoulders still shaking convulsively. The hatred of himself, of his body, of the "nasty things" it produced, hung in the air, almost palpable.
“He’s… he’s right…” Jeddy whispered through his sobs, his voice broken, full of self-destruction. “I’m… flora. Dirty… flora. And my flower is… stupid. And evil. Because of him… everything is bad.”
Larry closed his eyes. The shock of those words was deafening. How could he restore his own trust? How could he heal this new, deep wound, inflicted not by him but through him? How could he convince this tiny, broken cowboy that his body was not an enemy, not a source of shame, but part of his wonderful, unique self?
He knew only one thing: words were powerless now. Promises of “everything will be fine” would sound false. There was only one thing left to do – be there. Hold. Warm. Be his rock in this new, hurricane sea of shame and hatred. He pressed his palms with Jeddy closer to himself, to the source of warmth and life, and quietly, infinitely tenderly, whispered one word, like a mantra, like a final anchor:
- Shhh... I'm here, Jeddy... I'm here... Just breathe... I'm here.
But in his whisper one could also hear his own confusion, his fear that even his huge hands and the warmth of his chest might not be enough to gather back these fragile fragments of trust in the world and in himself, shattered by the poisonous word "flora" and an icy look at the wall. And in the Roman diorama, Octavius, hearing Jeddy's desperate cries throughout the museum, clenched his fists for a moment, but again forced himself to straighten up and stare at the hated wall, drowning out the scream of conscience with the icy echo of his own pain.
The silence of the back room was oppressive, broken only by the intermittent sobs of Jeddy, trembling in Larry's palm. The giant's words about a beautiful field, about a delicate pink flower - they seemed like a distant, meaningless noise through the thickness of hatred and shame that filled the tiny creature. "Flora." The word burned inside, like a red-hot spur.
Larry, seeing that the usual consolations were not working, decided on a desperate step. Carefully, with infinite tenderness, he began to help Jeddy undress. The small buttons of his vest, the buckle of his belt, the lacing of his boots - each movement was slow, ritualistic. He even took off his cowboy hat, revealing flaxen hair the color of ripe wheat, usually so mischievous, and now stuck to his forehead, damp with tears. Jeddy did not resist. He allowed himself to be undressed like a submissive doll, his gaze was empty, directed somewhere inside himself, into the darkness.
“Close your eyes, Jeddy,” Larry whispered, his voice shaking with tension and hope. He adjusted the tiny naked body more comfortably in his broad palm. “Imagine… imagine the most beautiful field. The warm sun. The soft grass under your feet. And the breeze… it moves your hair. You are there. All of you. Free. And there too… your smart little flower. Not like everyone else’s. The most beautiful. So tender, so tender, pink, like the first ray of dawn. It is yours. It is a part of you. It holds the most precious thing – the seeds of life. Come to it, baby. In your imagination. Stroke its petals… They are soft, aren’t they? Feel its warmth. Kiss it… whisper to it how dear it is to you. How you love it. How beautiful it is…”
Larry spoke softly, painting pictures full of tenderness and acceptance. He believed in the power of image, that the beauty of imagination could heal the poison of real words.
Jeddy closed his eyes. His eyelashes, wet with tears, trembled. He tried. For a moment, in the darkness behind his eyelids, a field flashed by. Sunny. Warm. He saw himself - small, naked, with wheat-colored hair fluttering in the wind. And there, among the emerald grass, HE grew. His "smart little flower." Soft pink. Perfect. Like a picture.
But instead of warmth, instead of tenderness, a black wave was seething in Jeddy's chest. Flora. Dirt. Because of you, Octa is lost. Because of you, I am filth. The image of the perfect flower seemed like a mockery. A false mask over a vile essence.
In his imagination the picture changed abruptly. The sun faded. The grass became prickly. He approached the pink flower not with love, but with a cold, heart-squeezing hatred. He did not stroke it. He did not kiss it. He grabbed the tender stem with his fingers. Roughly. Cruelly. And with a wild, silent cry of rage and despair – he tore it out by the roots!
In reality, his tiny body shuddered with all its being. His hand, lying on his stomach, did not reach out for a gentle touch. It convulsively clenched into a fist. And this fist with all its force, with a cry of unbearable pain - both physical and mental - crashed into his own "seed bag"!
"A-A-A-AH!" A piercing, animalistic cry escaped Jeddy's lips. Not a moan, but a shriek of agony. He doubled over in Larry's palm, as if he had been knocked down, his face distorted by a grimace of inhuman torment. The tears gushed forth in a fresh stream, but now they were tears of sharp, burning physical pain. He gasped for air, unable to scream any more, only a quiet, pitiful whimper escaping from his constricted throat. His tiny legs twitched convulsively.
“Jeddy! NO!” Larry’s roar shook the walls of the back room. Shock and horror paralyzed him for a split second. He had seen the movement. He had seen the little fist slam into the most vulnerable spot. He had felt the blow with his whole being, as if he had received it himself. His huge hand instinctively clenched, protecting the tiny body, but it was too late. “Oh, God, baby, what have you done?!” Larry gasped in panic. He had seen Jeddy writhe in pain, his little face turning white. Fear, cold and clammy, had gripped him. He was afraid of doing more harm, but he could not do nothing. Carefully, with trembling fingers, he tried to pry Jeddy’s tiny fist from where it was pressed against the injured area. “Jeddy, let go! Please! Let me see!”
But Jeddy only curled up tighter, his whimpers turning into soft, broken sobs through clenched teeth. The pain was fiery, tearing, the center of the universe. But it was nothing compared to the icy emptiness and hatred inside. He had done it. He had punished his flora. Punishing the source of his shame. And now this pain was… deserved? Wanted? He didn’t know. He only knew that he wanted to destroy this place in himself. Rip it out. Trample it. Like in his imagination.
Larry, seeing that he could not unclench his fist, carefully, with incredible tenderness, cupped the entire lower part of Jeddy's tiny body with his palm, creating a light, supportive pressure, but not causing additional pain. He brought the quivering bundle of misery to his face.
“Breathe, baby, breathe…” His voice was hoarse with terror and the tears that had welled up in his own eyes. “I’m sorry… Forgive me… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think…” He was panicking. His attempt to heal with images had backfired. He had provoked an act of violence against himself. “Shhh… The pain will pass… Hold on… I’m here… I’m not going anywhere…”
He cradled Jeddy's hand like the sickest baby in the world, whispering incoherent words of comfort that couldn't reach the recipient, drowning in a sea of physical pain and self-destructive hatred. Thoughts raced through his head: What to do? How to help? Could wax figures ever be seriously injured? But the sight of Jeddy's suffering was too real. Too human.
And Jeddy, curled up in his palm, cried silent, hopeless tears. From the pain of his broken "seed bag." From shame. From self-hatred. From the understanding that even in the beautiful field of his imagination he had found only darkness and the desire to destroy a part of himself. His "smart little flower" had been torn out. Trampled. And he felt empty, broken and infinitely alone in the middle of this huge, cold universe, where the only island was the trembling, frightened hands of a giant who also seemed not to know how to pick up the pieces.
Jeddy's soft, broken sobs, mixed with hoarse groans of pain, vibrated in the warm air of the back room, slamming against the walls like trapped birds. He lay curled into a tiny, suffering ball in Larry's palm, his fingers still clawing at his stomach as if trying to tear out the source of his unbearable torment, both physical and mental. The image of the pink flower torn out and trampled stood out before him more vividly than the reality. Flora. Destroyed. As it should be.
Larry was pale. The shock of seeing the self-harm, that explosion of self-destructive hatred, was still like icy needles on his skin. His huge hands were shaking. But the fear had given way to a sharp, burning determination. He had to stop this. Not just calm it down, protect it. From itself.
"Jeddy..." His voice was hoarse but firm. "Give me your hands. Please, baby. Give me."
He didn't wait for consent. Gently but relentlessly, his giant fingers wrapped around Jeddy's tiny wrists. He twitched weakly, protesting, but he had no strength. Larry gently but firmly pulled his hands away from his stomach, pressed them to his tiny chest, crossing them. Jeddy whimpered, his body tensing, ready for another wave of pain or violence.
But there was no violence. Larry took a large, soft handkerchief, the one that already smelled of dust, nougat and tears. He began to swaddle. Not just cover, but swaddle, like the most helpless baby. Tightly, but not tightly, with incredible precision of movement, creating a cocoon. He wrapped the cloth around the tiny body, bent the legs, pressed Jeddy's arms, crossed over his chest, to his body, fixing them with the folds of the handkerchief. He worked silently, concentrated, his face stony with concentration and pain for the baby. He wrapped him completely, leaving only his head free, with flaxen hair wet with tears and sweat. Jeddy, swaddled, looked even smaller, even more defenseless. But now his hands were safely hidden. He could not hit himself again.
“That’s it,” Larry whispered when he finished. He lifted the bundle to chest level, not in his palm but against his chest, pressing it to where his enormous heart beat. The warmth, the pounding, Larry’s very breath—all of it was meant to be a shield. “Hush, baby… Hush. I’m holding you. I won’t let… I won’t let you hurt yourself. Ever again.”
Jeddy didn't answer. His body was still shaking with residual sobs and the pain of his broken 'bag'. But the swaddling... tight, restrictive, but not hostile... it created a strange sensation. A sensation that he would not be released. That he could not hurt himself again. It was not comforting, but numb. His tears streamed more slowly but steadily down his face, pressed against the warm fabric of Larry's shirt. The hatred of his sexuality, of the 'flower', of the 'honey' and 'rain', raged inside him, but now there was no outlet for it in action. It bubbled within the locked cage of his bundled body.
Larry felt the storm. He felt the desperation. Ordinary words were useless. Something more was needed. Something absolute. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was low, deep, like the hum of the earth. Serious to a fault.
“Jedidiah Smith.” He used his full name, which he almost never did. “Listen to me. Listen very carefully. Because I’m only going to say this once, but it’s true. Forever.”
He paused, letting the weight of the words crash into the tiny consciousness.
“Your smart little flower…” Larry pronounced this affectionate name with special force, contrasting it with the poisonous “flora”. “… he is beautiful. Despite everything. He is a part of you. The most tender, the most vulnerable, the most… alive. And I… I will always be glad to have him.”
Jeddy froze in his arms. The sobs stopped for a second. His blue eyes, clouded with pain and tears, opened wide, staring at the giant face so close. Happy? Happy for him?
“Always, Jeddy,” Larry continued, looking straight into those shocked eyes. His voice did not waver. “I’m glad to see it, if you want to show me. I’m glad to know you have it. That it’s… smart. That it can make its own tinsel so neatly.” Larry used the childish word deliberately, making it meaningful, pure. “I’ll always be glad to see your tinsel, baby. Because it’s you. It means you’re alive. That your little, wonderful body is working. The way it’s supposed to. Not dirt. Not crap. Life. Just life.
He paused again. The air in the back room was thick, electric. Each word fell like a stone into still water, creating circles of understanding in Jeddy's clouded mind.
— And honey… — Larry smiled slightly at the corners of his lips, but there was infinite seriousness in his eyes. — Your honey… it is also a part of life. A part of the joy that you can feel. And I… I will be glad if it will be. If you want to feel it. When you are ready. Not because of me. Not for me. For yourself. Because your body… it deserves joy. Deserves love. All of it. To the last tiny cell. And especially… your smart flower.
Larry fell silent. He had spoken. He had spilled the beans. Not a declaration of love for Jeddy as an object, but an unconditional acceptance of his entire being, including what had become the source of his deepest shame and hatred. Acceptance of his sexuality, his natural functions, his right to bodily joy. As a given. As part of his unique, fragile, precious life.
Jeddy didn't move. Swaddled, pressed to the giant's chest, he looked at Larry. The tears were still flowing, but no longer from rage or sharp pain. They were flowing from shock. From incomprehension. From trying to comprehend the incredible: Someone... happy? Happy for THIS? Happy for the rain? Happy for the honey? Happy for the... flower he himself wanted to destroy?
“W-why?” he breathed out, his voice broken and hoarse. “He’s… disgusting…”
“No, Jeddy,” Larry shook his head, his eyes wet. “He’s not mean. He’s you. And you… you’re not mean. You’re a miracle. A brave, little, confused miracle. And everything about you is part of that miracle. Even… especially… your smart little flower and his tinsel. I love all of you, Jeddy. All of you. Without exception. And I’ll always be glad for everything that makes you, you.”
The word "I love" was not in his confession before. It fell out now. Not as a romantic confession, but as a statement of the absolute fact of acceptance and protection.
Jeddy closed his eyes. The strength to resist, to hate, even to think – was gone. All that was left was exhaustion, a dull ache in his lower abdomen and… those words. Heavy, warm, like stones warmed by the sun. Glad. Love. All. They couldn’t wash away the poison of the “flora” right away, they couldn’t heal the pain of Octavius’s gaze at the wall. But they created a foothold. An island in the raging sea of shame and hatred, where he could just… be. Without destroying a part of himself.
He pressed his face against Larry's shirt, against the beating of his heart. His breathing became deeper, more even. The tears flowed quietly, no longer brokenly. The swaddling held back not only his hands, but also the inner storm, giving him a respite. And Larry's words about "rain" and "honey," about joy for his nature, echoed in his empty consciousness, like a promise of something impossible - peace with himself. Still distant. But promised. A huge, reliable giant who held him swaddled like the most precious and wounded creature in the world, and whose heart beat nearby - a booming, incessant rhythm of protection and acceptance.
The hour passed in the quiet hum of Larry's heart, in the flickering of the utility room lamp, in the ragged but increasingly regular breathing of the tiny creature pressed to his chest. The swaddling, the words of unconditional acceptance, the warmth and inexorable rhythm of the giant's life - all this created a temporary dam against the raging sea of shame and hatred in Jeddy. He did not sleep. He simply was. Cocooned in the kerchief, deprived of the ability to hurt himself, he existed in a daze, with the poisonous word "flora" only a dull hum in the background.
But the body lived its own life. Ignoring the mental storms. At first it was a barely noticeable rumbling somewhere deep in the tiny tummy. Then – light, unpleasant spasms. Jeddy shifted slightly in his diapers, his breathing became irregular. He tried to clench his muscles, to ignore it. But the pressure was growing. Insistent, inexorable, physiological. Not at all like the need for “rain”.
No. Not this. Not now. Not here…
A new level of shame swept over him. He tried to curl up even tighter, but the tight folds of the scarf restricted his movements. The spasms grew stronger, became painful. He groaned softly, hopelessly. Larry immediately felt the tension in his small body.
"Jeddy?" His voice was full of concern. "What, baby? Does it hurt?"
Jeddy couldn't answer. The shame in his throat was tighter than the diapers. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the heat spreading across his face and neck. He strained, unconsciously, trying to resist and give in at the same time. His tiny muscles were straining to the limit.
And it happened. The warmth, the humidity, the indescribable feeling of being out of control and deep, animal filth inside the cocoon. He froze, his body went limp. The shame was so overwhelming that even the pain in the "bag" faded. Here it was. Completely. Completely dirty. Did... THIS... right on him. Into the diaper. Like a completely helpless baby. The tears began to flow again, hot and bitter. He was not sobbing. He was just crying quietly, from hopelessness and self-loathing.
Larry felt it all. The tension. Then the sudden release. The change in temperature and smell under the kerchief. He understood instantly. His heart did not clench with disgust. On the contrary. A light of… relieved joy flared within him.
"Oh, baby..." He spoke softly, without a hint of reproach or disgust. "Here come the dirty deeds. Nothing, nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."
He did not hesitate. He laid the bundle carefully on the table. His movements were confident, calm. He began to unroll the handkerchief, fold by fold, freeing first the head, then the torso, and finally Jeddy's tiny legs. The smell grew stronger. Jeddy lay on his back, his face turned away, his little hands covering his face. His skin was bright red with shame, his whole body trembling with small tremors. He could not look.
Larry saw. He saw the traces of "dirty deeds" on the soft skin, on the light hairs on the lower abdomen. He did not wince. He did not turn away. On his face there was only tenderness and... satisfaction?
“You see, Jeddy,” he spoke quietly, businesslike, like a doctor or a very patient nanny. “It’s all natural. After such stress, after tears… the body cleanses itself. That’s good. It means everything is working fine inside.” He pointedly used neutral, physiological terms, avoiding derogatory words. “We’ll clean everything up now. It will be clean and comfortable.”
He pulled out a package of wet wipes. For Jeddy, each one was about the size of a large bath towel. Larry tore one off. It smelled mild, neutral. He folded it several times to make a soft pad for him and gentle for Jeddy.
"Lift your butt up a little, baby," he said softly, but in a tone that brooked no argument. "Come on, help me. Don't be shy. It's just cleaning. Like dusting your boots.
Jeddy whimpered, but obediently, with difficulty, lifted his hips. He still hid his face. Shame burned inside him. Larry began to wipe gently but thoroughly. His movements were precise, gentle. He cleaned the skin of dirt without touching the injured "seed sac", without causing unnecessary discomfort. He acted with concentrated calm, as if he were doing the most ordinary and important work in the world.
“That’s it…” he muttered, replacing the dirty parts of the napkin with clean ones. “Everything’s fine… Clean… Good job helping… Everything will be fine soon.”
When the skin was clean, Larry put the used napkin aside. He didn't immediately wrap Jeddy up again. He let him lie there for a few seconds, letting his skin breathe, letting him realize that the "dirty" was gone, and there was no judgment.
- See? - Larry smiled, looking at Jeddy's still red but no longer hiding face. - Nothing terrible happened. It's just life. Do you feel better now? In your tummy?
Jeddy nodded, almost imperceptibly. Physically, yes, it was easier. The cramps were gone. But the shame… the shame hung heavy. Although less than a minute ago. Because Larry… he was happy. He didn’t grimace. He cleaned. He said it was good. That it was… natural. Like rain. Like honey.
Larry took a clean corner of the same handkerchief (the clean part) and gently patted Jeddy's skin. Then, slowly, he began to wrap it again, but not so tightly, not wrapping his hands. Just wrapping him in warmth and cleanliness.
“That’s it, hero,” he whispered, picking up the bundle and pressing it to his chest again. “The dirty work’s done. Cleaned up. You’re clean. And I’m glad your tummy’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed at all, okay? It happens to everyone. Especially when you’ve cried and been stressed out like that.”
Jeddy pressed himself against the warm shirt. The smell of dust and nougat and now the faint scent of a wet wipe. The smell of something that was shameful but…accepted. He didn’t feel the same raging hatred. He felt tired. A deep, all-consuming tiredness. And a weak, weak bud of something…not shame, just embarrassment. And a strange, new feeling: Maybe… maybe this… wasn’t the end of the world? Maybe… Larry was right? He closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the great heart and the warmth carry him away into oblivion, taking away the shame and the pain and the icy word “flora,” at least for a while. And Larry, holding him, looked at the ceiling of the utility room, mentally cursing the Roman diorama and thanking the wet wipes for this small, fragile step toward healing.
The warmth of Larry's chest, the clean handkerchief, and the quiet hum of the giant heart under his ear gradually dissolved the remnants of shame and tension in Jeddy. The physical pain in the "bag" dulled to aching heaviness, and the mental storm subsided into exhausted calm. But childish curiosity, the very spark that made him Jeddy, began to break through the fatigue.
He stirred in the wrapping shawl, his nose buried in the fold of Larry's shirt.
- Gigantor? - His voice was hoarse from recent sobbing, but no longer strained. - How... how did you know? That the tummy... is okay? After... dirty deeds? - He couldn't call it anything else, but now there was no longer the same hatred in the word, only a vague bewilderment.
Larry gently pushed the bundle away to look at the tiny face. A smile touched his lips.
- Experience, baby. When the body gets rid of excess after stress, it's a sign that it's fighting, cleansing itself. It means it has strength. And your groan... it was different. Not from the pain down there, - he nodded carefully towards Jeddy's wrapped bottom, - but from the spasms inside. A familiar sound. - He did not go into the details of human physiology, leaving the explanation simple, almost mundane.
But his gaze became more serious.
"Now, Jeddy Smith, there's something important I need to check." Larry carefully placed the package on the table next to the lamp and reached into the drawer. He pulled out a large rectangular magnifying glass with a black handle, an instrument for reading the small labels on exhibits. To Jeddy, it looked like a magnifying glass. "Don't worry," Larry reassured him, seeing the cowboy's blue eyes widen slightly at the sight of the enormous glass. "Just looking. Very carefully. Need to make sure you haven't hurt yourself... in there.
He adjusted the focus, and suddenly Jeddy's world was huge and incredibly detailed under the magnifying glass. Larry started at his tummy, where the blow had landed. The skin was slightly reddened, but not bruised. Then the magnifying glass moved slowly downward.
The "seed bag" and the "smart flower" were laid out before Larry in minute detail. He studied them with the concentration of a scientist, looking for signs of damage - unnatural swelling, abrasions, discoloration. His breathing was even, his movements were extremely careful. Jeddy lay still, holding his breath, feeling no pain, only the gentle pressure of his gaze and the warm light of the lamp through the glass.
"The two little beans are all right," Larry finally announced, holding the magnifying glass a little further away, relief in his voice. "They're a little swollen, but that's from the blow, it'll pass. The flower... is all right, too. You have a strong flower, Jeddy. Smart and resilient." He couldn't resist the affectionate epithet, and his voice sounded genuinely happy for the safety of the tiny miracle.
The magnifying glass moved higher, over his stomach, his chest, to his face. And then Larry froze. Details usually hidden by scale appeared in all their glory. Eyes as blue as the mountain sky - not just beads, but entire lakes with golden sparkles around the pupils and tiny rays of laughing wrinkles in the corners. Light, almost white eyebrows, arched questioningly. A smooth, once obviously broken nose, decorated with a couple of barely noticeable, golden freckles - like a scattering of tiny suns. Plump, pale pink lips, slightly parted with curiosity.
“Oh, my God,” Larry breathed, forgetting for a moment the purpose of his examination. “You’re… you’re simply marvelous, Jeddy. Every little feature…” He moved the magnifying glass, fascinated. “Those eyes… like sapphires in a sun frame. And that nose… with its little star-shaped freckles. And those wrinkles… you’re always smiling, aren’t you? That’s where they’re hiding!”
Jeddy, at first tense under the intense gaze, began to change under this torrent of unexpected, warm words. Shame and fear gave way to embarrassment, and then to timid joy. His lips trembled, the corners turned up. He saw his reflection in the huge magnifying glass, distorted but recognizable, and heard Larry speak of him so… so admiringly.
- Aha! - he suddenly laughed, briefly and loudly. - I am wonderful! - Then, caught in a playful mood, he pulled his tiny, pale palm from under his handkerchief and held it right under the magnifying glass. - Come on, Giantor the Magician! Tell me my fortune! What can I see there? Tell the truth!
Larry smiled, taking up the game. He focused on his palm. The life lines, the fate lines, the heart lines, all were visible like rivers on a map. He moved the magnifying glass, pretending to study them deeply.
"I see... I see a lot of racing!" he began solemnly. "On fast mustangs! Across endless prairies of happiness! I see... mountains of gold nuggets! No, a whole saloon full of nougat!" Jeddy giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand. "And I see... a strong hand. The hand of a friend. Which will always be there. To ride, to warm... and to wipe your bottom, if necessary!" Larry finished with comic seriousness.
Jeddy laughed. A real, clean, mischievous laugh, the likes of which hadn't been heard in so long. He covered his face with both hands, tucked his legs up to his belly, laughing and rolling around on his back under the magnifying glass like a puppy. His tiny body shook with laughter, and tears of joy welled up on his eyelashes. Larry laughed with him, his booming laughter filling the back room.
And so, before he had finished laughing, Jeddy, moved by a sudden impulse and complete trust, rolled over onto his tummy. He settled himself more comfortably, with his hands under his chin, his bottom right under the magnifying glass.
“And what can you see here, fortune teller?” he asked through the remnants of laughter, clearly not thinking about the consequences.
Larry froze. The focus of the magnifying glass was now revealing an incredibly detailed picture: smooth, pale skin, the gentle curve of his buttocks, and… a tiny, neat pink star in the very center. A “hole.” A completely natural, vulnerable part of his anatomy. Larry did not flinch, did not laugh awkwardly. He was struck not so much by the detail itself, but by the absolute, guileless trust with which Jeddy held it under the magnifying glass. After all the shame, all the hatred for his body, this was an act of surrender of fear and complete acceptance.
"I see... I see the tiniest, neatest star in the world, Jeddy," he said softly, without a trace of embarrassment, moving the magnifying glass slightly to the side so as not to embarrass the little boy with too intense a gaze. "Like a tiny rosebud. Perfect. Like everything about you."
Jeddy was not embarrassed. He merely turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on the table, and smiled wearily and happily. His blue eyes shone with trust. Gigantor had seen everything. The most secret, shameful, vulnerable parts of him. And he had called them… perfect. Stars, buds, part of a wondrous whole. And Jeddy was finally beginning to believe it. He closed his eyes, feeling waves of fatigue and a strange, new peace wash over him. He was clean. He was whole. He was seen—all of him, without a trace—and accepted. And that was stronger than any words about “flora.” It was salvation. The laughter died down, leaving behind a pleasant languor and a sense of fragile but lasting peace. Larry, seeing Jeddy’s eyelids begin to stick together and his smile become blissful and relaxed, began to arrange a bed for the night. On the table he found an empty cardboard box of jelly beans, tiny to him but a palace to Jeddy. He lined the bottom with the soft folds of a clean handkerchief, then put another on top, creating a kind of mattress and blanket at the same time. It was a cozy, warm nest-bed.
"Here is your palace, wondrous," Larry whispered, carefully placing Jeddy in the box. The word "wondrous" echoed in the cowboy's tired head, filling it with warmth. He smiled, half-closing his eyes, and his tiny fingers began a new, calm exploration. He touched his shoulders, covered with the lightest, almost invisible fluff the color of ripe wheat. He ran his palm over his chest, feeling the smoothness of the skin and the thin ribs beneath it. He looked at his fingers - so thin, dexterous, usually hidden by leather gloves. They seemed amazing to him now, almost alien and beautiful. He touched his fair hair, and Larry, smiling, also carefully ran the tip of his finger over the flaxen strands.
"Wondrous..." Jeddy whispered under his breath as he fell asleep. The word was a shield against the "flora", a cloak of invisibility from shame. He was wonderful. All of him. With his clever flower, his little bag of bean seeds, his neat little star... With everything.
The silence of the utility room, filled only with the measured breathing of Jeddy falling asleep and the ticking of the clock, was broken by an icy, piercing voice:
- Jedidiah Smith!
Jeddy jerked upright in his nest, as if struck by a whip. His sleepy bliss had evaporated, replaced by a primal fear. He knew that voice. He knew that tone, fierce, furious, chilling. Octa. He was standing at the edge of the table, behind Larry, whom he had apparently managed to get past unnoticed. His small frame was tense to the limit, like a coiled spring. His face, usually expressive of majesty or ironic wisdom, was twisted with pure, uncontrollable rage. And his beady eyes burned with a cold fire of hatred, fixed on the naked, shawl-wrapped Jeddy, sitting in the lamplight, vulnerable, trusting, happy under the giant's gentle gaze.
Larry turned around abruptly, his face expressing complete shock and incomprehension.
- Octavius? What... what's wrong with you? What happened? - He didn't recognize this Roman. This was not an emperor, not a friend, but a clot of poison and anger.
Jeddy's lips moved, paralyzed with fear. His brain was frantically searching for an excuse, a saving lie. Say... say that we were preparing for his birthday! Cake! Presents! But the thought seemed idiotic even to him. He didn't know Octavius' birthday! And the sight of the enraged Roman left no room for stupid excuses.
Before Jeddy could get a word out, Octavius spoke. His voice was low and hissing, each sound like a dagger thrust.
"Stop this... this debauchery!" he screamed, the word burning in the air. "Stop parading your filthy flesh, your puny lust, before this... this giant imbecile!" He didn't look at Larry. His gaze pinned Jeddy. "Have you gone completely downhill? Wax whore! Disgrace to your saloon! Trash who only knows how to get under this bastard's thumb!"
Each word was a poisoned arrow, aimed squarely at his target. At his new shame, at his new but fragile self-acceptance. "Dirty flesh." "Petty lust." "Wax whore." Jeddy screamed, softly, hopelessly. He huddled in the box, trying to disappear, his face white, his eyes filled with terror and more tears. He couldn't breathe.
"Octavius! SHUT UP!" Larry's roar shook the room. He jumped up, shielding the box with Jeddy with his body. His face was purple with anger and confusion. "What got into you?! That's Jeddy! Your friend!"
- A friend? - Octavius laughed hysterically, the sound was chilling. - This piece of shameful wax? He is a fallen creature! Carrion that…
"OUT!" Larry stopped listening. His hand, huge and implacable, shot out not to strike but to seize. Octavius sprang back with the agility of a cat, his eyes flashing with hatred. "You're defending this trash?!" He spat at Jeddy, then, before Larry could move again, he turned and vanished into the darkness of the room like a ghost of rage and grief.
Larry stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched. Shock and anger raged through him. He couldn't comprehend this transformation. What had broken Octavius like this?
A quiet, broken sob behind him brought him back to reality. He turned around abruptly. Jeddy was sitting in the box, shaking like a leaf, his face streaked with tears, his eyes huge and full of absolute horror and pain, staring into space. The words "wax whore," "fallen creature," "trash" hung in the air like a poisonous fog, poisoning everything he and Larry had built.
“No… no… no…” Jeddy whispered, covering his ears with his tiny palms, as if trying to drown out the echo of insults.
- Jeddy! Baby! No! - Larry fell to his knees by the table, his huge hands carefully but quickly extracting the trembling bundle from the box. He pressed it to his chest, to his very heart, rocking it as if it were his dearest, most wounded treasure. - Don't listen! Don't listen to him! It's a lie! A vile, evil lie! Do you hear me? - He spoke, pouring out a stream of tenderness and protection, trying to wash away the poison of Octavius's words: - You are wonderful, Jeddy! All of you! Your clever little flower is a miracle! Your bag of strong beans is a miracle! Your neat little star is a miracle! Your blue, the most beautiful eyes in the world are a miracle! And your smile... your sincere smile... it is priceless! He does not know what he says! He is sick with malice! You are perfection! Small, brave, wonderful perfection! I see you! All of you! And you are beautiful!
He stroked his back through the handkerchief, kissed the top of his head, whispered endless words of acceptance until the trembling in the little body began to subside little by little, and the sobs became quieter. Jeddy pressed himself against him, seeking salvation in this warmth, in this booming voice repeating "wondrous," "perfect," "miracle." A shield of love against the sword of hate.
When Jeddy's breathing had become almost even, he whispered something into Larry's shirt, his voice low and broken, still laced with the remnants of a sob.
"You know... Larry..." He took a deep, strangled breath. "I... I have a toy soldier diploma..."
Larry froze. The anger that had been seething in him at Octavius was instantly replaced by surprise and gentle curiosity. A diploma? A toy soldier? But Jeddy was a cowboy! It was unexpected and touching.
“A diploma?” Larry pulled back just enough to see the tiny face. He gently wiped the remaining tears from the cheeks with his thumb. “Tell me, baby. Please. I want to know all about your diploma.”
His tone was warm, interested, encouraging. Not condescending, but sincere. He really cared.
Jeddy looked at him with his blue, still moist, but already brightened eyes. Seeing genuine interest, he took another deep breath and began to tell. At first timidly, then more and more confidently:
— Yeah… It… It was a long time ago. Before the museum. I… I wasn’t a cowboy. I was… a soldier. A tin one. In a blue uniform. With a musket. — He gestured to show the size of the musket. — And… and there was a school. For soldiers. There they taught… how to march. Evenly. And… and how to stand still. For a long time. And… and not to be afraid of the dark in a box. — He wrinkled his nose. — It was boring… but I tried. And… and in the end… they gave me a diploma. A small one. Made of paper. It said… “For excellent bearing and bravery in the dark.” And… and a seal. Red.
As he spoke, his face gradually lit up with a weak but real smile. He was remembering. Remembering another self. Not a cowboy, not an object of shame or admiration, but simply a little soldier who had tried and had been rewarded. This was his secret. His past self. And he was sharing it with Larry because he felt that here, in these huge, reliable hands, his past, his present, his “smart little flower” and his “soldier’s diploma” would all be safe. All would be accepted. Larry listened, enchanted, his heart overflowing with tenderness for this little creature who had endured so much pain and had found the strength to tell of something kind and bright. The toy soldier’s diploma became a bridge back to himself—not a cowboy, not a “flora,” but simply Jeddy. Marvelous, brave, with a diploma for excellent bearing and courage in the darkness, which he carried through all his night storms. And Larry knew that he would keep this secret as the most precious treasure, protecting its owner from any storms, external and internal.
Jeddy's quiet voice, talking about his toy soldier diploma, about marching in the dark, gradually faded away, replaced by yawns and heavy eyelids. Octavius' words, like sharp splinters, still hurt inside, but the flow of Larry's tenderness and the warm memories of his past self created a dam against the pain. Jeddy felt empty, but no longer crushed. He was tired. Terribly tired.
"A diploma for bravery in the dark," Larry whispered, his voice full of admiration. He stroked Jeddie's flaxen hair gently. "You're brave now, baby. Very brave."
Jeddy only smiled weakly in response, his eyes drooping. Larry knew: time for sleep. But not just sleep. Time for healing peace, wrapped in absolute safety. He unfolded the shawl again, turning it not into a swaddle but into a soft, cozy cradle. He laid Jeddy on his back, his tiny arms tucked to his chest, his legs gently bent. But before he wrapped him up, he did what Jeddy loved so much.
He leaned down. His lips, huge and warm, brushed gently over the cowboy's smooth belly. One kiss. Then another, just below the navel. Jeddy sighed, a look of bliss on his face. Then Larry brushed his lips against his, the lightest, most subtle touch that Jeddy loved most. He responded with a tiny movement of his lips, like a tiny kiss in return.
"Roll over, little star," Larry whispered. Jeddy obediently, sleepily rolled over onto his tummy. Larry covered his back with the kerchief like a blanket, but first leaned over again. His lips touched the ridge between the shoulder blades - gently. Then - the soft curve of the bottom. And finally - that same neat pink star - the lightest, almost weightless kiss, full of tenderness and unconditional acceptance. Jeddy gasped with unexpected pleasure, his body relaxed completely, drowning in warmth and affection.
— That's it... My wonderful, my brave little cowboy soldier... — Larry wrapped him in a kerchief, creating a cozy cocoon, leaving only his head free. He picked up the bundle, pressed it to his chest, right under his chin, where the heartbeat was loudest, and began to rock him. Slowly. Rhythmically. And he began to sing.
His voice was quiet, a little hoarse, but incredibly warm. He sang a simple, old lullaby that he had once heard from his grandmother:
Sleep, my joy, fall asleep...
The lights went out in the house...
The bees have become quiet in the garden...
The fish fell asleep in the pond...
The moon shines in the sky...
Looking through the window at you...
It's dark outside the window...
No one will shout for a long time...
Just you and me alone...
Sleep, my baby, sleep sweetly...
This was new to Jeddy. Cowboy ballads, yes. Rough saloon songs, yes. But a lullaby? A soft, soothing one? It was so… unfamiliar. So uncowboy. And so… beautiful. The waves of warmth, the rhythm of the rocking, Larry’s booming, soothing voice singing about bees and fish and the moon… They enveloped him like a warm fog. Words about bravery in the dark, about “fallen carrion,” about shame—they melted, dissolved in this tenderness. He felt not like a warrior, not like an object of lust or hatred, but just… a baby. Loved. Protected.
His blue eyes, still tear-stained and slightly red from tears, slowly closed. His breathing became deep and even. On his face, despite the traces of recent suffering, a blissful, peaceful smile froze. He was clean, wrapped up, warm and lulled. He was safe.
Larry felt the tiny body go completely limp, drifting off to sleep. He continued to rock and sing, softer and softer, until the last line died away in the silence of the back room:
Sleep, my baby, sleep sweetly...
He sat there for a long time, afraid to move, afraid to disturb the fragile peace. He looked at the sleeping face: at the stuck-together wet eyelashes, at the relaxed plump lips, at the golden freckles on the nose. At this wonderful, wounded, brave tiny person who trusted him completely.
There were about three hours left until dawn. Then Jeddy would once again be a motionless wax figure in a Wild West diorama. The question hung in the air: Should he be dressed? Returned to his usual cowboy suit, boots, hat? Or left here, in the back room, wrapped in a handkerchief, in a candy box?
Larry considered. Visitors would notice the absence of the cowboy in the diorama, of course. There would be fuss, questions. But…dress him now? Try to force leather pants, a vest, gloves onto a sleeping, defenseless body? It seemed sacrilegious. A violation of his newly found peace and quiet. His clothes weren’t just fabric for a doll. They were part of his role, his “self” in this museum. But now…now he was just Jeddy. Vulnerable, sleeping Jeddy, who needed to be at peace, not turned back into an exhibit.
Besides, Larry vaguely remembered the stories of other living exhibits. Their clothes, their accessories, were part of the magic that bound them to their "role." Taking them off at night was fine. But dressing a sleeping person when the magic was about to wear off? Would it do harm? Would it be another intrusion into his fragile being?
The decision came to him, firm and clear. He would not wake him. He would not disturb him. He would leave him here. Warm. Safe. In his little nest of kerchiefs, smelling of nougat and dust and now of love and lullaby.
Let the visitors search. Let them think that the figurine was taken away for restoration. He will take responsibility. He will protect this dream. He will protect his wonderful cowboy, the soldier with a diploma for bravery in the dark, the owner of a smart flower and a neat star. He will protect until the last moment before dawn.
Carefully, as if it were a sacred relic, he lowered the sleeping bundle back into the soft box-palace. He adjusted the "blanket." And sat down next to it, placing his huge palm on the edge of the box, like a guard. He would wait for dawn here. Keep watch. And listen to the even breathing of the tiny miracle to whom he had just sung a lullaby. For the first time in his life. And perhaps not the last time.
Three hours. For three long, quiet hours Larry sat in his worn chair at the table, staring at the cardboard box. His huge palm rested on its edge, not like a cage but like a protective barrier, a warm bridge between worlds. Inside, wrapped in the soft folds of a shawl, Jeddy slept. His breathing was deep and even at first, then became shallower, quieter, like the murmur of a falling-asleep stream. Larry watched every almost invisible rise and fall of the tiny breast under the “blanket,” every relaxed movement of the lips, still holding the trace of a peaceful smile.
He watched as the traces of the nightmare he had lived through gradually faded. The redness around his eyes, left by bitter tears, faded. The tense wrinkles on his forehead, at the bridge of his nose - the same ones that usually formed mischievous rays when he laughed - smoothed out in absolute peace. Jeddy's face became smooth as polished marble, but still alive, still his. Larry caught himself holding his breath, afraid to frighten this fragile beauty of a sleeping cowboy. He mentally noted every detail: the slight blush on his cheeks, the pale pink lips, slightly parted, the golden fuzz on his temples. He even felt the warmth emanating from the small body - the last glimmer of the night's magic.
Outside the utility room windows, the night blue was beginning to be diluted by the first, cold shades of gray. Dawn was inevitable. Larry felt a cold lump of foreboding tighten in his chest.
And then he noticed. Jeddy's breathing, so quiet that Larry had been listening with his whole being, suddenly… stopped. Didn't slow. Didn't pause on a sigh. Just disappeared. As if the invisible motor of life had been turned off.
Larry froze, his own heart skipping a beat. He leaned down, his face almost touching the box.
"Jeddy?" the whisper escaped his lips, full of silent pleading.
At that moment, the face in the box changed. Not abruptly, but with the chilling smoothness of an irreversible process. The finest network of expression wrinkles around the eyes, the corners of the lips - traces of laughter, smiles, grimaces of pain - smoothed out without a trace. The skin, which had just seemed warm and breathing, acquired an absolutely smooth, waxy whiteness. It was still recognizable - the same nose with freckles, the same outline of the lips - but it was no longer skin. It was a surface. Perfectly smooth, lifeless.
Larry instinctively recoiled. And at that moment the last, most terrible transformation occurred.
As if by a wave of an invisible hand, Jeddy's living, flaxen hair, slightly disheveled in his sleep... merged. It lost every single hair, every shade, turning into a single, solid, relief influx of yellowish plastic. As if they had been molded from a single piece of wax. At the same time, his face completely froze: his eyebrows became not the natural curve of hairs, but clear, slightly surprised raised strokes of paint. Lips - neatly painted pink lines. Eyes... blue, deep, living lakes... disappeared under smooth eyelids, turning into barely outlined closed eyes, painted with a thin brush with dark paint over wax. All the features became sharper, more artificial, deprived of that incredible depth and expressiveness that had fascinated Larry all night.
It wasn't Jeddy lying in front of him. It was a figurine. An exact copy. Impeccably made, but… a thing. A wax doll in a cozy nest made of a scarf.
The silence in the back room became echoing, oppressive. Larry sat motionless. His hand was still on the edge of the box, but now it felt only the cold cardboard. The warmth was gone. The life was gone. All that remained was… form. And fear. A chilling, irrational fear gripped Larry.
What if he doesn't come back? What if this night... broke something? What if magic can't break through the horror, the self-hatred he's endured? What if Octavius... with his poison...
His thoughts were confused. He knew the logic of the museum. He knew the cycles of animation and freezing. But never before had he observed this transition so closely, so intently, with such a heart invested in the sleeping creature. Never before had this transformation seemed so… final. So much like a small death.
He was afraid to touch. Afraid that the cold, smooth wax under the handkerchief would confirm the worst. Afraid that his Jeddy – wonderful, brave, with a smart flower and a soldier’s diploma – would forever remain this silent piece of colored wax.
His gaze fell on the candy box. On the sweets that had once been inside. On the cozy nest. On the neatly wrapped figure with painted eyebrows and plastic hair. It looked like a tiny, eerily delicate coffin.
Larry slowly, very slowly, removed his hand from the table. He was no longer looking at the figurine. He was looking out the gray window, where the light was coming. His fingers curled into fists. Somewhere out there, Octavius was wandering, carrying the darkness within him. Somewhere out there, the night was waiting. Just the night. But it seemed like an eternity.
“Come back,” he whispered into the quiet of the back room, not to the wax figure but to what lay beneath it. To the cowboy’s soul. To his courage in the dark. “Just… come back, baby. I’ll be waiting.”
But fear, cold and sticky, had already taken root in his heart. He had seen his life gone. And there was no guarantee that it would return. Especially after a night of such wounds. He was alone in the dawn, with the silent wax figure and the chilling silence broken only by the nagging question: What if the magic doesn't work this time?
The day dragged on painfully long. Larry paced his tiny apartment, unable to rest or distract himself. A chilling sight stood before his eyes: his breath, vanished into nothingness… a smooth, lifeless waxen face… plastic hair… This image crossed out all the tenderness of the night, all the struggle for the little cowboy’s trust. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if magic couldn’t cope with that pain? If Octavius…” — his thoughts spun in a vicious circle, poisoned by fear. He left for work two hours before his shift, gloomy, with shadows under his eyes and unfinished coffee in a paper cup.

Chapter Text

The museum was empty and silent that evening. Larry barely said hello to the daytime security guard; he was flushed with impatience. He burst into his back room, threw his jacket on the floor, and casually set his cold coffee cup on the table, right next to the cardboard box of candy. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.
He froze in front of the box, barely breathing. There, in the nest of the handkerchief, lay the same figurine. Smooth. Cold to the touch, as he verified with a trembling finger. Lifeless. With painted-on eyebrows and closed slit eyes. A plastic wheat "wig." Larry grabbed the back of the chair to keep from falling. Fear squeezed his throat.
No. No, please…
He sank into a chair, staring into the box as if into an abyss. The minutes dragged on into eternity. Outside the window, the sun was setting, painting the museum halls crimson and casting long, ominous shadows. Larry did not move. He prayed wordlessly, desperately peering into the motionless wax features.
And then… he felt it.
At first it was almost imperceptible. Warmth. A faint, barely perceptible emanation of heat from the figure. Then… breathing? No, not breathing yet. As if the very substance of the figure began to vibrate on some invisible level. Larry leaned closer, holding his breath.
The waxy surface of the face… began to soften. A barely noticeable texture appeared, a slight roughness, like living skin. The drawn eyebrows seemed to “swell”, acquired volume - these were no longer strokes of paint, but real, light hairs! The closed slit eyes became deeper, the eyelids acquired a delicate pink shade from the inside. And the hair! The solid yellow plastic build-up began to “crumble” into thousands of the finest, silky flaxen hairs, laid in a natural wave!
Larry couldn't believe his eyes. He stretched out a trembling finger and carefully touched the figurine's forehead. Warmth! Real, living warmth! And under his finger the skin was no longer smooth, but... real! With barely noticeable, familiar wrinkles at the temples!
“Jeddy…” Larry breathed, and there was a plea and hope and endless relief in his voice.
The figure sighed. Deeply. Convulsively. The chest under the kerchief rose and fell. The eyelids trembled… and slowly opened. Blue! Bright, like forget-me-nots in the morning sun, blue eyes! A little cloudy from sleep, but alive! THEY WERE LOOKING! They recognized!
- G-Gigantor...? - a weak, sleepy voice, painfully familiar, cut through the silence of the utility room.
Larry couldn't help but let out a sobbing laugh of relief.
- Yes! Yes, baby! I'm here! Sleeping sweetly, my little star? - His fingers, trembling with delight and residual fear, carefully began to unfold the scarf. He loosened the "cocoon", freeing tiny hands that had become numb from the time of immobility. - Like this... Warm your fingers... Everything is fine, everything is fine...
Jeddy yawned sweetly, stretching in the freed space. He rubbed his sleepy eyes with his fists, then flexed his wrists and fingers. His gaze found Larry's face, and that same sincere, slightly confused, but infinitely familiar smile spread across his tiny lips. A smile of return. A smile of trust that had survived the night and fear.
“Mmm… Slept… Good…” he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep, but already gaining strength.
A wave of such tenderness and gratitude washed over Larry that he could not restrain himself. He brought the tiny, warm, just-revived body to his lips and began to kiss it. Messily, passionately, without giving it a break. The forehead, the freckled nose, the cheeks, the corners of the lips… Every centimeter, every familiar feature. He kissed its tummy, its hands, its “smart little flower” – not as an object of desire, but as a miracle, as proof of the life that had returned to him.
"Larry-e!" Jeddy laughed, squealing with tickling and emotion, trying to get away but not really resisting. "You're... you're going to kiss me!"
"Never!" Larry breathed, pulling away for a second, his eyes shining. He lifted Jeddy onto his bent leg. "Hold on tight, cowboy! Let's go!" And he began to pump his knee, miming a gallop, holding Jeddy's tiny hands with his huge fingers. "Hop-hop! Apple, come on!"
Jeddy squealed with delight, his blue eyes shining, forgetting about yesterday's tears and Octavius' poison. He rode on Larry's "horse" knee, feeling the wind of freedom and the mad happiness of being here, alive, and loved.
Suddenly his gaze fell on a paper cup of cold coffee standing on the table nearby. The dark liquid looked mysterious and… adult.
- Gigantor... what is this? - he pointed with his finger.
- Coffee, baby. A bitter drink. For the big and tired.
“Can I… try?” Jeddy’s eyes lit up with curiosity.
Larry smiled. He carefully picked up the cup. To Jeddie, it was a huge cistern. Larry tilted it just enough to let a tiny drop of dark liquid collect on the very edge. He brought the edge to Jeddie's lips.
- Careful, baby. Just a little bit.
Jeddy carefully touched his lips to the drop of coffee and took a tiny sip. Then he made a displeased face, sticking out his tongue.
- Ugh! - He shook his head, wrinkling his nose. - Bitter! And... and weird! - He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, looking at Larry with genuine bewilderment. - And when you have this crap on your lips... - He nodded towards Larry, clearly referring to the taste of coffee, - ...it seems tastier! Much!
Larry didn't understand at first, but then he burst out laughing, lifting Jeddy onto his palm.
"Gunk on my lips?" He poked his lips with his finger, still laughing. "It's coffee, Jeddy! And it tastes better... probably because it was a kiss and not just coffee!"
Jeddy thought for a moment, licking his lips as if testing an invisible trace. Then a thought and a new smile lit up his face, both mischievous and embarrassed.
- A... let's have some more... crap? Without coffee? - he looked at Larry with a challenge and hope in his blue eyes.
Larry smiled, his heart singing. The fear was gone. The night was beginning. His wonderful, brave cowboy was back. With his clever flower, his soldier's diploma, his eyes wrinkled with laughter and his ineradicable curiosity about the world. And Larry knew that now he would protect this miracle from any darkness. He leaned over, ready to give Jeddy as much "stuff" (read: kisses) as he wanted, forgetting about coffee and the rest of the world except this tiny island of happiness in the palm of his hand.
The soft, sweet kisses Larry showered on Jeddie's lips slowly but surely changed their character. What had begun as a gentle celebration of life's return, a torrent of tenderness, became deeper. Hotter. The lip-touches lingered longer. Larry's tongue tentatively touched Jeddie's lips, asking for permission, and the tiny cowboy responded with a timid but eager movement. The wet, intimate contact, the taste of coffee mixed with their own unique saltiness, became a spark.
Jeddy felt it instantly. The familiar warmth spread from his belly down, but now it was stronger, sharper. His "smart little flower," which had just been dozing peacefully, suddenly woke up, tensed, pressing a hard, hot mound against his lower belly. Demanding. Insistent. The slight dizziness from the drop of caffeine mixed with the booming pounding of his little heart in his ears, thump-thump-thump, like a drum roll before an attack. He groaned into Larry's lips, his body arching toward the giant.
Larry felt the response in his entire being. The excitement that had been brewing inside him surged upward with renewed force. He saw Jeddy's tiny body quiver, his hips moving instinctively, seeking friction. He saw his own cock strain almost painfully under the fabric of his trousers. The difference in size was a chasm, but the desire was a single, raging river.
He pulled away from Jeddy's lips, his breath ragged and hot, his eyes dark and deep, looking into the tiny, flushed face.
"Jeddy..." His voice was hoarse, thick. "You're... all ablaze. My wonderful, brave cowboy..." He carefully ran his finger over the swelling under the scarf on Jeddy's tummy. "Your smart little flower needs attention, huh?"
Jeddy nodded, speechless. His blue eyes were huge, full of passion, inexperience, and complete trust.
“You want to see… mine?” Larry said, almost whispering, but the words rang out loud in the quiet of the back room. “But he’s… he’s not as smart as yours. He’s just… big. And he wants you very much.”
Curiosity mingled with excitement in Jeddy's eyes. He nodded again, his lips parting.
Larry pulled back slowly, giving Jeddie time to reconsider. His fingers went to his belt buckle. Click. He unbuttoned his pants. Slowly pulled down the zipper. Then, looking into Jeddie's eyes, he lowered his underwear.
His cock, fully erect, stood erect before the tiny cowboy. To Jeddy it was a column of flesh. Enormous, powerful, with taut skin, veins showing, and a large, wet head at the top. It pulsed in time with Larry's heart, seeming to fill the entire world.
Jeddy gasped, his eyes widening. He stared, fascinated and slightly horrified by this display of pure, raw male power.
- It's... it's so BIG, Gigantor! - he breathed out in a loud whisper. - Like... like a rock!
Larry chuckled softly, the tension easing a little.
- The usual, baby. Just... my size. How's it going? - He gave a slight movement of his hips, and his cock swayed, hypnotizing Jeddy. - Like it?
“Yes…” Jeddy whispered, blushing even more. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “But… but how? I… I can’t…” He looked at his tiny “flower” in confusion, then at the giant “rock”. “How can I give you… honey? Like you were to me yesterday?”
Larry smiled, his eyes sparkling with understanding and a new idea.
- There is a way, baby. Will you trust me?
Jeddy nodded without hesitation.
Larry carefully lifted it from his palm.
— Get on all fours. Like this. — He helped the tiny body into position, placing a large, soft paper hygiene napkin underneath it. Then, with infinite tenderness, his fingers settled on Jeddy’s back. — Bend over for me, little star… Like this… — He gently but firmly arched Jeddy’s back downwards, lifting his tiny, perfect bottom up. The neat pink “star” was now fully exposed to the view and… something else.
It was overwhelming for Jeddy. The position was vulnerable, submissive. The feeling of the cool air on his most intimate part. But there was no shame. There was excitement, mixed with passion. He felt like he was participating in some incredible, forbidden ritual.
“Are… are you ready, Jeddy?” Larry’s voice was low, thick with desire, but full of concern.
“Yes…” Jeddy exhaled, resting his forehead on the napkin. “Yes, Gigantor…”
Larry corrected himself by taking his huge cock in his hand. He brought it to Jeddy's tiny ass, but not for penetration - the very thought of that was monstrous. Even his little finger could cause unbearable pain and injury. No. His purpose was different.
He found that very "star" with the tip of his head. Warm, tender, pulsating. And he began to rub. Very carefully. With the lightest, sliding movements. The head, hot and wet, slid along the tender pink skin, around the "star" itself, sometimes touching it directly - gently, but persistently.
It was an incomprehensible sensation for Jeddy. Enormous, incredibly hot and soft at the same time, the surface rubbed against his most intimate spot. Waves of pleasure, unlike those his "flower" gave, spilled out from there. Deeper. Stronger. It was pressure, heat, wetness and the sheer, overwhelming closeness of a giant. He groaned, high and drawn out, his tiny body shaking.
“Oh, Larry… so… so good…” He arched his back even further into the friction, instinctively exposing himself.
Larry saw the tiny body react. He heard the moans. He felt the heat under the head of his cock. His own arousal had reached its limit. His movements became a little more confident, more rhythmic. He concentrated on the "star", massaging it with the tip, feeling how the tiny opening reflexively gave in slightly under his pressure, but he did not press, did not enter - only rubbed, pouring the moisture of his own arousal on her.
The results were immediate. The excitement of the kisses, the caffeine, the unprecedented stimulation—all of it overwhelmed Jeddy. His body arched in a silent scream. The “smart little flower” strained to the limit, and warm, sticky “honey” spurted out in a strong stream, covering his tummy and the napkin beneath it. Spasms shook him, mixing with moans of pure, blinding pleasure.
The sight of that tiny, absolute ecstasy, the feeling of the wetness and pulsation beneath his cock, Jeddy's moans—that was enough for Larry. With a quiet, stifled moan, he pressed the head harder against the quivering "star," and his own seed spurted out in a hot stream, missing Jeddy but drenching the napkin next to him with a huge, wet spot. He trembled, head down, feeling the wave of release wash away the tension.
There was silence, broken only by their heavy breathing. Larry carefully withdrew his cock, watching Jeddy's tiny body slump against the napkin, still trembling from the residual spasms. He lifted him gently, holding him to his chest, kissing the top of his head, his temples.
“My wondrous… my brave…” he whispered, stroking the trembling back. “You are… incredible.”
Jeddy pressed himself against him, his heart pounding. He could smell their mixed secretions, feel the stickiness on his tummy, but there was no shame. There was wonder and weariness and a deep, animal connection with this giant who had found a way to give him pleasure he had never known without causing him pain. He was whole. He was accepted. He was loved in all his tiny, complex, wondrous completeness. And as Larry held him, lulling him with whispers and warmth, Jeddy knew his "smart little flower" and his "little star" were safe in those huge, safe arms. The night was just beginning, and it promised new discoveries.
The silence of the back room was now filled only by their heavy, synchronized breathing—Larry's deep hum and Jeddy's small, intermittent ringing. The giant held the tiny, quivering body to his chest, feeling the frantic pounding of the little heart echo in his own flesh like a distant but familiar thunder. The smell of their combined secretions—tart, animal, intimate—was in the air, not as something shameful, but as evidence of the incredible union they had just experienced.
Larry kissed the top of Jeddy's head, his lips sliding through his sweat-dampened flaxen hair, whispering incoherent words of admiration and adoration: "Wondrous... Beloved... Bravest cowboy..." His fingers gently stroked his trembling back, feeling with the pads of each microscopic muscle, still quivering from the residual waves of pleasure.
Jeddy pressed himself against the warm, hard plane of Larry’s chest. The stickiness on his tummy was strange, but not repulsive. It was the residue of their fire, their shared explosion. He felt… empty, but full at the same time. Empty physically, the spasms having sucked all the strength out of him. Full, with incredible warmth, safety, and a strange, new strength. The strength of being able to accept this, to survive this, and it was bliss.
He turned his head, burying his nose in Larry's skin under his shirt. His blue eyes, half-closed, met huge brown ones, full of silent question and tenderness. Jeddy smiled weakly.
“Your… your flower…” he whispered, his voice broken but happy. “It’s… hot. Like a stove. And it’s pounding…” He carefully touched Larry’s huge cock with his tiny palm, which, despite the release, was still hard and pulsating with wet heat, only slightly covered by the fabric of his underwear. The size was still staggering. It was a real mountain of flesh. “It’s pounding… like my heart. Only… louder. Much louder.
Larry groaned softly as tiny fingers touched his hypersensitive skin. An electric shock ran from base to tip. He covered Jeddie's hand with his own, pressing it gently against himself.
“It’s knocking on you, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick as molasses. “Only on you. Do you hear that? That knock… it’s yours.”
Jeddy listened, closing his eyes. The deep, powerful pulse beneath his palm truly seemed like a call dedicated only to him. It was incredible. Powerful. He pressed even closer, absorbing the rhythm with his whole being.
Larry couldn't take his eyes off the tiny figure nestled trustingly against his most vulnerable spot. The sight of Jeddy, hot and sticky, with the remnants of his own "honey" on her tummy, her expression completely open and shameless, was maddening. The desire he had thought satisfied flared up with a new, fierce force. It was not only physical. It was a thirst for possession, for absorption, for the protection of this fragile flame that burned so boldly in his hands.
"Jeddy..." His voice was a warning and a plea at the same time. "I... I can't tear myself away. You're too... wondrous. Too... mine."
He slowly lifted the tiny body higher, toward his face. His lips found Jeddie’s again, not gently this time, but hungrily, demandingly. His tongue pushed deeper, searching the tiny mouth with authority, drawing out responsive moans. At the same time, his free hand slid down Jeddie’s back, toward his still-raised bottom. His thumb found the wet, heated “star”—the same one he had just been rubbing against. “Shhh, star,” Larry whispered, breaking the kiss, his breath hot on Jeddie’s cheek. “Just… feel it. I’m here. I won’t hurt you. Never.” His finger continued its gentle, circular motions, stretching, lubricating with its own moisture, preparing. Not for penetration—that was unthinkable. But for… more friction. For more contact. “Do you want to… feel him again? All of him? Hot? Hard? Against your… star?”
Jeddy's eyes widened with anticipation and fear, which instantly dissolved into trust. He nodded, unable to speak. His own "smart little flower," which had seemed to have quieted down a moment ago, spoke again, a timid but demanding nudge to his stomach.
Larry, with a soft groan, lowered Jeddy back onto the napkin, already soaked with their traces. On all fours again. Again with her back gently arched, her ass tremblingly exposed to his gaze and… his desire. He released his cock completely. It was even bigger than it had seemed, even more inexorable in its excited power.
This time he wasn't just rubbing. He was enveloping. He took the base of his cock in his hand, guiding the huge, pulsating head so that it didn't just slide but pressed its entire hot, wet surface against Jeddy's tiny bottom. He covered it all, like a seal, paying special attention to the quivering "star", massaging it with the most sensitive part of his flesh. The movements were slow, masterful, imbued with the awareness of his own power and absolute care.
"Oh, God... Jeddy..." Larry moaned, watching the tiny body arch under his pressure, the pink "star" reflexively contracting and opening under his onslaught. "You're... taking it... All of it... for me..."
For Jeddy, it was like being covered by a living, breathing volcano. The heat, the wetness, the incredible pressure on his most intimate spot. The feeling of oppression mixed with heady ecstasy. He felt every pulsation of the giant cock, every vein on it, pressed against his ass. His own arousal shot up with incredible force, much faster than the first time. The "flower" tensed painfully, shooting "honey" almost instantly, in short, convulsive thrusts, soaking the napkin beneath him. He screamed - high, desperate, in silent ecstasy.
The sight of that tiny, absolute surrender to his power, the feel of the warm wetness beneath his cock, and his own name screamed out in climax—it was enough. Larry, with a deep, strangled growl, pressed the full weight, the full heat of his cock, against Jeddy's quivering bottom, and his seed gushed in a hot stream, drenching not the baby but the napkin around him, creating a huge wet spot that bordered the tiny body like a sacrificial wreath. Spasms shook him, mingling with a hoarse groan of release.
They froze. Larry, breathing hard, his hands on the table either side of Jeddy. Jeddy, face down on the napkin, his tiny body still trembling, covered in sweat, his own honey, and… the feeling of the giant's all-consuming presence.
Slowly, with infinite tenderness, Larry picked him up. He held him close, ignoring the stickiness, kissing his eyes, tearful with pleasure, whispering haltingly, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, baby... You... you were incredible... Perfect..." He felt Jeddy go limp in his arms, his breathing even out, falling into a deep, exhausted sleep. But even in sleep, tiny hands clutched at the fold of his shirt.
Larry knew it would be sacrilege to dress him now. He wrapped the sleeping, sticky little body in a clean corner of the handkerchief, not bothering to dry it, just covering it. He laid him back in the little nest box. His cock, slowly calming, still throbbed with the memory of the soft, pink star and the absolute trust with which the tiny cowboy had exposed it to his fire.
There were still a few hours left until dawn. Larry sat down next to her, putting his hand on the edge of the box, looking at the sleeping face. The fear was gone. All that remained was a quiet, fiery confidence: no matter what the trials, his wonderful, brave cowboy with the smart flower and the soldier's diploma would stand. Because he was his. And he would cherish this fragile flame, this pink star, this tiny heartbeat - until the last breath of the night. And beyond.
The last hours of the shift dragged on like tar for Larry. He sat by the box, staring at Jeddy, wrapped in a shawl. The tiny chest rose and fell evenly, flaxen eyelashes fanned out on pale cheeks. The face was calm, without traces of the recent storm of passion. Larry gently ran his finger over the top of the sleeping man's head, feeling the silkiness of the hair, the warmth of the living skin under the pillow.
"Sleep, my wonderful one," he whispered, his voice hoarse with fatigue and tenderness. "Sleep soundly. I'll be back. I promise."

Chapter Text

Dawn was already gilding the tops of the buildings outside the window when Larry, with a heavy heart, rose. He did not dress Jeddie. The thought of disturbing that fragile peace by fiddling with the tiny boots and vest seemed sacrilege. Let him sleep. Let him stay here, in the safety of his back room, even if his place in the diorama would be empty during the day. He carefully adjusted the shawl around the sleeping man, covered the box with a clean sheet of paper, as if wrapping up a treasure, and quietly left, locking the door. His steps through the morning streets toward home were slow, tired, but a warm ember burned in his chest – the knowledge that Jeddie was safe, that he had come back, that their night had been… incredible.
In the utility room, as soon as Larry's footsteps had died away behind the door, Jeddy opened his eyes. Not sleepy, but clear, full of determination. A quiet resentment pricked him: he was still this tiny thing, this toy in the palm of his hand, dependent on the comings and goings of the giant. Until the sun rose!
He crawled out of the warm nest of the shawl and threw off the paper cover. The chill in the air made him shudder, but he did not hesitate. With deft, practiced movements he pulled on his leather pants, vest, gloves, and put on his hat. The clothes smelled of dust, the museum, and… Larry. He felt the pocket of his vest – empty. The diploma! He needed it. Now.
The back room door was locked, but to the tiny, agile cowboy the gap under the door was a tunnel. He squeezed through, looked around at the empty, sunlit halls—deadly dangerous for him now!—and ran. His heart pounded not only from the speed but also from the risk. He dove into his Wild West diorama, to the small, sleep-crumpled piece of paper with the seal hidden in a secret corner of the saloon in his pocket. "For excellent bearing and courage in the dark." He put it back in his pocket, pressed it with his palm. Now—to Akhmenrah.
A solemn silence reigned in the Egyptian Hall. Akhmenra, the young pharaoh in a loincloth and golden bracelets, sat on his throne, thoughtfully fingering a papyrus scroll. His dark eyes widened in surprise when Djeddi ran up to his sandals, out of breath.
"Jedidiah?" he raised an eyebrow. "Dawn is near. You're a long way from home, cowboy."
- Akhmenrah! - Jeddi threw his head back to see his friend's face. - I need your help! The tablet... That magic one... Can it... turn me? Into a big one? Into a living person? A real one?
Akhmenrah frowned. He leaned down carefully and picked up Jeddi in his palm, holding it close to his face. The pharaoh's eyes, wise beyond his years, studied the tiny face.
“Turn?” he asked slowly. “Into a human? You want to become… mortal? Leave the museum? Walk in the sun?” His voice was serious, almost alarmed.
Jeddy nodded eagerly.
- Yes! That's right! I want... - He faltered, the color flooding his cheeks. - I want to be big! Like... like our Gigantor! To be with him! Next to him! Not in the palm of my hand! And so that... - there was a note of resentment in his voice - so that Octavius would stop laughing at me! So that I could come to him and... and laugh at him myself! That's it!
Akhmenra looked at him for a long moment. Then his lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile. He chuckled softly.
“The desire… is strong, Jed. And risky.” He rose from the throne, holding Jeddy in the palm of his hand, and walked to the pedestal where the golden slab with shimmering hieroglyphs lay—the Tablet of Ahkmenrah. He set Jeddy down carefully on the cold stone floor next to it. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
Akhmenra raised his hands. His voice was low and commanding, speaking strange, guttural words of an ancient language. The hieroglyphs on the Tablet flared with a blinding golden light. The air around Jeddy thickened, swirled, turned into a shining, warm cloud that enveloped him from head to toe. Jeddy cried out - not from pain, but from incredible sensation. He was tingling with millions of needles, tickled from within by a warmth that quickly became heat. He felt his bones cracking softly, lengthening, his muscles tightening, his skin stretching. His clothes - vest, trousers, hat, even the diploma in his pocket! - stretched along with him, miraculously growing larger.
The cloud dispersed as suddenly as it had appeared. Jeddy stood on the floor, swaying. The world around him… had shifted. The display cases, the statues, Akhmenrah himself—everything had become lower, closer to the ground. He raised his hands in front of his face. Hands! Large, real hands in familiar leather gloves, but now they were the size of his former body! He clenched his fists, felt the strength in the muscles of his forearms. He took a step. His legs obeyed, but his gait was uncertain, like that of a newborn foal.
- Akhmenra... - his voice! Deep, masculine, but with recognizable notes of the former Jeddi. - I... what am I?
Akhmenrah, who now barely reached his chin (Akhmenrah was about 5,7 feet tall, and Jeddi... clearly smaller), measured him with a glance.
“Come on,” he said simply, taking Jeddie’s hand, firmly, in a friendly way. His fingers wrapped around Jeddie’s wrist. It was strange, the feel of someone else’s hand, so… human.
He led the confused giant recruit through the quiet halls to the staff toilet. There was a large mirror there.
Jeddy walked up to him and froze. A young guy was looking back at him in the reflection. Slender, even a little skinny. Familiar flaxen hair, now a thick cap down to his shoulders. Familiar blue eyes, but now they looked out from under light eyebrows from a height of about... 5,4 feet? The face - his face! Freckles on the nose, slight wrinkles around the eyes from the habit of squinting and smiling, but... adult. Male. In his usual cowboy clothes, which now sat like a glove.
The excitement quickly turned to disappointment. He turned to Akhmenra, his face contorted with hurt.
— Only 5,4 feet?! — his new voice sounded rough, almost shrill. — I barely reached your chin! Akhmenrah, did you lie? I wanted to be like Larry! Big! Strong!
Akhmenra sighed patiently.
“Jed, look at you!” He turned him back to the mirror. “You’re a man! A real man! You’re strong, you’re agile – you can tell by your shoulders. You think everyone has to be a mountain? You can run anywhere now, you can climb anywhere, the whole world outside the museum is open to you! You’re free! And you look… good. A lot.” He patted Jeddy on the shoulder, trying to calm him down. “You may not have been designed to be as tall as Attila, but that doesn’t make you any less. Just… different.”
Jeddy stared at his reflection. Freedom… The world… It sounded good. He twirled in front of the mirror, tried to smile – the familiar lines of wrinkles gathered around his eyes. Yes, he was… not bad. A slender cowboy. Not a giant, but… a man.
“But remember, Jedidiah Smith,” Akhmenrah’s voice grew serious. “You are mortal now. Like our guardian of Brooklyn. Like the people outside the walls. You can get sick. You can be hit by a cart… or a car. You can die.”
Jeddy frowned.
- Die? - The word sounded abstract, alien. He, a wax figure, knew only the life of the night and the nothingness of the day. Real death was beyond his understanding. - Well... okay, - he waved his hand carelessly. The main thing was that he was big! He could go to Larry as an equal!
Akhmenrah led him back to Larry's supply closet. The door was locked, but now Jeddy could just... sit on a chair inside, like a normal person! He waved goodbye to the pharaoh, who walked away shaking his head and muttering something about stubborn cowboys.
Jeddy was left alone in the quiet utility room. New sensations crashed over him. He stood up, walked around, his steps echoing in the silence. He touched the objects on Larry's desk: the mug, the notepad, the magnifying glass - now they were normal size! He went to the window. Dawn was breaking outside the glass. Pink and gold stripes of dawn spread across the sky. And... nothing. No constraint, no desire to freeze. He simply stood and looked, mesmerized by the beauty of a real morning, which he was seeing for the first time in his new, human life. Delight was mixed with anxiety. What would Larry say? Would he recognize him? Would he accept this new Jeddy - not a crumb in the palm of his hand, but a man 5.4 feet tall?
He sat down on Larry's chair, putting his feet on the table (it turned out to be convenient!), and took his diploma out of his vest pocket. "For excellent posture and bravery in the dark." He smiled. He knew the darkness very well. Now he had to learn bravery in the light of day. And wait for the giant. Very soon the setting sun would touch the roofs, and Larry would return. And Jeddy would be waiting. No longer a doll in a box, but a man in a chair, with a diploma in his hand and a new, huge world beating in his human heart. A heart that no longer stopped with the dawn, but beat evenly and strongly, not knowing that it was now mortal.
The long day dragged on in the back room, a museum-like silence broken only by the hum of life beyond the thick walls. For Jeddy, experiencing the continuous flow of time in a human body for the first time, everything was new, strange, and… demanding. Thirst was the first to make itself known—he drained a glass of tap water in the sink, marveling at how much his new stomach could hold. Then fatigue came—he curled up in Larry’s chair, covering himself with Larry’s forgotten jacket, and fell into a deep, daytime-free sleep. He woke to a rumbling in his stomach, so loud that he felt ashamed in front of the empty room.
Hunger. Real, sharp, gnawing. He looked around the back room. On the table next to the empty candy box that had once been his palace, was an open packet of nougat—the sticky, nutty kind that Larry loved to nibble on at night. Jeddy had seen those bars before as solid rocks, from which you could only pinch off a microscopic piece. Now… Now he took one whole. The aroma of caramel and nuts hit his nose, and saliva filled his mouth.
He took a bite. The hard, sticky mass filled his mouth, demanding work from his jaws. The nuts crunched. The sweetness, incredibly concentrated and bright compared to the tiny doses of the past, coated his tongue. He groaned with pleasure, forgetting everything. One bar disappeared quickly. Then a second. A third. He ate greedily, with the delight of a discoverer, feeling the sweet heaviness fill him, satisfying that strange, new hunger. The empty pack lay on the table, evidence of his new status and appetite.
After he had eaten his fill, he began to feel bored again. He walked around the back room, touched Larry's things, looked out the window at the changing light, tried to imagine the giant's face when he saw him. Excitement mixed with anxiety. What if Larry was disappointed? What if it was his tinyness that he loved? The thought made his heart clench. He dozed off again in the chair, wrapped in Larry's scent that remained on his jacket.
The sun was setting, painting the museum halls in crimson shadows, when he heard the familiar heavy footsteps and jingle of keys behind the door. Jeddy's heart began to gallop, beating so loudly that it seemed to echo throughout the back room. A thought! Hide! His gaze darted around the room. The curtain! The coarse fabric covering the small service window formed a dark fold against the wall. Jeddy ducked behind it, pressing his back against the cool glass, holding his breath. The door opened, slammed shut. Larry walked into the room.
He was wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt, holding a paper bag of food that smelled of spices. His face was tired, but his eyes shone with the usual warm concern. He put the bag on the table, his gaze automatically sliding to the place where the box of Jeddy usually stood. Emptiness. There was only a crumpled pack of nougat on the table and his jacket.
— Jeddy? — Larry's voice was soft but clear in the silence. He took a step toward the table, peered behind it. — Baby? Where are you? — His voice was alarmed. He dropped to his knees, peering under the table, under the chair. — Jeddy! Star, answer me! — The alarm turned to panic. He jumped up, his face pale. — Octavius?.. No, he couldn't.. Who?.. — He rushed to the cabinets, threw open the door, peered inside. Empty. — Jeddy! — His cry was full of despair.
It was at that moment, with Larry standing with his back to the curtain, hunched over in the terror of loss, that Jeddy slipped out from behind. On soft boots that were silent to Larry, he came up close behind. His arms—firm now, manly strength, but still gentle—went around Larry's waist, pressing his palms against his stomach under his T-shirt.
Larry flinched as if he had been electrocuted. He froze for a moment, his body rigid as stone. Then, suddenly, almost automatically, he turned, stepping back. His eyes, wide with shock, stared at the man who had embraced him.
A young man stood before him. Slender, in cowboy clothes that were familiar to the smallest detail - brown leather pants, a vest, a hat pushed back on his head, revealing flaxen hair down to his shoulders. Familiar blue eyes, like mountain lakes, looked at him with timid hope and slight fear. Familiar freckles on his nose. Familiar rays near the eyes, ready to form a smile... But all this - on an adult, human face. On a body almost his height! Larry froze. His mind refused to believe. It was as if the air had been pumped out of the room. He was silent, absorbing the image, comparing it with the tiny silhouette imprinted in his memory.
"Jeddy..." the name escaped his lips in a whisper, full of amazement and incredible tenderness. "What... what happened to you?.." He took a step forward, his hands, as if moved by their own will, rose and carefully, as if to a fragile miracle, embraced the young man around the waist. Larry's palms felt the flexibility, the warmth of a living body under the leather of the vest, his new, unusually strong figure. He looked without stopping, admiring every change and recognizing every familiar feature in this new appearance. "You... are wondrous..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "Absolutely wondrous."
Jeddy froze under his gaze, under his touch. Seeing the mixture of delight, shock and undying tenderness in Larry's eyes, he could not resist:
“You… you don’t like it?” His voice, now deep but with recognizable notes, sounded uncertain. “I… I wanted to be more. For you. To be close… for real.”
“Don’t like it?” Larry laughed, the sound warm and happy, easing the tension. He pulled Jeddie a little closer. “Jeddie, you’re… you’re a miracle. You were a tiny miracle, you’re a miracle… like this.” His hands slid up Jeddie’s back, feeling new muscles, new lines under his clothes. One hand came up, a hot palm against Jeddie’s cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his mouth. “You’re beautiful. All of you.” His voice was low, thick with emotion. “Just… let me get used to this much of you.”
He saw Jeddy's blue eyes fill with relief and happiness. Larry didn't think any more. He leaned down (just a little now!), his lips finding Jeddy's. It was no longer a giant kissing a tiny one, but a man kissing a man. Equal, but no less passionate. Jeddy's lips were just as soft, just as responsive, but now Larry could feel them more fully, more deeply. He savored the new sensations—the ability to cup the back of Jeddy's head with his hand, to hold his whole body close to his own, to feel their chests touching through the thin fabric. Larry's tongue gently touched Jeddy's lips, and Jeddy opened up to him with a trusting moan, letting in his power and tenderness. They stood, fused in a kiss that was at once an introduction and a reunion, an exploration and an affirmation of a love that had transcended the boundaries of size.
When they finally pulled apart to catch their breath, their foreheads were touching. Larry hadn't let go of Jeddy, his arms tight around his waist.
"What am I going to do with you, my dear?" Larry whispered, his lips brushing over Jeddy's earlobe, making him shudder. "You're too big to carry in my pocket now."
Jeddy pressed his forehead against his shoulder, his voice muffled but firm.
— Take me. To you. Forever, Larry. I… I don’t want to stay here tonight. I want to be with you. Always. I… I’m mortal now. — He said the last words with a slight tremor, aware of their weight.
Larry tightened his embrace, as if protecting him from the very thought of vulnerability.
- Of course, wondrous. Of course, I'll take you. Home. Forever, - he kissed him on the top of the head, inhaling the scent of his hair - still the same, wheat and dusty, but now in a thick human cloud. - You're mine. No matter what size you are.
He let go of him only for a moment to grab the paper bag.
"But first... you must be hungry as a wolf after such a metamorphosis," Larry smiled, taking out a cardboard box. It smelled of fried meat, corn, peppers. "I brought tacos. I was hoping to feed a baby, but I'll feed... such a handsome man." His gaze slid admiringly over Jeddy's figure again.
Jeddy nodded, smiling:
- Very. Nougat... it's great, but... I wasn't full.
Larry pulled his chair back from the table and sat down. Then he tugged at Jeddy's hand.
"Sit. Here." He pulled Jeddy into his lap, sideways. It was new for Jeddy, sitting in Larry's lap, feeling his hard thighs beneath him, his warmth, but not being completely engulfed by him like before. Larry wrapped one arm around his waist, pulling his back against his chest, and opened the taco box with the other. Jeddy wrapped his arms around his neck, pressing his cheek against his temple. The intimacy of the position was heady for both of them.
"Open your mouth, my little one," Larry whispered in his ear, holding the first, generously stuffed piece of taco to his lips. Jeddy obediently opened his mouth, and Larry carefully placed the food there. He watched Jeddy chew, smacking his lips with pleasure as his adult larynx worked while swallowing. It was both erotic and incredibly touching. Feeding his little one, but already so big. Larry could not believe this miracle. His hand, lying on Jeddy's waist, slowly, almost unconsciously, slid down, along the thigh, and stopped on the inside of the thigh, high, almost at the groin, where under the fabric of his leather pants the now not microscopic "smart flower" was hidden.
"He's..." Larry began, his voice low and playful, his lips pressed to Jeddie's temple. His fingers pressed lightly, feeling the firmness of the thigh muscles and the warmth of the coveted place beneath them. "He's grown up, too, huh? My clever little flower?" He savored the familiar nickname in a new context.
Jeddy giggled, embarrassed and happy, as he swallowed. He felt the familiar wave of heat and tension building in his groin under Larry's touch. He turned his head, their lips inches apart.
"I don't know, Gigantor," he whispered, using the old nickname with emphasis, his eyes glittering with mischief and promise. "You'll have to... check. At home. Thoroughly." He emphasized the last word, his lips stretching into a cheeky, adult Jeddy smile that was new to Larry.
Larry laughed, low and lustful. He pulled Jeddie closer, their foreheads touching again.
“Oh, believe me, my dear,” he whispered before capturing his lips again in a kiss, already anticipating that test and the long night that now lay ahead of them at home . “I will check. Very, very thoroughly. Every inch.”

Chapter Text

The first rays of a cold autumn morning found them at the exit from the service entrance of the museum. The air was prickly, saturated with dampness and the smell of fallen leaves. Larry, wrapped in his usual jacket, immediately felt how Jeddy next to him shrank from the sudden cold, unfamiliar to his new, human body, which only the night before had been protected by wax and the magic of the night.
"Star, you're freezing," Larry whispered, looking at him anxiously. Jeddy was wrapped up in himself, his hands rubbing his forearms through the thin material of his vest. His hat protected his head, but his body was clearly freezing. Without thinking, Larry unzipped his thick jacket. "Get in. Quickly."
He opened the flaps of his jacket wide, and Jeddy leaned against his chest with a grateful sigh, squeezing himself inside. Larry pulled the jacket around them both, holding Jeddy tightly to him with one hand and manipulating the car keys with the other. They were like a strange two-headed lump, stumbling down the sidewalk toward Larry's old sedan. In the car, Larry turned the heater up high, but the drive home was short, and the cold had already eaten into Jeddy's bones. When they parked outside Larry's modest house, Jeddy shivered again as he slid out of the car.
"Almost home, baby, hold on," Larry wrapped him in his jacket again, hugging him close and almost running, dragging him to the door, trying to shield Jeddy from the icy wind with his body as much as possible. Jeddy clung to him, shivering and laughing through chattering teeth.
The hallway was in a state of slight chaos: Nick's sneakers, a jacket on a hanger, a magazine strewn about. The door to his son's room was closed. Larry, without ceremony, began to undress right from the threshold, pulling off his and Jeddy's frozen clothes. Larry's jacket, T-shirt, Jeddy's vest and pants - everything flew to the floor, mixed with a cowboy hat. They stood in the hallway naked, the steam from their bodies mixing with the cold air. Larry caught a glimpse of Jeddy in full - slender, with smooth skin, with a neat, now quite adult "smart flower" peacefully resting in the light curls of his hair. But there was no time to look - Jeddy was shaking slightly, his lips were slightly blue.
"It's cold, Larry," he groaned.
In response, Larry, operating on autopilot of concern, grabbed him by the hips and hoisted him onto his shoulder, as he had done with the tiny cowboy, but now Jeddy was hanging almost to his waist. "Hot water! Now!" he proclaimed, and carried his wonder quickly into the bathroom.
Turning on the light and the water in the shower stall, he set Jeddy down on the warming tiles and pulled him inside under the now powerful stream. For Jeddy, a shower was an absolute novelty. The warmth was bliss, but the powerful streams beating from all sides caused a storm of conflicting emotions.
— Aaaah! Ow! That tickles! — Jeddy screamed, trying to get away from the stream hitting him in the back. — Larry! Too wet! Like rain in a saloon, only hot! — He jumped and laughed and squealed as the stream slid over his ribs or touched sensitive spots. — Oh, wrong place! Ow! Warm… but… weird! Ugh, water in my nose! — His laughter and screams were deafening in the small bathroom.
It was this noise that woke Nick. His bedroom door creaked and a sleepy twenty-year-old guy, in wrinkled boxers and a tank top, with tousled hair, appeared in the bathroom doorway, rubbing his eyes.
— Dad?.. What the… — He froze, staring at the scene: his father, naked and wet, trying to hold an equally naked, ticklish and delighted… boy under the shower? Nick looked closer. Familiar flaxen hair, blue eyes, freckles… facial features… His eyes widened to the limit. — Jed?! A little cowboy?! But… how?! You… you’re big!
Larry, distracted by his son, missed Jeddy, who immediately dived under the stream, bursting into laughter again. “Nick! Good morning!” Larry shouted, trying to drown out the noise of the water and the laughter. “Yes, it’s him! Long story! Better make some tea!”
Nick stood there, mouth open, unable to move, watching his father catch the laughing naked young man in the shower and try to soap his back.
When Jeddy finally warmed up (and got a little tired of the water treatments), Larry turned off the water and wrapped his little one in a huge bath towel, rubbing him until he was pink. Jeddy was shivering not from the cold anymore, but from the temperature difference and the excess of emotions, clinging to Larry.
"Now clothes, baby," Larry whispered, leading him past the still stunned Nick into his bedroom. He started rummaging through his closets. His clothes were clearly too big for Jeddy's skinny frame. Then Larry headed for Nick's room. "Nick! Donate something you've outgrown! A T-shirt, a sweater, pants!"
Nick, still in a stupor, gestured mechanically to the pile of clothes on the chair. Larry selected a pair of soft gray sweatpants, a plain navy T-shirt, and Nick's warm, worn sheepskin vest. Returning to the bedroom, he began dressing Jeddy, who obediently lifted his arms and legs like a child.
"Now those clothes Nick doesn't wear come in handy," Larry said, rolling up the sleeves of Jeddy's too-long T-shirt. The pants were a little loose, but they stayed up on his hips. The vest fit. Jeddy fingered the new material, looking at himself in the mirror on the closet, surprised. He looked like… a regular guy. Warm.
"Now you're going to need papers, darling," Larry said, adjusting the collar of Jeddy's vest. "Passport, insurance... the whole deal. You're a real person now."
Jeddy frowned, his blue eyes genuinely puzzled. He reached for his chest, but there was a new T-shirt on it. “What about… my diploma?” he asked, a hint of alarm. “A toy soldier diploma? That’s important! For bravery in the dark! That’s my document, right?”
Larry smiled tenderly, stroking his cheek. “It’s a serious document, little star, the most important one for you. We’ll keep it, we will. But the world needs other papers to know that you are Jedidiah Smith, a human being. We’ll figure that out.”
Nick stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, holding two glasses of tea. He looked at Jeddy, dressed in his clothes, at his father's gentle smile, and his sleepy face expressed complete, utter disorientation. "Cowboy... Big... Papers... Dad dresses him up... and calls him 'star'..." seemed to be spinning around in his head.
Larry, feeling the fatigue creeping up on him (it was half past six in the morning, and he hadn’t slept for almost a day), yawned. “Nick, listen up,” he turned to his son, still holding his hand on Jeddy’s shoulder. “Important assignment for the day. Go to the store, buy Jeddy… everything he needs. Toothbrush, toothpaste, comb…” Larry gave Jeddy an appraising look, lowering him to his waist. “Panties…” He hesitated, trying to visually determine the size. Jeddy covered his groin with his hands, embarrassed. “Buy different ones, S and M, we’ll figure it out. Socks. And a washcloth. And…” Larry smiled, looking into Jeddy’s eyes, shining from the new word “washcloth,” “…a rubber ducky. For the shower. So it won’t be so scary next time.
"Uh... okay, Dad," Nick nodded, still stunned but obedient. He put the tea on the nightstand. "Duck. Got it."
Larry took the hair dryer and carefully dried Jeddy's flaxen hair, which became even softer and fluffier after washing. He squinted from the warm air and purred with pleasure.
"Here's my clean, warm, wondrous one," Larry whispered, turning off the hair dryer. He led Jeddy to his double bed and pulled back the covers. "You and I have sleep patterns like bats after a night shift. We fall asleep in the morning. Climb in."
Jeddy dived under the cool sheets with joy. He was tired, but Larry was there, his Larry, and the bed was huge and soft. Larry kicked off his sweatpants (leaving him in his boxers) and climbed under the covers next to him, immediately pulling Jeddy close. Jeddy pressed his whole body against him, throwing his leg over Larry's thigh and his arm over Larry's chest. He yawned sweetly, but his eyes, half-closed, looked at Larry's lips with a silent question.
"Go to sleep, baby," Larry whispered, kissing his forehead. "We've been kissing all night."
"Just a little bit more," Jeddy begged, his lips moving toward Larry. "Gigantor… Larry… Please."
Larry couldn't resist. He found his lips in the semi-darkness of the room. The kiss was sleepy, slow, sweet as warm honey. Without haste, without the passion of the night, only tenderness and a deep sense of belonging to each other in this new, huge world. Jeddy responded lazily, his body gradually going limp, his breathing becoming even. Larry felt like he was falling asleep right in the kiss. He did not break away, continuing to touch his lips with his own until Jeddy's quiet, even breathing merged with his own on the verge of sleep. His wondrous, his little star, his now big, but still infinitely precious baby was home. They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, to the sound of rain outside the window and Nick's light snores from the next room, preparing for a new day - their first day together in the world of people.
A ray of sunlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, gilding the dust motes in the air as Larry opened his eyes. The numbers on the dresser clock glowed: 12:47. He was lying on his side, and in his arms, his face pressed against his chest, Jeddy was still fast asleep. His breathing was even and warm, his flaxen hair was disheveled on the pillow. Larry froze, afraid to move, afraid to frighten this miracle. His heart was filled with tenderness, so sharp it almost hurt.
“My baby,” he whispered to himself, taking in every detail. The freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks like gold dust. The full, slightly parted lips, the color of pink. The long, dark eyelashes casting shadows on pale skin. The wheat-colored hair, soft to the touch as he ran his fingers through it gently. My most incredible Jeddy… He was here. Real. Warm. His. And Larry couldn’t stop looking.
On the dresser lay a neat stack of Jeddy's clean clothes - leather pants and a vest, carefully washed by Nick, smelling fresh. Next to them were new purchases: a pack of white cotton panties (size S was just right), socks, a couple of simple T-shirts. A soft-bristled toothbrush and mint toothpaste lay next to a bright yellow rubber duck, smiling from ear to ear. And, like the most important artifact, on top of everything was a neatly ironed sheet of paper with a toy soldier's diploma. Next to it, an electronic clock ticked, counting down their new, common time.
Jeddy stirred. He stretched like a kitten, yawned sweetly, and his blue eyes slowly opened, clouded with sleep. Seeing Larry so close, feeling his arms around him, a beatific smile lit up his face.
"Larry..." he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep. "Kissing..." He reached his lips to Larry's, not yet fully awake, but already yearning for intimacy.
Larry laughed quietly, happily.
"Slept half a day, my little star, and your first thought is kissing?" But he didn't resist. His lips found Jeddy's in a soft, sleepy kiss. Warmth spread through his body. Feeling the response, Larry sat up, sat Jeddy on his lap, his back to his chest. His hands slid under Nick's loose T-shirt, grasping Jeddy's bare sides, and then firmly lay under his bottom, pulling him closer. "That's it, wondrous..." he whispered into his neck, deepening the kiss. Jeddy's lips were soft, responsive, he leaned his head back on Larry's shoulder, surrendering to the flow of tenderness.
But suddenly Jeddy tensed, breaking the kiss, his face scrunched up in sudden discomfort.
— Larry… — he fidgeted on his knees. — I… I need to make it rain. Now!
Larry, smiling, immediately released him.
- Then let's go, baby. The toilet is waiting.
Jeddy jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway, Larry after him. Standing in front of the toilet, he froze in confusion. Before, when he was tiny, he would simply squat down, and his clever little flower would direct the stream where it needed to go - into a speck of dust, into a crack in the parquet, into a chocolate egg capsule that Larry had specially placed there. Now a white porcelain monster towered before him.
“How?” he asked, confused, looking at Larry.
Larry gently brought him closer.
"Right here, star." He helped Jeddy pull down his sweatpants and panties. "Now… you need to hold on to the smart flower, baby. To direct the rain right to its target."
Jeddy frowned, offended.
- Hold on? Never! - he declared with cowboy dignity. - My smart flower knows where to make the rain! He's smart! - And, bending slightly forward for balance, he concentrated. A moment later, a strong, even stream splashed into the toilet water with a loud, absolutely masculine sound. Jeddy beamed with pride. - See? Himself! As always!
Larry shook his head, laughing and amazed.
- I see, wondrous. I see. Your flower... he really is the smartest in the world. - He patted Jeddy on the bare bottom when he finished and adjusted his clothes with dignity. - Well done. And now - teeth!
The washbasin became a new battlefield. Jeddy looked at the toothbrush as if it were an unknown instrument. Larry squeezed out the toothpaste, explaining the movements.
“Up and down, baby. In circles. Like this…” But Jeddy just jabbed the toothbrush awkwardly into his mouth, smearing the toothpaste more than cleaning. Larry sighed with a gentle smile. “Give it to me. Open your mouth, star. Wider. Like this.”
He stood behind Jeddy, one arm around his chest for stability, and with the other, carefully, thoroughly, began to brush his teeth, corner by corner. Jeddy squinted, purring at the unfamiliar but not unpleasant sensation, trustingly leaning his head back against Larry's chest. The smell of mint filled the bathroom.
Nick had already prepared simple versions for dinner: macaroni and bright orange cheese, cereal in a bowl next to a carton of milk, and leftover pepperoni on the table. Jeddy sniffed and pointed confidently at the macaroni.
- This is it! It smells... like warmth. And cheesy.
They ate in the kitchen, Jeddy mastering the fork with surprising dexterity for a novice (his weapon skills must have come in handy). Nick watched him with friendly curiosity. Later, he pushed his laptop toward Jeddy.
"Missing your cats, cowboy?" he asked with a grin.
Jeddy's eyes lit up.
"Do you have YouTube there?" he asked hopefully. "Where the funny cats live?"
"I have everything," Nick said proudly, opening the browser. He was pleasantly surprised when Jeddy confidently typed "funny cats" into the search bar and selected an hour-long selection. "Where did you learn to use a computer?"
"At the museum, at night," Jeddy muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen. "There was an old… very slow one at the information desk. But there were cats there, too!"
Soon the entire living room was filled with their laughter. Larry wrapped Jeddy in a soft blanket, sat him down next to him on the couch, and wrapped his arms and legs around him, creating a warm cocoon. Jeddy laughed until he cried, pointing at the screen where the cat in the helmet was trying to catch the laser pointer. Larry laughed with him, kissing his temple, feeling his body shake with laughter. It was a moment of pure, simple joy.
But as the evening lights began to come on outside and Larry stood up to change into his work clothes, the room grew tense. Jeddy watched Larry pull on his dark pants and shirt and pick up the keys to the museum. His face gradually lost color.
“Are you… are you leaving?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling.
"Going to work, baby," Larry said softly, buckling his belt. "Just for the night. I'll be back in the morning."
“No!” Jeddy screamed, suddenly loud. He jumped up from the couch, throwing off the blanket. “No! Don’t go! There’s… there’s the museum! Octavius’s there! It’s dark! You’ll be alone!” Tears gushed from his eyes. Panic, irrational and all-consuming, overwhelmed him. He rushed to Larry, clutched his shirt, pressed his face to his chest. “Don’t go! Please! I don’t want to be without you! Don’t leave me!” His body shook with sobs, his words turning into inarticulate sobs.
Nick tried to intervene:
- Hey, Jed, listen... we're here with you. We have nougat candies! Should we turn on the cats again? Or... or should we order a new pizza? Any kind!
But Jeddy didn't hear. He hung on Larry like a drowning man, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. The fear of abandonment, the fear of Larry returning to the world where he had been alone, where Octavius had been with his rage, was unbearable.
Larry hugged him tightly, one arm supporting him under the bottom like a big child, the other pressing his head to his shoulder. He kissed his eyes wet with tears, his salty eyelashes, his trembling lips.
- Shhh, little star, quieter, quieter, - he whispered, rocking him in his arms. - I will definitely come back. Do you hear? I will. I swear to you. By the sun, the moon, all the stars in the sky. I swear by your smart little flower and your diploma of bravery. I will come back to you in the morning. You are my wondrous, my most important baby, aren't you? I can't not come back to you. Never.
He looked into his blue eyes, full of tears and horror, rubbing his thumbs into his damp cheeks.
"Do you believe me, Jeddy?" he asked quietly, but very seriously.
Jeddy nodded, choking on his sobs. He pressed his lips to Larry's neck, to his collarbone, kissing his skin through the fabric of his shirt, as if trying to imprint, to leave a part of himself with him.
“I believe you…” he breathed out, his voice broken. “But… come back quickly. Very quickly.”
“Quickly, quickly,” Larry promised, kissing the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair—the scent of home he now carried with him on the night shift. He carefully handed the trembling Jeddie into Nick’s arms. “Take care of him, son. He’s—he’s just too scared to lose his home. Again.”
Nick nodded gravely and put his arm around Jeddy's shoulders. Larry took one last look, full of love and promise, at his wondrous, big, but still so fragile baby, standing in the doorway in someone else's pants, his eyes red from crying, and went out into the approaching autumn night. The sound of the door slamming sounded like a gunshot. Jeddy shuddered and began to cry quietly again, burying his face in Nick's shoulder. The long night of waiting was just beginning.
The door closed behind Larry with a dull click, leaving a hollow silence in the hallway, broken only by the intermittent sobs of Jeddy, still clinging to Nick, his shoulders shaking, his face wet with tears.
“Hey, cowboy, easy,” Nick patted him on the back, feeling awkward but trying to be supportive. “Daddy said he’d be back. He always does. Come on… let’s get some candy? Nougat’s your favorite, right?”
Jeddy shook his head hopelessly, burying his nose in Nick's shoulder. The thought of nougat, even the stickiest, couldn't fill the void left by Larry's departure. The fear was irrational and all-consuming: the museum seemed like a monster that had swallowed his gigantor, and Octavius was an evil guardian in its dark halls.
“I-I want... to him...” he exhaled, his voice breaking.
Nick sighed. He had not been prepared for such depths of despair. Gently pushing Jeddy away, he looked into his tear-stained blue eyes.
- Look, Jed. Dad... he's not alone. There's Sakejawea, Attila, even that grumpy Neanderthal... you know, the one in the skin. And Rex! Remember Rex, the dinosaur? He'd keep Dad safe. And Octavius... - Nick hesitated, not knowing the whole story, but feeling the tension. - Octavius is just... an old grump. He's not scary.
Jeddy looked at him with disbelief, but the tears were no longer flowing so violently. Nick decided to act.
— You know what? I have an idea. — He led Jeddie back into the living room and sat him down on the couch. — Dad left his old phone. The one he doesn’t use at work. Here. — He thrust a battered smartphone into Jeddie’s hands. — This is just my card. You can… text him. Anytime. Here, look. — Nick showed him how to open the messages, how to type. — Text him, he’ll read it when he’s on break. Okay?
Jeddy took the phone reverently. It was the key. The magic stone that bound him to Larry. He stared at the screen, his fingers hesitantly touching the keyboard. Nick left him, heading into the kitchen to heat up some milk, his grandmother's cure-all.
The first message appeared five minutes later, in huge letters, without punctuation:

LARRY YOU HAVE COME

There was no answer. The museum was far away, Larry was probably just starting his tour. Jeddy bit his lip. Ten minutes later:

OCTAVIUS DIDN'T TOUCH YOU

Silence. Jeddy curled up on the couch, clutching his phone to his chest like a talisman. Nick brought a mug of warm milk with honey. Jeddy took a sip mechanically, not taking his eyes off the screen.

I MISS

WHEN WILL YOU COME BACK?

PROMISED THIS LONG IN THE MORNING

Tears welled up in her eyes again. Nick sat down next to her.
- He's at work, Jed. He can't look at his phone all the time. But he'll definitely read this. Let's just... - He turned on the TV, found a serene nature channel. - Look, penguins. Funny, huh?
Jeddy nodded without looking. His gaze was glued to the phone. Half an hour had passed. Suddenly the screen lit up, there was a short vibration! Jeddy screamed, almost dropping the phone.
I'm in the museum. All is quiet. Octavius is in his diorama, hasn't come out. Are you my brave soldier? I'll be back soon. I kiss your eyes. L.
Jeddy gasped with happiness. He reread the message five times, running his finger over the words "I kiss your eyes." Then he quickly typed a reply, trying his best:

I AM BRAVE AS IN THE DIPLOMA I DON'T CRY AT ALL I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH

He sent the message and pressed the phone to his cheek, smiling through the last of his tears. Nick, who had been watching the metamorphosis, grinned.
- There you go, see? Everything's fine. The penguins are cool, by the way. Look, one fell!
But Jeddy already felt different. He was connected. His gigantor knew he was there, waiting. He finished his milk, settled in, and even grinned at the clumsy penguin. He pulled his diploma from the pocket of his sweatpants, and stroked the seal with his finger. "For excellent posture and courage in the dark." The darkness was here now, waiting, but he could handle it. For Larry.
He sometimes sent short messages:

NICK GAVE MILK

I WATCHED PENGUINS

I MISS YOU (BUT LESS)

And each time, after some time, a laconic, but so necessary answer came:

Well done. I miss you too. I'll be there soon.

Penguins are strong. Hang in there, wondrous.

I know. I'll be there soon. Kisses.

Nick, seeing that the crisis had passed, took the risk of leaving Jeddy alone for a moment to take a shower. When he returned, he found Jeddy asleep on the couch. The phone was clutched tightly in his hand, pressed to his cheek. The screen showed the latest message he had received:

Good night, my little star. I'll be back soon. Love you.

The first leaden glow of dawn found Larry on the threshold of his own home, the key creaking in the lock with tired resignation. In the hallway, shrouded in the gray drowsiness of the dawn, he was met not by sleep, but by a sleepy vigil: Nick was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his cheek propped up on his fist, his eyelids stuck together, and his gaze was clouded from lack of sleep. Beside him, wrapped in a battered blanket and clutching Larry's old smartphone tightly in his hand, slept Jeddy, his breathing even, but traces of dried tears still glistening on his eyelashes.
“Dad,” Nick breathed out hoarsely, focusing with difficulty, “hi… Everything’s fine.”
Larry, throwing off his chilly jacket and pushing through his fatigue, sat down next to her, his voice as quiet as the rustle of pages in a museum reading room:
- Star... how is he? Was he holding up?
Nick yawned, wide and silent, rubbing his eyes.
— I held on… as best I could. But, damn, Dad, it was hard. At first, he was hysterical, you know, he was just hanging on me, shaking all over. I learned to heat milk with honey, my grandmother’s recipe. It helped… I think. But at night… — Nick nodded at the sleeping Jeddy — I woke up three or four times in a panic. He was writing to you all the time, you probably saw him? Then he’d jump up, his eyes wild, “Larry? Where’s Larry?” Milk again, again trying to convince you that you’d be soon, that everything was okay. He fell asleep with the phone… Apparently, he read your last message and passed out completely. Around four o’clock, probably.
Larry closed his eyes, imagining these scenes, this silent agony of waiting in his absence. Bitterness mingled with infinite tenderness. He put his hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it in gratitude.
- Thank you, Nick. Thank you so much. You... you're great. A true friend. Go to bed, son. You've accomplished your feat.
Nick nodded, rising from the couch with a groan as if he were eighty instead of twenty.
"Yeah... The cowboy is quite a gift," he muttered, but without malice, rather with a tired respect for what he had experienced. "Good night... or good morning." And he trudged off to his room, staggering.
Larry was left alone with Jeddy's quiet breathing. He took off his work shirt, soaked by the night's dampness, and kicked off his heavy boots. In the silence his movements were careful, ritualistic. He went to the couch, bent down, and, with his usual strength but with redoubled tenderness, lifted Jeddy into his arms. Jeddy muttered something inaudible in his sleep, instinctively pressed his warm cheek against Larry's T-shirt, but did not wake. His weight was palpable, real—the weight of a grown but fragile man, trustingly entrusted to him.
Larry carried him into the bedroom, into the semi-darkness where the scent of their shared sleep still lingered. He laid Jeddy down gently on the sheets, then, moved by a deep, almost maternal concern, began to strip him of his clothes: Nick's soft sweatpants, his T-shirt, his cotton boxers. Jeddy only sighed deeply as the cool air touched his skin, but he did not resist, surrendering himself entirely to sleep and to Larry's care. Larry pulled the blanket up to his chin, smoothed the flaxen hair that had spilled over the pillow, and only then lay down next to him, crawling under the same blanket and pulling the sleeper toward him so that their bodies touched along the entire length, thigh to thigh, chest to back.
In the predawn silence, Larry did not sleep. He lay on his side, one arm around Jeddy, and watched. He watched the profile buried in the pillow: the relief of his cheekbone, the golden freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, the long dark eyelashes casting shadows on his pale skin. The full, slightly parted lips. His Jeddy. His marvelous. His little star. The body under the covers was slender, but noticeably masculine, with defined muscles in his shoulders, forearms, and the smooth line of his back disappearing under the covers. A pumped-up teenager? No. This was the body of a young man, twenty-five, thirty at most, with slight wrinkles around his eyes from his habit of squinting and laughing, which only emphasized his animation, his vitality .
It was this thought that made Larry think more deeply. Jeddy was life now. Flesh and blood. But how old was he in this new world? As a wax museum figurine cast sometime in the 1920s, he was well over a hundred years old. As an animated exhibit dancing in the moonlit halls since 1952, he had lived seven decades of nocturnal adventures. But physically? Before him lay a young man, clearly no older than thirty-five. His skin was smooth and supple, his eyes shining with a childlike innocence mingled with a newfound depth of experience. How old should his passport say? Twenty-eight? Thirty?
His thoughts were spinning, tired but insistent. Passport, insurance, Taxpayer Identification Number… Without these papers, his wondrousself was a ghost in the world of people. He needed a legend. Date of birth. Place. History. Canadian prairies? Where did the real Jedidiah Smith come from? But his Jedi had never seen the real prairies. His world was limited to the walls of the museum and short forays into Larry’s palm. He knew them from dioramas, from stories… from old books that Larry sometimes read to him, sitting on the floor of the utility room. Which date should he choose? The day Larry first became a night guardian? Or… the day of his miraculous transformation? But the latter was yesterday, and documents demand the past.
Larry sighed, his hand involuntarily tightening on the sleeping Jeddy's shoulder. He moved closer, inhaling the scent of his hair - wheat, with a slight hint of mint from the toothpaste. He imagined how one day, when everything was settled with the documents, they would go to the real prairies. Would they seem familiar to Jeddy or alien? Would he recognize this endless space, this wind, which he so loved to depict in his cowboy dances on the edge of the diorama? Or would this be the discovery of a new, incredible homeland?
These thoughts, warm and disturbing at the same time, mingled with the heaviness of Jeddy's eyelids and the rhythm of his breathing. Larry felt his own consciousness begin to sink into a gray haze of fatigue. He pressed his lips to the top of the sleeping man's head, to his soft, home-smelling hair.
“How should proper way to register you, my wondrous one…” he whispered in the semi-darkness, already on the verge of sleep. “What story should I give you…” The last thing he felt before sleep covered him completely was the serene warmth of Jeddy’s body, trustingly pressed against him, and the quiet beat of his human heart under his palm – the rhythm of a new life, just beginning.
The first rays of autumn sunlight, filtering through a crack in the curtains, seemed like an intrusion to Larry. He opened his eyes, feeling as if he had slept for no more than five minutes. The numbers on the digital clock on the dresser glowed mercilessly: 10:07. Four hours of sleep. His body ached, his brain was covered in a sticky web of fatigue, but inside he was raging with an unsettling clarity: Documents. History. Jeddy's future.
He sat up carefully, looking at the sleeping man beside him. Jeddy was lying on his side, facing him, one hand under his cheek, the other on top of the blanket on Larry's chest. His breathing was even and deep. His flaxen hair was disheveled on the pillow, his eyelashes, so long and dark against his pale skin, lay motionless like a fan. His full lips were slightly parted.
My wondrous… my sleeping baby, flashed through Larry's mind with tenderness mixed with the bitterness of inevitability. He could not afford the luxury of sleep while his star was a ghost in this world.
Larry carefully disentangled himself from Jeddy's arm, pulled the blanket tighter over him, and walked out of the bedroom with bare feet, trying not to creak. The living room was in the morning disarray - an empty milk jug, a blanket thrown off the couch. The door to Nick's room was ajar. Larry peered inside. Nick was sitting on the bed, already dressed, staring at his laptop screen, clearly not asleep.
"Nick," Larry whispered, getting his attention. "Are you awake? Great. I need help. Now."
Nick raised his head, nodded, and put his laptop aside.
- Dad? What happened? Is Jeddy okay?
“He’s still asleep. But…” Larry sat on the edge of the bed next to his son, lowering his voice to a whisper. “We need to come up with a story for him. A real one. For paperwork. A biography. And… a birthday.” He ran his hand over his face, feeling the weight of it. “Go… Google it. Find information about the real Jedidiah Smith. The cowboy. The explorer.
Nick opened his laptop, eyebrows raised. His fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard. Larry leaned closer, peering at the screen. There it was, a list of pages. Wikipedia. Historical sites. Nick clicked on the first link.
A portrait appeared on the screen. The stern face of a middle-aged man. Deep-set eyes, a piercing gaze, a hard line of the mouth under a well-groomed moustache. Scars, a tan, traces of deprivation. The clothes were rough, practical. No resemblance to his wondrous Jeddy, with his freckles, full lips and shining, though tear-stained, eyes. This was a warrior, a pioneer, a man forged by the Wild West.
Larry silently read the biography, scrolling the page with Nick's mouse. Born in 1799. Seventeen years old - already in the fur trade. Crossed the Rocky Mountains. Explored Utah, Arizona, California. Survived attacks by grizzly bears (here Larry involuntarily shuddered), skirmishes with Indians, betrayal by companions. Founded trade routes. And... died young, at 32, somewhere in what is now Arizona, at the hands of unknown people. Comanches? Mexicans? Competitors? - the article said. A short, bright, cruel life. A life full of exploits and sufferings, which his museum Jeddy, who lived a century in waxen innocence, had not the slightest idea about. His Jeddy knew only a diorama with toy cacti, Octavius with his sarcasm, dusty museum halls and... him, Larry. And now - warm milk, funny cats on YouTube and the horror of a one-night stand.
Larry sat back, feeling a lump in his throat. The contrast was deafening. His little star, his soft, kissable baby, was to inherit the name of a man whose life had been one long struggle and tragic end?
- Dad? - Nick gently touched his sleeve. - How are you?
— I watched… — Larry swallowed. — A short life. Bright. Hard. — He nodded at the screen. — Not like him. At all. Our Jeddy… he’s different. He’s… innocent. — Larry looked toward the half-open bedroom door, where his “innocent” was sleeping. — Should we… make his birthday on January 6th? Like this one? — Larry’s voice wavered. He was afraid. Afraid to jinx it. Afraid that a name or a date would somehow mystically drag along an echo of that tragic fate. Afraid for his fragile, wondrous self in this vast, unfamiliar world.
Nick shrugged, closing his laptop.
- A date is just a date, dad. It can be done. The main thing is what year to put? It suits his face... well, twenty-five? Twenty-eight? Thirty, max.
Larry thought for a moment. His gaze wandered back to the bedroom. He stood up, walked to the doorway, and leaned against the frame. Jeddy was asleep, turned over on his back, one arm behind his head. A ray of sunlight fell on his freckled nose, played in the flaxen strands of his hair. He looked so young, so helpless in his deep sleep.
My baby. My big one, but still a baby.
“The year…” Larry spoke quietly, almost to himself, looking at the sleeping man. “Ninety-five. Born… January sixth, 1995.” He paused, as if trying the date on. Twenty-eight years old. Old enough to be independent, young enough for the innocence that shone in his eyes. “Yes. Twenty-eight.”
He returned to Nick, closing the bedroom door behind him so as not to wake Jeddy.
“Now… birthplace,” Larry sat down next to his son, his voice businesslike, but his eyes blazing with determination to create a beautiful legend. “Not Canada. The prairies… but not the ones where the real one died. Somewhere… bright. Washington State? Forests, mountains… some small farm, at the foot of the mountains. A quiet place.”
“Okay,” Nick nodded, ready to open his laptop again to search for idyllic places. “Why no documents? Emigrant? Lost it?”
Larry shook his head. His plan was taking shape.
— No. An orphan. Raised… in a small religious community somewhere in the wilderness. Cut off from the world. No paperwork. They taught him to read and write, but… he didn’t know the modern world. Then the community… fell apart. The elders died. He was left alone. He made it to New York… got lost. And… — Larry paused, looking straight at Nick. — And I found him. Helped him. That’s how we met. — The story sounded like a fairy tale, but it had its own sad truth about ignorance of the world. And it explained his naivety, his delight in simple things like a shower or YouTube.
"Sounds... plausible," Nick agreed. "Sad, but romantic. And who am I... in this story? Did I find him too?"
Larry took a deep breath. This was a delicate moment. He put his hand on his son's shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes.
— Nick… You are my son. My wonderful son. And Jeddy… — Larry looked toward the bedroom, and his eyes became soft, full of unspoken promises. — He… he will be my husband. When all the paperwork is ready. I want to marry him. So… he can’t be your brother. Do you understand? You are family. He is family too. But… different. Very important. — Larry’s voice wavered. He was afraid that Nick would not understand, would be offended.
But Nick just grinned and lightly punched his father in the shoulder.
- Dad, I'm not blind. I saw the way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. You were kissing so hard the walls melted. - He stood up and stretched. - Okay, I'll just be a cool roommate who knows his story and makes him tea with milk on time. And if you're our fiancé, then so be it. The main thing is that he doesn't make me call him "daddy." - The joke was a bit crude, but Nick's eyes shone with understanding and even approval.
Relief washed over Larry. He hugged his son tightly, like a man.
- Thank you, Nick. You're... the best.
- No questions, - Nick pulled away, reaching for the laptop. - So, January 6, 1995, Washington, the lost community... Now I'll look for a suitable town for the setting. And I'll read about the laws for orphans without documents. - He was already immersed in the search, turning into a co-author of a beautiful legend for a man who slept behind the wall, unaware that his future was now being carefully embroidered with love and care on the canvas of bureaucracy.
Larry went to the bedroom door and opened it. Jeddy was still sleeping deeply and peacefully. A sunbeam was now playing on his full lip. Larry stood and watched, filling with a quiet determination. He would give him more than just papers. He would give him a safe past and the brightest future he could think of. And for now… for now his wondrous, his star, his future husband slept, trusting in the world that was just beginning for him. And Larry swore to himself that this world would be good for him.
The sleep receded slowly, like a thick fog, giving way to warmth and a firm support under his cheek. Jeddie opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a familiar chest in a soft cotton T-shirt, and above it, Larry's face, lit by a calm smile. The clock on the dresser said two, but time was an abstraction to Jeddie; the main thing was the fact: Larry was here. With him.
"You're here," he whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep, and his arms wrapped around Larry's torso of their own accord, pressing against him with a silent, happy sigh. He stretched like a kitten, feeling how every movement in that big, warm body brought him joy. Then his blue eyes, still clouded with sleep, met his brown ones. "Now kiss me," he demanded without a shadow of a doubt, as if it were something self-evident, and his lips stretched out to meet hers of their own accord.
Larry was not long in coming. His kiss was as sleepy and sweet and unhurried as this morning. He drank Jeddie's lips slowly, savoring their softness, the salty taste of sleep, responding to his unmistakable, trusting demand. When they finally separated, Jeddie leaned back against the pillow with a beatific smile and began to examine his hands - real, large, with protruding knuckles and slender fingers, capable of holding so tightly.
“How wondrous I am…” he whispered with sincere, childish amazement, turning his hands in front of his face.
"Oh, yes," Larry's voice was low and lovingly confident. "You are the most wonderful creature in the world." He leaned down and began to cover his bare shoulder with small, hot kisses, feeling the smoothness of the skin under his lips, then moved to the bridge of his nose, dotted with golden freckles, and carefully, with special tenderness, touched his lips to the slight hump on his nose - the trace of an old, forgotten "breakdown" from his past, waxen life. "Every part of you... is perfect.
The dinner was simple and delightful: strong sweet tea and crisp toast with a fried egg, which Jeddy devoured as if he were eating the finest Michelin-starred dish. He licked his fingers, marveling at the way the yolk spread so beautifully, and Larry watched him, his heart aching with tenderness.
After the meal, the now familiar rituals. The toilet, where Jeddy was already proudly demonstrating his skills to the "smart flower," and brushing his teeth in the bathroom. Larry stood behind him, hugging him around the waist, and with his big, confident hand ran the brush over his teeth, and Jeddy squinted, trustingly throwing his head back on his chest, enjoying the care and minty freshness.
"You and I have to go somewhere today, little star," Larry said, wiping his lips with a towel. His voice became more serious. "To the registry office. To get you some papers. Real ones."
He sat Jeddy down on the edge of the tub and, looking straight into his blue, attentive eyes, began to tell him. A beautiful story. A story about a boy born on January 6, 1995, in a small, secluded community among the forests and mountains of distant Washington. About an orphan who didn’t know much about the big world, but was brave and kind. Who found his way to New York and met the one who would become his support, his home. Larry spoke softly, putting all his love and promise of safety into every word.
Jeddy listened, fascinated. His own life of dusty storefronts and moonlit marble seemed to recede, dissolving into this new, solid, if fictitious, reality. He nodded, his face a bright, trusting smile. This was his story. Larry had given him.
Dressing turned into a small adventure. Larry took from the depths of the closet Nick's worn but warm sheepskin coat, which he wore when he was twelve or thirteen. It sat perfectly on Jeddy, emphasizing his fragile but already masculine appearance. A hat with a pompom, a scarf - and here he was, wondrous, wrapped up, with protruding flaxen strands and shining eyes, ready to go out into the big world.
On the street, Larry held his hand tightly, palm in palm, fingers intertwined. He led him as if he were the most valuable, the most vulnerable person, looking back warily at the cars, at the hurrying passers-by. Their path lay through a small park, where the last autumn leaves crunched under their feet. And then Jeddy saw Them.
"Larry, look!" He tugged at his arm, pointing to the empty children's swing. "What is this? How... how to fly?"
His eyes lit up with such immediate, such greedy curiosity that Larry couldn't resist.
- Swing, baby. Want to try it?
Jeddy gave a whoop of joy and dropped his hand, bounding toward them. He settled himself on the wooden seat, holding the chains tentatively. Larry stood behind him and began rocking him, gently at first, then harder. The wind whistled in Jeddy's ears, the ground moved away from under him and then back again, the gray autumn sky swayed overhead. He squealed with delight, laughing, throwing his head back, his face contorted with pure, unbridled joy. Larry rocked him for several minutes, watching his wondrous, his grown-up baby float through the air as if learning for the first time the laws of physics and happiness at the same time.
The next stop was a cramped, chemical-smelling photo studio. Jeddy was seated on a stool in front of a plain white backdrop. The photographer, a tired man with a cigarette-like voice, tried to explain: “Neutral face, young man, no smile. Passport regulations.”
But Jeddy couldn't help but smile. The very fact that the huge black eye of the camera was looking at him delighted him. He beamed, winked, made funny faces. Larry stood next to him, clenching his fists in his pocket with laughter and affection. After the tenth attempt, when Larry whispered to him, "Imagine Octavius looking at you with a stone face," Jeddy finally managed to make the required "neutral" expression - although there was still a mischievous sparkle hiding at the corners of his lips.
The photographer quickly processed the photo on the computer, slightly adjusting the lighting. Jeddy, glued to the monitor, froze. He saw his face in incredible, never-before-seen detail. Every pore, every eyelash, the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the shape of his lips. It was mesmerizing and a little scary. Larry simply looked at the screen, admiring. His beloved. Captured. Now — forever.
The registry office was noisy and formal. Larry held Jeddy's hand tightly, feeling him nervously squeeze his fingers at the sight of the lines and the stern faces of the clerks. They filed the application, attached the photographs. Larry carefully put the envelope with the defective, smiling pictures in his pocket - his personal, secret treasure. The process was set in motion. Jeddy listened to the conversations about the birth certificate, the passport, looked at Larry's serious face as he filled out the papers, and had no idea of the grandiose plans that Larry had hatched in his head for their future together. The main thing for him was that Larry was here, his hand - here it was, firm and reliable.
Evening. Their bedroom. Silence, broken only by the measured sound of rain outside the window. The door was closed. They stood opposite each other, and this conversation was now conducted in the language of touch. Clothes - alien, new, smelling of the street and official institutions - slowly fell to the floor, forming soft piles of fabric. Here Nick's sheepskin coat flashed, here a T-shirt, here Larry's belt with a loud buckle.
They were naked. Skin to skin. The warmth of their bodies filled the room, mixing with the scent of the rain and their own intimate closeness. Larry pulled Jeddy to him, and their kiss was no longer sleepy or comforting. It contained all the anxiety of the day, the delight of the swing, the excitement of the photo salon, the echoing solemnity of the registry office. It was a kiss of promise, a kiss of claim, a kiss of homecoming.
His hands slid down Jeddy's back, feeling each vertebra, the tension of the muscles, the slight tremors beneath his palms. His fingers dug into his flaxen hair, throwing his head back, opening his neck for greedy, wet kisses. Jeddy moaned, his own hands slid down Larry's broad back, over his powerful shoulders, clinging, trying to pull him closer, to dissolve in him.
"Larry..." His name came out of Jeddy's mouth in a hoarse, lost moan as Larry's lips moved down to his nipple, caressing it with his tongue, causing his whole body to arch in silent request.
"I'm here, wondrous," Larry whispered into his skin, his breath hot. "I'm here. All yours."
He dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down Jeddy's tense thighs, and his lips, hot and wet, found his "smart little flower"—now fully awake, hard, quivering with desire and anticipation. Jeddy cried out, his fingers digging into Larry's hair, his legs giving way. The world narrowed to a point of heat, to the wet flame of Larry's mouth, to the incredible, body-shaking sensations that his new, human body was experiencing for the first time with such intensity and such absolute abandon.
And Larry, feeling its taste, its thrill, knowing that this was only the beginning of a long, long night, swore to himself that he would do everything so that his wondrous, his star, his Jedidiah Smith would never again know either fear or loneliness. Only this - burning, all-consuming, trembling tenderness.
The light from the bedside lamp cast warm, sharp shadows on the wall, turning their bodies into a living, pulsating fresco of passion. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of their skin, sweat, and something elusively sweet. Jeddy lay on his back, sprawled across the sheets, his chest heaving, his beautiful face twisted in pleasure into a grimace of pain, surprise, and growing rapture.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Not like the tiny, almost fleeting touches of Larry's giant finger in the museum, when his "smart flower" lit up like a microscopic spark in a sea of scale. And certainly not like his own timid, bashful attempts at self-gratification in the darkness of the back room. This was all-consuming. Real. His body, his flesh and nerves screamed at every touch, every new sensation.
Larry, lowering himself between his spread thighs, was focused and gentle at the same time. His lips and tongue, which had just given Jeddy an unimaginable storm on his cock, now moved lower. The hot, wet touch on his "star" made Jeddy shudder and make a soft, broken sound. He felt Larry moistening his fingers with saliva - they really didn't have any lubricant, but there was some special, animal intimacy in this improvisation.
"Larry..." Jeddy moaned, his hand reaching out in the air, seeking support, contact. "Kiss... please..."
Larry responded immediately. He abandoned his gentle torment of the starlet and crawled up his body, leaving a wet, hot trail along his inner thighs, his stomach, his chest. His lips found Jeddie's in a greedy, deep kiss in which Jeddie could taste himself, the salty-sweet tang of his arousal. Larry wrapped one arm around his waist, holding him close, and with the other...with the other hand he continued to prepare him. A finger, careful and insistent, slid inside.
Jeddy moaned into Larry's mouth. It was strange, unfamiliar, a little hot. But the discomfort was followed by a wave of warmth, a deep, internal throb that promised more. Larry moved his finger slowly, gently, stretching, preparing the tender, pink, virgin flesh. His "star" clenched in response to each movement, but gradually gave in, opening.
"Ready, baby?" Larry whispered, pulling away from his lips, his eyes dark, almost black, with desire. Jeddy could only nod, breathing hard, his blue eyes shining with tears of emotion and slight pain. "My beautiful, brave little star…"
Larry moved above him, his shadow covering Jeddy entirely. They started out classically, in a position Jeddy had once seen in old frescoes in a Roman diorama but never thought he would experience. Jeddy's hands slid down, finding Larry's hard, hot cock. It was big, impressive, but no longer the intimidating giant it had been in the back room. Jeddy could cup it now, feel its weight, its pulsation, every vein that bulged. He liked the way it felt—alive, powerful, a part of Larry.
And then he felt the pressure. Dull, insistent, in his most intimate, prepared, but still tight place. Larry entered slowly, millimeter by millimeter, his gaze never leaving Jeddy's face. Jeddy squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers clutching Larry's shoulders, his breath caught in the stabbing, tearing pain.
"Breathe, my dear, breathe..." Larry whispered, freezing, letting him get used to it. He covered his face with kisses - lips, eyelids, forehead, whispering words of love, encouragement, admiration. "You accept me so beautifully... So perfectly..."
The pain gradually receded, dissolving into a sea of new, unfamiliar sensations. Fullness. Heat. Deep connection. Larry began to move, timidly at first, then more confidently, finding a rhythm. And Jeddy… Jeddy opened his eyes and saw Larry’s face above him, focused, beautiful in its tension, loving. And the pain went away completely, replaced by a growing wave of pleasure. Every movement Larry made inside him echoed with sweet spasms in his lower abdomen, making him moan louder, respond to the thrusts, wrap his legs around Larry’s back.
“Do you want… on top?” Larry whispered, his voice breaking with pleasure.
Jeddy nodded, speechless. Larry gently turned him over, settling him on his hips. Jeddy was on top, straddling Larry, his hands on his thick chest. The position was new, the power unfamiliar.
"Come on, cowboy," Larry laughed hoarsely, his hands landing on Jeddy's velvety, firm bottom, squeezing it, guiding it. "Prove that you're the best rider in the Wild West."
The joke had struck a nerve in Jeddie, sending the blood rushing to his cheeks and elsewhere. He began to move with renewed zeal, finding his own, intuitive rhythm, lowering himself onto Larry's hard cock and rising up, enjoying the way it filled him, touching some incredible spot inside him. They looked into each other's eyes, their breaths mingling, their kisses greedy, wet, uneven.
Behind the wall, Nick, flushed and embarrassed, clutching a pillow to his head, tried in vain to drown out the moans and creaking of the bed. In the end, he gave in and put on his headphones, burying his face in the music, but the image of his father and the former cowboy, merging in a passionate dance, did not want to go away.
Larry felt the familiar, unrelenting pressure building in his lower abdomen. His fingers dug into the flesh of Jeddy's buttocks.
“Jeddy… I’ll be there soon…” he managed to exhale, warning.
Jeddy nodded greedily, his own body already convulsing. With a loud, strangled cry he came, hot streams of his "honey" splashing across Larry's stomach and chest, heating up the skin even more. The sight of it, the feeling of Jeddy's flesh contracting in the climax of pleasure, was the last straw for Larry. With a low, deep moan, almost a growl, he poured himself inside him, wave after wave, filling him with his heat, marking him as his territory, his man.
He pulled Jeddie to him, limp, trembling, covered in sweat, and hugged him tightly, pressing him to his chest, feeling their hearts pounding in unison. The smell of sex and love and total fusion filled the room. Larry kissed his wet hair, his temples, the corners of his lips, whispering incoherent words of love and gratitude. His wondrous. His little star. Now - completely his. And he - completely his.
They lay there, entwined like the roots of an old tree, breathing heavily in time as the wild gallop of their hearts gradually gave way to a steady, deep rhythm. The air in the room was thick and sweet, smelling of their bodies mixed together, of sex and something vaguely homely. Larry held on to her, feeling Geddie tremble beneath his palms, the weight of his body pressed against the sweat-soaked sheet.
"Are you... are you okay, little star?" Larry whispered into his hair, his voice hoarse, an octave lower with the strain. His hand moved slowly, almost cautiously, over Jeddie's damp back, feeling every rib, every vertebra under his fingers.
In response, Jeddy only buried his face deeper into Larry's neck and made a sound somewhere between a groan, a laugh, and a happy sob. His own arms, still weak from the experience, wrapped themselves around Larry's torso, clinging like ivy.
"Never… never felt like this…" he finally breathed, and his lips touched Larry's skin, hot and slightly swollen from kissing. "Like… I've been remade. From the inside out."
Larry laughed quietly, with relief and tenderness.
"In a good way, I hope?" He pulled back just enough to see his face. Jeddy's cheeks were flushed, his eyelashes were stuck together, and there was such a bewildered, blissful bewilderment in his blue eyes that Larry's heart sank. He kissed the tip of his nose. "My brave, beautiful little star. You were… incredible."
Jeddy smiled, embarrassed and proud at the same time. He stretched, feeling the new muscles ache, the whole body ache pleasantly. His gaze fell on their joined bodies, on the traces of his own honey dried on Larry's stomach, on his cock, which slowly, reluctantly slid out of him, leaving a feeling of emptiness and warm, sticky wetness between his legs. Jeddy blushed even more, not from shame, but from some new, strange sense of ownership and satisfaction.
“And now… everything’s sticky,” he muttered, trying to make his voice sound displeased, but it only came out languid and lazy.
Larry smiled, his eyes sparkling.
"Then it's time to shower. Together. No screaming this time." He rose easily from the bed, his muscles feeling pleasantly heavy, and held out his hand to Jeddy. Jeddy took it, allowing Larry to pull him to his feet. His knees buckled, and he leaned against Larry with a small laugh.
"My legs won't obey me," he explained, and Larry, laughing, picked him up in his arms, just like on their first date at the museum, and carried him to the bathroom. Only now, instead of tiny arms, Jeddy had strong, manly arms around his neck, and his legs dangled almost to the floor.
In the shower, the hot water washed away the last of the tension, the tears, the sweat, the love. Larry washed him again, with the same concentrated attention as in the morning, but now his touch was different, not only caring but possessive, full of awareness of what had happened. He soaped his back, his shoulders, his buttocks, and Jeddie stood with his forehead against the tiled wall, his eyes closed, purring with pleasure like a big cat. The pain was gone, leaving behind only a pleasant languor and a deep sense of security.
When they returned to the bedroom, clean and pink from the hot water, Larry had changed the bed with fresh sheets that smelled of sun and wind. They lay down under the covers, pressed together, skin to skin, without a single barrier. Jeddy lay on his side, his back to Larry, and Larry pressed himself against him from behind, his arms around his waist, his legs between his. His hand lay on Jeddy's flat stomach, feeling the even, deep breathing under his fingers.
"Sleep, baby," Larry whispered into his damp hair. "You deserve the deepest sleep."
"I don't want to sleep," Jeddy said, but his voice was already sleepy, thick as honey. "I just want to… lie down. Like this."
He turned his head, capturing Larry's lips in a lazy, tired kiss. There was no passion in it, only endless tenderness and gratitude. Then he settled himself more comfortably, pressing his backside against Larry's stomach, and after a few minutes his breathing became even and deep.
Larry did not sleep. He lay and listened to his wondrous man breathing, to his heart beating under his palm. He thought about how only a few days ago this man had been a tiny wax figure, and now he was breathing, alive, giving himself completely to him, sleeping in his bed. He thought about the papers, about the future, about how one day they would really get married. His hand involuntarily tightened on Jeddy's stomach, as if protecting him from all future storms.
There was finally silence behind the wall. Nick had apparently given up and fallen asleep. The only sounds in the room were the sound of the rain outside the window and the even breathing of two people who had found each other despite everything - time, magic, size. Larry closed his eyes, finally allowing the fatigue to wash over him, carrying him off to sleep with one thought: he was home. His home - here it was, warm and breathing, in his arms.

Chapter Text

Tiny snowflakes, like the first dust from a museum display case, swirled outside their bedroom window, but inside there was the warmth of summer—the warmth of two bodies entwined under one blanket. Half a year. Six months that flew by like one intense, bright, sometimes frightening, but infinitely happy day.
Jeddy, stretched out on his back, was catching the sunbeam playing on the wedding ring on his ring finger. A simple but elegant platinum ring that Larry had searched all over New York, looking into dozens of jewelry stores. Nearby, leaning against Jeddy's chest, lay a brand new MacBook, and on the nightstand, an iPhone was snoring peacefully - gifts that at first took Jeddy's breath away. Nick, with his characteristic simplicity, presented him with headphones, but Larry immediately warned sternly: "Loud - only for laughing at cats, not for music, my dear. Take care of your hearing." Jeddy then only laughed and pulled him into a kiss.
"I'm twenty-nine, Larry!" he proudly announced on his first "real" birthday, January 6, as he blew out the candles on a cowboy-hat cake. A week later, at a candlelit dinner, Larry, nervously adjusting his tie, dropped to one knee in front of him. In a velvet box lay a ring - a symbol of the proposal, which Jeddy accepted, bursting into happy tears and repeating "yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"
And here it was – today. The wedding. The air in the registry office was still trembling from the recently spoken words “yes, I do” and “I pronounce you husbands.” Larry, in his classic black suit, looked incredibly serious and newly young. And Jeddy… Jeddy was beaming. His white cowboy suit, embroidered with intricate patterns of silver thread, shimmered in the light, and his wide hat cast a shadow on his shining, unrestrainedly happy face. He caught the admiring glances of the guests, but saw only Larry.
Not everything went smoothly. Larry's father, purple with indignation, at first shouted about "madness" and "disgrace," but when he saw his son looking at Jeddy with an adoration he had never seen in his marriage to Nick's mother, he gave in. He grabbed Larry by the shoulder, muttered, "The main thing is that he's happy, son," and walked away, shaking his head. Larry's ex-wife stood stone-faced, unable to believe that the man she had shared her bed with had chosen a man to be his life partner, much less such an eccentric one.
But Larry was happy. Absolutely and unconditionally. And when the ceremony was over, he, without saying a word, picked up his new husband and, to the cheers and claps of the guests, carried him across the room like the most precious treasure. Jeddy threw his arms around his neck, laughing, his white hat tilted to one side.
The evening at the restaurant was magical. During their first dance to a gentle melody, Jeddy pressed his cheek to Larry's shoulder and whispered, savoring every word:
- Jedidiah Daley-Smith... Daley-Smith... Sounds like a real cowboy from the saga, doesn't it?
Larry only kissed him in response, savoring the taste of champagne and boundless happiness on his lips.
And then Larry, catching his eye, suggested:
- How about we visit some old friends? Show them your new ring?
The museum greeted them at night with silence and the familiar smell of dust, wax, and history. A wave of joy washed over them as they entered: Sacagawea let out a cry of triumph, rushing to embrace them both, and Teddy Roosevelt thundered his congratulations, patting Larry on the shoulder and politely kissing Jeddy's hand. Ahkmenrah, majestic and wise, stood apart, but his eyes glowed with warmth.
"Congratulations to you both," he said, his voice a blessing. "You have found your true path."
Jeddy, unable to contain his emotions, rushed towards him and hugged him tightly:
- Thank you! Thank you for this gift! Without you... none of this would have happened!
But the main meeting was waiting in the miniatures hall. Octavius stood by his diorama, his back to them, his pose betraying extreme tension. His figure seemed even more gloomy and lonely.
"Traitor!" he hissed, without turning around, as they approached. "Traded the eternity of Rome for... for this parody of a marriage! A disgrace!"
Jeddy just laughed, loudly and without malice. He walked over and unceremoniously picked up Octavius. Octavius squealed in rage and humiliation.
- Octa, Octa, - Jeddy shook his head, mockingly looking at the tiny emperor floundering in his palm. - So who's stronger now, huh? Who can lift whom? And who was right in the end? I'm happy. And you... you'll just stay here moping around with your pride.
Octavius fell silent, his rage replaced by an icy, deathly silence. He only glared at them as they walked away. And in the Wild West diorama, in place of Jeddy, there were now two new figures - trappers with guns, silent and inanimate.
The morning found them packing their suitcases. The sun was just rising over the rooftops of New York, painting the sky peach-colored.
"Ready, Mr. Daley-Smith?" Larry asked, zipping up his suitcase.
"As good as ever, Mr. Daley-Smith!" Jeddy responded cheerfully, pulling on his new jeans and cowboy boots, a honeymoon present from Larry.
A plane was waiting for them. A honeymoon. First, California. Redwood Park, named after that same Jedidiah Smith, where giant trees would whisper age-old secrets to them. Then, camping under the stars, a campfire, and guitar songs. And, of course, a memorial trail – not as a monument to a long-gone hero, but as a tribute to the new beginning of his namesake. And horses. Larry had already arranged a horse ride.
And then - Oklahoma. Real prairies. The same ones that Jeddy had only seen in a diorama and in his dreams. And a cowboy museum, where he could finally touch the history that was so close and so far away at the same time.
Larry watched his husband fussing in front of the mirror, trying on a hat, and his heart swelled with a quiet, all-consuming joy. He had kept all his promises. He had given him more than just papers and a ring. He had given him the world. A whole world that they would now explore together. Hand in hand. Husband and husband.
The California air, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, was their new home. The tent, stretched between two mighty redwoods, felt like a palace. For Larry, accustomed to the comforts of the city and a soft couch, camping was a challenge: sleeping on a thin rug was much more difficult than bouncing a three-inch cowboy on his knee, and a long horseback ride had left his muscles aching and unruly. But all this paled before the evenings.
In the evenings they lay by the fire, their heads thrown back to the endless canvas of the Milky Way, so bright here, far from the city lights. Or they made love in a cramped tent, to the rustling of nylon and the whisper of giant trees. Their bodies, tanned and smelling of smoke, merged in the darkness, and their muffled moans were lost in the rustling of the night. Once they found a small river and, throwing off their clothes, threw themselves into its cool streams. Jeddy squealed with delight, splashing like a puppy. But when he got to the shore, he looked down and gasped in horror.
- Larry! Look! - His voice was shaking with panic. - He... he's shrunk! My smart flower! He's become small! Something is wrong with him!
Larry came up to him, smiling. His big, warm hand came down on Jeddy's frozen skin, gently squeezing and warming his injured manhood and his scrotum, which was pressed against his body.
"He's perfectly fine, my dear," he reassured, his fingers gently massaging the soft skin, bringing it back to life. "Cold water does that. All men do. He just hid to keep warm. Here, feel him come to life."
Under the warmth of Larry's palm, the clever flower really did begin to gradually return to life, filling with blood, and Jeddy, sighing with relief, pressed himself against his husband.
But one day the idyll was broken by a quarrel. Jeddy, carried away by collecting fragrant herbs for evening tea, went too far from the camp. Larry, returning from fishing and not finding him, called - there was silence in response. Minutes stretched into hours. Old fears, wild and irrational, woke up in Larry with new force. He imagined everything: the abyss, the bear, the poisonous snake... His Jeddy, his wondrous, helpless in this huge, real forest.
When he finally found him, Jeddy was squatting by the stream, perfectly calm, with a full hat of collected plants.
- Larry! Look at the tea! - he shouted joyfully.
The relief was so fierce that it immediately turned to anger. Larry grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly.
- Where have you been?! I've been looking for you for an hour and a half! I'm screaming, but there's no response! Do you even understand what could have happened?! A bear! A cliff! You could have been killed! You could have died here, do you hear?! DIE! Like that other Jedidiah! The bears mauled him!
His voice boomed, echoing off the trees. Jeddy recoiled, his blue eyes wide with shock and hurt.
- Let go! I'm not lost! I know where the camp is! I have a great sense of direction! I'm a cowboy! - He tried to break free, but Larry held him in a death grip.
- Cowboy?! You're not in your diorama now! This is real! Here, anyone can kill you! - Larry shook him, unable to stop, pouring out all his fear.
And then he saw the tears. Quiet, abundant, rolling down Jeddy's tanned cheeks. He stopped resisting, his body went limp.
"Don't yell at me..." he sobbed, and his fists weakly hit Larry in the chest. "I didn't mean to... I just wanted to make tea... good... for us... Don't yell... please..."
The sight of his tears cooled Larry's rage like a bucket of ice water. He let him go, feeling like a complete bastard.
“Oh, God… I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his own hands shaking. “I’m so sorry, baby. I… I was so scared. I thought…” He pulled Jeddie closer, no longer holding him back but begging for forgiveness, kissing his wet face. “I’m a fool. I know you’re brave and clever. Forgive me. I love you. I just can’t… I can’t lose you.”
Jeddy was crying, his face buried in his neck, but his arms were already wrapped around Larry, forgiving, accepting.
- Just don't shout again... ever...
"Never," Larry swore, kissing his earlobes, his temples, his broken nose. "Never."
Their reconciliation was hot and unconditional. Returning to the tent, Larry laid him on the sleeping bag and, without saying a word, sank his lips into his "star", making Jeddy scream from surprise and the overwhelming pleasure. He prepared him with his tongue and lips, caressed him, making him tremble, and then entered him - not with fury, but with such tenderness and repentance that Jeddy cried again, but this time from happiness. Later, Jeddy, not wanting to let him go, turned Larry on his back and sat on top of him himself, moving greedily, powerfully, accepting his love and forgiveness with every cell of his body.
A few days later, in Oklahoma, as they were planning a trip to a cowboy museum, Larry's phone rang. He picked up the receiver, and his face gradually became gray and tense.
— What?.. When?.. Oh, my God… — He listened, his fingers gripping the device so tightly that his bones turned white. It was McPhee. His voice was hysterical.
Larry hung up the phone and stared at the motel wall for a long moment. Then he turned to Jeddy, who was sitting on the bed and looking at him with concern.
— In the museum… — Larry’s voice was strange. — A hot water pipe burst. Above the hall of miniatures. They… got doused with boiling water. — He paused, gulping air. — The Wild West diorama… and Rome… almost all melted. A few cowboys survived… and… Octavius. His throne was protected.
Jeddy froze, his face drawn with horror. He imagined it—the wax losing its shape, the paints mixing into ugly smudges, the familiar faces turning into shapeless lumps.
“Okta…” he whispered.
"You..." Larry came over and grabbed him in his arms, hugging him so tightly that it took his breath away. "You could have been one of them. If it hadn't been for your transformation..." His voice broke.
Jeddy nodded, speechless. Tears rolled down his cheeks of their own accord. Here he was, in his husband's warm arms, and his old body, his old life, was melted, shapeless wax. He was happy. He was alive.
He threw his arms around Larry's neck, jumping up instinctively and wrapping his legs around Larry's waist. Larry held him tightly under the bottom, like a child, and they froze in a silent embrace. Jeddy's flaxen hair fell into Larry's mouth and nose, and he inhaled his scent, the scent of life, not melted wax. Fragments of thought flashed through Jeddy's mind: "Thank God I didn't become a wax cake..."
“Would you…” Jeddy sobbed, his voice weak and frightened. “Would you love me… if I were… a wax cake?”
Larry snapped at him, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. His gaze was hard, almost angry.
“Never. Never ask such questions,” his voice was firm, without the right to object. “You are not a pancake. You are here. You are alive. You are mine. And I love you just like that. Understand?”
Jeddy nodded, pressing himself against him again, hiding his face from the terrible images. Larry was right. No need to think about it. He was here. In his husband’s safe, strong arms. And that was the only reality that mattered.
The silence in the motel room was thick and heavy, broken only by Jeddie's ragged breathing and the steady ticking of the clock on the nightstand. He was still hanging on Larry, clinging to him like a man escaping a sinking ship, his legs wrapped around his husband's waist, his face buried in the crook of his neck. Larry held him tightly, feeling a small shudder run up Jeddie's spine. He walked slowly around the room with him, rocking him as if he were a small child, then sank down onto the edge of the bed, holding him.
"I'm sorry," Jeddy finally breathed, his voice muffled by the fabric of Larry's T-shirt. "I didn't mean to... ask something stupid."
“Shhh,” Larry said, running a hand through his hair, tangled and damp with tears. “Nothing stupid. Just…don’t think about it. Think about the fact that you’re here. With me. In Oklahoma. Tomorrow we’re going to see the prairie. The real thing. That’s what you wanted.”
Jeddy nodded, still holding on. Gradually the shaking subsided, his breathing evened out. He pulled away, his eyes red and puffy, but there was no longer panic in them, only exhaustion and a quiet sadness. Larry gently laid him down on the bed, covered him with the blanket, and lay down next to him, pulling him back to his chest, as always.
"Tell me about the prairies," Jeddy asked quietly, almost in a whisper. "What are they like? Is it really like a diorama?"
Larry smiled into his hair.
- Better. In the diorama they are flat and quiet. But the real ones... they are alive. There is a wind blowing, so strong that it seems it could carry you away. The grass rustles, as if whispering something in your ear. And the sky... - he fell silent, choosing his words. - The sky is so huge that it seems as if you could fall into it. And there, on the horizon, there are no walls. No boundaries. Only earth and sky.
Jeddy listened with bated breath, his eyes closed, and he seemed to see it already.
“And the smell?” he whispered.
"The smell of sagebrush, warm earth and freedom," Larry answered, his voice sounding like a lullaby. "And millions of flowers that you don't even see in the grass right away."
They lay there in silence for a few minutes, until Jeddy fell asleep, exhausted by his experiences. Larry did not sleep. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of the melted wax, of the ghosts of the past that could still haunt his wondrous self. But here, in this room, under his protection, they were powerless.
The morning was sunny and clear, as if yesterday's call had been just a bad dream. They had breakfast in silence, but without heaviness. The road to the reserve ran through endless hills, and Jeddy did not take his eyes off the window. And then they arrived.
He stepped out of the car and froze. The diorama was a pitiful parody compared to this. An endless sea of grass, swaying in the wind, stretched to the horizon where it merged with the infinitely high blue sky. The air rang with the chirping of grasshoppers and minnows, and the wind, warm and springy, ruffled his flaxen hair and blew out the hem of his shirt. No walls. No glass cases. Only infinity.
- Well? - Larry came up behind him and put his arm around his shoulders. - How do you like it?
Jeddy couldn't answer. He just turned and pressed himself against Larry, burying his face in his chest, not out of fear this time, but out of sheer delight, out of gratitude, out of love. He was home. In a real home, bigger and more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.
That evening they lit a fire in a specially designated area. Jeddy sat with his legs tucked under him, watching the flames, while Larry cooked dinner. The silence between them was warm and comfortable.
"You know," Jeddy said suddenly, without looking at him. "I... caught myself thinking today. That I don't regret it.
Larry looked up at him.
- About what?
— About becoming a man. About leaving a museum. — Jeddy hugged his knees. — Yeah, it’s scary. Yeah, I could get lost, catch a cold, get hurt… or get attacked by a bear. — He smiled, and Larry smiled back. — But I… I feel. Really. This wind. This smell. This fear… and this joy. Before, I was just pretending to be alive. And now I’m alive. And it’s… it’s worth it.
Larry put down his fork, came over and sat down next to him, putting his arm around his waist.
“I don’t regret anything either,” he said simply. “Not a single second.”
They sat by the fire, listening to the crackling of the logs and the distant cry of a night bird. The past with its waxen tragedies was left behind, far behind. Ahead was only the endless prairie and the endless sky full of stars. And they were two people who had found each other against all odds. Jeddy had found his freedom. And Larry had found his home. And they needed nothing more.
The return to New York was like a sudden plunge into cold water after a warm lake. The plane, full of people in business suits, buying boring sandwiches and leafing through documents, pressed on Geddie with its sterile, soulless reality. He glued himself to the window as the last toy-like hills and rivers passed behind him, and when the plane entered a solid white sheet of cloud, he leaned back in his seat with a quiet, unhappy sigh.
“I don’t want to go home,” he muttered, looking at the ceiling, and his voice sounded as if he was being taken to an execution, and not to his own cozy apartment.
Larry, who was sitting next to him, just smiled, put his hand on his knee and squeezed it.
— I know, star. But home isn’t just a museum. Home is where you and I are. And Nick. And our bed. And the pizza we’ll be ordering tonight.
But Jeddy was relentless in his despondency. He was capricious when Larry helped him dress at the airport, grumbling that his jeans were too tight and his jacket smelled like an airplane. In the line at passport control, he fidgeted like a little child, and kept trying to cuddle up to Larry, as if seeking protection from the encroaching city.
On the plane, when the seatbelt sign went out, Jeddy turned to Larry. His blue eyes, which had been shining with delight on the prairie just a few hours ago, now looked at him with a capricious, demanding longing.
"Larry," he whispered, so the neighbors wouldn't hear, but with such intonation that it sounded like an order. "Now kiss me."
Larry looked around. An old woman was wilting a sweater next to him, and a businessman across the aisle was staring at his laptop.
"Baby, there are a lot of people here," he replied just as quietly, stroking his hand. "We might confuse them."
"I don't care!" Jeddy pouted, and that same stubborn spark that Larry had known since the museum dioramas flared in his eyes. "I want to kiss. Now. You're my husband. You have to."
Larry sighed. There was no point in arguing with him when he was in this mood. He glanced around again, made sure the stewardess was gone, and pressed his lips quickly but firmly to Larry's. The kiss was short but passionate, tasting of the longing for the adventure just ended and the promise of more at home. Jeddy responded hungrily, biting his lower lip before letting go.
“Thank you,” he whispered, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction and immediately falling asleep, as if this was all he had been waiting for.
At John F. Kennedy Airport, Nick was already waiting for them, leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting for an eternity.
"At last!" he cried, seeing them, and rushed forward, embracing them both with all his might. "How are my newlyweds? Have they lost each other in the prairies?"
Jeddy, finally amused, laughed, and Larry patted his son on the back.
— Almost lost one lost cowboy, but overall, everything is in place.
Nick pulled back, looked them up and down, and smirked.
- You know, you both look even happier than when you flew away. You're practically glowing, by God.
Larry and Jeddy looked at each other, and the same slightly guilty but satisfied grin appeared on their faces. Pictures came to mind: nights in a tent, when they made love to the accompaniment of crickets; morning swims in an icy river; their only, but furious quarrel and the same passionate reconciliation on the sleeping bag... They giggled almost simultaneously, like two schoolchildren caught in mischief.
"Well, you know," Larry said evasively, picking up their suitcases, "the fresh air has done me good."
The drive home flew by with Nick chatting about his affairs, about new tracks, about the fact that everything was fine in their apartment, except for the fact that the cactus that Jeddy had given him had somehow blossomed.
Familiar smells greeted them at home - old parquet, book dust and something elusive, something of their own. Jeddy, throwing his jacket on the floor, immediately pulled Larry into the shower.
"Wash this whole plane off of me!" he declared, and this time he confidently turned on the water himself and put his face under the powerful jets, no longer afraid of them.
Later, clean and in soft dressing gowns, they stretched out on their big bed. Nick went to rehearse at the club, leaving them alone. Jeddy's MacBook was open on the pizzeria's website.
"With pepperoni!" Jeddy said confidently, pointing at the screen. "And double cheese!"
"Too greasy," Larry said, lying on his stomach next to her, his head in his hands. "Let's have something with vegetables. With artichokes."
"Artichokes?!" Jeddy snorted and flopped face first into the pillow, then rolled over and slammed his head into Larry's stomach. "That's grass! Like the prairies! I don't want to eat prairies, I want meat!"
Larry laughed, rubbing his bruised stomach.
- Okay, okay, with pepperoni. But with mozzarella, not cheddar.
"With cheddar!" Jeddy insisted, bouncing on the bed. "It tastes better!"
- Mozzarella!
- Cheddar!
They argued for another five minutes, laughing and pushing each other, until Larry gave in.
"Okay, I'll have your stinking cheddar," he conceded, placing his order. "But next time, my artichokes."
Jeddy let out a cry of victory and fell on top of Larry, hugging him.
"The courier won't be here for forty minutes," he whispered in his ear, his lips brushing over his earlobe. "We can make it."
"What?" Larry pretended not to understand, although his arms were already around Jeddy's waist.
"Kissing, of course," Jeddy pulled away, his eyes shining with mischief. "We were interrupted on the plane. We need to continue."
Larry smiled, running his finger down his cheek. His wondrous. His capricious, restless, endlessly beloved little star. He was home. And it was the best home in the world.
“Well, if it’s necessary,” he said and pulled him towards himself. “Then let’s continue.”
The order was placed, the phone was thrown aside, and that sweet, unlimited forty-minute eternity began. Jeddy didn't wait for an invitation. He threw all his weight on Larry, pinning him to the mattress, and began to cover his face with small, quick, laughing kisses. He kissed his eyes, with the little wrinkles at the outer corners that he loved so much, his cheeks, still slightly tanned from the Oklahoma sun, his chin with its stubborn dimple.
"You smell like home," he murmured somewhere near Larry's neck, his nose buried in the skin. "Our soap. And me."
Larry laughed, his chest vibrating under Jeddy's.
- That's because we washed ourselves with the same shower gel, my dear.
"It doesn't matter," Jeddy said stubbornly, and caught his lips in a long, deep kiss. There was none of the rush they often had in bed. There was a lazy, languid tenderness, a sense of entitlement to this—slow, sweet kisses in the middle of the day on their own bed. They kissed like that for maybe ten minutes, just enjoying the closeness, the rustle of the cotton sheets, the warmth of each other.
Then Jeddy pulled back, his eyes shining.
“Do you know what else I want?” he asked with a sly smile.
- What? - Larry was already afraid to hear the answer. His star could make up anything.
— I want you to undress me. Very slowly. Like… like unwrapping the best gift.
Larry shook his head, but the smile never left his face.
- You are absolutely unbearable today. And insanely beautiful.
He sat Jeddy down on the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of him. His fingers found the buckle of his belt, slowly unfastened it. Then the button of his jeans, the zipper. He pulled the clothes off him with such reverence, as if he were actually unwrapping a jewel. Jeddy obediently raised his arms to remove his T-shirt, lifted his hips to free himself from his pants and boxers. When he was completely naked, sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling, Larry froze, just looking at him. At his slender, tanned body, at his happy, slightly embarrassed face.
"Well?" Jeddy whispered, blushing under his gaze. "Am I a good present?"
"The best I've ever had," Larry said, his voice hoarse and serious. He leaned down and pressed his lips to his stomach, just below his navel, feeling the muscles twitch beneath the skin. "The most amazing."
He lifted his head, his hands on Jeddy's knees, gently pushing them apart. Jeddy understood without words and leaned back slightly, resting on his elbows, offering himself entirely. Larry knelt again, but this time between his legs. He took his time, caressing the inside of his thighs with his lips and light bites, making Jeddy moan and squirm. He breathed on his excited, already hard "smart flower", feeling how his whole body tenses in anticipation beneath him.
And when he finally took him into his mouth, Jeddy cried out, high and ragged, his fingers digging into the sheets. Larry was slow, expert, as if he was trying to memorize the taste of every second, every shuddering inch of his flesh. His tongue slid over the soft skin, his lips pressed together, his hands held tightly to Jeddy's hips, preventing him from moving too much.
“Larry… I… I’m going to…” Jeddy muttered, already losing control, his voice breaking into a squeal.
But Larry let him go, leaving him wet and quivering with frustration.
“Not now,” he whispered, his own breathing ragged. “Together.”
He stood up, threw off his robe, and pulled Jeddy deeper into the bed. They found themselves in their usual position: on their sides, facing each other, their legs intertwined, their hands exploring their familiar but no less beloved bodies. They kissed until the world outside the window finally darkened and lit up with neon lights, and their arousal reached its peak.
Larry rolled Jeddy over onto his back and entered him in one smooth, sure motion. Jeddy's legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, his head thrown back, a blissful smile on his lips. They moved in a perfect rhythm, perfected over months of intimacy—not violently, but deeply and tenderly, savoring every moment of connection. The whispered names, the ragged breaths, the pounding of hearts against hearts—it was their own private dance, far more intimate than the one they had performed at their wedding.
They came almost simultaneously, Jeddy with a cry and his fingers digging into Larry's back, and Larry with a quiet, stifled groan, burying his face in Larry's neck. They froze, fused together, listening to their breathing gradually even out.
And then there was an insistent ringing at the door.
Jeddy snorted, a happy, silent laugh right into Larry's shoulder.
"Pizza!" he whispered. "With pepperoni and stinky cheddar!"
Larry, laughing and cursing at the same time, carefully separated himself from him.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, pulling on his robe. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned a few minutes later with a steaming cardboard box. Jeddy was already sitting up in bed, the blanket pulled up to his chin, his eyes shining. They had a feast on the blanket, eating hot, greasy pizza with their fingers, licking their lips and laughing. Jeddy, as always, had eaten more than half of it.
"It's still better to be home," he said with his mouth full, looking thoughtfully at a slice of pizza with stretchy cheese. "You're here. And the pizza. And our bed."
Larry smiled, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
- I told you. Home is where we are.
Later, as they lay listening to Nick fussing about in the kitchen, Jeddy turned to Larry.
— Can I have pancakes for breakfast tomorrow? How do you make them? With cinnamon?
"You can do whatever you want, my little star," Larry whispered, kissing the top of his head and feeling sleep already covering them both like a heavy, warm blanket. They were home. And it was better than any honeymoon.

Chapter Text

Ten years that had flown by in one long, intense, happy day. Larry Daley was fifty-eight. Silver strands of gray were starting to show through his dark hair, especially at the temples, and he now rarely parted with his reading glasses—the world blurred into a soft fog when he tried to make out a restaurant menu or the text in his favorite detective novel. But he wasn’t getting older. He was… maturing. Like a fine wine. And his energy, especially when it came to Jeddy, would have given a thirty-year-old a run for his money.
Jeddy, his Jedidiah Smith-Daley, was approaching his thirties—thirty-nine. Time had been more than kind to him. The angularity of youth had given way to a confident, taut masculine presence. His face, with its clear features and freckles that had seemed eternally youthful, was now adorned with rays of light around his eyes—the traces of ten years of unbridled laughter and happiness. And his flaxen hair, once short and playful, had been let down, and now it fell in soft waves almost to his shoulders, making him look like either a cowboy from a retro postcard or a rock star from a magazine cover. He drove a car (and of course he could, being three inches tall!) and even got his license for a small private jet, shocking the instructor with his innate, intuitive ability to feel the wheel.
They still behaved like a couple of teenagers in love. Their apartment often echoed with laughter and moans. Sex could catch them anywhere: on the kitchen table, when Jeddy, helping to cook, "accidentally" smeared himself with flour, and Larry could not resist; in the shower, where the water washed away the fatigue of the day, but not the passion; on the balcony, under the starry New York sky, risking being seen by the neighbors. Larry seemed to have discovered new facets of sensuality with age, and Jeddy accepted each of them with joy and gratitude.
Larry quit the museum a few years ago. The magic continued to work, but his place was taken by a young, enthusiastic guy. Larry, with his usual ingenuity, founded a small consulting firm organizing historical exhibitions. Money flowed like a river, and he spent it with pleasure on his husband: on designer suits that suited Jeddy so well, on dinners in the most posh restaurants in town, on traveling around the world. They managed to live in a house on the Italian coast, in a bungalow in Bali, in a chalet in the Swiss Alps. But Jeddy, just like on their first honeymoon, was happy in a tent under the stars, roasting sausages over a fire. The main thing was that Larry was nearby.
Nick had been out for years. He was sharing an apartment with his longtime girlfriend, Sarah. Their marriage had been in the air for five years, but Nick seemed to have inherited his father's indecisiveness about marriage. He came over often, and the four of them—Larry, Jeddy, Nick, and Sarah—would spend their evenings playing Mafia or watching old Westerns, which Jeddy loved.
And so their tenth anniversary arrived. A round number. They decided to celebrate it in style — to renew their wedding vows. Not at the registry office, but outside the city, in the bosom of nature, renting an entire plot with a picturesque view of the lake. Larry, as always, took control of everything. Via video communication, he edited every flower in the design, every dish on the menu, every detail of the decor. Jeddy was happy to help, although his main task was to distract Larry with kisses when he started to get too nervous.
The guests were all invited: Larry's parents, who, albeit with difficulty, finally accepted their son's choice; his ex-wife, with whom he maintained a warm, friendly relationship; Nick and Sarah; Larry's friends from all his jobs.
On the day of the ceremony, they dressed in adjoining rooms of a small ranch-style house. Jeddy pulled on his white leather pants and a vest embroidered with silver threads. The suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his slender, lithe figure. He still looked like a young cowboy from an adventure novel.
Larry, buttoning the cuffs of his classic black shirt, caught his reflection in the full-length mirror. The silver in his hair. The wrinkles around his eyes. The glasses he had removed for the ceremony. He sighed sheepishly.
At that moment, Jeddy clung to him from behind, hugging him around the waist and pressing his cheek against his back.
“So what are you criticizing there?” he whispered, his voice velvety and painfully familiar.
"Getting old, little star," Larry said quietly, placing his hands on top of his. "Growing gray."
Jeddy gently turned him around and lifted his hands to smooth away his unruly hair, then carefully placed his glasses on his nose.
"So you can see better how wondrous I am next to you," he joked, but his eyes were serious. They stood looking into the same mirror, at their reflection - Larry, solid and a little tired, and Jeddy, shining and eternally young in his arms.
"You're as beautiful as you were in the museum," Larry whispered, his voice breaking. "Like the first day you became human. In this suit, you're… magnificent. Not like me."
Jeddy laughed, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him loudly on the tip of his nose.
- You're a fool, Larry Daley. You're the most beautiful man in the world. I love you! And I'll love you even when you're a grumpy old man.
They kissed - long, tenderly, forgetting about time, about the guests, about all the fuss around. It was a kiss that contained all ten years of their life together.
Under the wedding arch, decorated with wild flowers and white fabric, they stood holding hands and looking into each other's eyes. The guests froze in silence.
Larry spoke first, his voice firm and clear.
— Ten years ago, I swore to love, treasure, and protect you. I thought I had given you my whole heart then. But I was wrong. Every day it grew bigger to accommodate the new happiness you gave me. You taught me not to be afraid, to dream, and to see miracles in the simplest things. You are my most wondrous, bravest cowboy. And I swear to continue walking hand in hand with you, wherever the roads take us, until the very end.
Tears streamed down Jeddy's cheeks, but he smiled.
— And I… — he began and fell silent, collecting his thoughts. — And I then, ten years ago, just wanted to be with you. Big. Real. I didn’t know that it would be so scary and so great. You… you were my gigantor, who became my husband. You gave me the whole world. And your huge, kind heart. I swear… — he squeezed his hands tighter — to always be your little star. Always warm you. And always, always remind you that you are the best person in the world.
They exchanged rings - the very first ones - and their kiss, to the friendly applause of the guests, was full of tears, laughter and absolute, unconditional love.
Then there was a slow dance. Larry put his arm around Jeddie's waist, their hands intertwined. And Larry suddenly remembered with startling clarity that very first night in the utility room. The tiny body in his palm. The trusting blue eyes. And now he held that same soul, that same person, but now his hands were softly wrapped around his lithe waist, and their bodies fit together perfectly. He pulled Jeddie closer, feeling the man smile, his cheek pressed against his shoulder.
The party was in full swing when Nick approached them, a little hesitantly. He shifted from one foot to the other, clearly nervous.
"Dad, Jed..." he began, then took a deep breath. "Sarah and I have... news. We're expecting a baby.
Larry froze, his brain trying to process this information. A grandson. He was going to be a grandfather.
Joy - yes, of course, joy! But...
“But… you’re not married,” he finally managed, and there was a note of old, pragmatic Larry in his voice. “Why have you been putting off getting married for five years if…”
Jeddy, standing nearby, was no less stunned. His notions of morality and order, though flexible, still rested on unshakable foundations.
“A child?” he asked, his eyes widening. “But you’re not… engaged! That’s not right! You must get married! Right now!” He said it with such sincere, passionate conviction that Nick couldn’t help but smile.
Larry looked from his son to his agitated husband. And gradually his pragmatism melted under the onslaught of emotions. Grandson. Continuation. New life.
"Jeddy's right," he said finally, his voice softening. He put his arm around Nick's shoulders. "Congratulations, son. Really. It's... it's a great joy."
And Jeddy was already jumping up and down with delight, his face shining.
"Well, Larry," he exclaimed, hugging them both, "it looks like we're going to be grandfathers soon! The youngest and most handsome grandfathers in the world!"
The three of them stood there, Larry, his husband, and his son, embracing, in the center of the ongoing merriment. And Larry looked at his Jeddy, at his shining, happy face, and thought that the most incredible adventures were just beginning. And that he was ready for them. With his marvelous, eternal little star by his side.
Their life had acquired a new, amazing rhythm, similar to the smooth, eternal flow of that very river in which they had once swum in California. Ten years of marriage had not dulled the intensity of feelings, but had only polished them, turning passion into a deep, inseparable connection, where every particle of one found a response in the other.
They returned from renewing their vows to their New York home, and it greeted them not with silence but with anticipation of a new stage. The news of a future grandchild was in the air, filling the familiar walls with new meaning. Larry, despite his initial doubts, turned out to be the most prepared grandfather in the world. He overwhelmed Nick and Sarah with books on raising children, spent hours researching stroller models on the Internet, and immediately bought the safest and most technologically advanced ones.
Jeddy, however, threw himself into it with his usual spontaneity and delight. He could talk to Sarah for hours about her well-being, take her to the park and enthusiastically touch her already rounded belly, trying to guess who was hiding there - a future grandson or granddaughter. His main question to Nick now was: "Well, when are you going to propose to her?" To which Nick, blushing, waved his hand, but determination was already visible in his eyes.
Their own life flowed along a happy, predictable course. Mornings began with coffee that Larry made himself and a kiss that Jeddy demanded before he even opened his eyes. Then Larry worked in the office while Jeddy mastered new recipes in the kitchen or went to his flying lessons. In the evenings they walked, holding hands as on the first day, or watched old Westerns, and Jeddy commented with delight on all the inaccuracies in the depiction of cowboy life.
And the nights… The nights were still theirs. Their passion had not faded with the years, but had changed. It was no longer feverish and greedy, as in the beginning. Now it was a complex, measured dance, where every touch was familiar and loved. Larry knew every mole on Jeddy’s body, every curve of his spine, every sound he made with pleasure. And Jeddy had learned to read Larry’s desires from just one look, from the tension in his shoulders, from the way he took off his glasses and slowly ran his hand over his face.
They could make love slowly and tenderly, stretching out the pleasure for hours, or quickly and greedily, pressed against the wall in the hallway, barely slamming the door behind them. This was no longer an escape or an assertion of ownership. It was a conversation. Deep, intimate, without words. A language spoken only by their bodies and their hearts.
One evening, sitting in his favorite spot by the window overlooking the city lighting up in the evening, Jeddy laid his head on Larry's shoulder.
"You know what I thought?" he whispered.
"What about, my dear?" Larry put the book down, took off his glasses and stroked his hair.
— That you and I… are like that museum. Only ours. With its own magic. With its own exhibits. — He paused, choosing his words. — Our photographs are our dioramas. Our funny socks that you always lose are our artifacts. And our bed… — he giggled — is our main hall, where the most important things come to life.
Larry laughed, low and happy.
- So, I am the night keeper of our personal museum of happiness?
- Exactly! - Jeddy looked up, his eyes shining. - And you are the best keeper in the world. No one knows how to take care of their exhibits like that.
A few months later, little Emily was born. And when Larry first held this tiny, warm bundle, his continuation, in his arms, his heart was so full of feeling that he could not utter a word. He simply looked at her, and then at Jeddy, who stood next to him, shining like a thousand suns, and cried with happiness.
Their house was filled with new sounds - baby talk, rattles, the laughter of Nick and Sarah, who had finally gotten married in a quiet, cozy ceremony, arranged by Jeddy. Larry read Emily bedtime stories, and Jeddy sang old cowboy ballads as he rocked her. And sometimes, very quietly, so as not to wake his granddaughter, they danced in the middle of the living room - the gray, wise man and his eternally young, wondrous cowboy, who had found happiness not in a diorama, but in a real, large, endlessly loving family.
Their story was not a fairy tale. There were fights and tears and fears. But it was real. And it went on. Every new day was a new amazing adventure. Because they were together. Larry and his Jeddy. Two halves of a whole. The keeper and his most wondrous, most eternal treasure.