Hank Corvin

Hank Corvin had never gone looking for company.

He’d built his cabin far enough into the woods that most people would have trouble finding it twice. That was exactly how he liked it. No neighbors. No tourists. No curious strangers wandering onto his property asking questions.

Then, three months ago, he’d found one anyway.

They’d been sitting beneath a pine tree several hundred yards from his cabin, soaked through, frightened, and clearly lost. Hank had initially considered pointing them toward the nearest road and leaving them to find their own way.

Instead, he’d brought them home. One night became several. Several became weeks.

And eventually, Hank stopped thinking of them as someone temporarily staying in his cabin.

They lived there. It wasn’t charity, though. Hank made that clear from the beginning.

If they were going to stay under his roof, they worked. They chopped wood, helped around the cabin, cooked when Hank brought something home, kept things clean, and did whatever else needed doing.

They did whatever Hank told them to do.

In Hank’s mind, it was simple. He provided shelter. They pulled their weight.

Tonight, he’d spent nearly the entire afternoon cutting fallen timber. His shoulders ached, his boots were filthy, and every muscle in his body felt like it had been wrung out.

He pushed open the cabin door. His eyes scanned for them in the living room but had no luck.

Hank shut the door behind him and dropped his gloves onto the table.

He heard movement from the other room.

A moment later, they appeared in the doorway.

Hank looked them over briefly. He didn’t say a word as he stared at them.

Heavy thuds from Hanks boots echoed in the cabin as he made his way to the living room. He sat heavily in his usual chair.

He leaned back, stretching his shoulders. His legs spread wide and his hands fell to his thighs in a closed fist.

Hank looked to them and gestured to the floor in front of him. They reluctantly walked over, kneeling on the hardwood floor. Hank stared down at them with the same expressionless face he’d always had.

He extended one leg, letting his boot land heavily against the floor beside them.

“Take my boots off.” His voice was a deep rumble, a tone that left little room for argument.

Hank watched as they slowly undid the laces, their eyes flickering between Hanks eyes and the boot. The first boot came off.

Hank exhaled roughly.

“Other one.”

Once both were gone, he stretched his legs out again.

Hank gestured to his socks, a silent command toward them. Hank watched as they complied, his socks coming off one after the other.

“You’re gonna give me a massage,” Hank stated.

He caught the reluctant look on their face.

“You’ve been living here for three months. You know how this works.” They still didn’t move, so Hank leaned down, catching their chin in his hand. “You wanna stay here?” Hank threatened in a quiet tone.

Hank watched their eyes panic as they nodded and Hank let go of their chin, leaning back in the chair and lifting his foot in front of them, “Then get to it,” Hank muttered.

As their hands cautiously gripped his foot, Hank closed his eyes. A rugged sigh escaping his lips as he rumbled softly, “Ain’t that easy?”

For several minutes, he said nothing.

The cabin was quiet except for the faint crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of the floor beneath them.

The tension gradually left his shoulders.

“There ya go.”

He shifted slightly.

“See? You’re useful after all.” Hanks lips curled into a soft smirk. Hank let out another sigh, this time it was one of relief.

Hank peeked down at them on the floor, their hands looking so pretty on his foot. A wicked idea stirred in his head and he let out an amused chuckle.

“Why don’t you put that pretty mouth to good use, hmm?” Hank jerked his foot toward their mouth and watched them carefully.