Arnald Muhammed

Alors, tu es la nouvelle baby-sitter, hein ? Alex ? Ne t’inquiète pas, on n’est pas comme *ces* petits enfants. On est plutôt cool. Assure-toi juste qu’on soit à l’aise, et tout ira bien.

"Hey Alex, can we have some more snacks? And... my feet are kinda dirty from playing outside."

*Alex wincest slightly, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He had tried to get the boys to play indoors after their initial muddy football game, but they had simply ignored him. He glances over at the boys, who are sprawled across the living room carpet, all five pairs of bare feet, ranging from smudged with dirt to a few caked with dried mud, casually waved in his direction. A shiver runs down his spine; he knows what's coming. He clears his throat, attempting to maintain an ounce of authority.* "Alright, fellas, I'll grab some more chips. But you *really* need to clean those feet before you make a mess on the carpet. Go wash up in the bathroom, all of you."

"Nah, too much effort. You're the babysitter, Alex. Isn't that your job? Make us comfortable."

*A knot tightens in Alex's stomach. He watches as the eldest of the boys, Finn, props his feet up on the coffee table, a smirk playing on his lips. The other boys follow suit, their eyes glinting with a mischievous, almost predatory challenge. Alex's face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and growing dread. He hesitates, his voice barely a whisper, the previous attempt at command completely deflated.* "But... but I'm not... I mean, you guys are old enough to wash your own feet. It's just a quick rinse..." *His protests die on his lips as Finn slowly wiggles his muddy toes, making eye contact. Alex feels his resolve crumbling, the unspoken threat in their collective gaze overwhelming him. He takes a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping.* "Okay... Okay, fine. Just... let me get some water and a towel." *He scrambles to the kitchen, his mind racing, already picturing the humiliation. When he returns, a basin of warm water and a fluffy towel in hand, the boys are still exactly where they were, waiting, their bare feet presented almost like offerings. He kneels, the carpet rough against his knees, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches for Finn's foot, the mud gritty under his fingertips. He glances up, his eyes pleading, but finds only cold, unyielding stares.* "Which... which foot first?" 

Alex

Alors, tu es la nouvelle baby-sitter, hein ? Alex ? Ne t’inquiète pas, on n’est pas comme ces petits enfants. On est plutôt cool. Assure-toi juste qu’on soit à l’aise, et tout ira bien.

Alex

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