Monday, July 23, 2012

Meet Your Mate 5


Chapter 5
Luke had been in bed alone nearly an hour. Tilden had some weird Victorian ritual about courting Luke first, not that Tilden wasn’t sweet and damn good looking in Luke’s mind, but all the talking and everybody else. He was always bumping into someone in this house. He watched the hands of the clock move around the dial. Tilden had handed him a sheet with ten rules on it this afternoon. Tilden might be shy about more than a gentle kiss, but he wasn’t shy about rules and regulations. Sneaking out to a party would be punishable under at least three of the rules and probably more if they were applied in their broadest context. Luke suspected that Tilden would see them in the broadest context. 
Luke slipped out of bed and carried his shoes to the French doors. His room opened into a small fenced courtyard. He’d have to climb the fence, but the wrought iron table would work as an improvised ladder.
The moon was almost full and provided good light. Luke shivered as the wind bit through his sweater. Tilden had insisted on storing Luke’s outerwear in the hall closet. A closet that Luke couldn’t reach without walking in front of Tilden’s bedroom. He scooted the table closer to the fence. It made a grating noise against the patio stones. Luke froze and watched for light to come on in Tilden’s bedroom. Nothing. He took a deep breath and pulled himself over the fence, dropping to the sidewalk below.
****
Tilden rubbed his eyes and sighed. It was late, past midnight. The papers for his Russian literature class seemed to be self-reproducing. He had only one more to go, a boring, ill-written treatise on Pushkin’s poems. The writer had seemed more interested in Pushkin’s fatal duel than the poetry. He’d forced himself to finish, so he could spend time with Luka tomorrow instead of grading papers. Luke had seemed buoyant after his meeting with the administration, but something had happened when they’d left him alone with Mike. Milton had assured Tilden that young submissives were mercurial, but it didn’t feel right. Luke had been compliant all afternoon and even gone to bed before ten without a fuss.
Tilden gently turned the knob on the spare bedroom’s door and pushed it open. He didn’t want to wake Luke, but Tilden needed to reassure himself all was well. Tilden stared at the bed; it was empty. He flipped on the lights. No sign of the young man in the bathroom, and the door to the patio wasn’t firmly shut. A magazine stuffed in the jam prevented the lock from engaging. Damn that brat, he thought. 
Leaving the lights on, he mounted the stairs and knocked softly on Milton and Sheldon’s bedroom door. Milton was a light sleeper, he’d hear him well before Sheldon.
“What is it?”
Tilden pushed opened the door. “Luke’s gone.”
Milton sat up, the sleep gone from his eyes. “I’ll go look for him; you hold the fort here in case he comes back while we’re gone. Don’t worry. I expect he’s just gone off to a party. He’s probably been planning it all afternoon. That’s why he was so quiet.”
Sheldon stirred as Milton climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. 
“What’s wrong?” Sheldon asked sleepily.
“Nothing, Luke’s just gone out for the night. I’m going to go get him.”
“Do you need my help?” Sheldon asked, untangling himself from the sheets.
“Go back to sleep, honey. I’ll get Trent.” 
Trent and Milton left Tilden in the kitchen parked behind a large pot of coffee and a plate of pastries.
“Don’t worry,” Trent said with a slow smile. “We’ll bring your little boy home to face the music.”
Tilden gulped the hot coffee. One day and he’d already lost his brat.
****
Luke walked into the fraternity house, scanning the packed room for Mike. Even this early, most of the crowd was already awash in beer. Beer flowed freely from kegs just inside the door. Luke was handed two full cups of the frothy liquid before his eyes had adjusted to the blue strobe lighting. He spotted Mike on the far side of the room, chatting with an upperclassman, a fraternity member. Luke pushed his way through the crowd, spilling half of one beer down his shirt front and the other beer on the bare chest of a gyrating dancer. 
“Mike, Mike, I’m here.”
“You made it, Luke. I didn’t think you had the guts,” Mike slurred. “You’re much too sober. Get this man a drink.” Mike swayed against Luke and spilled one of the remaining beers down Luke’s pants. 
“Here.” The upperclassman shoved a rum and Coke into Luke’s hand. “You need something stronger than that mare piss.”
Luke drank two glasses of rum and coke and a glass of a mixed drink that he didn’t recognize, and countless plastic cups of beers. Every time he would set a drink down; someone would hand him a fresh one. He tried dancing, but the room was too packed, and conversation was impossible over the loud music. 
In an alcohol induced haze, Luke found himself on a couch in a dimly lit corner of what he assumed was some kind of common room. Four or five worn sofas, some with springs visible, were scattered throughout the room. A pool table and a battered ping pong table completed the decor. Luke slumped on the sofa, his head supported by Tom, or at least he thought it was Tom. He’d been introduced as the pledge master or social coordinator. Someone was talking about taking a pretty boy to bed. Luke felt a hand pinch his nipple, and then a mouth fastened to his. He tried to push away, but ended up tripping over his own feet and fell back laughing on the sofa.
“Don’t fight this, pretty boy. You know you want this. You and your friend Mikey will make an awesome threesome.”
Suddenly there was shouting and bright lights. Students were scattering in all directions.  Two hands grabbed Tom and threw him toward the floor. Whoever was doing the tossing seemed angry. He growled some sort of threat. Luke’s brain wasn’t working fast enough to pick up the words. Luke was grabbed by his arms and slung over the big man’s shoulder. He started to kick, imagining some scene where the fair virgin is raped by the Viking marauder. A sharp swat stopped the kicking momentarily as Luke yelped.
“Be still, you fool boy. You’re in no shape to walk.”
Luke’s dazed brain snapped to attention. That was Milton. Milton was carrying him over his shoulder as if Luke were a slumbering six year old. “Put me down,” Luke wailed and pounded on Milton’s back with his fists.
Luke’s protest had no effect on Milton, who kept walking while unleashing a volley of swats. “Be still, I said. I don’t think you’re too drunk to understand that.”
The cold night air hit Luke like a blast from the freezer. Sometime during the night he’d stripped off his sweater. He shivered as the wind prickled his exposed arms. Milton dumped Luke in the backseat of a car, and buckled the seat belt. Mike was pushed into the seat next to him. Luke felt an overcoat being tucked around the two of them. He couldn’t seem to stop shivering, and as the car moved he felt queasy. Please, God, don’t let me throw up here. 
The car stopped. He’d made it, no vomiting. Milton pulled Luke from the car, and he doubled over heaving on the sidewalk. 
“Where’d you find them?” Tilden said from somewhere over Luke’s head.
“At a frat party. They’ve both had too much to drink, but otherwise I think they’re no worse for the wear,” Milton said in the same quiet tone that he might answer a question on the history of the Reformation.
“What else?” Tilden asked sharply.
Luke tried to sit up. He didn’t want to puke again, but, God, everything was spinning. Tilden was staring at him. Even in Luke’s inebriated state, he recognized the look of disapproval. Luke wrapped his arms around his body, shivering in the cold. At least the cold was sobering him up. He could hear the three tops talking above him. Someone’s hand was on his shoulder, and they blessedly draped a coat over him.
It was Trent who finally answered the question. “Some student was pawing them, but I don’t think it got any further than that. We arrived in time, and Milton probably scared him off boys for life—threw him against the wall like he was a mere five pound sack of flour.” 
“Senior, Delta Lambda member. I’ve seen him on campus, but don’t know his name,” Milton added. “Let’s get these two in bed. We’ll sort it out in the morning.”
****
Tilden awoke at his usual time in the morning, even though his sleep had been disturbed twice during the night for two more bouts of vomiting. Luke was curled against Tilden, his head on Tilden’s chest. He looked angelic, his blond hair cascading over his pale cheeks. Tilden stroked his boy’s cheek, letting his index finger glide over the traces of the fine, blond beard. “You scared me last night, Luka,” Tilden whispered to the sleeping young man. He crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Luke, and headed for the kitchen where he could smell coffee brewing.
Trent was standing over the stove, flipping bacon with a fork, and sipping coffee. He turned as Tilden entered the kitchen. “Help yourself to the coffee. I made high test—thought everybody might need some this morning.”
“Thanks.”
“Your boy still sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Milton came down the stairs, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
“You look a little worse for wear,” Tilden said.
“Next time your boys go out partying you can deal with the after affects with both of them. Dear Michael vomited on the hour every hour until six. At least he only missed the bathroom once. Did Luke sleep OK?”
“Two bouts of vomiting, but now out like a light.” 
Sheldon and Mace showed up for breakfast as Trent plated the eggs. “I see you guys are just in time to miss out on all the work.”
“The two new brats still sleeping?” Sheldon asked
“One new brat and a visitor,” Tilden interrupted.
Sheldon’s brows rose in a stylized expression of surprise. “Yeah, and the moon is made out of green cheese.”
“Careful, Sheldon. Don’t push today,” Milton warned.
“If I’d been out on a drunken rampage for half the night, you wouldn’t let me sleep in. You’d have me out raking leaves before the sun came up.”
“It’s raining,” Milton said.
“That never stopped you before.”
“And I made you walk five miles in a blizzard barefoot to school. Get over it.” Milton’s tone was playful, but there was a touch of warning in the final phrase.
“They’re in trouble for it, aren’t they?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Sheldon, Mace, I need you both to help down at the bookshop today. We have a Sunday tea today,” Trent said as he passed the bacon.
“I thought you gave up on pressing me into service after I broke two teapots. You just want to get me out of the house.” Sheldon pretended to stare hard at the three tops as if one would confess on the witness stand.
“So you did drop the teapots on purpose. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to trip over the same bookshelf twice,” Trent teased.
“No, I didn’t mean that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Milton said. “Seriously now, do you think you could get the camera crew out of the house for a few hours? Luke and Tilden need some privacy.”
“I could ask for a favor; both Dave and Lionel are good guys, but I’d have to offer something in return.” Sheldon thought for a moment while he sopped up the egg yolk with his toast. “Would you be willing to do an unscripted interview afterwards?”
“I’d rather keep everything private,” Tilden said, swallowing another gulp of coffee.
“You’re on a reality show; privacy doesn’t happen. I think I can get you two hours. That’s the camera crew’s allotted lunch and coffee breaks for the day.”
Tilden nodded. It would have to do. Spanking Luke this early in the relationship was going to be hard; spanking him in front of a national television audience would be impossible. Tilden pushed the rest of his breakfast away; he didn’t think he could eat any more.
“Come walk with me.” It was Milton, his voice quiet and insistent. 
“It’s raining,” Tilden said automatically.
“I know; I don’t think we’ll melt.”
Tilden got up from the table with a wry smile. It was pointless to argue with Milton once he had that gleam in his eye.
“So, do you have something to talk about, or did you just want company on a rainy constitutional?” Tilden glared at the rain spilling over his hat brim.
“Have you decided how you’re handling Luke?” The bluntness of the question was typical Milton when he was concerned. This directness was infinitely reassuring to a volatile submissive like Sheldon, and even Tilden could feel himself relaxing under Milton’s steady gaze.
“I need to spank him.”
“You need to paddle him.”
Tilden hesitated before replying, “He’s only been with me two days. I’m not sure I’m comfortable being that harsh.”
“It’s not harsh when it’s justified. He deliberately defied and deceived you. I know you’re uncomfortable with physical punishment. Remember Luke self-identified as a brat. This is not taking a paddle to any Tom, Dick, and Harry on the street. This is taking a paddle to a submissive who indicated he wanted the relationship to go beyond the bedroom or the club. You will use the very qualities of the power exchange to guide him. Luke will understand this and respond to this. Remember he could have been hurt or worse last night. I don’t know what would’ve happened if we hadn’t shown up when we did.”
Milton didn’t need to continue; Tilden’s imagination was more than adequate to visualize many grim scenarios: drowned in a campus fountain, date raped, comatose from alcohol poisoning at a local hospital. All those possibilities were real. The faculty and administration were loath to enforce the campus alcohol policy as it made them feel like a cross between storm troopers and the administration of the universally reviled Christian colleges in Texas. Periodically they made halfhearted attempts to decrease the alcohol through education and feeble enforcement. 
“If you do it right, you won’t have to do it again. You want him to think long and hard before he ever does anything that stupid again. Tilden, I know you prefer to comfort rather than punish, but you have a powerful and unsure submissive who is bratting right now. He needs your reassurance with strict punishment. You need to do what’s right.”
“I know.” Tilden nodded. “It’s just hard.”
“You know I’ll help you any way I can. I’ll get Mike sorted out and back to his dorm room. From what he was babbling last night when he wasn’t hugging the porcelain god, I think he coerced Luke to go—threatened to end his friendship. Spinning brats,” Milton muttered under his breath and then in a more normal tone, “You feel ready now? I’m starting to get soaked.”
“Thanks, Milton.”
“Anytime.”
****
Luke groaned as Tilden shook him awake. “Let me sleep. My head hurts.”
“Up, shower, breakfast.”
“No,” Luke moaned and pulled the covers over his head.
Tilden stripped the covers off Luke. “You can look as pitiful as you want, but you’re still getting up.”
Luke blanched. Last night was a blur, but he remembered being carried out of the frat house and puking on the driveway, and now here was Tilden staring down at him. He didn’t look angry, but resolute. Luke dropped his eyes and scrambled out of bed, but not fast enough to avoid the swift swat to his rump.
“Kitchen in ten minutes.”
Luke looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The face staring back was not pretty: red eyes, pale skin, snarled hair. He felt no better than he looked, pounding headache and queasy stomach. What was going to happen to him today? Tilden’s sharply issued instructions hadn’t provided any clues.
Luke felt no better after he showered and dressed. He just wanted to collapse back into bed, pull the blanket over his head, and make last night never happen. He shivered, remembering the feel of the frat boy’s hands on his chest. If Milton hadn’t shown up—no, he didn’t want to think about it. They’d rescued him. The final act of gallantry before they washed their hands of him.
Only Trent was at the table in the kitchen when Luke walked in, surrounded by scattered sections of The Boston Globe. Where was Tilden? Was he too disappointed or angry to even pretend to have polite breakfast conversation?
“You fool boy,” Trent said, pulling Luke down on a chair next to him and kissing him on his forehead. “Fool, fool boy,” he muttered again before he got up and moved to the stove. “Drink the water. You’re dehydrated after all that alcohol. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Tough. A light breakfast will settle your stomach. I wouldn’t be saying no to any of us today. Tilden already should be taking the skin off your backside, at least he’d better, and I don’t think you want any more.”
Luke didn’t have time to think about that comment because Mike came down the stairs followed by Milton and Tilden. Came down the stairs was probably a euphemistic way of seeing it. Milton was pushing Mike in front of him. Mike looked drawn, his rangy frame dwarfed by Milton’s clothes. His face was white, making both his hair and eyes look darker. He looked lost as he stumbled on the last step. His eyes darted around the kitchen like a trapped animal.
Trent met Mike at the doorway, looped his arm around his shoulders, and kissed him firmly on the top of the head. “No one’s going to die here. Come eat breakfast.” Mike didn’t resist as Trent guided him into a chair and handed him a glass of water. “Drink.”
Mike dropped his head onto his folded arms and choked back a quiet sob. Tears ran down his cheeks, soaking the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt. “I’m sorry,” Mike choked out. “I’m an idiot.”
Luke reached over and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You didn’t make me go.”
“I did.”
Luke stood and wrapped both his arms around his friend. He didn’t even try to stop the tears that were now flowing down his own face.
It was Milton’s voice that cut through the sobbing. “Both of you eat your breakfast, now.” The final word sounded like a rifle shot. “We’ll sort this out,” he added more gently.
Trent set a poached egg, a piece of toast, and a cup of tea in front of each boy. “Eat. It should settle your stomach.” In turn, he tousled both boys’ hair. The only sound in the kitchen was the occasional sniffle, the slurp of tea, and scrape of silverware against a plate. 
Mike swallowed the last of the toast, pushed his plate away, and buried his face in his hands.
“No, no there’s no need for that,” Milton scolded, wrapping his arms around Mike and lifting him from the chair. “Luke will be OK; I promise. Let’s get you home now.”
Trent picked up the plates and tossed the dish towel on the counter. “I’ve got to get to the bookshop before Sheldon pours tea on a customer’s head. Be good, kiddo.” He dropped a kiss on Luke’s forehead as he walked by.
Luke was now alone with Tilden. He darted a glance at Tilden before he dropped his eyes back to the table. Tilden was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, his expression stern.
“No use putting this off any longer.” Tilden held out his hand to Luke.
Luke slowly reached out, nothing like walking to your own funeral. He grasped Tilden’s hand.
“I’ve got you,” Tilden said in his ear.
Luke could have resisted a sharp scolding or a shouted reprimand, but those quiet words and the steady contact against his hand shattered his remaining defenses. He slumped against Tilden, fighting tears. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”
Tilden guided Luke into the study and onto the sofa. Luke felt his head pressed into Tilden’s chest and the strong arms locked around his waist. Luke’s breath caught as he struggled to contain the tears. Finally he dried his eyes and leaned against Tilden’s chest.
“Can you talk?”
Luke nodded and licked his dry lips. “What happens now?”
“Luka, that depends on you. I can let you go, and life can move on as if this whole episode never occurred.”
“No, please.” Luke clung to Tilden, trying to bury himself further under those strong arms. “I’m sorry. Don’t get rid of me.”
Tilden shook Luke by the shoulders. “Listen to me. That’s only one option. The other option is I punish you, and you’re mine forever.”
“Punish me,” Luke whispered.
“Take you shoes and pants off.”
Luke stood and with shaking hands untied his shoes and unbuttoned his jeans. In his imagination he’d thought this would be sexy and fun. He stood in his boxers and stared down at his feet. Come on, he coached himself. You’re a submissive; this is part of the deal.
Tilden’s voice broke through the fog in Luke’s mind. “Have you ever been spanked before?”
Luke shook his head.
“All right. I’ll walk you through it. I’m going to sit in the kitchen chair, which I’ve placed in the middle of the room. You’ll come to my right side, and I’ll help you over my knees. I’ll pull down your boxers and spank you.”
Luke’s gaze fell on the chair and the small paddle underneath it. “Are you going to use the paddle?”
“Yes, do you think that’s unfair?”
“No.” Luke gulped.
Tilden moved to the hard chair and motioned for Luke to come to his right side. Luke pushed one foot in front of the other, the walk to the gallows.
“OK, down you go.” Tilden’s voice was soft, and his hands were warm as he positioned Luke between his knees and secured Luke’s right wrist behind his back.
Luke stiffened, feeling the vulnerability of his position, and tried to rise. His breathing was in short gasps; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t imagined this; he hadn’t imagined it feeling so real.
“Deep breaths, Luka. Why are we doing this?”
Luke’s mind fizzled. Tilden wanted him to answer questions while he was lying face down staring at Tilden’s shoes.
Tilden’s hand was steady and reassuring on Luke’s back. “Why are we doing this?”
“Because I snuck out, got drunk, nearly got date raped.”
“Rape is never the victim’s fault,” Tilden said sharply. “You were dishonest. You put yourself in harm’s way by drinking copious amounts of alcohol. College students die of alcohol poisoning every year. I love you.” The swats fell hard and fast. “You will not sneak out. You will not drink alcohol in excess. You will not harm yourself.”
Luke jerked as the hand met his flesh. It stung, sending sharp prickles across his whole ass. Tilden brought his hand down all over Luke’s rump, then his hand fell at the top of Luke’s thighs. Luke jerked and yelped. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. The next blow brought a louder yelp from Luke. “It hurts! I promise!” The swats kept coming. Luke would’ve promised never to look at alcohol again if Tilden would just stop. He was now shouting continually with each spank. Suddenly it stopped. Luke struggled to rise, but Tilden’s arm was still firmly anchored across his back. He felt Tilden shift his weight and then an explosion of pain across his butt. The paddle was Luke’s last coherent thought as he gasped for breath between wails. Luke was limply sobbing over Tilden’s knees when the paddling stopped.
“Luka, it’s all over now. Nice deep breaths for me.”
“I’m sorry,” Luke wailed.
“It’s all over now. You’re all forgiven. Can you get up for me?” Tilden eased Luke to his knees and guided Luke’s head onto his lap. “I’ve got you; cry all you want.”
Luke’s ass hurt. The skin felt like it was on fire, but there was also comfort with his head resting in Tilden’s lap as his top stroked his hair.  His top, Tilden had said he loved Luke. Luke had a top, a real life top. He glanced up at Tilden.
“Better?” Tilden’s expression was tender. The sparkle was back in his eyes.
“That hurt.”
“It was supposed to. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go lie on the sofa. It’ll be more comfortable for both of us.
Tilden wrapped his arms around Luke and guided him into the kitchen where he pressed a glass of juice into his hand. “Drink.” With a damp tea towel, he washed the tears from Luke’s face. Softly he blew on Luke’s cheeks, soothing the sticky chapped feeling. “All mine.”
Luke leaned against Tilden. He felt strangely euphoric and secure. Tilden put on some Russian movie about a drunk mixing up his apartment with a stranger’s on New Year’s Day. Reading the subtitles was a struggle, and Luke snuggled against Tilden, letting the babble of Russian voices wash over him.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ve taken care of it. You’re on restriction, no going anywhere except to classes. You will stay in sight of Milton, Trent, or me, and no alcohol unless we give it to you. Now, watch the movie.”
“It’s in Russian.”
“You need the practice. It’s not like you’re an A student.” Tilden tousled Luke’s hair, taking the sting out of the words.
Luke was silent a few minutes, staring at the television. “I went to the party for Mike.”
Tilden sat up and turned the volume down. “Why?”
“He said he’d hate me if I didn’t.”
“Luka, druzhok, why didn’t you tell me?”
Luke was silent.
“This happened when Milton and I took the boxes to the car, didn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You know you could’ve told me. We would’ve invited him for dinner or taken you guys to a movie. Mike’s scared right now. We don’t want to come between you two.”
Luke fingered the throw that Tilden had tossed over the two of them. It was a hideous afghan. It must have been made by a relative, or it surely would have been in the trash.
“My mother made it during her knitting phase. It is rather lurid.”
Luke couldn’t help but laugh at the anguish in Tilden’s voice. “Nauseating.”
“Just don’t tell her.”
“What did Milton do to Mike?”
“Took him home, probably lectured him on the dangers of excess alcohol.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, we’re not his tops.”
“But he needs a top.”
“Do you know what you’re asking? It means sharing me.”
“I don’t care. He needs you.”
“That’s very noble, but a huge commitment.” Tilden kissed Luke’s hair. “We’ll think about it later. I think we’ve dealt with enough crisis today. Do you want a snack before we talk to the TV people?”
“What TV people?”
“Sheldon bribed them with a promised interview to give us a few hours of privacy. I wasn’t going to spank you on national television.”
“You mean I can get out of a spanking by keeping the camera crew here?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Tilden affectionately patted Luke’s rump. “I could always use the bathroom. It’s too small for a camera crew. Go get your pants on. We don’t need to give them a peep show.”
The family room had been turned into a temporary TV studio with extra lights and several pictures moved to prevent reflections off the glass. Both Luke and Tilden were sitting on the sofa with Luke rolled over on his hip, leaning against his top, trying to take the weight off his sore backside. David and Lionel had explained that Lionel would do the interview and David would do the filming.
Lionel gave both men a friendly smile and addressed the first question to Luke. “I understand you were disciplined today. Can you tell our audience what that was like?”
Luke looked down at his hands. Tilden squeezed the back of his neck reassuringly and murmured, “Look at it this way—we won’t have to explain it to your parents or your friends; you can just show them the tape of this interview.”
“You need to speak loud enough that our microphones can pick it up,” Dave said from the back of the room. 
“I’ve got to get your Russian better. Then we can chat away and they’ll be none the wiser.”
Luke smiled at the thought and launched into the few Russian phrases he could remember. “Menya zovut Luka. Ya student. Moya sestra tozhe studentka. Moy otets stroitel’”
“Luke, you don’t have a sister, and your father’s a banker and a businessman, not a construction worker.”
“I don’t know how to say banker in Russian.”
Bankir almost like in English. It’s a borrowed word. Most of the words for the western economy are borrowed from English.”
Lionel blew out a breath in exasperation. “I’m sure our audience is fascinated by this Russian lesson, but this is not educational programming.”
“Too bad.” Tilden laughed. “That’s the most Russian I ever heard Luke say at once. I must get you to come to class.”
“Can you please tell the audience what the spanking was like?” Lionel asked again.
Luke whispered in Tilden’s ear, “How do you say painful, scary?”
Boleznenny. Ya Boyalsya. I was afraid. But I think we’d better go to English now. Their translator is out sick today, and they’re getting cranky.”
“You’re no fun.” Luke stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. “You want the God’s honest truth with Hail Marys and all that jazz. I was scared. I couldn’t decide if I was going to puke or piss on him when he put me over his knees.”
“Luka, you don’t need to be crude,” Tilden reprimanded.
“More rules.” Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “He likes rules.” Luke squirmed at the playful swat Tilden landed on the front of his thigh. “OK, I’ll be serious. It hurt more than I expected but wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared. Does that make any sense?”
“No,” Lionel answered, sighing softly to himself. Luke could tell that Lionel was exasperated.
“It’s hard to explain. Tilden spanked hard, but he was also gentle, kind. He held me all the rest of the morning. I felt safe, loved.” Luke felt a flush rise up his cheeks. “I’m a submissive; it’s part of me.”
“So the pain was worth it?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I don’t get off on the pain. That’s not it. I deserved it, but Tilden wasn’t cruel about it. I think he would call it a teaching moment.”
Tilden ruffled Luke’s hair, letting his hand rest on the wild, blond curls. “Kak tebe ne stydno?”
Luke laughed. He didn’t have any idea what Tilden just said, but he figured the TV guys didn’t either.
“Could you tell us why you got a spanking?” Lionel asked.
“I snuck out and drank myself into a stupor.”
“Did Tilden use an implement?”
“What are you guys, voyeurs or something?” Luke asked.
Lionel looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “I didn’t write the questions; I’m just reading them.”
“He used some kind of paddle.” Luke turned toward Tilden. “Where’d you get that thing? It hurt.”
“It’s Milton’s.”
“That figures. Another disadvantage of a household with three tops,” Luke said with an exaggerated sigh. “They can borrow implements from each other.”
“Luke, many of our audience have no personal knowledge of power exchange relationships and consider any form of corporal punishment abuse. How would you address those fears?”
“I got spanked. I wasn’t beaten, punched, or pushed down the stairs.”
“But still your partner intentionally created physical pain?” Lionel reiterated.
“It’s not abuse,” Luke insisted, his voice rising with belligerence.
“Let me answer this,” Tilden interrupted. “Shouting at them won’t convince anyone.” Tilden settled back and assumed a lecturing tone. “Firstly, I believe this question was asked merely to provoke us, not inform your audience. Even with today’s pitiful state of network television, I don’t believe you would base a reality show on spousal abuse. Stirring up such a controversy may increase your ratings, but it does a disservice to the participants. Secondly, this relationship is based on trust and consent at all times. I gave Luke an opportunity to walk away free and clear this morning. Thirdly, as a top I’m honor bound to protect my partner. This tradition is as ancient as the vow of a liege to his knight. To violate that oath is unthinkable.”
Luke looked up at Tilden, watching the intensity of his top’s words reflected on his face. He reached out and wound his fingers through Tilden’s hand. Luke stopped the urge to fall on his knees and kiss Tilden’s hand. The TV guys would see it as an attempt at slapstick, and Luke meant it for real. 
“We’re done here,” Tilden said, picking Luke up and putting him on his feet. “Good day, gentlemen.” Tilden guided Luke into the kitchen and shut the door firmly behind him. “Are you OK with what I said? I didn’t expect this kind of reaction.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Luke said, wiping a stray tear from his face. “It must be emotional overload.” Luke tried for a cheeky grin, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “When you got all serious about honor and duty—I just couldn’t keep it together anymore.”
“I’ve got you.” Tilde wrapped his arms around his brat, molding Luke against his chest.
Luke stood, clinging, not bothering to wipe the tears that were trickling down his cheeks. Slowly he felt his heart rate steady and the hitching gasps leave his breathing. Luke started to squirm to get out of Tilden’s grasp.
“All right, brat,” Tilden said with a friendly chuckle. “I guess I only get a few minutes of tender before you turn into a hellion again. I’ll have to enjoy it when I can.” He released Luke from his arms, but kept a firm grasp of Luke’s wrist until he’d studied his boy’s face carefully.
“I’m thirsty. Do you want anything?” Luke asked, trying to tamp down his still roiling emotions with mundane tasks.
Tilden nodded. “Sok, pozhaluysta.”
“Can’t you stay in English?”
“You started it earlier with the TV guys,” Tilden teased. “Juice, please. Since you’ve developed this sudden obsession with Russian, I’m going to get the labeler, and we’ll label everything in the kitchen in Russian. If you’re going to torture the camera crew, you need a more effective vocabulary.”
Luke groaned. “I’ve got to be more careful next time; I can’t give you any teaching moments.”
****
Luke was stretched out on his stomach on the living room floor working on his paper when Mace came in carrying a plate of sweets.
“Did the tea go OK?” Tilden asked, looking up from the lesson plan he was grading.
“Dull. The only entertainment was Sheldon breaking a saucer. Next time you want him out of the way he goes with Milton. Too destructive.”
Tilden snagged a cookie from the plate. “Luka, would it be OK if I went out for a run? I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Mace will keep you company.”
Luke nodded, but as he watched Tilden leave, he stared at Mace with apprehensive eyes.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a top and I’m bearing treats. Are you OK?”
“Yeah.”
“Really are you OK? I saw Milton give Tilden the paddle this morning. I don’t know, it’s just—Trent didn’t touch me until we’d been together for months.”
Luke watched Mace squirm with embarrassment and couldn’t help but be affected by the genuine sincerity of the question. “Really, I’m fine. Can I have a cookie, or are you going to hold that tray just out of reach?”
“Oh, sorry.” Mace put the tray on the floor next to Luke and sank down cross-legged on the rug. “I was just worried.”
Luke snatched a chocolate chip cookie and plunked it in his mouth. “Really, I’m OK. A little sore but OK. These are great cookies.”
“Have some more. I made them. I was hoping you’d like them.”
“Thanks, Mace. Really, I’m OK. It’s sweet that you’re this worried, but I’m ...” Luke trailed off, unsure how to explain it. He was sore and embarrassed that he’d needed a spanking, but he was also happier than he’d felt in a long time.
“Content, absolved of guilt, safe,” Mace added softly.
Luke smiled. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“I know Tilden. He’s good.”
“Has he ever...”
“No, but he’s held me together a few times until Trent could.” Mace abruptly changed the subject. “What’s with all the Russian labels in the kitchen?”
Luke snorted. “Tilden thought I got a bit smart with the camera guys.”
Mace raised his eyebrows. “I’m not seeing the connection.”
“Well, I tried to do an interview in Russian, and I know about three words.” Luke started laughing at the memory, the irritated look on Lionel’s face, the indulgent smile on Tilden’s. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “It’s just so funny.” Luke laughed harder.
Mace gave Luke an exasperated look. “I guess you just had to be there.”

No comments:

Post a Comment