Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Meet Your Mate 8


Chapter 8
Tilden sighed. It was Saturday, and both his young men were still sleeping. He’d made it through the end of the week without any unplanned disasters. Ten days with two partners—why did he feel as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop? Luke’s schoolwork was still a wild ride, and midterm exams started on Tuesday. Both young men were chafing at their grounding and had complained bitterly when he’d sent them to bed at ten last night. Of course, the activities in bed had made the early bedtime a moot point. He was going to need Viagra if they kept it up.
“Your ruffians still getting their beauty rest?” Milton asked as he dumped the grounds into the coffee maker. “Do you want tea?”
“No, I think I need coffee—black, extra strong. I’m the one who needs beauty sleep. I’m starting to feel like a grizzled, old man.” Tilden ran his hand over his freshly shaved jaw.
“They running you ragged?”
“They’ve been very good this week. I think they’re both going to pass Russian. Luke has a gift for languages; he just doesn’t realize it yet, and Mike’s as sharp as a tack.”
“I know. I’ve heard you guys chattering in Russian. Their vocabulary is still minuscule, but Luke’s intonation is spot on. Unfortunately, I don’t think Luke has a prayer of passing the history midterm. It’s a pity too because he’s trying.”
Tilden took a sip of coffee. “He’ll take that hard.”
“I know I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.” Milton squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll give him an incomplete if I need to, and he can make up the work January quarter. I’ve already run the idea by Jeremiah.”
“He’ll manage. It’s his dad that’s going to be ugly.”
“I’ll talk to him if you want. Having a full professor say that his son’s work is improving and will be up to standard should smooth the way.”
“I hope,” Tilden said with a sigh. “He was most unpleasant on the phone. I called him to let him know his son was living with me as my partner, and I had to listened to a ten minute diatribe on the utter worthlessness of his son and how I as a professor was a fool to saddle myself with an academic failure. Oh well, we’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. I’m waiting for the fireworks this weekend—too much unstructured time.”
“Structure it. Do you want me to take one for the day?”
“No, I think they need to be together. We have an appointment with the show’s producer and writing staff. Adding a third partner wasn’t a predicted complication—a violation of the contract that Luke and I signed. The good thing is it would get rid of those two guys.” Tilden pointed at Dave and Lionel. “Sorry guys. I know you’re just doing your job, but we’d like our privacy back.”
“Unfortunately, they’ll probably bend the rules for you,” Dave said. “Sheldon says this batch has been a disaster. One brat moved out on Monday and another’s been hurt and is on bed rest for two weeks.” 
“Who moved out?” Tilden asked, unable to resist gossiping.
“I don’t know his name, but he was with the surgeon. Supposedly his partner spent twenty hours at the hospital both Saturday and Sunday, and the boy was high maintenance. He high tailed it out of there first thing Monday morning.”
“Probably a good choice. The surgeon seemed very self-absorbed—was bragging to the other doctor. He could’ve at least taken the weekend off.”
“A surgeon is hardly the right profession to be partnered with a demanding submissive.” Milton said with a knowing expression on his face.
“Right from the horse’s mouth,” Tilden teased.
“Careful, careful.” Milton said with a laugh. “Neither of your guys is a walk in the park.”
“I know,” Tilden said seriously. “Do you think I’m doing right by them?”
“You’re doing great, and both Trent and I are here to give you a hand if you need it. Your instincts are good; don’t doubt yourself.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
Milton squeezed Tilden’s shoulder. “So when’s your meeting today?”
“Eleven and then I thought we could have a nice lunch and visit the art museum.”
“The art museum?” Milton asked with a raised eyebrow. 
“Mike needs to go for his art history class, I’ll just have to try to keep Luke occupied.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”
“We’ll be fine, and I thought you and Sheldon might like a nice quiet day together.”
“You mean a day that he’s not spitting at Mike or tripping over Dave and Lionel.”
“Sorry we’ve got him all wound up.”
Milton playfully smacked Tilden with the newspaper he was reading. “Don’t let Sheldon hear you take the blame for his behavior. He’s more than capable of being responsible for himself.”
“Just the sight of Mike seems to set him off.”
“They’re too much alike.”
Tilden groaned and grimaced. “My life as a martyr.”
“It has its pleasures.” Milton grinned wolfishly.
Tilden watched the signs at the intersections. He usually only went to the TV station with Sheldon, and he wanted to make sure they didn’t miss their stop. He’d have to remember to give himself more time in the future. Getting his two partners out the door had been more of a challenge than he’d thought. At least breakfast had been uneventful. Trent and Mace were off stomping through the woods somewhere, chasing deer with bows and arrows; without Mace’s calming presence, Tilden had been concerned that Mike and Sheldon might detonate in each other’s faces. But Tilden had been pleased to see Luke step into the role of peacemaker that Mace usually filled and disaster had been averted. Mike’s choice of clothes had nearly foiled their plans. First, he’d tried to dress like a rent boy then in skintight leather pants. Finally in exasperation, Tilden had set out Mike’s clothes on the bed and forced him to change under threat of a spanking. Tilden looked over at his two young men standing shoulder to shoulder hanging onto the center pull of the swaying tram. Mike was right; he did look like a prep school boy dressed in khakis and a regimental striped rugby shirt. In sympathy, Luke had changed his clothes to match, but he’d chosen a dark blue rugby shirt with lighter blue stripes to highlight the color of his eyes. They looked like every parent’s dream of upstanding college students.
Tilden saw the sign for the sixteen hundred block flash by and signaled to his partners to move to the door. At least on the T, you didn’t have to asked the other passengers if they were getting off at the next stop and squeeze around passengers that needed future stations. American public transportation was never as crowded as the Russian transport system even during the worst rush hour. In Moscow or St. Petersburg he would’ve lost one or both of his partners. Here it was difficult enough with both boys alternating between animated conversations between themselves and gawking at the fellow passengers instead of watching for their stop.
They stepped off the tram on a narrow concrete island in the middle of the street as bells clanged and traffic swept by on either side. Both boys darted through the traffic, oblivious to the flashing don’t walk light. Tilden waited and crossed the traffic with a stream of passengers when the light changed. He caught up to Luke and Mike, who were loitering in front of the television building, its marquee illuminated by a multicolor parrot logo and the initials USBC, the United States Broadcasting Company.
“What were you doing back there?” Tilden asked, struggling to keep his voice level.
“Crossing the street,” Mike said with an innocent expression on his face.
“Against the traffic. Do you want to become road kill?”
“God, what are you now—a meter maid?” Mike grouched. “This morning you were the clothes police, now a traffic cop. I’m not three. I think I can cross the street without taking your hand. Maybe the big, bad top needs help crossing the road. Are you afraid of traffic?” Mike’s voice had risen during the spiel, and they were beginning to collect an audience.
Tilden grabbed Mike by the elbow and steered him into the alley between the building and a city parking garage; Luke trailed behind, looking unhappy.
“I’m sorry,” Luke muttered as soon as they were amongst the dumpsters and traffic barrels. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Tilden rubbed the back of Luke’s neck with his free hand. “I’d rather not see you squashed under a car.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Luke repeated.
Tilden kissed the top of Luke’s forehead. “OK, druzhok.”
“Wimp,” Mike muttered between his teeth.
“What?” Tilden asked.
“Nothing,” Mike mumbled.
“Mike, do we have a problem?” 
“Do we?” Mike shot back. “This is fucking idiotic.” Mike tried to pull away.
“All I did was cross the street, and you’re all over me.” 
“Obviously not enough.” Tilden turned Mike and landed six rapid swats. “Is that enough, or do you need more?”
“Jesus!”
Tilden swatted Mike twice more. “I don’t want to spank you in public, but you’re pushing it. I’d tread very carefully if I were you.”
“You weren’t all over Luke like this.”
Tilden swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to have this conversation surrounded by two-day old fast food trash and broken beer bottles. Luke was still within earshot, fingering the lapels of his jacket and looking as if he wished he could vanish. “Luke, are you comfortable going into the station and letting them know we’re going to be a few minutes late?”
Luke nodded, not looking happy but turned on heel and headed toward the station.
“Now are you going to spank me into submission since you’ve gotten rid of our other partner? Big, bad dominant will only beat me up alone?” Mike sneered.
“Is that what you think I do?” Tilden asked softly, not hiding the hurt in his tone. “Do you feel that I’m unfair to you?” Tilden turned Mike to face him, keeping a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Misha, look at me. Now tell me again how you feel.”
Mike looked up before dropping his eyes back to the ground and kicking a loose pebble across the alley.
“Mike, you just accused me of being abusive and unfair. I think I deserve an explanation.”
“I can’t do this.” Mike wiped his eyes with his sleeve and whirled around to leave.
Tilden caught his wrist. “No, you’re not running away.”
“Let me go. I can’t do this. I’m not your whipping boy. You can get your kicks beating somebody else’s ass!” Mike shouted.
Tilden did the only thing that came to mind. He grabbed Mike and pulled him over his leg, which he’d propped up on an abandoned packing crate, and landed a flurry of swats. He hoped Mike’s shouts wouldn’t attract the city’s finest.
“Stop, you abusive bastard! I told you I don’t want this.”
Tilden froze and hauled Mike to his feet. He reached up to gently wipe the tear from Mike’s face with his thumb.
“Don’t touch me.” Mike flinched, shielding his face with his hands.
“As you wish. You are free to go, but I will not let you take off willy-nilly in the middle of Boston with no money and no car. You will stand here quietly, and I will call someone to pick you up. Can I have your word that you’ll stand here while I make a few calls?”
Mike stood mute; his only response was to shove his hands in his pockets.
“Mike, I asked you a question.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Tilden took a step back from Mike and placed his free hand behind his back. His conscience warred with itself. As a top, he longed to offer comfort, draw this hurting young man back into his embrace and care, but he’d been told in no uncertain terms do not touch. As a man of honor, he must respect that demand.
Tilden concentrated on his breathing. How had he gone so wrong? Mike had recoiled when he tried to touch him. Tilden punched the numbers on his phone and heard Milton answer. Keeping one eye on Mike, Tilden moved out of earshot and outlined the problem.
“You need to force it. He’s begging you to take a stronger stand.”
“I can’t do that. He told me he wanted out, accused me of abuse, and flinched when I offered comfort.”
“Bullshit! That boy doesn’t know what he wants for breakfast let alone what type of relationship he wants.”
Tilden was silent; Milton never swore.
Tilden heard Milton sigh. Tilden could imagine Milton squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw; the expression he always wore when sorting out a thorny problem with Sheldon. “I’ll call Jeremiah’s partner, Joshua Martin. He’s been working on the Big Dig, and I think he might be in Boston this weekend. Sit tight, I’ll call you back.”
Tilden leaned against the wall and flipped his phone shut. He tried to dig up faint memories of Joshua. He’d met him at a faculty mixer. All he could remember was a tall man with a deeply tanned face and thick silver hair. He wasn’t even sure if he’d recognize him if he ran into him on the street without his partner. 
“It’s cold out here. How much longer do you expect me to stay here?” Mike rubbed his foot up and down his leg, smearing grime from the alley on his pants.
Tilden’s phone rang three sharp blasts before he managed to hit the answer key.
Tilden had only started to say hello when Milton interrupted. “Joshua was in a meeting only a couple of blocks away. He should be there any minute. Sheldon’s on the phone right now sorting out the mess with the television people and locating Luke. Josh will pick Luke up before he gets you.”
“I’m sorry we’re this much trouble,” Tilden said, cupping his hand over the phone to prevent his voice from carrying to Mike.
“Stop it.” It was the same tone Milton used with a spinning Sheldon, and Tilden’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “We’ve got you covered, and I know you’d do the same for Trent or me, so no fussing.”
Tilden bit back the near automatic “yes, sir” to Milton’s tone and instead made a noncommittal noise of agreement.
“Are you done yet?”
Tilden gave up and clearly enunciated, “Yes, sir.” A brat didn’t stand a chance against Milton, Tilden thought ruefully.
“Thank you, Now get it done.”
Tilden shut his phone and out of the corner of his eye saw Mike quickly turn away and assume a disinterested expression. “Mike, I saw that. Do you want to know what Milton said?”
Mike shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and resumed kicking at the broken asphalt with his toe.
A forest green, dual cab pickup pulled up in the fire lane and a large, silver-haired man climbed out of the driver’s side. He was dressed in pressed jeans, well worn steel-toe boots and a blazer with a matching tie. Milton must have pulled him out of work. Great, Tilden thought, can I inconvenience every top in Massachusetts?
“Mike, get in the truck. Luke’s already in the back. You can ride up front with me.” Joshua’s voice cracked through the air, probably the long experience of directing men over the rumble of construction equipment.
Mike stood frozen as if considering not moving for a moment then walked with an artificial air of nonchalance and climbed into the cab. 
Joshua closed the door behind Mike. “Boys,” he said to Tilden. “You’ve got your hands full.” Joshua smiled easily. “Well, this beats the meeting with the governor and cost projections. If I saw one more pie-chart, I was going to go cross-eyed.”
“Thanks,” Tilden said. “I don’t know what to say. I hate to mess up your day.”
“Stop. Don’t apologize. I haven’t played with rampaging submissives for years. This will be fun.” 
Tilden grimaced. “Your idea of fun is different from mine.”
“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

1 comment:

  1. This gets more interesting as we go. Thanks

    ReplyDelete