One Too Many

One Too Many

Tilden watched Milton glance at the clock and pretend to study the book in front of him before glancing at the clock again and moving the pens across the kitchen table, lining them up in neat little rows before demolishing the neat ranks for a disordered jumble. “Milton, I have never seen you this restless,” Tilden said in exasperation. “You’re the calm and controlled one. You’re not expecting a baby, are you?” Tilden winced at his own feeble joke. He wasn’t a comedian and humor hardly seemed appropriate when facing a clearly upset Milton. 

Milton was always the picture of calm. He was the one who settled Tilden’s own occasionally overactive nerves and excess drive for unattainable perfection, as Milton would put it, a humorous glint in his dark brown eyes. Milton was solid, not bent to bouts of poorly disguised restlessness. He didn’t look at the clock every five minutes.

“Sorry, I can’t seem to concentrate tonight. Am I disturbing you?” Milton asked with perfect polite detachment and a bland smile pasted on his face.

“Where’s Sheldon?” Sheldon could make Milton upset. Tilden had seen it a few times. Sheldon had the ability to try the patience of a veteran preschool teacher. Tilden didn’t really understand the attraction between the two of them. Milton didn’t cavort about on insane whims or have a quicksilver temper. Qualities Sheldon possessed in abundance. In fact Milton spent considerable time reining in Sheldon’s more ill thought out impulses.

“He’s supposed to be home,” Milton said, his voice tightly controlled. “I can’t reach him.”

“He probably stopped off for a drink with friends.” It’s not a crime, Tilden thought, but didn’t add. He understood the broad outlines of Milton’s relationship with Sheldon. Milton had spent a great deal of time explaining it, but Tilden had politely nodded and conjugated irregular Russian verbs in his head. Tilden knew Milton was a dominant, and Sheldon was a submissive. As a submissive, Sheldon was subject to Milton’s discipline. Tilden still stiffened at the thought of that man with the cane, the quick sharp pain and the shock that everyone treated as normal. Tilden hadn’t grown up with corporal punishment; his parents considered it a barbaric anachronism from the past.

Tilden saw Milton everyday with his students. His reputation as the toughest teacher on campus Tilden knew was richly deserved, but Milton was also scrupulously fair and very dedicated. He’d seen Milton comfort a young student at the sudden news of her parents’ death. Others, including the supposed professional counseling staff, stood around making soothing noise but otherwise being useless. Milton picked up the phone, found a plane ticket, and drove her to the airport. He’d stayed with her until her plane had boarded. Later when Tilden had remarked at his friend’s extraordinary effort, Milton had shrugged and remarked that it was common courtesy. 

Milton enveloped Sheldon in that same natural care. Tilden had found himself looked after more than once also much to his own chagrin. He knew Milton sometimes managed him, gently prodded him to sleep more or stress less. With Sheldon the care taking went beyond subtle hints. Tilden knew Milton, a man whom Tilden respected and counted as his closest friend, used discipline, including physical discipline. While Milton didn’t flip Sheldon over his knee in front of Tilden’s eyes, he didn’t hide that aspect of their relationship, and Tilden had seen the evidence, a tearful, apologetic Sheldon in Milton’s arms. Tilden didn’t pretend to understand their relationship, and maybe he should be more aggressive in his questioning, but Sheldon seemed happy enough, and his behavior was occasionally crazy enough to even drive Tilden to want to swat his sassy bottom. A few days alone with Sheldon was a hair raising challenge, and an experience that Tilden only undertook girded for war with plenty of extra sleep and a supply of pizza coupons. 

Milton strode over to the phone and punched the numbers in again, the phone skittering across the counter at the force of his fingers. He listened for a moment and crashed the receiver back down.

“Still no answer?”

“His phone’s off.” Milton said, his lips hardly moving in his frozen face.

“Maybe the battery’s dead?”

“He’s grounded; he was supposed to be home two hours ago.”

Tilden knew Milton grounded Sheldon and took other privileges away for disobedience. Tilden wasn’t sure he totally agreed with the idea, but again Sheldon wasn’t his partner, and Sheldon accepted the restrictions. As far as Tilden could tell, Sheldon adored Milton. He curled up on Milton’s lap in the big armchair, watching the fire spit and crackle in the hearth; he raced and jumped into Milton’s arms, galloping down the hall like a herd of wildebeest; he shared passionate kisses with Milton that made Tilden ache for his own partner. No, Tilden didn’t get their relationship, but it worked for them, and Tilden accepted that despite his reservations.

“Pacing and fretting won’t help,” Tilden said calmly. “I’m sure Sheldon’s just forgotten. He can be absent minded. I took his briefcase to him earlier this week.”

“What?”

Tilden pretended not to hear, suddenly becoming engrossed in correcting a student’s paper. He hadn’t meant to get Sheldon in more trouble. This must be another issue that they were “working on” as Milton called it.

“Tilden, did you take his briefcase to Boston?” Milton asked, his voice dropping into that insistent tone that even Tilden didn’t ignore.

“Only to the train station.”

“I wish you had told me.” Milton raked his fingers through his short hair. 

“You would have punished him.” Tilden couldn’t keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

“Tilden,” Milton said with surprising gentleness. “Are you not comfortable with our relationship? I love Sheldon very much, but I’m a dominant, and I expect certain things from my partner. I punish my partner. We don’t hide that.”

“I know.” Tilden said, marking the paper before looking back up to see Milton’s eyes still on him. “Look, I’m not sure how I feel. I don’t like it when Sheldon’s upset. It didn’t seem like a big deal, but Sheldon acted like you were going to kill him.”

“Do you think I’d hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” Tilden finally said, tossing his pen down in exasperation. “But I’m not sure. You make him cry. I hear the noises.”

“I spank him,” Milton said flatly. “We’ve agreed on it. Sheldon’s a boy; I’m a top. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean I always like it. I like Sheldon. I don’t like to hear him crying. It was only a briefcase left on the kitchen table, hardly a federal case.”

“That’s why I needed to know,” Milton said grimly. “If I catch the small things, I can stop the unmitigated disasters. Sheldon’s under stress; he changed positions at work. When he’s stressed, he needs me to hold onto him a little tighter. That’s my role in the relationship. I can’t do that if you’re covering up the problems.”

“I wasn’t intentionally covering anything up. I took a friend his briefcase,” Tilden said hotly.

Milton perched on the edge of the sofa, his big hands resting on his knees. “Sorry,” he said softly with a slight hint of a smile. “I didn’t intend to accuse you of anything. I’m worried about Sheldon. He’s only escaped run-ins with the police by shear dumb luck. That luck may run out someday.”

“I’m sure you’re overreacting,” Tilden said soothingly. “I’m sure he’s just stopped for a drink.”

“And picked a fight with the biggest guy in the bar. Sheldon doesn’t think when he’s upset.”

“I didn’t know you were such a worrier,” Tilden said lightly. “He’s a grown man.”

“He’s a spinning boy. It has nothing to do with being grown. He expects me to catch him, and I may have missed it, failed him.”

They both startled at the crash and the sound of breaking glass. Milton leapt to his feet and raced to the door with Tilden in close pursuit. Sheldon’s car stood halted, its fender entangled in the garage corner, its engine still running. Milton wrenched the door open and dragged Sheldon from the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t do the best job parking,” Sheldon slurred.

Milton stared at his partner, seemingly studying him for injury before pulling him into his arms. “You idiot boy,” he said, crushing him in a bone crunching hug. “We’ll discuss your parking in the morning.”

Tilden was still in the kitchen, drinking tea and fiddling with student papers when Milton came back down the stairs. “Is he all right?”

“Asleep. He’s too inebriated to fully understand what he’s done,” Milton said wearily, filling a glass with tea and taking a sip. “You might want to be out tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to whip him.” Milton took another sip of tea, his face grim. 

“Milton, you can’t!”

“Tilden,” Milton said, his voice weary. “I don’t want to do this either. I don’t like to hurt Sheldon. I don’t like to scare him. I am going to do both tomorrow, intentionally. It’s my responsibility. I’m his dominant. I agreed to this; we both agreed to this. He drove drunk. He could have killed someone; he could have killed himself. I love that boy.” Milton buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Tilden reached over laying his hand of Milton’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Milton cry. Milton was calm, poised, an unbending tree in the fiercest gale. “You don’t have to do this,” Tilden finally said in a near whisper.

Milton wiped his eyes on his usually immaculate handkerchief and gave Tilden a weak smile. “I do and I will.”

“Why?”

“Tilden I’m a dominant. You know that. You fight the instinct; I’ve been trained to cherish and embrace it.” Milton gulped more tea. “Usually I like being a dominant. Most of what you see is play, a mischievous brat teasing his partner, high jinks that I make no effort to extinguish. Sometimes Sheldon truly needs my support and unbending rules. I’m happy to do that for him; I love him. It’s my duty and my pleasure. Usually it’s Sheldon controlling the exchange; tomorrow it will be me. The dynamics of this relationship at its gentlest give you pause, and I respect that. Tomorrow it will terrify you; it terrifies me. I will take the power he has freely given me and not play with it, not skirt around the edges. I will sear into his flesh that my word is law and the consequences of open defiance are fearsome and unfathomable. I will uphold my end of the relationship, and now he must uphold his.”

“Beating him is necessary for your relationship?” 

“I’m not going to beat him. I’ll spank him over my knee as I always do, an affirmation of our union, and then I’ll use my belt. Twelve times, I think.”

“Bozhe moy!” It wasn’t an adequate expression for the horror Milton was contemplating, but Tilden could think of nothing else as he imagined Sheldon’s skin blistered under the lash.

“Tilden, the belt is not a bullwhip. It’s to scare as much as to hurt. I want him afraid of this punishment. I can’t stomach more. I must convince him it’s never worth going this far again. I won’t beat my partner bloody, but Sheldon must understand from this three things: Firstly, behavior that threatens his life or others will never be tolerated. Secondly, I am capable of meting out consequences in proportion to his actions, and thirdly, he is still mine. I will justly punish him, but I will not abandon him. He is still loved, cherished, and will be forgiven. I know you are uncomfortable with this. I respect that, but I must honor my commitment to my partner first. I will do this.”

Tilden stared at his friend. He loved Milton. He could see the anguish in his friend’s face. Tilden brushed the hair off Milton’s forehead, as he’d seen Milton do so often with Sheldon, and kissed him. “What do you need me to do?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Milton said, studying Tilden. “You abhor this part.”

“I am this top thing you keep telling me about. I know I am. What do I have to do?” Tilden repeated.

“Love and support Sheldon. He’s going to be fragile for a few days. I will shake his world.”

“Love and support you also,” Tilden said softly, his lips brushing the top of Milton’s head.  “This shakes your world too.”

Milton nodded and swallowed the last of the tea with a grimace. “Cold tea. And yes, you are correct, this shakes my world too. Done right this is a sealing of our relationship to a level well beyond role play and little top/brat games. Done wrong, I’ll destroy us.”

“I trust you.” Tilden said, gathering their cups with a sudden flurry of motion. “I’ll be out of sight tomorrow, but here if you need me. Take care of yourself and Sheldon.”

“Thank you, my friend. We may both need you.”

Even with the washer and dryer running and tucked away in the farthest corner of the basement, Tilden hadn’t been able to totally block out the noise. He’d jerked at each of Sheldon’s wails and had desperately ironed his shirt into submission at the final screams. The house was quiet now. The crying had ended an hour ago, and Tilden wondered if it were safe to ascend back into the kitchen. Slowly he gathered the laundry and started up the stairs. The kitchen was quiet. Hot water, as always, was ready in the samovar. No bloody whip or other instruments of torture lay on the table. Tilden poured himself a cup of tea and waited.

At the third cup of tea, he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Milton descended slowly, his shirt half untucked, his feet bare. “He’s asleep.” Milton ran his fingers through his already disorderly hair. “Tea, please.” Milton sank into the kitchen chair.

“You look like you need more than tea.”

“No, neither of us will be drinking for a while. I can at least support Sheldon by abstaining also. I don’t want to ever do that again.” Milton ran his hand over his face, rubbing his red rimmed eyes.

“He’s OK?”

“I think so. Only time will tell.”

“Milton,” a tiny voice came from the landing. 

“Sheldon.” Milton opened his arms and smiled. “Come here, you. I thought you were asleep.”

“I turned over. I’m sorry.” Fresh tears started down Sheldon’s cheeks. He buried his face in his knees, rocking and shaking. 

Milton was up the stairs in two bounds. He scooped Sheldon up and cradled him in his arms. He didn’t say anything; he just held Sheldon close. Tilden knew he should turn away, give these two privacy, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away: the red hair mingling against Milton’s own dark hair, the massive arms cradling someone so gently, the murmur of voices he couldn’t quite make out. They loved each other; that was obvious. Tilden put down his tea and quietly left the kitchen. They deserved their privacy. They would be all right.