Luke leaned back against the headrest and shut his eyes. They were on their way to pick up Tilden’s parents at the airport. He would gladly have stayed home, but Tilden insisted he come. The choice had been come or come after he was spanked.
“Druzhok, you can’t hide the whole time my parents are here. You might as well get it over with,” Tilden had said, but Luke hadn’t believed his partner then, and he didn’t believe him now. After the experience with his dad, he didn’t want to meet any parents; he didn’t care how many people assured him that Tilden’s parents were dear and sweet. Luke curled farther into the seat and leaned against the car door.
“They’re old,” Mike whispered. “They can’t possibly run fast enough to cause us any problems. We’ll just handle them like I did my occasional visits from my grandparents—look cute and let them pat you on the head, and they’ll fade back into the woodwork.”
“What are you two whispering about back there?” Tilden asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Mike said.
Tilden looked at his two young partners in the rearview mirror but didn’t say anything else.
The airport was crowded with people hauling rolling suitcases and clutching screaming children. Even though it was still more than a week before Thanksgiving, airport workers were putting the final touches on a giant Christmas tree and stringing holiday lights around the windows. Luke followed Tilden’s wild weaving down two sets of escalators and through a crowded corridor to baggage claim. Mike seemed familiar with the airport as he quickly found the baggage carousel for the incoming flight from Detroit.
The three of them stood in an out of the way corner watching the crowd of travelers rush through the doors from the secure part of the concourse. A fresh surge of people poured in as several planes landed at the same time, including Tilden’s parents’ flight from Detroit. Luke scanned the crowd, wondering if he would be able identify them. Would they look like Tilden? He watched an elderly couple, the man in a suit with a bow tie and the woman in a sweater decorated with hens. They looked like the right type to sire Tilden, but a woman from the opposite end of the concourse ran and jumped in their arms.
A tall man, his hair thinning and graying at the temples, angled through the crowd toward Tilden and his partners. He was pulling two rollerboards and had a satchel slung over his shoulder.
Tilden started moving toward the man, towing Luke and Mike behind him. “Dad, where’s Mom?”
“The bathroom. These must be your two partners. They’re young.”
Luke could feel his neck reddening. With strangers, he was acutely conscious of the age difference between Tilden and him.
“Dad,” Tilden said with a slight snort, “Everyone under sixty looks young to you and Mom now. I want you to meet Luke and Mike.”
Mr. Blake dropped the handles of the suitcase and tangled himself in the shoulder strap of his satchel as he reached forward to shake Luke’s and Mike’s hands. Tilden seemed used to his dad because he grabbed the handles of both suitcases before they had a chance to roll over and swept the coat off his dad’s shoulders before it landed on the floor.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Luke said.
“What a polite boy,” Mr. Blake said to Tilden.
“Arthur, try not to embarrass the poor boy.” A woman in a khaki skirt and sensible shoes nodded at Luke. She smiled at Luke and Mike; her eyes were the same vivid blue violet as Tilden’s. She embraced Tilden, turned, and pulled Luke and Mike into a hug. “I’m so glad to meet you. Tilden has told me so much about you, and boys please call us Arthur and Dorothy or Mom and Dad.”
“Dad, do you have any checked bags?” Tilden asked.
“No.”
Tilden grabbed the two rollerboards and made a move to relieve his father of the satchel over his shoulder.
“I’ve got it, Tilden; I’m not infirm.”
“No, I just have many memories of running through airports looking for left bags and missing coats.”
“That’s why I’ve got Dorothy here, Son. She won’t let me forget anything.”
Dorothy gave her husband a tolerant smile. “I don’t know about that. I think I sometimes need a leash for you.”
“Come on, Dad. We’re in the upper parking deck. I don’t want to lose you,” Tilden said with a teasing smile.
They slogged up the elevators and out to the orange level parking deck. Arthur climbed into the front seat with Tilden while everyone else piled into the back. Luke leaned against the door, watching the cars roll by as Mike and Dorothy made small talk about school. From the fragments of conversation, Luke guessed that Dorothy taught in high school.
“Luka, you’re quiet. Is everything OK?” Tilden asked, watching Luke in the rear view mirror.
“Yeah, I’m just tired.”
“Maybe you need to go to bed earlier tonight.”
God, Tilden was already sending him to bed at ten. What now? An eight thirty bedtime? Luke wasn’t good with small talk with strangers. Mike had mastered the art of talking nonstop without ever saying anything, probably a result of being dropped from house to house as his parents traipsed around the world. Luke envied the ease with which Mike talked about his art history class and his project on the Impressionists.
Dorothy must have noticed Luke’s silence because she turned toward him and asked about his classes. “Luke, are you taking the same classes as your friend Mike?”
“I’m in history and Russian with him. I also take an English literature course.”
“You were in history,” Mike said, elbowing Luke in the ribs.
“Shut up,” Luke hissed, pushing Mike back.
It was at that instant that Tilden glanced back, giving both young men a sharp look. “Guys, what’s going on back there?”
“Nothing,” Luke and Mike both said together.
Tilden didn’t say anymore, but Luke could see the flash of warning in his expression. “Now you’ve got us both in trouble,” Mike whispered. “It’s not like it’s a secret that you flunked history.”
“Shut up,” Luke said loud enough that everyone in the car clearly heard it. “It’s not like you’re a perfect angel.” Luke gave Mike a hard shove.
“Stop it.” Tilden’s voice cracked from the front seat like a rifle shot. Luke could feel the car slowing down, and heard the thud of the turn signal. “Dad, do you mind riding in back with Mom? It seems my partners are restless today.”
“No, not a problem.”
Tilden pulled to the side of the road and put on his hazard lights. Luke scrunched down in his collar; he didn’t think his face could get any redder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as Tilden pulled him toward the front seat.
Tilden hooked an arm around Luke’s neck and gently kissed the top of his head. “I know, Luka. We’ll discuss it at home, and I know Mike’s not blameless.”
Luke curled up in the front and tried to hide the blush on his cheeks. Why did he always find himself in this situation? If Tilden spanked him, he would cry, and he didn’t want Tilden’s parents to hear or know. Luke glanced back at Mike who was having an animated conversation with Arthur about languages in India.
Tilden tapped Luke’s knee. “Keep your eyes up here,” he whispered. “Mike will keep them entertained, and he’s in as much trouble as you are.”
Luke was quiet until they reached the house. He answered the few questions directed at him in monosyllables and grunts. He didn’t want to talk about his classes or his courses next semester. Tilden and Milton had signed him up for his new classes; they’d consulted with him, but the only class he could remember or cared about was Russian. His schedule was going to have to change anyway after the business in history. Milton had made it abundantly clear that he was repeating the class. He’d made some noise about putting Luke in the honors section, which sounded dreadful. Luke hoped he’d misunderstood him. If he couldn’t pass the regular class, he didn’t have a prayer in the honors class.
Tilden rested his hand against the small of Luke’s back. “Luke, Mike, go wait for me in the study. I’ll be right in once I get my parents settled.”
“You had to open your mouth and get us both in trouble,” Mike squawked as soon as they were alone in the study.
“Me? You’re the one who had to bring up history.”
“Well, who was stupid enough to cheat in front of eagle-eyed Milton?”
“Shut up! At least, I’m trusted out of a top’s sight. I don’t run off every two seconds.”
Mike grabbed Luke’s shirt and pushed him back toward the sofa directly into the end table. Luke put his arm out behind himself to catch his balance and swept the table lamp to the floor with a crash. Both young men froze.
“Oh, shit! We’re cooked now,” Mike said, having removed his hands from Luke’s shirt.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Come on let’s get this swept up. Maybe Tilden was out in the car getting the luggage and didn’t hear.”
“And he’s not going to notice the lamp’s missing? I think he’s got more brain cells than that.” Luke flopped down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. “I really didn’t want to get spanked today.”
“I’m sorry.” Mike squeezed Luke’s shoulder.
“Get your hands off me, you prick,” Luke spat.
“Fine,” Mike said in a huff. “It’s not like I want to get spanked either. Milton dragged me off the day your dad showed up and spanked me.”
“What? Milton? I didn’t think he would spank us.”
“Trust me, he will if you push him hard enough. I know,” Mike said with a wry grin.
“Was it bad?”
“I wasn’t sore the next day if that’s what you mean. I don’t think it was nearly as bad as it could’ve been. I expect Sheldon would’ve gotten it a lot harder, and I think Tilden will paddle me for fighting with you. I’m really not looking forward to that.”
“Do you think he’ll paddle me?” Luke asked, his voice shaking.
“I doubt it,” Mike said with a shrug. “I’m the one who’s short leashed. I just dug my hole a little deeper. I’ll be grounded until Christmas at this rate.”
“It takes two to tango.”
“Stop being so nice. I started it.” Mike bent down and kissed Luke. “I know I’m an asshole, but you know I do love you.”
“We can suffer together,” Luke said with a grin. “It’s not so embarrassing when we both look freshly spanked at dinner.”
“You’re right,” Mike said with a groan. “But unless Tilden’s parents are dense, they’re going to know. This should be fun.”
“Don’t remind me. Should I try my sweet angelic expression? Maybe it will get us off.” Luke said with a sweet smile, his eyes wide and innocent.
“With Tilden,” Mike snorted. “He sees right through me.”
“Me too. Come on lets get this glass picked up. Cleaning up should at least be worth some brownie points. I’ll get the broom.” Luke peered out the door and glanced down the hall. No one was in sight. Hopefully Tilden was in the spare bedroom helping his parents unpack. Luke slipped into the kitchen and practically ran into Tilden.
“Luke, didn’t I tell you to wait in the study?” Tilden asked softly, resting his hand on Luke’s shoulder.
“Yes, sir.” Luke stared at his feet—in for a penny in for a pound. “We broke the lamp next to the sofa.”
“Do I want to know how?” Tilden asked, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
“I don’t think so.”
Tilden wrapped his arm around Luke and pulled his young partner into his chest. “OK, but you will have to tell me some time. Hang on while I get Milton.”
“We’re OK now,” Luke protested quickly. “We don’t need watched.”
“I prefer not to replace any more furniture. Who makes the decisions around here?” Tilden asked with more sharpness in his voice.
“You do, sir,” Luke said, dropping his eyes to his shoes.
“That’s right.” Tilden bent down and kissed Luke’s forehead. “Luka, it’s not because I don’t trust you and Misha; I just don’t want you two in more trouble than you’re prepared to handle.”
Luke nodded and leaned into Tilden. Privately he thought he was already in more trouble than he wanted to handle.
Tilden pushed the buttons on the phone to ring the second floor and had a brief conversation with Milton who appeared on the steps to the kitchen almost instantaneously. He nodded at Tilden and Luke, took Luke’s hand, and drew him away from Tilden. “Everything all right here?” he asked both Luke and Tilden.
Luke looked at the floor and could feel his ears reddening. He didn’t want a babysitter.
“I think the only casualty is the lamp, but I thought reinforcements might be helpful before I had to call in the blue helmets of the United Nations.” Tilden said and directed a small smile at Luke.
“Fighting,” Milton said, giving Luke a stare that made Luke wish he could fall through the floor. “You get your parents settled; I’ll keep the peace.” Milton put his hand on the small of Luke’s back and gave him a gentle push toward the study.
“I need to get the broom and dustpan,” Luke said, his throat so dry the words were almost inaudible.
“What’s that, boy?” Milton asked sharply.
Luke tried again, but this time nothing came out.
Milton sighed. “I think you said you wanted the broom and dustpan. Go ahead and get them.”
Luke scurried for the pantry and the broom. Milton sounded beyond unhappy with him, and after Mike’s tale he didn’t want to find himself over Milton’s knee. Milton could freeze Luke in his tracks with his voice alone; the possibility of corporal punishment from him was terrifying.
Milton looped his arm around Luke’s shoulders as he came back with the broom and dustpan. “Do I really seem that scary?”
Luke swallowed hard, keeping his eyes fixed firmly of the floor. “I guess not, sir.”
Milton squeezed Luke’s shoulder and put his hand under Luke’s chin. “You’re not Mike. I’m only going to keep you company until Tilden’s free.”
Luke looked at Milton, surprised.
“Yes, it’s obvious,” Milton said with a smile, “and I know boys talk.” Milton bent down and kissed Luke’s forehead. “Let’s get the mess cleaned up.”
****
Tilden sighed as he watched Milton and Luke go back down the hall and rubbed his temples. He’d hoped for a quiet weekend. He poured himself a glass of water, drank deeply, and filled two more glasses for his parents. Tilden had come in the kitchen for water, not to referee a fight between his partners. Tension in a threesome was inevitable, but he hardly felt strong enough to manage it today.
Tilden put two water glasses on a tray and headed toward the spare bedroom. His mother was unpacking with her usual whirlwind of efficiency while his dad sat in the armchair watching her with a slightly bewildered expression on his face. His dad was a brilliant linguist, but he muddled through ordinary life with a puzzled and faintly bemused expression on his face. Tilden handed his dad a glass and turned to his mom. “You don’t have to have all your suitcases unpacked in five minutes, nobody’s timing you.”
“No use waiting. It needs done.” Tilden’s mom walked toward her son and handed him a stack of clothes. “Can you put these in the top drawer?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Dorothy, honey,” Tilden’s dad said from the chair. “He looks exhausted. Don’t put him to work.”
“It’s OK, Dad,” Tilden said and with an effort gave his dad a gentle smile.
“Some people consider me a blithering idiot outside of the classroom, but I can tell you’re tired. Sit down, put your feet up, and catch your breath. I can only cope with one person tidying up the world, and your mother claimed the job first.”
Tilden set the neatly folded clothes in the drawer and then dropped down on bed, resting his chin in his hands. His mom gave him a piercing look. “Arthur’s right. You look exhausted. Have you been staying up to all hours of the night grading papers? Those young men aren’t keeping you up all night, are they?”
“Mom!” Tilden knew he was blushing a flaming red. He wasn’t discussing his relationship with his two partners with his mom, not that she probably hadn’t guessed. She wasn’t naive about the more interesting domestic relationships, and his parents had visited enough to see Milton and Sheldon in action. Sheldon didn’t understand the word discreet.
“Honey, is everything OK?” his mom asked, sitting on the bed next to him. “Luke’s the blond you pulled up to the front seat, the quiet one.”
“He’s not usually this quiet. It’s been hard for him.”
“I can only imagine,” she said as she kissed her son’s cheek. “Is Luke’s mom supportive of this relationship?”
“I don’t know,” Tilden said wearily, no longer trying to hide his tiredness. “She lives in Texas, and God knows where Mike’s parents are. Wandering around the Indian sub-continent, I expect.”
“You mean you have two partners without parental support? They’re hardly more than children,” Tilden’s mom said with horror.
“Before you start about me robbing the cradle, they’re both over twenty. High school took a little longer than normal for both of them.”
“Honey, that’s not what I meant. It’s just children that age need parental support. Arthur, could you imagine abandoning your child at twenty?”
“No, dear, but they have our son. He’s very responsible.”
“I know,” Tilden’s mom said to his dad, “but remember his first boyfriend.”
“Mom, I’m sitting right here, and yes, I remember. Please, don’t remind me. They’re older than I was when I went out with Randall.”
“What ever did you see in that boy with his tattoos and greasy hair? Didn’t he also have a motorbike?” his mom asked.
“Yes, the bike was the best part. I had more intelligible conversations with his bike than I ever had with him. To be young and foolish again,” Tilden said with a laugh. “Luke and Mike have far more sense about relationships than I had at that age.”
“What can we do to help, honey?” his mom asked, patting Tilden’s hand.
“Dorothy, I’m sure he has it covered. Our son has always been more than capable.”
“Dear, I know that, but he’s still our son no matter how old he is, and his two young partners don’t seem to have any parents. The poor dears.”
Tilden interrupted before his parents could argue further. As always, they argued without heat or malice; it was just the way they interacted with each other. “Actually, I could use your help. Both of them have had some dreadful experience with their parents if you could just try to seem interested in them—”
“Honey,” his mom interjected. “Of course we’re interested in them. They’re your partners and part of the family. We were hoping to take them out, maybe go into Boston with them.”
“That would be great. Mike needs to go to the art museum, and we didn’t make it the last time we were in Boston.” Tilden had no intention of sharing what had happened on the last trip to Boston.
“Oh, we would love to. Your father particularly loves the modern art collection.”
“Thanks,” Tilden said. “Dad, can I ask a big favor of you?”
“Of course.” Tilden’s dad had looked up with an intense expression, not the usual bemused professor act that he wore in public. “What do you need? You know the University of Michigan would love to have you if that’s what you’re concerned about. Rumors have been swirling around about the health of Banner’s foreign language program.”
“Dad, it’s not about me, but Michigan will be my first choice if I ever leave Banner. It’s about Luke.”
“How can I help?”
“He has a gift for foreign languages. I was hoping you could talk to him, encourage him. He’s had a hard time academically, and his confidence is about zero.”
“You know, I’m always happy to talk about foreign languages, much to many people’s dismay.” Tilden’s dad smiled and his eyes twinkled with amusement; their obsession with foreign languages was an inside joke between the two of them. “He’s taking Russian, I assume. Any others?”
“Not now. I’m going to encourage a second language next fall.”
“What kind of academic difficulties?” Tilden’s mom asked. She’d taught high school English for years at Ann Arbor Prep and had been the assistant head for the last seven before her retirement last year. She’d lasted less than two months in retirement and was now teaching part time at a local montessori school.
“He graduated from high school with a piece of paper and not much else. He even did a PG year, and I could swear that boy has never taken a note in his life.”
“Is he in Milton’s survey history class? I’ve seen what he asks of his freshmen,” his mom said. “Is he surviving?”
Tilden didn’t say anything, but he knew his mom could read his expression.
“Oh, that poor boy. Have you been able to keep Milton from throttling him?”
“Mom,” Tilden said with some exasperation. “I keep telling you Milton’s not as scary as he appears. He’s been very patient with Luke, but Luke will have to repeat the course. Now if Milton ever meets Luke’s high school teachers, they’d better run.”
“Milton’s a top isn’t he, and Sheldon’s his brat?”
“Mom,” Tilden exclaimed, feeling his face growing red again. “I don’t think I should talk about my best friend’s lifestyle.”
“I take it you haven’t seen the previews for that television show you’re on,” his dad said dryly. “Most unusual.”
“Dad, I didn’t think you guys watched television.”
“They advertised it during the Michigan- Ohio State game. It was hard to miss,” Tilden’s dad said.
“Arthur, I think we’ve covered this subject enough,” Tilden’s mom said as she finished the unpacking. “Tilden probably needs to get back to his partners. I assume they were responsible for the crash I heard earlier.”
Tilden nodded. There was no use denying it now that he knew she’d heard it; lamps didn’t spontaneously fall to the floor, and his mom would notice. She’d given him that lamp. The lamp in question had been an unattractive Tiffany replica, and Tilden wasn’t upset by its demise. Hopefully his mom wouldn’t replace it with something worse. “I think I need a few minutes with Mike and Luke. Mace and Trent put a few things together in the kitchen, which means it will be edible, if you want a snack. Dinner’s planned for six.”
“So even with two partners, they still haven’t got you domesticated in the kitchen,” his mom said with a smile.
“Afraid not. Mike can managed survival food: Ramen, macaroni and cheese, and frozen pizza. Trent and Mace are working on improving their repertoire. They’ve given up on me.”
Tilden smiled and started to walk out of the bedroom when his dad reached out and touched his arm. “Tilden, I just want to tell you that Dorothy and I support you in whatever you do. This relationship may seem—um—unorthodox to us, but we trust you and love you, and we will do all we can to welcome your boys into the family. And I’ll talk to Luke.”
“Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom.” Tilden reached down and hugged his dad.
The study was quiet when Tilden entered. Milton was sitting on one end of the sofa and Luke was curled into a tiny ball at the other end, his arms wrapped around his knees. Mike was in the armchair, staring at the wall and sniffling softly as if he were on the verge of tears.
“Ah, Tilden, did you get your parents settled?” Milton asked.
“Yes. Everything quiet here?”
“They’ve been perfect angels,” Milton said with a slight smile.
Tilden looked at his two partners; they were both giving him their best example of a combined innocent and contrite look. “I’m sure they are with you sitting here. Can I talk to you a minute?”
Milton snapped his fingers. “Luke stand in the corner by the desk, Mike over by the bookcases.” Tilden was surprised by the sharpness of Milton’s tone, but both boys scrambled to obey without a second thought. “Don’t even think about moving while we step out.”
Tilden trailed Milton out of the room, feeling nearly as intimidated by the tone as his partners had been. As soon as they had shut the study door, Milton spun around, capturing Tilden in his steady gaze. “You don’t want to spank them, do you?”
“How did you know? And I take it you think I should.”
“What is the rule in this house?”
“If you’re fighting or get another submissive in trouble, you get paddled,” Tilden said, feeling like a submissive in trouble himself.
“It’s pretty clear, isn’t it?” Milton raised his dark eyebrows into his hairline.
“Yes,” Tilden said, swallowing hard. “It’s just...”
“I know,” Milton said, wrapping his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “It’s been a rocky few week for all three of you. For this reason, your boys most need the clarity right now. They need to know that you’ve got them and will make their world safe and secure. You’re a good dominant because your instinct is to nurture, not be the tough guy. But in this case, you need to find your spine.”
“Milton, it’s not that easy.”
“Don’t whine at me, my boy,” Milton snapped, lightly dusting Tilden’s seat with his hand.
“Hey, I’m not your boy.”
“Then don’t act like one,” Milton said with a grin. “Don’t think I don’t know that you wouldn’t rather take them to bed than put them over your knee. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and you get the advantage of learning from my mistakes.” Milton squeezed Tilden’s shoulder and kissed the side of his face. “I know you can do the right thing; you love those boys.”
“Milton, do you think I could hand spank them and not paddle them?”
Milton pulled on his beard, took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. “My first thought was no, but they did stop fighting on their own, and it’s the first time. For those two I think it might work. Afterwards I’d keep them busy with lines or something because if they get into it again today you’ll have to give them a hard paddling. Why don’t you take them up to the turret room. I’ll chase Sheldon down here, and we’ll vacuum, do the laundry, and wash the dishes. That should cover the noise.”
“Thanks, but it’s not like my folks don’t know. I guess they’ve been running some scary ads on TV, and we’re the stars.”
“Knowing about it in the abstract and hearing about it in person are two different things. We’ll cover for you. Go get it done.”
Both his brats were in their designated corners. Luke was leaning his head against the wall and looked like he was silently crying, and Mike was fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Come here, boys.” Tilden opened his arms and engulfed both his partners in a hug.
“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Luke said, peeking up at Tilden from under his long, golden lashes.
“What do you think?”
“Yeah.” Mike sighed.
Tilden made his voice stern, even though he felt anything but stern at the moment. “You two were only in a little trouble for pestering each other in the car, but fighting will not be tolerated. Let’s go upstairs and take care of it. I don’t want to give my parents an in stereo rendition of our private life.” Tilden took a hand of each of his young men and led them upstairs into the turret room. Here behind multiple closed doors and with Milton and Sheldon’s noisy distractions they should have as much privacy as possible in a household with three couples and visiting parents.
“Sit down, boys,” Tilden said, pointing to the bed. “So what got in to you two today? Besides being stressed out and exhausted, which I can more than understand.” Tilden rested his hand on Mike’s shoulder and ran his fingers through Luke’s blond curls.
“I started it. Luke shouldn’t be in trouble,” Mike said at first softly, then louder with more conviction. “I grabbed him and pushed him into the lamp.”
“No, it’s my fault. I provoked you,” Luke interrupted.
“Boys, I think there is enough blame to go around. My question is what should you have done instead?”
“Talked to you,” Luke said, ducking his head and hiding his face behind his long hair.
“That would’ve been a good start.” Tilden sat down on the bed between his two partners and wrapped an arm around each of them. “We’re in a threesome; it’s very important that we communicate with each other. And if it’s something you’re not comfortable talking to me about, you can always go to Trent or Milton if you need a neutral top. They’ll make sure I’m told if they think I need to know.”
“Milton will,” Mike mumbled under his breath, soft enough that he probably hoped Tilden wouldn’t make out the words. “You talked to him about punishing us, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. He’s an experienced top, and I wanted his advice.”
“He’s a hard ass,” Mike muttered.
“He’s that too,” Tilden said with a laugh, “but don’t let him hear you say that. You have to remember that he loves both of you and would cut off his right arm to help us.”
“I know,” Mike said, plucking at his pants seam. “I’m sorry. It’s just hard.”
Tilden leaned over and kissed the top on Mike’s head. “I know, Misha. It’s hard for me sometimes too. I’m going to spank both of you for your little fight in the study.”
Both his partners groaned. Luke brushed back a tear and leaned harder into Tilden’s shoulder. “But we stopped fighting on our own,” Mike complained.
“Yes, and I’m proud of you for that, but it doesn’t change that you were fighting. Because you stopped, I’m going to spank you, not paddle you. In this house, fighting would usually be handled with a paddle.”
“Wonderful,” Mike groused. “I can get my ass half torched instead of fully torched.”
“Do you need me to paddle you?” Tilden asked, pinning Mike in a hard stare.
“No, sir,” Mike said, quickly backtracking.
“Misha, stand up and drop your jeans. Luka, go stand in the corner.”
The tears flowed freely down Luke’s face. Tilden heard him sniffle and mumble, “I hate this.”
“Luka, druzhok, it will be over soon.” Tilden lifted Luke to his feet and steered him into the corner, kissing the soft curls before he resumed his seat on the bed. Tilden wanted to agree with Luke; he hated doing this. Why did submissives think tops always enjoyed spanking them? A little fun before a tumble in bed, Tilden could see that, but this was different. This was more complicated, a requirement of a lifestyle that he now lived, but still didn’t fully understand.
Mike had stood up, and his hands hovered around the waistband of his pants, but they were still firmly up.
“Mishenka.” Mike let Tilden grab his hand and guide him into position, but he still made no effort to take down his pants. “Are we good to do this?”
Mike nodded and fumbled with the snap. Tilden unfastened Mike’s pants and pushed them down as he drew his partner over his knee.
“What is this spanking for?”
“For fighting with Luke.”
“How could you have avoided it?”
“Not pushed him into the lamp.”
“What else?” Tilden asked, making his voice sharper.
“Not fighting, talking to you.”
“Spasibo,” Tilden ran his hand down his partner’s back before he pulled down Mike’s boxers. Tilden spanked fast. He thought he wanted this done even more than his two partners did. Tilden listened to the sound of Mike’s protest and stopped when Mike’s cries were of acceptance and contrition. During the spanking, Tilden had watched Luke out of the corner of his eye. Luke had started to cry hard as soon as the first spank had resonated through the room.
Mike was crying equally hard when Tilden wrapped his arms around his dark-haired partner and drew him to his feet, letting Mike bury his face in Tilden’s shoulder. “That’s all. I love you.” Tilden dropped a kiss on Mike’s forehead before tracing his thumb down a wet cheek. Mike was a beautiful boy; even in tears he was beautiful. Tilden held Mike until the crying had slowed to sniffles and choked sobs before he guided his partner to the corner and took Luke’s hand.
Luke, always the gentler and the more easily frightened, threw himself into Tilden’s chest, sobbing harshly. Tilden wrapped his arms tightly around his wailing partner and guided him over to the bed before settling Luke between his knees. Tilden murmured reassurances in a mixture of Russian and English. He wasn’t going to spank a partner who was hysterical. Milton would probably give Luke a good shake or stick him under a cold shower for this display, but Tilden didn’t have the heart; he merely waited, stroking Luke’s blond curls until his breathing calmed and the sobs quieted. “OK?”
Luke nodded.
Tilden didn’t ask Luke to drop his pants; instead, Tilden unfastened them, slid down Luke’s boxers, and pulled Luke over his knee. Tilden started spanking immediately, not giving Luke a chance to work himself up again. Luke was limp across Tilden’s lap when Tilden’s hand changed from swats to light stroking. Tilden lifted Luke to a sitting position, cradling him for a few minutes before standing his partner on his feet. Tilden wrapped his arm around his partner, letting his touch and actions convey the depth of his feelings. He guided Luke over to where Mike was standing.
Mike was still crying; Tilden thought it was more in sympathy for Luke than any residual pain from the spanking. Tilden softly ran his fingers along the back of Mike’s neck between his hairline and collar. “Mishenka, come sit with us.”
Mike spun around and threw his arms around Luke. “Luke, I’m so sorry.”
Luke untangled himself from Tilden’s grasp and returned Mike’s hug. “Mike, it’s OK. I think we both lived.”
Tilden bit his lip to keep from laughing at the sincerity in Luke’s voice. “Boys, come lie down with me. I’m feeling lonely over here.” Tilden was pleased to see both his partners look up and smile. Tilden ruffled Luke’s hair and gave Mike a friendly shove towards the bed. Tilden toed off his shoes and settled between his two partners with a sigh.
A sharp tap on the door woke Tilden. “Come in,” he whispered, mindful that Mike and Luke were still sleeping. Tilden opened his eyes, unwinding one arm from his blond-haired partner and absently running his fingers through Mike’s hair. Mike had fallen asleep with his head resting on Tilden’s chest.
“I hate to disturb you, but the natives are getting restless,” Milton said, his eyes laughing behind his glasses. “Mace is making noise about dinner getting ruined.”
“What time is it?” Tilden said sleepily. Outside the sky was dark and the replicated gas lamps had ben lit for the night.
“Six thirty.”
“Dinner was supposed to be at six.”
“Yes, and we thought you needed a little extra sleep. You have thirty minutes before dinner is served in the dining room.”
“Does that mean what I think it does, jackets and ties?” Tilden asked.
“Yes, it will be good for them.”
“I’m not even sure if they own a coat and tie.”
“Luke can borrow from Sheldon if he needs to, and I’m sure Mike can wear yours. I think I’ve seen him in your pants a few times, and I’ve heard more than enough complaining that you’re the clothes police.”
“He exaggerates,” Tilden said.
“Of course he does,” Milton said with a knowing smile. “Wait until he’s had a few more lessons from Sheldon. Dinner in thirty minutes—don’t be late.”
Tilden watched his friend leave. Milton did this so naturally, with an easy confidence that Tilden felt he would never have, and even on his best days he felt as if he still faked it over fifty percent of the time. Who said being a top was easy? Tilden thought, dragging himself from the bed. At least he had Milton’s experience to lean on, unlike the poor vet, who shared Tilden’s plight as the newest reality TV star, and his brat. Tilden wondered if Brad had taken their advice or if it had sailed right over his head. Sheldon had certainly tried to make Brad and Cotton understand their new lifestyle. Milton wasn’t subtle or circumspect when he offered advice to those he considered his immediate family. Tilden smiled ruefully. He sometimes thought Milton would spank him, top or not, but Tilden didn’t envy Brad, forging a path alone. Tilden could live with Milton’s ire, and even as the dominant side of the family he understood, the terror, the fierce loyalty, and the healthy sex appeal than Milton projected at his most dominant.
Tilden watched his two sleeping partners. He hated to wake them, but Milton had made it clear that they were to be dressed and presentable for dinner in thirty minutes. Less than thirty minutes, Tilden thought, looking at his watch. He was cutting it close to get those two roused, out of bed, and fitted into a tie. Of course that had been Milton’s plan all along. A formal dinner would keep Luke and Mike’s mind on the tie and tight collar and not on their families. Sitting on those hard dining room chairs would remind Sheldon to watch his tongue. Tilden had seen Milton’s partner around the house this evening, and he was sore. He’d been over Milton’s knee for some reason. Tilden would be occupied organizing the proper forks for all three of them and passing the silver rather than fretting over his parents’ reaction to his two young partners. Milton did always play to win.
Tilden hassled his two young partners through a shower and into dress clothes. If they hadn’t needed to appear at dinner, Tilden thought they might still be enjoying the pleasures of the shower. Luke had on a blue blazer and a yellow power tie; Mike had been outfitted with Tilden’s tweed jacket and green tie with gold flecks.
“I hate this,” Luke said, tugging at the sleeves of his blue blazer to straighten it. “I feel like I’m going to the club with my dad.”
“I’m sure the food will be much better, and I hope we’re better company than your dad,” Tilden said, hooking his arm around Luke and kissing him on the cheek.”
“Who’s idea was all this formal stuff?” Mike said, his voice irritated. “Don’t answer. I already know. It was Milton’s. He likes this kind of thing.”
“Behave,” Tilden said, landing a light swat on his partner’s hip. “He believes in showing guests proper hospitality.”
“Why don’t you just say it?” Mike said with exasperation. “He just wants to keep us busy.”
“Well, that too,” Tilden said with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s show him what a nice polite family we can be.”
The dining room was set with the delicate, hand-wash only china, which Milton’s granddad had given him for his wedding with Sheldon. Mace was lighting the final candle on the table. Even he was dressed in khakis and a blazer with a bolo for a tie.
“How many times did Milton and Trent have to send you upstairs to get you out of jeans and cowboy boots?” Tilden asked Mace.
“Only twice. My jeans were ironed,” Mace complained.
“My parents will appreciate the effort. Thanks.”
“For you, Tilden, even I will wear khakis. Sit down. I’ll let Trent know we’re ready. He’s keeping famine at bay in the living room with hors-d'oeuvres.”
Mace called out the door that dinner was served, and the rest of the family came in. Milton and Sheldon looked the most comfortable in crisp khakis and blue blazers with nearly matching ties. Tilden knew that Milton was responsible for the neat creases on the pants; Sheldon only moved his clean clothes from the top of the dryer to his dresser with constant prodding and threats to donate them all to the needy. Tilden’s dad was in a rumpled jacket and a tie with unraveling ends. Both jacket and tie looked as if they’d been crumpled in a musty corner of his office to be pulled out anytime formal attire was required. Tilden’s mom was dressed as he remembered her from endless childhood recitals and academic awards: conservative wool pants, a blouse, and a string of pearls at her throat. They seemed like such opposites, but despite the underlying bickering and grumbling, Tilden thought they had a happy and satisfying marriage.They both enjoyed many of the same hobbies; Tilden could only hope that his threesome would last that long.
Mace and Trent had outdone themselves with the dinner preparation. Even Luke, the ever picky eater, was chomping through the roast beef and mashed potatoes with enthusiasm. He did eyeball the brussels sprouts with a look of deepening suspicion. He stuck his fork in one and moved it around the plate before deciding to have another bite of mashed potatoes.
“I take it you don’t much like Mace’s billiard balls either,” Sheldon smirked.
“The green beans didn’t look good this week, and I fixed the brussels sprouts so don’t fuss at Mace,” Trent said. “Plus you should be thankful they’re not mushy.”
“I think they’re delicious,” Tilden’s mom said.
“Would you like mine?” Sheldon joked.
“Sheldon, enough,” Milton reprimanded, “I think we’ve discussed that topic more than thoroughly. How’s your current book coming along, Arthur?”
“Just fine. Just fine. You know me it’s already twice as long as expected. I’ve been researching some fascinating details on the relationship between Estonian, Hungarian, and Finnish.”
“Oh, Arthur, I think you can even exhaust your son’s penchant for foreign language when you discuss that book,” Dorothy said. “You haven’t told your son about our summer plans. We’re going to rent a house up in the peninsula on Lake Michigan. We thought you and your young men might want to spend the summer with us. The rest of you could come too during your vacations.”
“That sounds nice, Mom. I don’t know yet. It depends what Mike and Luke want, and I’ve been offered a summer position at the Vermont Foreign Language Institute.”
“Tilden, why didn’t you tell me?,” his dad queried. “That’s great. That’s the most prestigious summer program in the country. What position?”
“Head of third year,” Tilden said, suddenly fascinated by cutting his meat into tiny particles.
“You are going to accept it, aren’t you? That is quite an honor.”
“I know, Dad, but I don’t want to make Luke and Mike study Russian all summer, and I don’t want to leave them for eleven weeks.” Tilden watched Luke and Mike, who were now staring at him intently, as was Milton, who didn’t look happy. Tilden hadn’t told Milton who with all his sensibility would without question tell his friend to take the position and drag his two boys along kicking and screaming.
“They’d get a whole year of Russian out the way in a short, painless summer and still have time for a few weeks on the lake. I think in sounds idyllic,” Milton said without a trace of sarcasm.
Who was he kidding? Tilden thought. Painless for who? Tilden took a sip of water to camouflage the snort that was trying to escape his throat. “We’ll think about it,” Tilden said, trying to put a note of finality into his voice.
“I think we should do it,” Mike said. He’d put his cutlery down, his brows furrowed over his dark eyes. “Luke’s into this Russian stuff, and I can get my language requirement out of the way. I can survive a summer of hell, knowing I’ll be done with second year Russian.”
“We don’t have to decide this right now,” Tilden interjected.
“Yes, we do,” Mike insisted. “Luke, you want to go, don’t you?”
Luke nodded but Tilden suspected he just wanted to stay out of the conversation.
“Luka, Misha, I don’t think this is an appropriate dinner conversation.” Tilden tried to put conviction and authority in his voice.
“I think it’s more than appropriate dinner conversation,” Milton said, his voice taking on a deep timbre that meant he was very serious. “Everybody who most cares about you is sitting at this table. Your father, who has taught foreign languages for years, understands the value of this position. Your partners have given you their blessing, and your best friends are encouraging it.” Milton glanced around the table to include Sheldon, Trent, and Mace in his last comment.
“I think I’ve been thoroughly out flanked,” Tilden said. “Luka, are you sure about this?”
“How bad could it be? It’s only the summer.”
“You have to sign a pledge to speak only Russian, and it’s enforced.”
Luke shrugged “We already speak Russian here.”
“Not all the time.”
“That won’t be bad,” Mike said. “We won’t understand half the lectures you’re always handing out. We’ll have a genuine excuse that we misunderstood because of our piddling Russian vocabulary.”
Tilden couldn’t help but smile. Mike and Luke would both try that. Tilden would have to teach them the appropriate vocabulary. Great, he would have the only Russian students who knew the verbs to spank, to paddle, and to go to the corner. Tilden was already thinking of the summer as a done deal. No, he hadn’t agreed to it yet. What was the use? Milton would keep after him until Tilden consented. “Luka, Misha, are you sure? It’s a big commitment for all of us, and I’ll be busy teaching and you studying. There are four contact hours a day and approximately twice that amount of time will need to be spent studying.”
“It’s not nearly as grim as you’re making it sound,” Milton said. “We both did third year Russian there, and we spent ample time goofing off on the weekends.”
“Yeah, if you call dealing with your irate granddad goofing off and those crazy friends of yours from the Green Mountain Club,” Tilden said with a raised eyebrow.
“Let’s just say it was a very educational summer,” Milton said with a laugh.
“What happened between you two?” Sheldon asked, his radar for embarrassing stories awakened.
“Not now,” Milton and Tilden both said together.
“Why not? This sounds interesting and embarrassing as hell,” Sheldon pushed. “You’re both blushing.”
“I said not now,” Milton repeated more firmly. “This is not the appropriate forum.”
“You’re no fun,” Sheldon whined.
“Do you need to be excused?”
Tilden could tell that Sheldon recognized Milton’s tone for the warning it was. “No, sir.” Sheldon answered, his eyes down on the plate, but not totally hiding their teasing glint. He was playing, going just to the edge with Tilden’s parents at the table.
Tilden hastily reached for the butter, trying to hide his own embarrassment. His parents might know in the abstract, but he wasn’t ready for one of Sheldon’s little games.
“Thank you,” Milton said softly and shot a sympathetic glance at Tilden. Milton didn’t have this problem; his only family was in the lifestyle.
Tilden watched his parents who were staring at Milton as if he had three heads. Tilden’s mom quickly busied herself by asking for more gravy and slathering it on the remnants of her mashed potatoes, and his dad suddenly became very interested in the brussels sprouts, a vegetable which he tolerated only slightly more than Luke. Milton had always been discreet about the special aspects of his relationship with Sheldon, but he’d just reprimanded him in public. Well it wasn’t exactly a great secret anymore. Tomorrow night Luke, Tilden, and probably Mike would be all over national TV.
Dinner was finished with uncomfortable glances and pointless small talk. Mace and Trent produced two delightful pies, pumpkin and pecan. Tilden’s mom bravely tried to steer the conversation towards regional dessert preferences. “I thought we’d have something with cranberries.”
“Mace loves pecan pie,” Trent said with a lazy smile. “He’ll take any excuse to convince me to make it. Tilden likes cranberries also—something about reminding him of berries in Russia.”
“Berry picking is almost as popular as mushroom gathering,” Tilden said, warming to the subject. “There are even songs about berry bushes. I’m sure everybody’s heard of Kalinka. Kalinka kalinka kalinka moya! V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!”
“I’ll do something with cranberries tomorrow night,” Mace said. “Will that make all you folks happy?”
“Mace, you know your cooking makes me happy,” Tilden said. “It saves everybody from mine.”
“Your cooking is cruel and unusual punishment,” Mace shot back. “Right in line with the dreadful Soviet cafeteria food you like to reminisce about.”
“Even I don’t serve sugared water with one piece of fruit and call it kompot,” Tilden said, pretending to be hurt.
“No, your specialty is scorched pans,” Milton teased. “But on a more serious note, don’t you and your two partners have a meeting tomorrow night?”
“Ugh, I forgot. Is that tomorrow?” Tilden said.
“What meeting?” Mike asked.
“After Luke and I were partnered on Meet Your Mate, I had to clear our relationship with the administration. I, in a moment of less than rational thought, offered our services for a support group. It’s tomorrow at seven.” He should have said a submissive support group, but Tilden couldn’t quite voice that word in front of his parents. His reticence made no logical sense; Sheldon had just played the submissive at the dinner table, but still to say it aloud...
“Who goes to a meeting on a college campus on Saturday night?” Luke asked.
“Hopefully nobody,” Mike said.
“You’ll miss the first episode of Meet Your Mate,” Sheldon said.
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Tilden rolled his eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to it all fall.”
“I’ll get a tape for you,” Sheldon said with a wide grin.
“I’m sure you will.” Tilden stood and started to clear the dishes.
“Leave them,” Milton interrupted. “I’ll have Sheldon do them. He can wash and iron the napkins also.”
“That’s not fair,” Sheldon pouted.
“Your conversation at dinner,” Milton said, ruffling his partner’s hair. “And have you forgotten yesterday? You’ve been avoiding hard chairs all day.”
“No, I’ll get right on the ironing, sir. Your boy at your command.”
“Good,” Milton said with a wicked grin.
Tilden groaned silently; this was more information than his parents needed to know. Trent must have sensed Tilden’s discomfort, or at least he wanted to stop the conversation from getting more detailed, because he started aggressively pushing more coffee and tea on everyone. With Trent’s assistance, Tilden was able to keep the rest of the evening’s conversation on the safe topics of food and a proposed trip into Boston. Milton had been right; the formal dinner had taken nearly two hours, and only a small amount of idle chit-chat was needed in front of the TV before Tilden could plead a desire for an early night and excuse himself and his two partners for the evening.
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