Lost and Found 5

Chapter 5

Mike stretched and looked at the clock; it was only seven thirty. What college boy got up at seven thirty on a Saturday? Ones who got chased into bed at nine, not that they had immediately gone to sleep. Once Tilden had convinced them that his parents didn’t believe that they lived in a monastery, they enjoyed some rough and tumble sports with the lights out. Mike watched the steady rise and fall of Tilden’s chest; Luke’s fair head lifted with each breath. Neither of his partners looked like they were ready to charge from bed and attack the day.

Mike slid out of bed, careful not  to jostle his partners. Tilden was still keeping him close,  and Mike hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble for getting up on his own. He padded into the bathroom and then out to the kitchen. Trent and Mace were performing their usual dance from stove to countertop to refrigerator. Mike watched from the doorway, admiring the ease with which they worked together, an occasional brush of the shoulder or a sidelong smile, but no words were exchanged.

“Uh—Trent.” Mike cleared his throat.

“Mike, I didn’t see you there. Come on in. Do you want some juice?”

“Yeah, orange, please. Trent—um—can you...”

“I'll tell Tilden you’re with me, kiddo.” Trent ruffled Mike’s short hair. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Mace asked in his slow drawl.

“It’s your choice, kid. You’re up first,” Trent added.

“Could we have corn cakes?” Mike remembered the summer he spent with Frank, Caleb, and Tommy after his aborted letterbox bombing experience. They’d had corn cakes every Sunday. It was the only time he remembered real breakfast, not a yogurt or toast snatched on the way out the door, until he came here.

“White or yellow cornmeal?” Trent asked.

“There’s a difference?”

“Yellow is coarser and has a stronger taste,” Trent replied. “We’ll try that. Let me know if it’s what you had in mind.” Trent pulled two bowls from a cabinet overhead. “Come over here. I’ll show you how to make real Johnny cakes.”

Mike was put to work, heating the milk and stirring in the cornmeal. Tilden’s dad drifted into the kitchen sometime during the process. Mace seemed familiar enough with him to offer a glass of juice, a bowl of fruit, and the newspaper without asking. Arthur nodded absently at Mike before burying himself in the newspaper. As he read, he made occasional grunts of disagreement.

“So what’s the depressing news for today?” Trent asked as he took the bowl from Mike. “That’s plenty mixed. Go set the table.”

“The usual: school budget cuts, people complaining about the mandatory recycling, and some fool waxing elegantly about the old-fashioned justice system in Texas.” Arthur picked up his fruit bowl to let Mike put a placemat underneath it. “Here,  I can help. I don’t want Dorothy to think I was mooching off your hospitality.”

“You can put the water glasses on the table. They’re in the cabinet above the sink,” Mace said as he dropped bacon into the frying pan.  

Mike watched Arthur amble around the table, haphazardly placing each glass. His height and facial features were similar to Tilden’s, but his actions couldn’t be more different. Tilden moved purposely from place to place, every line precise just like his clothes. It was clear that Tilden hadn’t learn to dress from his dad; Arthur was dressed in faded and worn maroon corduroys and a red and green plaid shirt. He wasn’t going to be on the front of the Men’s Quarterly. Mike secretly wondered if Arthur didn’t take his bumbling professor act too far. Mike had heard the man yesterday with Milton; he wasn’t dumb or unaware. Mike remembered Frank telling stories about the great detectives he’d worked with. Mike loved the story of Frank’s work partner Joel, who looked like a slob and stumbled through the interviews pretending to forget key details, but had the highest solve rate in the department. Trent did the same thing, not in a bumbling manner, but he would lounge in a corner blending into the woodwork, but knowing exactly what was going on and interjecting himself only if needed.

“Mike,” Trent said, “go get your two partners. Sheldon and Milton went to play an early morning tennis match; they should be back any minute.”

Tilden was awake, his torso bare and his face still damp from shaving. “Misha, you’re up early.”

“I was with Trent.”

“Do you have a guilty conscious?” Tilden asked with a teasing smile and pulled Mike into his chest, rubbing his smooth jaw against his partner’s stubble. “You need a shave.”

“No wild and free look?”

“You’re wild enough without going for the unkempt look.”  Tilden kissed Mike, running his hands down his partner’s back. “After breakfast; I don’t want to get my ear chewed off for being late.”

“Wimp,” Mike teased.

Tilden spun Mike around and playfully swatted his hip. “So, who are you calling a wimp?”

“You.” Mike darted to the other side of the bed with Tilden chasing after him.

Luke stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed Mike as he ran by. “I’ll save you.”

“Oh, yeah, my hero to the rescue.” Mike pretended to swoon in Luke’s arms.

“What should I do with my two captives? Ravish them on the bed?” Tilden trapped both his partners in his arms.

Luke shook his blond curls, spraying droplets of water over his partners. “Help! Help! I’m  so afraid,” he teased.

“Gentlemen.” Mike turned toward the voice in the doorway. Trent was leaning against the door jam, his arms crossed, trying to keep a smile off his face. “I thought I sent you to tell them that breakfast was ready, not to play sex games. Tilden, your parents are waiting in the kitchen, and you’re not leaving much up to their imagination.”

Tilden turned bright red; Mike and Luke spluttered with laughter. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll be right there.”

Tilden threw on a shirt and chased Luke into some clothes. They tried to walk into the kitchen as polite, decorous gentlemen, but Milton blew their cover.

“It sounded like you’re in a good mood today.”

“I thought you were off playing tennis,” Mike said, feeling the back of his neck turn pink.

“We were hungry,” Milton said in his most proper tone. “We returned just in time to hear you chasing each other around the bedroom.”

“Milton,” Tilden spluttered.

“It’s all right, dear,” Dorothy said with a sweet smile. “We know you’re all healthy, virile young men. Don’t let us crimp your style.”

Tilden for a moment looked like he was going to fall through the floor with embarrassment before he launched himself at Milton. “You rat. You put them up to this.”

Milton was laughing so hard that he couldn’t talk, and Tilden was pretending to wrestle with him. “Boys, is this how we behave at breakfast?” Trent said in a sharp voice with a wink at Mike and Luke.

“No, sir,” both Milton and Tilden said together as they sat down laughing.

The Johnny cakes were as Mike remembered, and he ate three helpings.

“Haven’t you eaten in a week, boy?” Milton teased.

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Trent intervened. “You should have told me that you liked them before; I don’t mind making them.” He gave Mike a lazy smile before he got up and started to clear the table. “So what are you guys doing the rest of the day, or are you planning to spend it in the bedroom?”

Tilden reached up and whopped Trent on the head with folded newspaper. “Are we ever going to live this down?”

“In time,” Trent said, grabbing the newspaper from Tilden’s hand “And I thought you were the proper professor.”

”Trent,” Tilden sputtered.

”Just a friendly reminder,” Trent said with a smile and started to gather the dirty dishes. “You wouldn’t want to set any bad examples.”

“What is this, torture me in front of my parents week?” Tilden said, his cheeks a rosy pink. 

“Your parents aren’t oblivious,” Milton said gently. “We won’t say any more.”

“Tilden,” Dorothy said, I know it’s your private life, but you don’t have to hide it. We will never be ashamed of your choices. I think it’s wonderful to see you boys having such a good time. Your friends have always been so proper when we’ve come to visit; I was beginning to wonder if you lived with a bunch of mannequins or monastics. You know, we may be the older generation, but we have heard of these kinds of relationships. ” Dorothy kissed her son’s cheek. “We just want to see you happy.”

Tilden reached out and touched his mom’s hand. “Thank you.” Mike thought he saw tears in the corner of Tilden’s eyes, but Tilden turned away before Mike could tell for sure. 

Arthur reached out and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “We love you, son.”

“Are we going to the museum today?” Dorothy asked in a bright cheerful voice.

“Yes, and then lunch at a friend’s. At Jeremiah and Joshua’s. Jeremiah is one of my colleagues.” Tilden didn’t add any details, but Mike felt his breakfast turn over in his stomach. He didn’t want to see Mr. Martin again; it was bad enough to see Dean Tyler on campus, and he was a fellow submissive. Mike preferred not to remember Mr. Martin’s early intervention after Mike’s meltdown. Milton and Tilden must have anticipated Mike’s discomfort because Tilden gave him a sympathetic smile, and Milton stood up and leaned over Mike’s back.

“Joshua likes you. He’s been asking when you were coming for a visit,” Milton whispered into Mike’s ear.

“Yeah, sure,” Mike blurted out loud enough that everybody could hear him. Mike could see Tilden’s parents’ heads snap around to look at him. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? Milton, who was still standing behind him, had tightened his hand around Mike’s shoulder. Mike expected that it was a warning, but it was also a comfort to feel that big top behind him.

“You like Jeremiah, don’t you?" Tilden asked.

Of course Mike liked Jeremiah, and Tilden knew it. They ate lunch together at least once a week—something about keeping the administration happy proving that Tilden wasn’t abusing or taking advantage of his young partners. Dean Tyler spent about five minutes questioning Mike and Luke about how things were going at home and then the rest of the time telling riotously funny stories. It was hard to believe that a college physics professor had been thrown out of high school chemistry for setting off poison gas in the lab. Like any good brat, Tyler had blamed it on the teacher, said the guy acted like they had no more intelligence than a troop of gerbils, and that he, the poor student, was just trying to learn something in class.

When Mike didn’t answer Tilden continued. “Do you think he’d stay married to someone who wasn’t a good man?”

“No,” Mike answered when Milton squeezed his shoulder.

“Joshua called that night to make sure you were OK. He didn’t need to do that.”

“Oh,” Mike muttered, looking down at the table.

“Go get showered and changed,” Tilden said gently.

Milton kept his hand on the back of Mike’s neck and guided him from the chair. Milton didn’t have to say anything. Mike knew the contact meant We’ve got you. It will be OK. But even with the reassurance if Milton hadn’t been hustling him so fast, Mike might have come up with a smart retort.

“Thank you,” Milton said when they reached the confines of the bedroom. “I know you’re embarrassed, but think how I’m going to feel when I have to go to the art museum with Sheldon. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get escorted out by security.”

“I take it he doesn’t like art.”

“He doesn’t like museums. He’s the only person I’ve ever known who claims to have seen the entire Hermitage in thirty minutes. Now shower, boy.” Milton landed a light swat on Mike’s rump.

The trip to Boston was more successful than the last time. They’d made it off the street without a major meltdown, Mike thought as he resolutely turned his mind to the Monet in front of him. He still had to survive the lunch with Dean Tyler’s partner. Tilden was staying close; he clearly was expecting trouble or at least trying to head it off if it happened. His occasional sidelong glances at Mike gave away that he wasn’t enthralled by the field of wildflowers in front of him. 

“I like this one,” Tilden said, pointing at a racetrack scene with the horses fading into the mist.”

Mike nodded.

“Are you getting the information you need for for your paper, Mishenka?” 

“Yeah,” Mike said with a flat voice.

Tilden moved to stand besides Mike, their shoulders nearly touching. “Is everything OK?” he asked in Russian. 

Mike turned to give the automatic yeah but stopped and looked into Tilden’s calm face. The Russian was a signal; Tilden used it when he was joking around and when he was concerned, a private language between him and his partners. Mike shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

Tilden gave Mike a long look and signaled with a slight nod that Mike should follow. Mike trailed Tilden through a series of corridors and up a flight of wide stairs to a narrow gallery with dark and somber pictures of fruit and sailing ships. A single bench was in the far end of the gallery facing the narrow doors. 

Tilden pulled Mike down next to him and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulder. “I hate these pictures, but nobody ever comes in here.”

“How did you know about it?” Mike said looking at a bowl of apples fading into a brown background.

“Milton used to bring me up here and talk to me. It was before we bought the house, and we were sharing a rented place with a few other young graduate students. We both did our graduate work in Boston. Milton used to say that sometimes you can be most alone and private in public spaces. He took me to the mall food court and the airport a couple of times to talk. It was a difficult time for me. I like order. I think you know that.” Tilden gave Mike a small smile. ”Our housemates weren’t brats or submissives; I don’t know what you would call them—impossible, maybe. Milton could manage them when they left two week old dishes in the sink. He’d go into über-top mode and scare anybody into a house cleaning frenzy. I’d just go up to my room and spend hours fretting over a single paragraph of my dissertation. It would drive Milton wild. He’d drag me out to all kinds of places and try to knock some sense into me. The natural history museum actually worked best. I had a great romance with the T. rex skeleton. Six-yea-olds are supposed to be enraptured by dinosaurs, not twenty something graduate students.” Tilden smiled again and kissed the top of Mike’s forehead. “Are you still worried about Joshua?”

Mike nodded. It wasn’t just about meeting Joshua Martin. He’d made a total ass of himself that day. He’d been horrible to Tilden, and Tilden had been kind and gentle. Just like now, Tilden had given Mike a part of himself, a part that he didn’t need to share to try to get Mike to talk. Sometimes he wished Tilden would just muscle it out of him, stop with this kind, gentle approach.

“Does he frighten you?”

Mike shook his head. Joshua had been frightening that day, but when he looked back on it, he realized how kind that absolute stranger had been to him. Joshua had given him the time to feel safe. 

“If you’re not going to talk to me, go stand in front of that painting.” Tilden pointed to a painting of candlesticks on a mantle. “Put your hands behind your back.”

“What if someone comes in?”

“You’ll look as if you’re admiring the painting.” Tilden gave Mike a small push toward the picture. “Off you go; I gave you a chance to talk.”

Mike studied the painting, noticing the minute missing flecks of gold on the frame.  With his nose only a foot from the frame, he was too close to admire the painting, and this wasn’t his favorite style any more than it was Tilden's. He must have been thinking too loud. Why had he just wanted someone to muscle him into talking? Tilden had patience. It was either talk or look at this painting all afternoon. He risked a sidelong glance at Tilden. He looked totally relaxed, his long legs crossed in front of him, his eyes half closed.

“Put your hands on top of your head.” That bastard, Mike thought, linking his fingers together over his head. “I’ll tell you if anyone is coming.”

The sliver candlesticks stood on the mantle. Thousands of brush strokes delineated them from the shadows of the mantle. Mike felt the weight of his hands on his head. He didn’t find this tranquil; he found it oppressive. The flickering of candles around an altar, a dead child, a crying mother.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“In your dreams,” Mike shot back. Why had he just said that? Was he on another collision course?”

“Kneel.”

“This is a public building.”

“Has anyone come in here yet?” Tilden moved and was standing behind Mike, shielding him from the door. “Kneel.”

The hands on Mike’s shoulders were soft but insistent. Mike sank to his knees, feeling like a fool. He didn’t get an erotic thrill out of public humiliation. It wasn’t his thing. Tilden’s hands were still on his shoulders; a single finger traced down the back of his neck.

“What’s the matter? Chto s toboy? What’s with you?”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“More embarrassed than you are kneeling in a public building?”

“You bastard!”

“Watch yourself. I don’t much like swearing, and Milton hates it.” Tilden continued to rub Mike’s neck. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I’d rather forget about it.”

“Misha, it’s over with, taken care of. Joshua’s a top. He won’t hold it over your head; he understands. You’re new in this relationship. We expect bumps.”

“I don’t understand,” Mike blurted out, his voice scratchy with unshed tears. “Why am I this way? I should be able to cope.”

“It’s not a fault or an illness, and I think you’ve done way too much coping, growing up alone. Stand up; come sit back down with me.” Tilden guided Mike back to the bench, keeping his arm around his partner’s waist.

“How’d you know that would get me to talk?”

“I guessed,” Tilden said. “Now don’t give me that wide-eyed surprised look. I’m not omniscient. I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to go as far as spanking you.”

“In public?”

“Don’t push it, and definitely don’t push Milton. He won’t take as many shenanigans as I will. He told me once the only time Sheldon talks is right before or after a spanking. That’s probably why Sheldon spends so much time with a sore rump. I’d rather not go there, but I will.” Tilden gentled the threat with a sweet kiss to Mike’s lips.

“Do you love me? I’m not just a hanger on who came with Luke?”

“Yes, you fool boy.” Tilden hugged Mike close to him and nuzzled his forehead with gentle pinches like a horse begging for sugar. “You are an equal partner, not a little brother being dragged along because the parents went to dinner or in your case to Africa.”

“Asia,” Mike snarked, trying to recover his equilibrium.

“Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to hide from me again. Sit on the end of the bench. Hands on top of your head.”

“Tilden,” Mike pleaded, but he was already unwinding his arms from Tilden’s neck.

“Would you rather kneel?”

“No.” Mike scooted to the end of the bench and interlaced his fingers over his head.

“What’s a submissive?”

“A needy idiot who can’t do anything on his own.”

“Who taught you that definition?”

“Everybody knows what a submissive is.”

“That’s not how I define submissive,” Tilden said softly. “My lover, my partner, mine to cherish, to protect. Why do you think you’re a submissive?”

“You know I am.” Mike started to turn around but Tilden caught his shoulders.

“Next time you turn around I’ll put you over my lap,” Tilden growled. “Who was the first person to tell you that you were a submissive or did you just dream it up?”

“Caleb and Frank. They told me I was a brat; it’s close enough.”

“Who are they?”

“Frank’s Tommy’s father.”

“And who is Tommy? Complete answers, please.” Tilden dug his fingers into Mike’s neck. “This can get harder if you want to play twenty questions.”

Mike could hear the hint of exasperation in Tilden’s voice, and in some way Mike was enjoying teasing Tilden. He was half in trouble, and he was teasing. From the prod of the fingers against his neck, Tilden knew he was teasing also and was playing along to a certain degree. “Tommy was a school friend.”

“Yes, and?”

“Frank was a cop. I got arrested and spent a few months living with them. Caleb was always telling me I was a brat, and I think Frank knew, but was uncomfortable because I was under eighteen,” Mike said in a rush. “He tried to get my parents to let me stay with him, but they said no. I think they were jealous.”  

“Frank was the top?”

“Yeah.”

“Was Caleb a needy idiot?”

“No,” Mike snorted. “He did like to do crazy things. They got into some kind of argument about the lawn, and Caleb turned half of it into a patio overnight. He worked for a non-profit rehabbing houses.”

“What about Sheldon or Jeremiah Tyler? Sheldon’s a TV executive—makes scads more money than Milton. And Jeremiah’s head of the physics department and dean of men. Those sound like positions of power to me—more power than I have in my lowly department.”

“Dean Tyler hardly seems like a submissive.”

“He is subdued compared to Sheldon. You know he would talk to you about it if you asked? He’s older. It wasn’t as acceptable then.” Tilden kissed the back of Mike’s neck. “I want you to interview all the submissives you know and ask them what it means to be a submissive and what it means to brat. Then we'll talk again. Can you reach Caleb?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you two OK?” a deep voice asked from the doorway. Mike jerked his hands off his head and spun around to face entrance to the gallery. Milton stood in the doorframe, one hand hanging onto Sheldon’s belt.  “We’ve worn out the armor wing, but I’ll take him out and walk laps around the building if you need more time.”

Tilden looked at Mike, raising one eyebrow in a questioning gesture.

“I’m good,” Mike said with a small smile, trying to convince himself as well as the tops. Both Tilden and Milton gave Mike gentle, inquiring looks. “I’m not going to start screaming in the street if that’s your concern.”

“But you’re concerned about Joshua,” Milton filled in.

“Well, I did make an ass of myself last time we were over there.”

“Mike, Joshua Martin is over sixty. I’m sure he’s seen a boy in full meltdown before.” Milton said with small smile. “I’ve seen plenty, and I’m not nearly that old.”

Sheldon gave his partner a mock glare. “So you say. I thought you were older than God.”

“Behave, boy. I was just stating the facts,” Milton said and ruffled Sheldon’s hair. “If you're good, let’s go rescue Luke from Tilden’s parents.”

****

Luke sat on the bench, his sketch pad balanced on his knee. Arthur and Dorothy had taken him to the contemporary art wing. The sharp colors and the light sifting in through the narrow rectangular windows captured Luke’s imagination. He was drawing Arthur standing in a rectangle of light in front of a mobile of multi-colored plastics, a slightly bemused look on his face. Luke hadn’t noticed that Dorothy was behind him, watching over his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s lovely. May I have it when you’re done?”

Luke hunched over his work, the pencil frozen in his hand. His drawings were usually laughed at or confiscated by a teacher.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, honey, but it’s very good. Arthur and I would love to have a picture hanging in our home from our new son-in-law. Arthur, dear, come see what Luke's drawing. It’s beautiful.”

Luke could feel his cheeks turning red, and he was glad the gallery was mostly empty; the only other occupants were a couple with two children studying the statue made from trash and a single woman entranced by a weaving. Arthur ambled over and peered over Luke’s shoulder.

“Tilden said you had a gift for foreign language; he didn’t say you were a talented artist. Our son needs to pay attention to his partners’ talents.”

“It’s not his fault,” Luke leapt to Tilden’s defense. “I keep it hidden, and I’m not very good.” Luke flipped his notebook shut and put the pencils back in his case.

“Don’t stop on account of us,” Dorothy said. “I’d love to have your talent. I can’t even do stick figures.”

Luke stood up, walked over to a sculpture made from bicycle chains and miscellaneous gears, and pretended to study it intently. 

“Do you like that?” Dorothy asked, looking at the stature with her head cocked as if trying to understand it.

“Not really. I do like the mobiles, the light and the motion, especially the plastic ones. It’s so whimsical.”

“Do you ever do any work in a solid medium?”

“I just doodle,” Luke said, keeping his eyes on the sculpture.

“You must like to keep your talents incognito,” Arthur said with a soft chuckle. “You take only one foreign language, and you don’t study art.”

Dorothy shot Arthur a murderous look, and Luke thought he heard her hiss, “Not now.”

Arthur seemed oblivious to the poor timing and continued babbling about foreign language acquisition and the Indo-European language group versus Bantu languages and the languages of the ancient North Americans. Luke wasn’t listening. He wanted to get as far away from Tilden’s babbling parent as possible. Experience had taught him that attention from an adult ended badly: his father screaming, teachers staring down at him over their glasses, the principal pacing in his office.

“So there you are,” Tilden said in a cheerful voice.

Unless Tilden was an idiot, he had to see tension in Luke’s shoulders, and Milton was with him. His sharp eyes missed nothing, and he moved close, flanking Luke on the left while Tilden moved to his right. Luke swallowed hard. Why did he always have to wear his emotions so loudly? He didn’t need one of those mood rings. Tilden was looking at his parents as if trying to determine what was wrong. Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet.

“Why didn’t you tell us that Luke was such a lovely artist?” Dorothy asked.

Luke watched Milton's and Tilden’s expressions. The relief was obvious across Tilden’s face. So that’s what’s going on. No major crisis between Luke and his parents, just Luke falling apart because someone was being nice to him.

Tilden looked embarrassed and muttered to the floor, “He’s shy about it.”

“He should be proud of it,” Dorothy said with a note of finality in her voice. She sounded like Tilden when he thought a conversation was finished.

“Can we debate Luke’s artwork in the car?” Sheldon said in a loud, demanding tone. “I for one have had more than enough of museums, and I’m starving.” Luke saw Sheldon wink at him before he was spun around by Milton, and Luke was sure something nasty whispered in his ear. 

“Sheldon is correct. We need to be off to lunch.” Milton, with his usual efficiency, herded everyone to the entrance of the museum. “We’ll bring the car around.” Milton grabbed Sheldon’s elbow and started towing his partner after him.

“Stop. It wasn’t Sheldon’s fault. He was trying to divert attention from me,” Luke shouted out and then, horrified, tried to dive behind Tilden, who grabbed his partner’s shoulders and kept Luke in front of him.

“Oh, kiddo,” Sheldon said softly.

Milton reached out, and Luke felt Milton’s large hand encircle his wrist. “Come with me, please.” The tone was soft and courteous. It wasn’t going to draw any attention to their presence on the steps as patrons hurried in and out of the museum. “I’m not mad at you,” Milton said very softly, gently tugging Luke toward him and draping his arm over the young man’s shoulders, a gesture a father might make with a son. 

The walk to the car seemed interminable; even Sheldon was quiet. Milton kept his arm over Luke’s shoulder and his other hand on Sheldon’s wrist. His pace was deliberate and steady like the pace of soldiers flanking a caisson. It hadn’t seemed to take this long to walk to the museum from the garage when they arrived; Milton must have taken a detour. They were winding through rows of meticulously pruned trees, their feet crunching on the fine limestone filings.

“It’s cold out here,” Luke muttered, his voice still petulant.

“We’ve just started unless you talk to him,” Sheldon said in a voice that Luke couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. “And I for one am not dressed for winter expeditions. What set you off with Tilden’s parents? They’re nice people. I think they even like me.” Sheldon gave Luke one of his bright smiles. “And I’m not easy to like.”

“Sheldon, do we need to have this discussion again?” Milton asked without heat.

“Well, it’s true. Even my parents can stand me only for a few days before the shouting starts.”

“You provoke them, my boy,” Milton said, pulling Sheldon close and kissing his fringe of bangs. “Don’t tell me you don’t.”

Luke watched the exchange, unable to pull away since he was still pinioned to Milton’s side by the strong arm around his shoulders. Sheldon seemed settled by the kiss and smiled at Milton. Luke couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy. Milton and Sheldon complemented each other perfectly; they spoke volumes with only a few words. With Tilden, Luke felt like a drowning man grabbing for a lifeboat and injuring the occupants with his frantic struggle for safety. He’d been unforgivably rude to Tilden’s parents when they were doing nothing but acting interested in him. Luke blinked hard, but couldn't keep a tear from trickling down his cheek. If he wiped it, Milton would notice and then there would be no escape from a full blown interrogation. If he left it, Milton might still notice it. 

Luke didn’t get a chance to continue his internal debate because Milton noticed. “Ah, feeling guilty for how you treated Tilden’s parents. Sheldon’s right. They are nice people, and they won’t hold it against you. I’m not happy with your behavior, and I know Tilden’s not. People can be nice to you. There’s no law against it. I’m not going to punish you for what I saw with Tilden’s parents. One, that’s between you and Tilden, but I can’t imagine him doing more than talking to you, knowing his personality, and two, you need to learn that authority figures can be supportive of you.”  Milton stopped talking and continued to guide the two men down the paths, now past beds of roses trimmed harshly back for the oncoming winter. “It would be easier for you if I’d swatted you a few times and given you a blazing lecture about respecting your elders. You’ve heard that before, I’m sure.”

Luke nodded and kept his head down. He didn’t want to look at those dark brown eyes that were looking at him so kindly. He was a rude, insolent boy and he knew it.

“Oh, stop punishing yourself for fuck’s sake!” Sheldon exploded from the other side of Milton. “You’re surrounded by tops. They do a plenty good enough job of it without our help.”

“Obviously not good enough when I hear words like that come out of your mouth,” Milton said. “You’ll have lines when we get home.”

“The sentiment was correct,” Luke whispered. He’d now gotten Sheldon in trouble twice, and he was still without a blemish.

“Yes it was, but it’s not your fault that Sheldon didn’t express himself in a more polite manner,” Milton said, squeezing Luke’s shoulder. “Let’s get the car before they send a search party for us.”

Milton picked up the rest of their group at the edge of the circle driveway. Luke watched as a full blown conversation took place silently between Milton and Tilden with slight motions of an eyebrow and knowing looks. Tilden slid into the car, trapping Luke between him and the window and pulled Mike onto his other side. Tilden kept a hand on each of his partners. At least to Luke, it seemed that he was taking no chances. Arthur started a conversation with Sheldon about television as a medium for foreign language instruction. His continual babble thankfully let everybody else ride over to the apartment building in silence.

Milton pulled to the curb in front of a black and white striped awning, and a doorman hurried to assist them. Luke didn’t clearly remember the apartment building but the massive bulk of Dean Tyler hurrying toward them with Joshua Martin fitting neatly in his shadow indicated that they’d reached their destination.

“Oh, dear, it looks like someone has had a rough morning.” Dean Tyler grabbed Luke and engulfed him within his much larger frame.

 Luke concentrated on breathing and standing upright as he was swept within Dean Tyler’s bulk to the to the elevator. From the glimpses of trousers and shoes around Tyler’s billowing overcoat, he knew that the rest of them had managed to crowd into the elevator, but at least for a moment Tyler was giving him a chance to block everyone else out. Luke wondered for a second if it’d been planned that way, or if Tyler was just being his friendly exuberant self. Luke didn’t finish his thoughts before he was pushed into the apartment, jostled into removing his outerwear, and herded with a crowd of people into the living room.

Tyler and his partner knew how to give parties. Food and drink covered every flat surface, tiny triangles of sandwiches on the the coffee table, petits-fours in lights pastels on the TV, tea and coffee on the end table, and plates of hors-d’oeuvres stuffed into the bookcases wherever space was available. Luke and Mike found themselves drifting together glad to eat the myriad of foods rather that take a part in the conversation around them.

“Thank God, Arthur seems to have an interest in construction. Maybe I won’t have to talk to Martin,” Mike said, biting into a sandwich.

“I doubt if we’ll get that lucky. Tyler knew I was upset, so I’ll probably get interrogated by his partner also,” Luke said. “What was he like?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking too straight that day, but Tilden and Milton insist that he’s a nice guy.”

“Yeah, that means he’s persistent and pushy,” Luke said with a faint smile.

“Yeah, but that’s how we like them.”

“Have you boys found enough to eat?” Speak of the devil, Luke thought as Martin stood in front of them with another plate of sandwiches.

“Thank you, sir, but I’m stuffed,” Mike said politely. “The food is wonderful. Did you make it?”

“We did, and you don’t have to be so formal. You aren’t in trouble, are you?” Martin arched his eyebrows and a faint smile crept onto his face.

“No, sir,” Mike said. “I mean no.”

“You can call me Josh or Joshua. I’m OK with that, and as long as you're not at school, you can call my partner Jer or Jeremiah. He answers to both. Now if you boys are feeling overwhelmed, you can go hide in the bedroom and watch TV, but if you stay in there too long, I’ll come and find you.” Joshua Martin reached forward and squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “I’m not looking to straighten you guys out unless they ask, but you can always talk to me. Sometimes a neutral top who’s been around the block a few times is a godsend.”

Luke nodded, glad this conversation seemed to be focused on Mike. Mr. Martin—Joshua--had that same intense expression in his eyes that Milton had when he was getting ready to plow over Luke’s objections. Mike managed a coherent thank you and Joshua drifted away from their corner.

“Do you want to take him up on his TV offer?” Mike asked. “I bet he even has English language television.”

“If we disappear, how long do you think before the tops come looking for us? If you haven’t noticed, Tilden and Milton have been tracking our whereabouts every five minutes. I'm surprised Tilden hasn’t put us on a leash or at least put a GPS tracking collar on us, the way he keeps watching.”

Mike smiled. “I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

“I’m not.” Luke made a face. “But I bet Milton is. Could you see him in leather?”

“Frightening.” Mike pretended to shudder.

“What’s frightening?” asked Tilden, coming up suddenly behind them.

“Oh, Tilden, I didn’t see you,” Luke said, turning around.

“Come out of hiding.” Tilden wrapped an arm around each of his boys and herded them out toward everyone else.

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting shuffled back and forth between people. Every time Luke tried to retreat it seemed that his hosts were at his elbow, plying him with more food and drink. Tyler caught Luke by the shoulders with his big hands and herded him into the kitchen. His chocolate brown eyes were kind and sympathetic.

“Is everything OK? You looked shattered when you first showed up.” Tyler said as Luke busied himself stacking coffee cups on a tray. “No more problems with the cheating thing?”

Luke could feel his face redden, and he dropped his eyes to his shoes. “Tilden was good about it,” Luke whispered.

“Too good about it?” Tyler asked with a smile.

“God, no. I don’t know. I got in trouble.” Luke could feel himself flush.

“OK, that’s cleared up. So, what’s going on? I’m a submissive and have been known to brat,” Tyler said in a deep voice. “I can tell when a fellow submissive is on the edge. It usually ends badly if you don’t tell someone. Stop hovering with the coffee cups and sit down and talk to me.”

Luke pulled out a kitchen stool and perched on it, wrapping his legs around its legs. His fingers traced the edge of the counter in front of him.

"It can’t be that bad. You haven’t robbed a bank, hacked into the college computer system and changed all the grades, or decided you’re really straight and moving to Texas tomorrow?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Luke said and ran his hand through his tangled curls before slumping against the counter. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Tyler sat down on the stool next to Luke, sighing as he took the weight off his feet. “I’m getting too old for all this standing. Is everything happening too fast here?”

Luke tapped his fingers on the counter and shifted uneasily on the stool. He glanced around the room. For an apartment kitchen, it was surprisingly non generic. Plates in bright primary colors decorated the tops of cabinets and photographs covered nearly every blank wall surface: incredible mountain ranges, vast tracts of sand with rocky outcroppings, herds of elephants in at what at least looked like their native Africa, and elaborate Buddhist temples. “Did you take the pictures?”

“We did, but that wasn’t my question.”

“You’re not a top.”

“No I’m not,” Tyler said with a wry grin, “But I can get one if you want.”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Luke said, lifting his hands in surrender before slumping back over the counter.

“Then spill it.” Tyler massaged the back of Luke’s neck.

“There’s just all these people who know and Tilden’s parents...” Luke trailed off.

“Dorothy and Arthur seem very nice. They don’t have a problem with the relationship, do they?”

Luke shook his head. “It’s just Tilden’s...”

“Distracted, tense, hesitant to be dominant enough. Have I covered it?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to add more to his plate.”

“Luke, look at me.” Tyler put his large finger under Luke’s chin and forced the younger man’s eyes up. “Is it your decision to decide what Tilden can or can’t handle?”

“No.” Luke shook his head vigorously. Tyler might be a submissive, but he was certainly acting dominant, and Luke had no desire to anger him.

“Trust me. It ends badly. I’ve been there myself more times than I like to remember, and I think your Tilden is a lot like my Josh. I wouldn’t mess around with him. Talk to him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Luke said with a small shrug. “It’s just we’re on TV tonight and we’ve got that meeting tonight at school.”

“Most of the students are going to be jealous. You’re the big media star with two handsome partners. What’s the meeting at school?”

“Tilden promised that we’d do a brat or submissive support group. I’d forgotten about it until this morning.” Luke ran his fingers through his hair. “What am I going to tell them? I know nothing about being a brat. I’m still flailing around like an elephant trying to do ballet.”

“Stop fretting. You’re a perfect guide. Those kids are going to want to know what it’s like from the ground floor, not from an expert. I’m sure you and Mike will awe them.” Tyler gave Luke a big, wide faced grin. “Now are you going to buck up, or do I need to get a top?”

“I’m fine. It was temporary insanity only,” Luke said in his most confident voice. The thought of Joshua Martin sitting across the counter questioning him was more terrifying than any student meeting or television show.

“You’re not fine,” Tyler cuffed the back of Luke’s head lightly. “But I think you’re better. Your sense of humor’s back. And yes, I do notice,” Tyler said laughing. “I’m a card carrying submissive or as you prefer brat; I’m tuned into that kind of thing. Now we better mingle, or my Josh will be all over us.”