Friends and Family 11

Chapter 11

Tilden listened to the rings and then the recorded voicemail message suggesting he either leave a message or dial the history department’s secretary. Odd. Milton always answered his phone at this hour in the morning. Maybe he went for an early morning handball game or went into Boston with Sheldon? They might need to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Not Milton, who’d probably finished before the shopping centers took down their back to school specials but maybe Sheldon. Sheldon claimed that half the fun was scrambling around on Christmas Eve, looking for the perfect gift for a colleague whom you didn’t even like. Of course, Sheldon’s perfect gifts were never what the lucky recipient had in mind. Several had even resulted in a trip over Milton’s knees.

Tilden glanced at his watch. He’d have to get his boys in from the pool soon. He’d sent them out to burn off some steam before Sean’s arrival after barely rescuing his fellow guests from the pancake that Mike was threatening to use as a Frisbee. The pancake had been inedible, residing on the taste scale somewhere between dried paper and the strange cold and clammy blini that were served in the cafeteria at St. Petersburg’s State University. The cooking was not up to Mace and Trent’s standards, and Tilden had decided if they served fried boloney again at any meal he would search out a grocery store. He’d numbed his taste buds in Russia, but he preferred not to do it again.

The pool area was quiet besides the splashing of Luke and Mike. A quartet of prim older men were studying their next shot on the miniature golf course as if the U.S. Open golf championship relied on the accuracy of the putt. Two women were knitting well back from the pool, dressed in flowing caftans and oversized straw hats. Luke leapt into the pool, sending out a resounding splash that caused water droplets to land only centimeters from the knitters.

“Luka, Misha, it’s time to go. I think the other guests might prefer to not feel they need a poncho.”

“It’s a pool,” Luke said with a grin, climbing out of water and giving a big shake as if he were an oversized dog.

“Do they look like they’re dressed for swimming?” Tilden raised an eyebrow. They were the only guests that were below retirement age, and Tilden was suspicious that his boys were taking a perverse pleasure in adding to the other guests’ gray hair and tightly pursed lips. As long as it didn’t get carried away, Tilden didn’t mind. Several of the guests’ pointed and loud speculation about the relationship between the three of them had been borderline hurtful. Tilden was used to his progressive college town, where being gay with two partners didn’t even warrant a second look; he’d forgotten the hard fought changes that had happened over the past sixty years. The hotel guests were old enough to remember the apocalyptic predictions of the gay marriage foes, and some may have believed them.

“Maybe full dress and cardigan sweaters are the newest in swim fashion. Mike and I must go shopping. We are so behind the times.” Luke said, with an exaggerated flip of his hair and a near soprano voice. He couldn’t quite pull off the obligatory stereotyped gay character of the mainstream sitcoms because both Luke and Mike broke out into hysterical laughter.

“Malchiki, you are giddy today. I’m sure I could find some lovely Russian verbs that need conjugated, or I could teach you to decline the numbers if you need help settling.”

“No, we’re on vacation,” Mike protested. “I’ve vowed no Russian until after the new year.”

“Pravda?” Tilden teased. “I know I heard you say something nasty about those pancakes this morning in Russian.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let me throw them. What other option did I have?”

Tilden smiled. He didn’t get the connection between bad pancakes and the Russian language, but anything that kept Mike interested was good. Mike wasn’t a bad student, now that he had sufficient motivation, but Luke was exceptional. Tilden would only see a handful of students as gifted as Luke in his lifetime as a teacher. Luke’s grammar and vocabulary were already comparable to most strong second year students, and it wouldn’t be long before Mike would have trouble understanding Luke and Tilden when they chatted in Russian. Tilden hoped it wouldn’t completely put Mike off Russian. He only needed two years to meet the college requirements, and Mike was used to being the leader of the two boys. Tilden wondered if Mike would vanish from the ranks of Russian students, requirements met and embarrassed at Luke’s superiority.

“Come on, guys. We don’t want to keep Sean waiting.” Tilden tossed a towel at Mike. The boy hadn’t taken his gold nipple ring out; the older crowd was eyeing it curiously, and at least a few of the older guys seemed to have more interest than curiosity alone. Mike was good looking with dark chest hair fading over his hard abdomen and a fine trail disappearing inside his swim trunks. “Put a shirt on, boy.” Tilden stepped close, handing Mike his T-shirt. “Your body is only for me, not for those lecherous voyeurs,” Tilden whispered and patted Mike on his butt.

Luke, who’d been standing close enough to hear the conversation, grinned and grabbed his shirt off a nearby chaise lounge. “Feeling possessive?” Luke asked with a surprising amount of cheek.

“Always. Now hop to it. Sean is supposed to meet us at ten.”

“He’s a brat; he’ll be late. Have you ever known a brat to be on time?” Mike grumbled.

“You’re not,” Tilden teased. “It practically takes an entire regiment of Cossack horsemen to get you anywhere on time, but I’ve been told punctual boys do exist.” Tilden gave Luke a significant look; they’d nearly missed their connection to Florida because Luke had been studying the murals on the airport walls.

Luke flushed, and Mike grinned. “It would be no fun for you if we were perfect boys. We have to keep your brat taming muscles in shape. It’s like any exercise, you’ll lose your conditioning without continual practice.”

“Brat.” Tilden would have swatted Mike if they hadn’t had an appreciative audience, and Tilden knew Mike was convinced his butt was safe. “Have you been taking lessons from Sheldon? You’d better be careful, or I’ll take lessons from Milton. He swats in public.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mike said, grinning.

“Humph, don’t try me.”

“Well, maybe not today,” Mike said with a theatrical rub of his butt. “I’m still feeling yesterday.”

“Obviously not enough, Misha.” Tilden caught his partner’s wrist, turned him, and with a quick wrist flick landed a slap on his hip. “Behave.”

“Unfair. That was a Milton move,” Mike said, dancing out of reach.

“Behave or I’ll practice a few more moves.” Tilden grinned. He was enjoying playing with his boys and pleased to see that both seemed undamaged by yesterdays events.

Luke and Mike ran ahead to their rented cabana, playfully jumping the planters. Sean wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t one of those compulsive submissives, Tilden thought with some relief, ushering his two boys inside. He didn’t feel up to dealing with a man who was melting down because papers weren’t aligned properly on the table. Tilden had no experience with that kind of submissive. Mace could sometimes get frazzled if he burnt a pie, but it was rare, and Trent could settle him with a funny story about raw cake or sunken soufflé. Milton could tell tales about a boy that went in full spin if the table wasn’t set every evening with both dessert and salad forks leveled and crosschecked into perfect alignment. It had been back in his early college days, and the boy had been staying with Gordon for some reason that Tilden either couldn’t remember or was never told. From the story, Milton had tried the usual things—somehow this visitor had been Milton’s responsibility—without success. The boy wasn’t daunted by corner time, eating alone in the kitchen, and even a light spanking didn’t stop the silverware obsession. Finally Gordon had stepped in and taken all the silverware, the dining room table, and the kitchen table out of the house and served nothing but sandwiches at every meal for the next weak. Milton said that you hadn’t lived until the fourth day of Marmite sandwiches and bananas for breakfast while eating on the kitchen floor. 

Luke tossed himself and his dripping towel onto the bed.  “Change. You’ll get a chill and you don’t want wet sheets tonight.”

Luke made a face and grumbled, but he did as Tilden had suggested, taking Mike into the bathroom with him. Both boys came out wearing shorts and new bright yellow T-shirts. The front said “Banner College Russian Club” and the back “Tikhon Ivanovich, our hero” with a picture of Tilden. The script was in Russian, of course.

“So this is what Russian club does when I have to be at a faculty meeting,” Tilden said, scrutinizing the shirts with mock sternness. “I don’t see any mistakes.”

“Milton proofread them for us,” Luke said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not, druzhok.” Tilden hugged Luke. “It’s a bit embarrassing to have people parading around with my face on the back of their shirt, but I’ll live.”

“Rock stars and politicians do it all the time. It’s the new trend for Russian teachers.”

“The department head and the administration will cheer you on. They’re all for enrollment boosting measures.” Tilden laughed. “Spasibo. How much are you selling them for? I have to get one for my dad.”

Luke smiled, relieved. “Fifteen dollars, but for you a special deal. Do you think we can do two for one?” Luke asked Mike.

“Special deal for big man on campus. Two for one too cheap. Two for twenty.”

Tilden laughed as his partners pretended to haggle back and forth. “Two for fifteen is my best offer unless you can do this haggling in Russian. Do it in Russian, and I’ll pay full price. It’s going to a good cause.”

Both boys switched to Russian. Granted the grammar was a little shaky, and there were some vocabulary gaps, but it was understandable and on topic. “Maledtsi.” Luke flushed with pleasure at the praise. Tilden pulled out his wallet and handed them thirty dollars. “You won. I’ll pay full price.”

“You don’t have to pay at all,” Mike said, handing back the money.

“No, I want to. Put it in the club fund. How are they selling?”

“This is the first run, so we don’t know. I expect like hotcakes. You are a big TV star.” Mike batted his eyelashes and smirked.

“Behave, boy,” Tilden teased. “Your butt must be getting too cool.”

“No, it’s plenty warm. It’s still a nice pink color, isn’t it, Luke?”

“Lovely shade. The perfect blushing pink.”

“I’ll have both of you sporting bold red if you don’t stop. Go watch TV like good sweet partners.” Tilden waved his arms in exasperation, laughing hard.

A rap on the door interrupted their laughter. 

A man of around thirty in a perfectly fitting suit and a soft pastel shirt stood in the doorway, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder and clutching a barrister case in his other hand.

“You must be Mr. Wright. I’m Tilden Blake. Please come in. Mike, help him with his cases.”

“It’s fine I’ve got everything,” Sean said, stumbling over the threshold. “Sorry I’m late. I had to make some phone calls and lost track of the time.”

“That’s fine.” Tilden said reassuringly. “We have no later engagements. Make yourself comfortable. You might want to put your papers on the bed. We don’t have much table space in here.”

“This is primitive,” Sean said, looking around. “Beautiful carpet. I must try this shade in my apartment. Do they have high speed internet here?”

Tilden shook his head. “It’s your grandparents’ Florida. Do you need it?”

“I can make do without it.”

“Mr. Wright, I want you to meet my two partners.”

“Please call me Sean. I’m here as your lawyer, but I know Gordon told you about me.” Sean blushed and a crooked grin flashed across his face.

“Yes, brat, but we have work to do first. Am I understood?”

“Ah, yes, sir,” Sean said, a big grin still on his face.

“Mr. Wright, can we proceed?”

“Ah, so that’s the way it is with you.” The pout on Sean’s face was expressive, but he bent to his case, pulled out several thick binders, and flipped quickly to marked spots. “As you probably realized when signing the documents, the studio has the clear upper hand in all disputes. There are endless reasons why they can terminate you on the show, basically no reason is needed, but you are contractually obliged to fulfill your role as actors with few exceptions for death and other equally uninviting circumstances. You are also prohibited from disclosing any of the conditions on the set for a period of five years.”

“In other words we’re screwed,” Mike said. “I thought indentured servitude was prohibited.”

“Well,” Sean said, “Mike, your presence I think actually gives up some options.” Sean flipped through the papers before coming to a yellow highlighted area. “Here the contract states, the actors, which are you guys, are prohibited from engaging in outside sexual liaisons during the period of the show, and it’s grounds for immediate dismissal. It’s not as if you kept the creation of a threesome secret. I’m sure I could argue successfully that Mike’s acceptance on the show was in error, and therefore he is exempt from the contracts. I could try the same tack for you, Tilden and Luke, but I think it’s a weaker argument.”

“They let someone hit my partner. I had to rescue one young participant from an abuser. I shouldn’t have to expose my partners to gross bodily harm in the name of entertainment,” Tilden said, his tone clipped but his voice still level. 

“You have an idealized view of reality television. If there’s not at least one major brawl during filming, the casting director is fired. Brawling increases ratings. You can bet Mike’s spat will be shone from every possible angle.”

Tilden groaned. “Is there anyway we can prevent it?”

“We’re negotiating from a weak position. I doubt it.”

“Sorry,” Mike said, looking guilty.

“Misha,” Tilden said, putting enough sharpness in his voice to guarantee that Mike would look at his top. “We’re already discussed this. The case is closed. Do you need to sit closer to me?”

Mike shook his head. He was sitting— or more accurately, sprawling—on the bed across the room. Tilden had discovered if he kept his partners close, they would settle. With Luke, Tilden would draw his slighter lover onto his lap, and the blond head would dive against Tilden’s chest. With Mike, Tilden only needed Mike close enough for a threat of a swat to be a real possibility, or if he was at a slow boil, he’d drift off happily at Tilden’s feet.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.” The tone sounded sincere, and with a stranger here Tilden preferred not to force the issue. Mike liked being at his top’s feet, but it wasn’t a position that Tilden was completely comfortable with. He couldn’t help but imagine giant men with over developed steroid assisted biceps and obscenely tight pants. Milton had laughed when Tilden had described his fears.

“You should see Gordon and Landon play. Gordon dresses in an immaculate Savile Row suit complete with a silk tie and never raises his voice above a whisper. He could do an entire scene in a train compartment sitting between two nuns, and they would never be the wiser.”

Tilden had snorted and dismissed the idea of Gordon being subtle, but Tilden had known what Milton had meant. It was a mental space Tilden and his partner needed to occupy, and right now he and Mike weren’t there.

Tilden took another look at Mike. His body was sprawled on the bed, but the muscles weren’t relaxed, and the eyes darted around the room. Tilden clicked his fingers and pointed at the floor at his feet. Mike rose easily, his shoulders already settling, slipped across the floor, and dropped at Tilden’s feet.

“Good boy.” Tilden caressed Mike’s short hair.

Mike looked up, breaking his sub form, something that Tilden couldn’t care less about, but Milton admonished was part of the illusion. An absolutely sweet and innocent smile flicked across Mike’s face before he dropped his eyes.

Tilden fingered the back of Mike’s neck. “Misha, you’re welcome.” Mike didn’t raise his head again, but from the muscles in his neck, Tilden knew he’d raised another smile, and his explosive lover was nearly purring at his feet. Tilden looked over at Luke who nodded and almost imperceptibly shrugged.

“Cool,” Sean blurted out. “Gordon didn’t tell me you did this sort of thing.

“Mr. Wright, I believe we were discussing our predicament with the television network, not the personal lives of my partners,” Tilden said, letting a chill slip into his voice.

“Sorry,” Sean said with an unrepentant grin. “It’s just you’re a lot better than I thought you’d be. Gordon said you were good but reserved. I don’t usually go for reserved guys.”

“The legal work,” Tilden rapped out.

“Yes, where were we?”

“You were discussing the fact that Mike may never have been legally bound by the contracts.”

“Right. As I said before, I think this argument works well for Mike, but is weak for you and Luke.”

“And my concerns for their safety have no bearing on my ability to leave the show?”

Sean studied Tilden for a moment, his expression now serious, both the boyishness and the brattiness having disappeared. “For us, especially for you, exposing your partners to potentially unpleasant experiences with other so called tops violates a fundamental core of your personality, but a judge is unlikely to be either a dominant or a submissive. Even if we hit the jackpot and found either person on the bench, he or she would be suppressing or hiding the tendency and most likely rule against us. We’re not pariahs in society, and we’re protected by anti-discrimination legislation, but let’s face it we’re not exactly John Q Public. To most people, the slap Mike took was no different from a spanking and to many may seem less harsh. There’s no bruising or redness. Did you spank him yesterday?”

Tilden glanced at Mike, looking for reassurance to discuss this topic. Mike stood; his submissive quietness had vanished, and he glared at Sean. “Yes, and do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Sean said hastily, “I’m a submissive. I more than understand. Are you still red?”

“Slightly pink.”

“What kind of question is that?” Tilden broke in.

“The kind of question the opposing legal counsel is going to ask. To the average person, you hit harder than Jack. Some will even see you as abusive, not a promising way to win a case.”

“It’s different. It’s consensual, a mutually agreed upon way to manage our relationship,” Tilden said, feeling suddenly tired.” He knew he’d been insulated from the worst of the resistance against power exchange relationships merely by the fact that he wasn’t quite forty yet. When Gordon and Joshua had been young men, many had still raised eyebrows at same sex relationships, and a top or sub status had to be carefully hidden for fear of being perceived as mentally ill, abusive, or an incompetent screw up. A known sub, especially the submissives who fit Luke’s or even Sheldon’s model, might get looks of pity or offers of help in more progressive circles, while a top was likely to feel a police baton across his shoulders. Tilden was insulated from the unpleasantness that was still whispered over drinks in some exclusive clubs and the raunchy jokes in locker rooms. Milton openly embraced the lifestyle with no trace of secrecy or embarrassment, and few would consider thinking snide thoughts in his presence, let alone voicing comments. The college supported a variety of lifestyles as part of their ongoing effort for diversity, and Tilden’s parents were wonderful. That was the only way Tilden could describe them. They’d accepted that their son was this odd creature called a top and opened their arms to his two young partners.

“I’m aware of that,” Sean said softly. “I’m a sub, after all, and all my submissive instincts scream that I should leap for your lap and eat crusts from your hand. The judge and jury aren’t going to be subs or even tops. They’re going to be people whose only exposure to our lifestyle is through sensationalized television and tabloid journalism. If we get really lucky, we might have someone on the jury who knows someone who knows someone who is rumored to be a dominant or a submissive. The opposition counsel will use every trick in the book to make sure this case isn’t truly tried in front of your peers. And how will your college tolerate a trial? The questions will be ugly; they’ll do everything to paint you as an abusive bastard. Will mommy and daddy feel comfortable sending precious Bopkins to a college where a professor admits in court that he beats his college age partners?”

“We’re already on television,” Tilden said.

“An entertainment program. Sane people know that reality TV is not the same as reality, and while you may hate the program, it is in the network’s best interest not to portray tops as out of control sadists. I’ve watched the program. The subs, or brats as they call them, are portrayed as wily rascals trying to outsmart goodhearted but frequently incompetent tops. In court you will be the villain, and your boys will be the victims. It’s not a pretty picture.”

“Are you suggesting that I walk back to the producers and meekly beg for them to let me back on the show? I won’t do it. I’d rather teach English as a second language in some provisional backwater in freezing Siberia than return to that show.”

“I know,” Sean said, holding up his hand. “I understand. I just wanted you to understand the odds we face.”

“Do we have any good options? I’d rather not drag my partners through a hopeless and messy court battle.”

“I’m game to fight if that’s what we need to do,” Luke said.

Tilden gave him a small smile. “I prefer to pick battles I can win. Tops are kind of funny that way.”

“I would suggest we consider arbitration if the network pursues this,” Sean said.

“Wait. I thought it was a done deal they would pursue this. You were painting an apocalyptic picture.”

“It’s my job to describe the worst case scenario. The network has had several run-ins with my clients, which they’ve lost. Granted their cases were stronger than yours, but USBC may prefer not to meet me in court.”

“OK. Show us the ace up your sleeve.” Tilden leaned back in his chair, watching the lawyer closely. Sean was enjoying the moment, but also seemed slightly nervous. The young lawyer was obviously a courtroom showman.

Sean grinned. “I think we can strike a bargain with them. The filming for this show is reaching its conclusion in a month, and the network only needs a limited amount of additional footage from you for it to appear that you are still a participant, albeit off location.”

“What are you suggesting? I am not having a network camera crew in our house again.”

“Steady. Protective, aren’t you?” Sean grinned, his eyes lighting up with a childish glee. “I’m suggesting an independent camera crew of our own choosing. I’ve already taken the liberty to contact Mark Graves. He’s famous for his highbrow documentaries. You might have seen them on the educational network. You do have a TV, don’t you?”

“All we ever watch is Russian comedies,” Mike said from the floor where he was leaning against Tilden’s legs.

“Mace has a TV, but he likes the Bass Network. How many people can you watch measure a fish?” Luke asked.

“Even if we had TV, I don’t think you’d watch the type of programming Mark Graves is famous for,” Tilden said. “I’ve seen several of his documentaries on the native people of the North and remote religious communities. He won a prize at Cannes for his documentary on religious aesthetics.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Mike groaned.

“Safe enough though,” Luke said seriously. “If he works in religious communities, he must be discreet.”

“What does Mr. Graves want from us, and how would this satisfy the network people?” Tilden asked, thinking of the practicalities.

“I represent Mark and his partner, and they have both previously expressed an interest in doing a piece on the Green Mountain Boys. Mark’s gay, which I assume you knew, but he’s not a top or a sub, or at least if he is, he’s a damn sight more discreet than most of the couples I know. I think I could sell the network, for a small fee to Mark of course, on the idea of folding some of the tasteful documentary style filming into Meet Your Mate in place of your actual appearance on the show. It’s a win-win situation for everyone.”

“Except for us with TV cameras still in our face,” Tilden said.

“Mark’s crew is good; you won’t even notice them.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Tilden said with a frown.

“It’s the best option I can give you, and Mark will do it as long as we start the filming before Christmas.”

“You’ve already talked to Mark?”

“This morning.”

“I don’t like this.” Tilden shook his head before turning to search the expressions on his partners’ faces, hoping for answers. Mike was on the floor, leaning against his top’s leg and calmly submissive. Luke was lying on the other bed, watching Sean and Tilden. He flashed Tilden a broad grin when he noticed his top watching.

“I trust you to make the right choice. You’re good at that kind of thing,” Luke said, still smiling.

Tilden took a deep breath. The absolute trust his partners were showing in his decision making was flattering, but also unsettling. He wanted their opinions; this was a big decision for all three of them. He started to voice his concern, but stopped as he watched his partners’ sanguine, carefree attitude. They were voicing their opinion. They wanted him to use his prerogative as the top and decide.

“Sean, I need a few minutes to get my thoughts in order. Do you three want to go have a swim and lunch poolside?”

“Cool,” Sean said, grinning. “I take it I have permission to be Sean the bratty sub instead of Sean the hotshot lawyer.”

“I expect you’re always Sean the brat to some degree.” Tilden smiled and ruffled Sean’s hair. “Go play, but please use some restraint. We are in public here and not exactly in friendly territory.”

“He means the octogenarians don’t expect to encounter brats running free,” Mike said, untangling his long frame and standing up. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Why am I not comforted by this? Don’t antagonize the guests. I know it’s tempting.”

“We can’t soak the knitting circle. They looked overheated in their cardigans; we were just trying to prevent heatstroke,” Mike teased.

“Behave,” Tilden growled. “I’ll let you know of my decision in an hour or so.” 

Tilden watched the three young men set out for the pool. They were already exhibiting the high jinks of young men too long on their best behavior. Sean had changed into a minute Speedo in a vivid purple. Mike, seemingly under the influence of Sean, was sporting an equally skimpy suit in red. Only Luke was dressed in more conservative swim trunks in an appealing blue color. All together they looked like an oversexed bunch of crayons. At least the crowd here was too old to notice, or Tilden hoped they were.

“Behave,” Tilden half warned, kissing his two and playfully swatting Sean. “It’s you I’m worried about, brat.”

“I’ll be good.” Sean gave Tilden a cheeky smile and pulled the door closed behind them.

Tilden poured himself a glass of water, wishing the decision was as easy for him as it seemed to be for his two partners. He had to get it right for them. He could hunker down and let the storm pass, but they were young, vulnerable, and his responsibility.

Tilden picked up his cell and punched in the number for Milton. Mike had programmed the speed dial, something that Tilden could never figure out, even though he could read the directions in three languages. The phone didn’t even ring before Milton’s voicemail answered. Tilden hung up without bothering to leave a message. Milton always answered his phone unless he was teaching. With Sheldon’s penchant for trouble, he needed to be available for rescue work. Tilden fleetingly worried that something had happened at home or with Milton’s grandfather before deciding he was being fanciful, and the more likely scenario was that Sheldon had borrowed the phone and either killed it or forgotten to charge the battery. Tilden had lost count of the number of drowned phones.

Tilden punched in his parents’ number, the number they’d had since his childhood. They’d finally submitted to the cell phone requirement, but if they were home, their cells would be off.

“Hello.”

“Mom, is Dad there?”

“Is everything OK? Are your boys OK?”

“Yes, Mom.” His mother had the nose of a bloodhound for trouble, and she wasn’t about to shift the phone to Dad without at least some explanation. “I just want to talk to him about politics in academia.”

“They’re pressuring you about your young partners?”

“No, Mom. Can I talk to Dad? He can tell you all about it when I’m done.” 

Tilden heard his mom call for his dad and then shuffling sounds as the phone was handed to his dad. “Tilden, are you in some trouble at Banner?”

“No, Dad.” Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea to call them. His parents were great and accepted his lifestyle, but he didn't chat with them about it. His father knew his way around academia, but how was Tilden going to explain the problem? “You understand something about the relationship I’m in with Mike and Luke.”

“A little, son,” Dad said after a moments hesitation. “Mom and I don’t like to pry into your private life.”

“It’s not like its private being on that TV show,” Tilden said grimly. “We’ve left the show.”

“Good. It wasn’t you, not that I’m criticizing.”

“It’s OK, Dad. It wasn’t me, and it was hard for my partners. The problem is we signed a contract, and the network is threatening legal action.”

“Can’t Sheldon help you? He works for the network, doesn’t he?”

“It’s not his department. Our lawyer says they could make it very unpleasant for me at Banner.” Tilden outlined his discussion with Sean. Tilden’s dad could come off like a bumbling professor, sometimes not even bothering to wear matching socks, but he’d thrived in academia and understood its politics. The bumbling professor act masked his sheer brilliance.

“Tilden, I understand your reluctance to appear on a single additional moment of television, but I’d recommend following Sean’s advice. A flanking maneuver will be more effective than a straight assault, plus you need to protect yourself within your department. You’re a good and dedicated teacher, and you’ve been there long enough for petty jealousy to develop. Someone will believe that you are the only one standing in the way of a coveted full professorship. Don’t freely hand them ammunition.” 

“Thanks, Dad. Will you tell Mom? She’s worried.”

“I will. Have you talked to Milton? He knows the climate of your campus better than I do. My concerns might be exaggerated.”

“No, Dad, I think you’re right, but I’ll talk to Milton.”

Tilden said the requisite goodbyes before hanging up and dialing the landline to their house. It wasn’t a number he used often. They still had one phone on every floor, but reaching the desired person was sheer luck. It reminded Tilden of the old days when his parents had called the dorm floor he lived on, and after multiple misdirected messages he might if he were lucky find out that his mom was on the phone.

“Hello.”

“Who is this?” Tilden asked, not recognizing the voice.

“Landon, and who is this?”

“What are you doing there? Where’s Milton? Is everything OK?”

“Tilden, right?”

“Yes.” Tilden didn’t add you damn fool, even though the idea was coursing through his brain. “Where’s Milton? He’s not hurt?”

“Deep breath. No one’s hurt. You’re a top talking to a potentially distressed boy. You’re supposed to be calm.”

Tilden cursed silently and creatively to himself in Russian before pointedly demanding to  know what was going on. “Landon, I’m in no mood to be lectured on top decorum. Why are you answering our phone? Is Gordon there?”

“Gordon’s here, but in your mood I wouldn’t recommend talking to him unless you want him to set you straight.”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“You haven’t heard about Sheldon’s escapade?”

“No, is he hurt?” Tilden couldn’t imagine Gordon being in their house unless Milton had been in need of support. Tilden hadn’t been there because of this damn TV show. He’d failed his best friend.

“Everyone’s fine here,” Landon said quietly and steadily. “Blade, Steve, and Sheldon went drinking last night, which violated the pledge. Gordon caned Milton and Joshua. Your boys were declared exempt since they weren't in the state. Everyone’s asleep. I don’t need much sleep so I was prowling around. If you’ve calmed down, I’ll wake Gordon. I think you should talk to him.”

“I don’t want to talk to Gordon,” Tilden said through clenched teeth. That man had caned Milton. Tilden might as well have tea with Stalin.

“Do not hang up. Stay on the phone. I’ll get him.”

Tilden held the phone, surprised by Landon’s sharp tone. Tilden didn’t know Landon well. He’d always seen him as the guy with Gordon. He’d assumed he was a submissive. Landon had even identified himself as one, but he was issuing orders with the skill of a practiced top.

“Tilden, are you still there?” a soft voice came out of the phone, not the barked orders that Tilden was used to hearing from Gordon. “Landon said you were upset. He actually described it as very upset, and he’s a good judge of people. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You caned Milton,” Tilden spat.

“Yes, I did. You’re an intelligent man. I l know you understood the terms of the pledge; I didn’t have any other choice.”

“Bullshit! There are always choices.”

“Tilden Blake, I know you’re upset but is provoking a fight with me the path you wish to choose? I will win, my lad.”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m not your lad. I don’t want your interference.”

“You’re a top that needs sorted. It’s one of my responsibilities. I’d prefer to do this without a major row, but if you need a good shout I’m here, and I’m safe.”

If Gordon’s tone hadn’t been quiet and matter of fact, Tilden would have launched into a tirade. Instead he swallowed, gripped the phone tighter, and bit back the accusations on the tip of his tongue.

“Sorry,” Tilden muttered, feeling the heat in his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Tops are entitled to tempers and mistakes,” Gordon said mildly. “I assume no one else heard you?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t think you’d let go like that if anyone else were present. Did you talk with Sean?”

“Yes, it’s complicated.”

“Try me. I’ve been told I’m intelligent enough, even if I am excessively stubborn and opinionated.”

Tilden had to smile at Gordon’s description of himself. It fit. 

“I don’t want to pry it out of you,” Gordon said when Tilden still hadn’t spoken. “I don’t think you’d respond well to the crowbar. Is this about Sean? What did he suggest?”

Tilden had to admire Gordon’s skill. Even with Tilden’s silence, Gordon was circling at the heart of the problem.

“What does Sean recommend?”

“He wants to use a documentary as bargaining leverage.” Tilden was surprised when the words came out. He hadn’t planned to tell Gordon, but Tilden knew he was being maneuvered by an expert. The questions, the calm tone, the self-deprecating humor. Gordon was good, and it was easier to talk than resist. After the first sentence, the rest was easy. Tilden outlined Sean’s proposal, highlighting the possible difficulties.

Gordon listened patiently, only asking for clarification on university policy on spouses and partners. “Tilden, what do you want?”

“I want to cause the least amount of disruption for Mike and Luke. They’ve already been dragged through hell’s half acre.”

“You are not responsible for their participation on the show, nor are you responsible for Mike’s inability to refrain from pounding on incompetent louts. I understand his sentiment, even though I deplore his action. I’d recommend following Sean’s advice. It’s the best of a bad lot. I have been aware of Mr. Graves’s interest in the Green Mountain Boys for a number of years, and I believe he will be discreet. You have our full support if you agree to that route.”

“Thank you,” Tilden said softly. “I apologize for my earlier behavior.”

“You’re entitled to one of those occasionally. I’ll give you a free pass today. Go tell your boys, and rein in Sean before he causes havoc.”

“I sent them swimming. How much trouble can he cause?”

“You’ve met Sean. You don’t need to ask that.”

“He seems like a nice young man.”

“Very nice and very creative,” Gordon said dryly. “He stayed with us a summer when he was in law school. I didn’t think our house nor Landon was going to survive. Landon’s never said what he did to the kid, but the last month passed peacefully, and Sean steers well clear of Landon.

Tilden heard a noise that sounded like Landon protesting and a muffled swat before Landon’s voice came over the phone. “I’d go stand over Sean; he’s trouble.”

Gordon must have snatched the phone back. “My dear partner exaggerates. Sean is downright sensible compared to his younger days.”

“That’s not saying much,” Tilden heard in the background.

Tilden broke the phone connection, amused by the obvious play going on between Gordon and Landon. Tilden had never seen that side of Gordon, and it was hard to assimilate the open teasing of Gordon’s partner with the strict, formal Gordon who Tilden always encountered, a Gordon who demanded absolute obedience and fidelity, a man of extremely bright lines in the sand. Tilden knew his role as a top, and it was less restrained by adherence to codes and traditions than Gordon’s philosophy. Milton had called Tilden’s perception of Gordon shallow, an inability to see beyond the public persona.

“He’s of the older generation, like my grandfather. It doesn’t mean he’s cruel, but it means he works within a different set of expectations. Accept those limitations and Gordon can be very kind.”

Tilden had dismissed Milton’s argument. He’d encountered Gordon’s kindness first hand—the sting of the cane. Gordon had to know of Tilden’s dislike of him, yet he’d offered the full resources of the Green Mountain Boys to protect Tilden’s family. He’d arranged for legal representation, and Tilden strongly suspected was covering the bill. Lawyers of Sean’s caliber, who rubbed elbows with entertainment stars, didn’t come cheap.

Tilden tossed a towel over his shoulder. The mystery of Gordon wasn’t something Tilden was going to decipher in a Florida bungalow. 

The boys were swimming, running and laughing around the pool. The other hotel patrons had drawn back from the water’s edge in a semi-futile attempt to keep cards, books, and knitting dry. Sean, with a look back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin, which Tilden was beginning to think was his trademark expression, and hurled himself into the water with a massive splash, sending a mini typhoon all over Tilden. 

Tilden jumped back and shook the water off. “You scoundrel, come talk to me.”

“You’re not mad?” Sean said, climbing out of the pool and giving Tilden a wide-eyed innocent look.

“Who me?” Tildes said, eyeing his wet clothes and dropping a companionable arm over Sean’s shoulders and drawing him out of earshot. “So how much trouble do you want to get into with me today? I’m not mad about a little water, but don’t soak the remaining guests, and more importantly don’t lure my partners into trouble. I’ll spank you if you cause trouble. If you get my boys in trouble, so help me I’ll do more than spank you. Make sure that’s what you want.” There, Tilden had said it. This boy was angling for a spanking, and he hoped his effort to divert him to harmless water fun would be successful. Mike and Luke didn’t need trouble today. “Do you understand me, young man?”

“Nobody told me you could be such a tough guy. Here I thought you were the harmless professor type.”

“Just don’t cause trouble, boy.”

“I hear you,” Sean said; his eyes dropped to the ground, and he shifted uncomfortably under Tilden’s arm. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” Tilden squeezed, the young lawyer’s shoulder. “Go play. I’ll be over here drying out. And, Sean, you can tell Mark Graves that we’ll do it.”

Sean smiled, his work smile, not the cheeky grin. “You made the right choice. I’ll put the process in motion tonight.”

Tilden stretched out on a vacant chaise and pretended to read his book while watching the young men horse around in the water. It was a beautiful sight—Mike dark and sensual, Luke fair with long blond curls, and Sean somewhere in between. Tilden wasn’t the only one watching. Several of the bridge games seemed to be in suspension as the players surreptitiously watched the boys.

A group of men, probably just back from golf judging from their attire, settled by the pool with colorful drinks decorated with fruit and miniature paper umbrellas. Tilden spotted Sean slinking around the pool edge. Tilden dropped his book, prepared to shout, but he was too late. Sean threw himself at the water, sending a wave cascading over the golfers.

Sean popped out of the pool and smiled at the sputtering wet men. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were close enough to get wet.”

“Idiot.” Tilden heard one man say as he shook water off his newspaper. 

“I’m sorry,” Sean apologized again in a sweet, light voice that probably worked wonders on his colleagues and his family. Even the soaked men seemed mollified by Sean’s apparent sincere contrition. 

Tilden stood, keeping his eyes sharply on Sean. This was an experienced brat. He would come to Tilden without being called. Sean dove in the pool, swam across to Tilden’s side, and climbed out. Sean’s expression was classic brat in trouble, a combination of guilt and defiance.

“It’s a swimming pool. People should expect to get wet.”

“Not that wet,” Tilden countered calmly. Tilden reached for his towel and tossed it to Sean. “Dry off, and we’ll go to the room and talk.” Tilden watched closely. If Sean resisted, he’d abort the spanking and keep Sean out of the water for thirty minutes instead. Sean took the towel, his eyes down, contrite but not fearful. Tilden put his hand on the back of Sean’s neck and guided him back to the room.

Sean shivered as the air conditioning struck his still damp skin. Tilden sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Sean down to sit next to him.

“What did I tell you earlier if you soaked people at the pool?”

“That you’d spank me,” Sean whispered, his eyed down on the bedspread.

“You’re a bright boy. I don’t think you forgot the warning. I think you’re due a spanking, don’t you?”

Sean nodded. Tilden hadn’t expected a verbal answer. Even for a young man as upfront as Sean, verbally agreeing to a spanking with a stranger had to be difficult.

“OK, Sean. I’m going to take you over my knee and spank you with my hand. You can leave your swimsuit on. Tilden helped Sean into position, running his hand down the now very still boy’s back. Sean had wanted this, but the apprehension was palpable on the kid’s skin. “Sean, I’ll take care of you. Deep breaths for me.” Tilden rubbed his hand down Sean’s smooth back, waiting for the muscles to relax. 

Sean took a shuddering breath and squirmed. Tilden tightened his grip around Sean’s hips and landed the first spank. He spanked four times, watching the movement to judge to force. Sean didn’t try to escape, and his breathing calmed. Tilden rested his hand on Sean’s butt. 

“What’s this spanking for?”

“For soaking the hotel guests. You told me not to do it, and I did it anyway.”

“Thank you.” Tilden landed the next spank. Tilden was sure this spanking was about far more than some soaked guests, but he could provide this outlet for Sean.  The tears came sooner than Tilden expected, genuine and remorseful. Tilden landed a half dozen more spanks, listening to the litany of “I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it again.”

Tilden released his arm around Sean and started to help him to his knees when a flurry of arms, legs, and sharp elbows grabbed Tilden around the neck. Sean buried his face in the top’s chest.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Tilden murmured, stroking the fine hair. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean choked.

“It’s all over. We’re done now,” Tilden kept his arms around Sean, waiting for the young man to calm down. Tilden hadn’t spanked that hard. This was more tears than he expected.

Sean cried hard for several minutes, and then as if the taps had been turned off, the tears stopped. Sean tried to wiggle from Tilden’s grasp.

Tilden clicked his tongue and made a grunting scolding sound. “Sit tight. I didn’t spank you that hard. What were all the tears about?”

“I cry a lot when I’m spanked. It’s nothing.”

“You trusted me enough to spank you. Can’t you trust me enough not to lie to me?”

“You’re good,” Sean said with false heartiness and an overly bright smile.

“Flattery doesn’t do much for me. You can talk to me. I’m more than a blow up spanker doll that you can now deflate and put in the closest.” Tilden ran his hands over Sean’s shoulders, feeling the renewed tension. “I can put you back over my knee if you find it easier to talk there.”

“No, you did quite a good enough job the first time. I’m very clear that you don’t approve of soaked guests.” 

Tilden continued to rub Sean’s shoulders, waiting. This wasn’t a young man merely having fun; this was a boy with a problem. 

“Luke and Mike are lucky,” Sean whispered.

“I love them very much. I’m the lucky one to have two wonderful partners.”

“They adore you. You should see their eyes when they talk about you.” Sean wiped his face.

“Sean, the right person will come along. You’re a beautiful young man: smart, lively, entertaining.”

“And trouble.”

“That’s part of your charm for the right person.” Tilden fingers combed the soft brown hair.”

“I’m thirty now. I don’t need fairy tales about the perfect top sweeping me off my feet. I should be sent to the second hand shop. I’m not dumb.”

“Thirty is hardly old.”

“Look at your boys. They’re hardly in their twenties.”

Tilden winced. “It wasn’t planned. I never thought my partners would be younger.”

“Statistically most tops are ten years older than their partner. I’m going to have to troll the grounds of the retirement centers.”

“Forty is hardly retirement age. Do I look ready for a walker? Statistics tell you about the majority; they tell you nothing about the individual. Some submissives are the same age as their tops; some are older. Have you asked Gordon about finding you someone?”

“He set me up with a few. You know Gordon.” Sean squirmed around, so he was looking at Tilden’s face. He’s old-fashioned.” Sean licked his lips. “He thinks I need someone super strict, regimented. I don’t want that. I want to still have fun, not lose all my freedom. The tops he set me up with wanted to put my pissing on a timetable.”

Tilden laughed and kissed Sean’s forehead. “Tops can be strict without being overbearing. It’s a dance between two people, and the steps aren’t learned overnight. Do you know Milton?”

“I’ve met him. A Gordon protege,” Sean said dismissively.

“Organized sanitation breaks,” Tilden said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Sean said with a shrug. “Why?”

“You’ve met Sheldon?”

“Yeah, red-haired maniac”

“Does he seem repressed?”

“It doesn’t stop him, but his butt must be permanently red.”

“It’s a waltz between the two of them. It works for them. I couldn’t live that way, too much work, but for them it’s beautiful. It may look harsh from the outside, but if Milton wanted to break Sheldon of all the small craziness he could. He respects his partner’s needs. Their relationship didn’t happen overnight. They were both at each other’s throat for the first few years.”

“I don’t have the patience.”

“With the right top, you will.”

“Can I go now? You’ve fulfilled your top duty.” Sean gave Tilden a cheeky smile, but Tilden could see the brightness in those wide eyes.

“No, I spanked you on your terms; you talk on mine.”

“You already know everything. I’m an old rejected bratty sub.”

Tilden landed two hard swats on the exposed thigh. “Talk. Don’t create myths.”

“Ow!”

“Should I do more?” Tilden asked politely.

“No.” Sean rubbed his thigh.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?” Tilden rested the flat of his hand against Sean’s thigh. This had gone further than he expected. Spanking a near stranger in semi-play was one thing, but now he was trying to get this boy to talk. He didn’t want to spank it out of him, and Tilden wasn’t sure he could carry out the threat. “Have you met someone?” Tilden asked, taking a guess at the heart of the problem.

Sean gave Tilden a shocked look. “You’re good.”

“Tell me about him,” Tilden prodded softly.

“He came to the firm as a partner. He’s does real estate law, so we don’t work together,” Sean said quickly. “God, he’s hot.”

“Have you gone out with him?”

“A couple of times.”

“Does he know you enjoy this sort of thing?”

“I keep it hidden at the office.”

Tilden raised an eyebrow. From what he’d seen of Sean, Tilden couldn’t imagine the brattiness not shining through.

“I knew you were safe. I don’t brat like this at the office.”

“It must be hard hiding it all the time,” Tilden said sympathetically.

Sean nodded. “It sometimes shows through the cracks.”

“Did something show through with this hot real estate lawyer?”

“I was fighting with the copier,” Sean said, shamefaced. “I thought everyone else had left for the night.”

“I hate copiers. Unfortunately kicking them never helps. What happened?”

“Kevin was still in the office.”

“Kevin is the real estate lawyer?”

“Yeah. He heard the commotion. I think he thought someone was breaking in and assaulting the cleaning staff. He came running. He took one look at me, sat me down at the conference table, made me a cup of hot, sweet coffee, and ran off my copies.”

Tilden laughed. “He sounds like a top to me, and he even has copier repair skills—the perfect man.”

“Don’t tease me.” Sean stuck his lip out in a classic pout.

“You’re eminently teasable.” Tilden ruffled Sean’s hair. “Have you talked to Kevin about it?”

“No,” Sean whined. “He took me out last week, but he didn’t act toppy.”

“Talk to him.” Tilden paused. “You cover your submissive side if you’re in unknown company. As a top, I’ll tell you we also cover our top side. So called normal people find us bossy bores. Have you thought that Kevin might be embarrassed? He acted toppy with someone he didn’t know was a sub.”

“I am a sub, bratty as all get out, but a sub.”

“Tell him.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Bednyi malchik.” Tilden ruffled the soft hair again. “You have to talk to him.”

“What if I’m wrong, and he’s not a top?”

“I don’t think you’re wrong, and if you’re wrong, what’s the worst that’s going to happen? Hmm? He doesn’t sound like the type that would run to the senior partners and call you a deviant or claim sexual harassment.”

“He isn’t,” Sean said hotly.

“Talk to him.”

“You’re going to keep telling me to talk to him until I agree, aren’t you?”

“I’m a top.” Tilden smiled. “Brow beating a boy into submission is our modus operandi.”

“You’re a lousy brow beater. You’re too nice.”

“Are you going to talk to Kevin?”

“OK. Enough. I get the message. I’ll talk to him.” Sean grinned, a relaxed smile, not the professional smile or the cheeky brat grin that Tilden was beginning to realize Sean used to hide his true feelings.

“Good man. Go wash you face, and we’ll go swimming again. My partners will think you kidnapped me if I don’t make an appearance soon.”

“I wish I could,” Sean said wistfully.

“Give Kevin a chance; he might be the perfect top for you.”

“I’m never that lucky.”

“Sometimes you have to make your own luck. Now let’s get going.” Tilden gave Sean a playful swat and a push toward the sink.

The sun was high and scorching in the sky as they walked back to the pool. Luke and Mike were sprawled out across several lawn chairs. Luke stretched and opened his blue eyes. 

“I’d thought you abandoned us out here.”

“You know better than that, Luka,” Tilden teased. “You need to put more sunblock on.” Tilden reached in the bag and flipped the bottle to Luke.

“Bossy top.”

“Luka.” Tilden growled.

“Yes, master. I’m at your beck and call.”

“Don’t even think of starting that.” Tilden took a playful swipe at Luke’s butt. “Sun block,” he said, putting the bottle back in Luke’s hand.

Luke grinned. “Fine, I get the message. Was he this bossy with you, Sean?”

“He was good,” Sean said softly. 

“Is everything OK?” Luke asked no longer teasing and giving Tilden a concerned look.

Sean smiled sweetly. “I think it will be, but enough hashing over my problems. It’s hot. I want to go swimming.”

Tilden chased them all into the water, fully participating in the laughing and play shoving. It hadn’t been a bad day’s work. His two boys were happy and even the stray seemed lighter than he had earlier. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about the documentary people.