Friends and Family 5

Chapter 5

Luke flipped through his textbook. Tilden was a good teacher, but a review of the cases was boring—endless pattern sentences to add the endings. Tilden was trying to mix it up by occasionally throwing in an oddball question or dragging out the Petrushka puppet to ask the questions, but the class was without spark. Mike looked equally bored. He was coloring in all the hollow letters in his workbook.

The question crossed the room three times, every time the answer becoming more incorrect. “Luka,” Tilden said, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

It was the genitive plural of gates. This was one of those crazy words without a singular. “U vorotov.”

Tilden rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and clasped his hands together as if he were praying. “Stand up,” he said in Russian. “Everybody.” Tilden moved to the windows and threw them open. “I see this class is too sleepy to learn anything. We’ll try a little morning calisthenics before trying again. Raz, dva, tri, chetire,” he counted, encouraging the class to do jumping jacks.

Luke could hear the class grumbling around him. “I know he’s a top,” Masha behind him muttered, “but I’m not playing kids’ games.”

Tilden switched to toe touches, cajoling the reluctant students along. He glared at Mike and Luke who were only half participating, and they both put more effort into it. 

“Utrennaya Gimnastika,” Luke muttered under his breath, reaching for his left toe. What had Gordon done to Tilden this morning? Tilden had clearly flipped.

“Should we try this again?” Tilden said sweetly in Russian. “A little cold and a little exercise maybe has encouraged some blood flow to the brain.” He turned toward Sasha, one of the worst students in the class, and again asked the question about the gates.

Sasha repeated Luke’s wrong answer, and a collective groan rose in the classroom.

“Up everybody. We’re still not awake.” Tilden pointed toward the door. “Run down the stairs and back up, and we’ll try again.”

“What?” Sasha asked, not understanding the Russian. Several of the students looked at Luke and Mike for a translation.

“He wants us to run down the stairs and back up,” Luke translated.

“Po-russkii.” Tilden herded them towards the door.

It was actually funny. Fifteen people running down the stairs and back up. The French teacher popped her head out and looked quizzically at Tilden as Luke pounded back up the stairs.

“Winter time cobwebs. I’m just waking everyone up.”

She looked at him, her face perplexed, but turned and walked back into her classroom without a comment.

“Vorot,” Luke said as they filed back in the room.

“Maladets.” 

The questions went on in class until Tanya missed the nominative plural of children. “Deti,” both Luke and Mike shouted, but Tilden was on some kind of wild drill sergeant act. He sent them out to run to the fountain and back. The disgruntled muttering grew louder as they trooped down the stairs.

“What’s with him?” Sasha asked as they jogged outside. “This is crazy.”

“I don’t know. It’s more fun than drill,” Mike said with a wicked grin. “Think what you can tell your kids when they’re old enough to go to college. I had this crazy Russian professor who made us run around the quad when we got a wrong answer. Much better than stories about walking through the snow to get to school.”

“You’re crazy.” Luke smiled. “Remember when Tilden dragged us off to history after our unauthorized swim. Should I toss you in today?”

“Nyet, Nyet.” Mike threw up his hands. “He’d probably make me stand there dripping wet and answer stupid grammar questions.

“Do it,” chanted several students around them.

“I think we should dunk both of them,” George leered. “They’re killing us with their perfect grades.”

“Do it,” someone yelled.

“I bet they get their asses smacked if they goof off,” George said, making a grab for Luke and edging him toward the fountain.

“Leave him alone, just because he’s smarter than a hot rock,” Mike baited. “You couldn’t pass Spanish One in kindergarten, let alone first year Russian.”

“Shut up, teacher’s cocksucker.”

“At least I’m getting some. You’d have to pay a whore and keep the lights off to find anyone who would touch your limp dick. They’d be too busy running from your ugly mug.” Mike planted his hands on his hips, primed for a fight.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” a voice boomed across the quad. It was Milton, striding toward them from the library, his colorful scarf wrapped around his neck and trailed down his shoulders.

Luke cursed under his breath. When Milton started talking like an eighteenth century noble, he was mad. 

“Luke, Mike, I thought you had class this morning. Was I mistaken?”

“No, sir, we were sent out for a bit of air.” Luke swallowed. He’d called Milton sir without thinking, but it wasn’t something modern college kids did. 

“And for a swim also? You looked poised for a quick dip.” Milton didn’t hide his sarcasm.

“No, sir,” Luke stumbled over the words. “Tilden—-um Professor Blake— Tikhon Ivanovich.”

“I think we know the professor in question,” Milton interrupted. “Why are you outside?”

“He wanted us to run around the fountain,” Mike said. “He thought we were too sleepy.”

“I assume he didn’t instruct you to participate in unauthorized swimming and colorful language practice.”

“We weren’t swimming,” Mike said in his most innocent voice.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. Obviously a short jog to the fountain was inadequate to reform this class. Around the quad now. On the double. Move.”

No one was brave enough to question Milton’s unorthodox instructions. They scattered across the sidewalk, glad to be away from his glare. Luke caught up with Mike’s longer legs as they passed the old science building.  “How much did he hear?” Luke whispered between breaths.

“More than was safe.” Mike ducked behind a row of trees, letting the rest of the class pass them on the shortcut. “I’m still sore from yesterday.”

“It was George’s fault.”

“They can’t spank George, but they will spank me.”

“I wasn’t exactly innocent.”

“We better hurry. We want to get back with the rest of the pack.”

“Milton scared the shit out of them.”

“He’s good at that,” Mike said, sprinting to catch up to the group. “I bet he gives Tilden an earful about kicking us outside.”

“I’d like to see that,” Luke grinned.

When Luke and Mike finished the loop at the language building, Tilden was standing out front with Milton, chasing the students back upstairs. Luke watched Tilden stride to the front and restart class as if nothing had happened, but Milton remained in the classroom leaning against the radiator with his arms crossed.

“Who’s that?” Masha whispered to Luke after Tilden had passed by them with the questions. 

Masha’s name of course wasn’t Masha, but Luke couldn’t remember her real name. She was a quiet girl, who mostly kept to herself. Luke knew she was a freshman and thought she lived in one of the collective housing pods where the more radical student groups tended to congregate. There were the Free Socialist Student Union, the New Democratic Student Union, some group extolling the virtues of prohibition, a group for raw food eaters, and numerous others.

“That’s Professor Brown. He’s in the history department,” Luke whispered.

Milton couldn’t have heard what was said, but he must have seen Luke’s lips move because he stepped behind the desks. Masha shot Luke a pleading glanced and buried his head in her book. 

“Po- russkii,” Milton hissed and stepped back towards the wall.

Masha wrote on the side of her text in big print, “He’s scary.” Luke shrugged and nodded.

“Luka, syuda.” Tilden pointed at a desk on the far side of the room.

Luke tried to express with an exaggerated pout that he was a wounded innocent. Tilden continued to stare and pointed at the empty desk.

“Sorry,” Masha mouthed as Luke collected his textbook.

“Ne nado.” At least he probably wouldn’t get yelled at if he answered in Russian.

“Here. Now.” Tilden said in Russian, still pointing at the chair.

One word sentences—this wasn’t good. They usually ended with a swift swat. Luke scrambled across to the empty desk, jumping the scattered backpacks. A couple of his fellow Russian scholars looked like they wanted to snicker at Luke, but they wisely remained silent. Tilden was in a dangerous mood. Luke was reeling from the initially humorous calisthenics  and the now grim expressions on both Tilden and Milton’s faces.

Luke sank into his new seat, and Tilden fired the the next three questions at him. They were simple; the same questions they’d reviewed at lunch yesterday. Luke rattled off the answers.

“Maladets. The fresh air seems to have helped,” Tilden said in Russian. Luke felt heat creep up his cheeks, and he dropped his head back toward his book. Tilden’s praise always made him blush.

“Shut your text and answer me,” Tilden said in Russian, closing the textbook and asking Luke questions about the number of pencils on the table.

“Two, three, and four take the genitive singular. Five and up take the genitive plural, Luke  chanted in his head as he fired off the answers. “Three pencils, five books, two pens.”

“Ochen’ khorosho.” Tilden sat down on the corner of the desk and switched to English. “Monday is the final unit test for the semester, and Wednesday is your final. Many of you are skating on the edge of disaster. I can’t do this for you. You have to study, to make an effort. You may not believe me, but I would love to give fifteen A’s.” Tilden sighed and smoothed an imaginary crease in his khakis. Today I felt like I cared far more than any of you.”

Tilden sat silently and stared around the room. Chairs shifted, and papers rustled as students tried to pretend they weren’t affected by Tilden’s look. His eyes burned a dark violet. Luke watched his classmates; most were fiddling with the rings in their spiral notebooks or looking down at their desks.

Tilden cleared his throat. “All right. I can’t shift the dates on the exams. If today is any indication, we are grossly unprepared. Tilden stood and walked over to the blackboard and picked up a worn remnant of chalk. “This is my office number, my cell number, and my email. If anyone wants extra help either individually or collectively, get in touch with me. I do work weekends.” Tilden gave the class a small smile. “On my office door is a list of extra study times for the next few days. You can sign up with either me or one of the advanced students. They get extra credit for helping, so it’s a win win for both of you. Good luck.”

The class scrambled up when they realized they’d been dismissed. Luke hovered over his backpack, trying to look busy. Even after being with Tilden since October, Luke still felt uncomfortable waiting for Tilden as the class filed from the room. He knew the relationship wasn’t a secret. It had been plastered all over network television; the school paper had done a piece on them, including an opposite page editorial on the dangers of  fraternization between students and professors. The comment section had been full of bitter letters either in defense of his special needs or decrying the relationship as abuse. Luke had felt like an exhibit at the natural history museum with the life size dioramas depicting village life. 

“Sorry, guys,” Tilden said, touching Luke’s shoulders. “I think I let the stress get to me.”

“Do you think?” Mike grinned. “Going out to run around the fountain was kind of fun. Unorthodox but fun.”

“Milton, what happened out there?”

“It was almost ugly. Several of the students appeared to be irrationally jealous of your boys.”

“It was mostly George.” Luke said.

“George?” Tilden raised an eyebrow.

“Yura.” Luke said, remembering that Tilden only knew most of the students by their Russian names. He kept a list to match them up with their real names when he did grades or official documents.

Tilden’s eyes hardened to a dark blue-black color. “Did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t touch us,” Mike said. “He’s a jerk, but I could take him in a fight as long as his buddies aren’t with him.”

“Have they bullied you?” Milton asked in that quiet demanding tone that forbade any sort of equivocating.

Luke shook his head.

“You guys have a too close of eye on us.” Mike laughed. “He wouldn’t mess with the hunk leaning against the wall over there. Milton might go after his sorry ass with a pitchfork.”

“Mike,” Milton said with a surprising sharpness in his voice, “have you seen him threaten anyone? It’s a violation of the college’s honor code.”

“You should ask Joel.” Mike dropped his eyes down to his desk.

“That’s the kid who’s eaten lunch with us a few times—your lab partner in geology?”

“Yes, sir,” Mike answered.

Luke’s head snapped up and he stared at Mike. Sir only entered Mike’s vocabulary when trouble was brewing. 

“Do you know anything about this?” Milton asked.

“No, sir,” Luke replied. 

Tilden tightened his arm around Luke’s shoulders and pulled him toward his chest. “I take it this is ugly, Misha?”

Mike nodded, keeping his eyes down. 

“Mike, come here.” Milton pointed at a space between his feet. His voice wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a tone to be disobeyed. 

“This isn’t fair. You’re ganging up on me,” Mike muttered, but he did get up and walk over to Milton, his stance belligerent as he stopped just out of of arms reach.

“You still haven’t learned to read me well, boy. I wasn’t angry with you, or at least not until you mouthed off at me. I asked you to stand here because I assumed what you are going to tell me is not pleasant.” Milton again pointed to the ground between his feet. “You can kneel now.” Milton snapped his fingers.

“Shit,” Mike spat, but he sank to his knees next to Milton. “If you think I’m bowing my head and putting my hands behind my back, you have another thing coming.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I haven’t the energy to train you as a submissive, and I think Tilden would brain me if I tried. He’s possessive of his boys. However, I will punish you if you continue to be this rude. I share a house with you. It’s common courtesy not to snarl at your housemates.”

“Sorry.” The single word was sincere, and Mike dropped his head, a faint flush crawling up his neck.

“I know.” Milton knelt down next to Mike, his knees cracking, and draped an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “I think we all know you get belligerent  when you’re upset. We’ve had several first hand demonstrations. It’s one of your charms; even though it’s not the smartest thing to do when you’re my best friend’s boy. Unless I’m woefully misinformed, you get punished for it every time.”

Mike nodded and relaxed against Milton.

“Do you need or want to get punished?”

Mike leaned against Milton, his head bowed, despite his earlier insistence that he wouldn’t lower his eyes, a faint flush still on his cheeks. Luke watched, glad for Tilden’s hand on his shoulder and Tilden’s hot breath tickling the hairs on Luke’s neck. Who wanted to be punished? Going over Tilden’s knee made his insides ache. The jerk at the first hard crack of Tilden’s hand. The horrible embarrassment that Luke had been stupid enough for it to get that far. Tilden always waved great big red flags in their faces. Stop. Turn back. It was Mike who charged forward heedless of the snake pits ahead. Sheldon did the same thing, but Milton didn’t warn. He just grabbed Sheldon and swatted. Luke shivered, thinking of the number of times he’s seen Milton pop Sheldon, and Sheldon would come back, smile, wink, and start the whole thing again. 

“Are you OK?’ Tilden whispered and kissed the back of Luke’s neck.

Luke squirmed, and Tilden bit softly, licking the spot where his teeth had been. A noise between a gasp and a hiss escaped Luke’s lips. Milton turned and stared at both of them with the look that he gave disruptive freshman. His eyes screamed wait until I have a few minutes alone with you two. Tilden turned a brilliant shade of red and stepped away from Luke to a more discreet distance.

Milton turned his attention back toward Mike. “Do you need to be punished?”

“I don’t know.” Mike stumbled over the words. 

“Think about it. Your needs are different than Luke’s. Luke wants to play with a cane. I think you’d rather walk barefoot in a snowstorm, but I also see you act up whenever other tops are around, especially me. Someone who you think has ironclad rules. Tilden can do that for you, or we can all do it for you, but you need to tell us. Tilden’s not the Neanderthal type; he won’t take things from you unless you ask. I’ve lived with him a long time, and that’s not going to change. I don’t think you’d much like the Neanderthal type, anyway; it would probably end in bloodshed.” Milton tousled Mike’s short hair, making in stand up on end. 

Milton stood and ran his hands down his pants legs to smooth out the wrinkles. Mike started to stand, and Milton snapped his fingers, pointing at the carpet.

“I don’t like being on my knees.”

“I know you don’t. Have you forgotten I’ve been living with you? I heard you outside. I don’t think you want to push it. Tell me about George and Joel.” Milton cracked out the last sentence like a rifle shot and Luke flinched against Tilden.

“I told Joel I wouldn’t tell.”

“Boy.” Milton somehow made the single word sound like both a threat and an order. “Luke, did you know about this?” Milton asked when Mike remained silent.

“He doesn’t know,” Mike blurted out. “You can’t get him in trouble for this.”

“You’re not in trouble for this yet either.”

“Then why am I down on the floor?”

“Because I want you to be sure that hiding things from us is the way you want to go. I can’t make you reveal a confidence given to you by another student nor would I try. It would be an abuse of my power as a top. However, Joel told you. He knows about your relationship with Tilden. I expect he wants you to tell Tilden, but he’s afraid. He sits next to you in history class, and every time I look over toward you he about dives under the desk. He survives through appeasement. He’s the kid who gets shoved into lockers and his books stolen in high school. Being gay doesn’t help the situation. You’re not helping him by being quiet about it”

“What are you going to do? Make the students sit through more of those horrible diversity lectures and ridiculous role playing games? Some people are just fucking warped and nothing’s going to change it.”

“What did they do to him?” Milton’s voice was soft, but his shoulders were tense, and he balled his hand into a fist.

“We can’t prove it was them.”

“What happened?”

Mike shut his mouth and looked first at Tilden then at Milton. Tilden reached in his pocket and pulled out a phone. “Do you know Joel’s number? Will he be in class?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go call him.”

Mike looked at Milton who nodded. “Go out in the hall where you can have a private conversation.”

“Shit,” Tilden murmured. “I thought this stuff went out of style with the Dark Ages.”

Luke twisted out of Tilden’s arms and turned to study his top. Tilden didn’t swear.

“History shows there is always a segment of the population that is reactionary. It’s when these reactionaries come to power that the danger exists and people are reminded of their presence. Because it might not be politic or polite to discriminate openly, doesn’t mean the hate vanishes. It brews under the surface for generations. It was centuries before burning women as witches was completely discredited.”

“The historian with a history lecture for every topic,” Tilden muttered. Dark shadows circled his eyes and his voice sounded hoarse. “Everything’s OK, Luka. I’m just tired,” he said, shifting into Russian. He bent forward and kissed Luke’s forehead. “It will be Christmas break soon, and we can all have a little fun.”

Luke wanted to comfort Tilden, but he wasn’t sure how. His top looked worn. His usual ready smile never reached his eyes.

“He said to tell you,” Mike said from the door. “I think he thought you’d torture me if I didn’t. He doesn’t get us.”

“Nor do most people,” Milton said with a slight smile. He walked to the doorway and dropped his arm over Mike’s shoulder. “How bad was it?”

“You know the graffiti they’ve been finding in town on the water tower and stuff?”

“Yes, the usual unoriginal comments about minority groups,” Milton said.

“He’s been finding that stuff in his room.”

“In his room?” Milton raised his eyebrows but made no other comment.

“Yes.”

“He keeps his door locked?”

“He told me always.”

“And you and he didn’t think it was appropriate to inform the authorities that a student’s room was being broken into and vandalized with hate speech?”

“He didn’t want to make a scene. He figured if he ignored it they would go away.”

“Hiding your head in the sand is usually not a successful strategy.” Milton furrowed his dark brows together. “I thought our young people were more enlightened than this. Were the slogans directed at power exchange relationships or gays in general?”

“Both.”

“Is he a submissive?” 

“I don’t think so,” Mike said after a minute. “He’s very shy, socially backwards, but I don’t think he’s a sub. At least not the way I am.”

“Why do you think George and his cronies are responsible?”

“They live in the same dorm, and I’ve overheard some nasty comments.”

“OK. I need to talk to Tilden. Do you need to get to class?”

“Not until this afternoon.”

“Go on home. Gordon will be there.”

Mike started to protest.

“Not now,” Milton barked, spun Mike around, and swatted him once hard. The noise of the swat echoed off the classroom walls. “Tilden will tell you all about it later.”

****

Milton leaned against the wall, but nothing in his posture was relaxed. His muscles bulged under his blazer, and from across the room Tilden could tell that Milton was controlling his breathing. Milton pushed himself off the wall, strode over to Tilden, and hooked an arm around his friend. “You look like hell, my boy,” he whispered into Tilden’s ear. He kissed the side of Tilden’s face hard almost possessively and ran his finger down Tilden’s jaw before grabbing his chin. “I should have married you when I had the chance.  Then we wouldn’t be buried up to our necks in pig shit.”

“We’re both tops.” This was an old argument. It had been Tilden who had fallen for the dark, handsome farm boy who was always cool under pressure. Tilden could still picture in his mind the beautiful young man sitting across from him in a history class. Somehow while everybody else’s partner was chosen within the same year Milton had been his partner on a presentation worth half their grade. Milton had grabbed Tilden’s arm and hustled him to a coffee shop to discuss the research. They’d sat close, and Tilden kept glancing up into those serious brown eyes. Milton had laughed and tapped the book with his finger. He’d said something about a time and place for everything.

“I should have taken you when the offering was good. It would have been peaceful, not this insane asylum we’re currently living in.” Milton ruffled Tilden’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Of course if I tried to top you on a regular basis, I’d need to wear a steel cup to protect my balls.”

“You don’t need to be crude.” Tilden pulled away, laughing.

“At least I got you to smile. Did you get into it with Gordon this morning?”

Tilden smoothed his hair and shook his head. “We talked. He was actually civilized.”

“Why did you send your class to run around the quad? You can’t afford that kind of unorthodox behavior. You can’t try to top your class.”

Tilden looked down at his boots. One lace was coming untied. He bent down to retie it.

“No, you don’t get to evade my questions.” Milton caught Tilden’s elbow. “I’m in your corner.”

“I wasn’t trying to top them. I wanted to wake them up. Exams are next week. It’s going to be a disaster.”

“You stress more than your students at exam time. You’re a good teacher, but not all of them are going to do the work.”

“You tell me that every year.”

“I do.” Milton landed an affectionate swat on Tilden’s hip. “I think sometimes I should do more.”

“I am not repainting the basement, helping your grandfather fence the pasture, or any other of your household projects. I’m juggling enough right now.”

Milton smiled, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. “So how long have you known about the real purpose of the projects?”

“I’m not stupid, my friend.” Tilden gave Milton a push. “Twice yearly remodeling at exam time. I thought if I complained you might come up with something more diabolical.”

“You like it when I’m diabolical.” Milton laughed and made a grab for Tilden’s belt, catching him and landing a hard swat. If I wasn’t diabolical I’d have to spank you.”

“Don’t even try, you overgrown milkmaid.” 

“That was a low blow.” Still holding Tilden, Milton landed two more swats. “Don’t shout. After this morning, you don’t want to explain to your colleagues why you’re wrestling with the esteemed history professor who’s trying to spank your naughty fanny.”

Tilden snaked his leg around Milton and pushed them both back and on to the floor. Milton flipped Tilden and pinned him to the floor. He looked down at Tilden with a mischievous grin on his face. Milton looked like that undergraduate who had an opinion of everything and played ultimate frisbee for keeps.

“I give up,” Tilden panted.

“Good. That’s the smartest thing you’ve done all day.” They pulled each other up and flopped down in the desks. 

“Do you think I’ll get grief about this morning?” Tilden asked.

“No, even if someone noticed, I don’t think they would have recognized it as your class, and Mike and Luke will encourage everybody to look at it as a great big joke. Don’t make a habit of it. It’s out you’re a top, and our behavior will be held to much higher standards.”

“And I’m in a threesome with students for partners, more fodder for the reactionaries.”

“Behave, and their only recourse will be a quick trip to Texas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Milton squeezed Tilden’s knee. “I should have seen it coming.”

Tilden nodded. This was Milton so easily taking charge, always willing to carry the burden for his friend. “You’re not my top.”

“No, I’m your friend. You’re family, and I take care of family. You’re not going to change that.”

“I know and thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What are we going to do about Joel?”

“Talk to security about getting his locks changed. Try to get him to report it.”

“Poor kid.”

“Oh no, don’t you go suggesting he come live with us .”

“You know security won’t get his locks changed until at least Monday, and it’s almost the end of the semester. It might be better for him to move to a new dorm in January. Yura and company will be gunning for him it they’re the responsible party.”

“You need to watch your boys’ backs. Mike’s not above taking a swing at him.”

“I know,” Tilden said, weariness creeping back into his voice.

“Is everything all right between you two?” Milton asked softly.

“I thought it was until last night. We’ve talked about respecting Luke’s feelings and not coercing him, and then Mike drags him into my spat with Gordon.”

“He was protecting you.”

“I know that’s why I didn’t punish him, and then he got into it with you.”

“I was pushing him. He needs clear boundaries—no gray areas.”

“The world isn’t black and white. It’s like calling a pen knife a deadly weapon.”

“For Mike it needs to be black and white. You need to do that for him. I’ll help.”

“What do I do about last night?” Tilden ran his fingers through his hair.

“Give him a blistering lecture and lines about not dragging his partner into trouble. Promise that next time you’ll paddle his ass so hard he can’t sit down for a week. He’s pushing it on other things. Didn’t you notice how he’s dressed today?”

Tilden blinked. He hadn’t paid attention today. He’d wanted only to get them out the door.

“His jeans were practically painted on, and the belt and boots were more appropriate for a leather bar. I know you’ve talked to him about his clothing. Take away his choice.”

“He’s an adult.”

“He’s an adult in a power exchange relationship. Do I need to remind you what that means?”

“No, Gordon thought I should come down on Mike also.”

“You’re listening to Gordon. That’s a novelty.” Milton smiled. “He’s usually right. I’ll drop on Mike like a ton of bricks if you want.”

“It should probably come form me.” Tilden could hear the tiredness in his own voice. He loved those boys, but was this always going to be so hard? He hadn’t even mentioned to Milton about Luke’s desire to play with the blasted cane. Another problem to deal with.

“Lay down the law and tell him all the tops will enforce it. I’ll get Trent on board.”

“He doesn’t like to top other people’s partners.”

“He likes Mike, and he likes peace in the house. He can be tough.”

“I know; I remember Mace.”

“Don’t we all.” Milton laughed. “What are you going to do about Luke?”

“What about?” Tilden asked, his tired brain not taking the hint.

“The cane. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. I caned him last night. He’s crazy about it. You need to talk to Gordon and Landon; they play that way. I can show you how to swing it, but I haven’t played for years. Sheldon doesn’t like it.”

“Gordon again,” Tilden groaned. “Did you like it when you played with him?”

“It was a long time ago, but yes. Gordon’s very good at it, and he could even take me flying, and I resisted him.” Milton didn’t blush, but he his eyes shone brighter and a faint smile crossed his lips. “It’s not about pain; it’s about playing with the mind.”

“Great.” Tilden rolled his eyes. “I have enough on my plate without playing sex games.”

“Hey, it’ll be fun,” Milton chided. “You’re tense. You should sub for Gordon while he’s here.”

“I’d rather walk across the steppe barefoot.”

“Well, it was just a thought. You should sub for someone at least once before you top. It’s been a long time, but I can still probably do it.”

“This is sounding better by the minute,” Tilden said with a wry grin. “I let you have a go at me with a cane as an educational experience. I don’t think Mike and Luke will be very keen on it.”

Milton laughed. “Not in Mike’s current mood.” Milton pulled on his beard. “It’s a pity you didn’t learn this before you partnered. I think your boys might be jealous.”

“You don’t think?” Tilden reached over and smacked Milton on the head.

“Behave, boy.”

“You can’t top me. I’m not your brat” Tilden scrubbed his hand over his face. They’d had this conversation several times when he was in graduate school. Milton had been adamant that no matter Tilden’s level of frustration he wasn’t a submissive. Milton would boss him, but it never went beyond a hand on Tilden’s knee and a lecture. Milton would herd Tilden’s intensity into the infamous basement painting or drag Tilden out to a museum or film. With all that was whirling around his head, Tilden almost longed for Milton to take it off his shoulders. Tilden felt hands rubbing his shoulders. He hadn’t seen Milton get up.

“So what made this all come crashing down? I thought you were doing fine.” Milton continued to rub Tilden’s shoulders.

Tilden didn’t know. He’d thought he was fine. He loved Mike and Luke more than he thought possible —two boys almost fifteen years his junior, his students, a relationship built on the whims of a national television audience. His chest ached, thinking about life alone, but now it seemed overwhelming. He was seeing subs and tops spin through his mind like sugar plums in a demented Christmas play. 

“I don’t think I was looking hard enough. I wanted it to be easy for you. You deserved easy.” Milton pressed his thumbs hard into Tilden’s neck, eliciting a groan. “I’m a dominant and your best friend; we’ll have to have a talk about hiding things from me.” 

Tilden groaned again but couldn’t help smiling at the light tease in Milton’s voice.

“It wasn’t always easy for me,” Milton continued. “My grandfather and Gordon put me back on track several times. You were away in St. Petersburg or somewhere my first summer with Sheldon, so you missed all the fireworks. Sheldon screaming, spitting, fighting, and the next minute both of us huddled on the floor crying and apologizing. He’d lost his job that summer, and Sheldon doesn’t do well bored or at loose ends. I split the summer between the farm and Gordon’s place, and they mostly dealt with Sheldon. He did finally learn the difference between a Hereford and a Holstein, but a dairyman he is not. There’s no contest to get this one hundred percent right the first time.”

Tilden twisted around in his chair. “Those boys depend on me.”

“They are equal partners in this relationship, and they sure as hell don’t get everything right.”

“I punish them.” Tilden’s voice faltered.

“And you punish yourself more than enough.” Milton slapped the back of Tilden’s head, not hard, but Tilden could feel the reprimand in it. “They are equal partners in this relationship. They are not helpless. They understand this is far more than rescue, and they had a choice. They are not chattel.”

Tilden gave a snort of laughter. “Could you see Mike as a slave?”

“Only if the master had a death wish.” Milton ran his hands down Tilden’s back. “So what am I going to do with you, my boy?”

Tilden ignored the question. “We need to talk to security about Joel.”

“I’ll talk to security. You need to go home, wrap both your boys in those lovely long arms of yours, sleep, and then rag on Mike awhile for acting totally out of hand.”

“I have classes.”

“I’ll cover them. You harass me into keeping my Russian up. I might as well use it, and one day won’t poison the poor children’s accents.”

“Don’t let my students hear you call them children.”

“I do have some sense. Now go on home.”

“Second years need to review time expressions and verbs of motion. In the advanced class, we’re reviewing the vocabulary from the film.”

“I can manage. I have done this before.” Milton didn’t hide the shortness in his tone. “Now stop fussing and go home.”

Tilden rolled his eyes.

“I obviously haven’t been keeping a close enough eye on you.” Milton pulled Tilden up and kissed his forehead. “Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

Tilden shrugged into his jacket and picked up his satchel. When Milton had his shoulders set and that steady look of both caring and stubbornness, arguing was useless. Milton’s position was set, and while Tilden didn’t think Milton would actually spank him if he refused, Milton wasn’t above grabbing his friend by the neck and dragging him home. He’d done it before,  though not usually in broad daylight at their workplace.

The moisture dripped off the naked tree branches as Tilden walked down the path toward home. This was the weather he hated, not rain, not snow, but some horrible concoction in between. The weather of St. Petersburg without the stunning beauty of Peter’s window on the West. His feet had a mind of their own. Instead of turning left, they headed right for the bookshop. 

Trent took one look at Tilden as he walked through the door and bodily manhandled him into an armchair by the fire. Coffee, hot and sweet, appeared at his elbow along with a warm pastry filled with apples and cinnamon.

“One morning I leave without fixing you a hot breakfast, and you look like something the cat dragged in. What am I’m going to do with you?”

Tilden snorted with laughter, nearly spewing coffee across his lap. “You sound like Milton. Have you been taking lessons?”

“I hope not.” Trent smiled that slow languid smile that charmed everyone for a ten kilometer radius. “I can only take one, and with Gordon visiting I have nightmares of Milton clones popping out of every closet.”

“One is enough.” Tilden took another sip of coffee. As a rule he didn’t drink coffee, especially sweet and cream filled, but this tasted good.

“Don’t you have class?”

“Does everybody know my schedule?”

“Hey, you’re a top. You know by nature we’re busybodies, so of course I know your schedule. I can’t help myself.”

“Milton sent me home.”

“Good for him. Eat and then do I need to walk you home?” Trent asked.

“No, I think I can manage. And thanks.” Tilden smiled, a true smile that went to his eyes. It was good to have friends.

Landon was in the kitchen, perched on the kitchen chair with one leg tucked under him. “Eric took one look at your boys and sent them to bed.”

“Did you get...” Tilden trailed off. He didn’t know Landon well enough to ask.”

“Yeah.” Landon smiled ruefully. “And don’t you dare blame yourself. I knew I’d take the consequences when I shouted at you. Gordon is rather obsessed with manners.” Landon smiled a full smile, making him look boyish despite the gray hair and the creases crossing his face. “I wish you two would get along.” 

Tilden reached forward and squeezed Landon’s shoulder. “I’ll try.”

Landon grabbed Tilden’s hand and pulled it forward. “You’re a good top. Don’t doubt yourself. Why don’t you go get some rest with your boys?”

“I look that tired?” Tilden gave Landon a half smile.

Landon nodded. “Off to bed with you.”

“I’m going.”

“Good boy.” Landon shot Tilden a teasing smile. “Don’t tell Gordon about that comment. I’m lectured out after this morning.”

“I won’t, and I think you helped this morning. I’m sorry you got in trouble for it.”

“Don’t be. I know the score, and it was worth it. I like you.”

****

Milton pushed Joel in front of him and in the door. Security had been unable to get the locks changed on the kid’s door until Monday, and Milton had deep reservations, new locks or not, about sending Joel back to that dorm alone after he read the hate mail. It had been ugly and specific. The campus police with no tact had dragged Joel through a grueling interview, leaving the kid on the verge of tears several times. Milton had sat on his hands through the interview, even though every top bone in his body demanded that he offer comfort. But as Mike had said, Joel wasn’t a submissive, and Milton’s reassurance was  more likely to frighten than comfort him. That was the last thing the poor kid needed, after everything else that had happened. Joel was scared, both by the hate that had dropped on his head like vultures on a carcass and by the sudden appearance of Milton. He kept looking at Milton with wide, frightened eyes and edged as far away as possible. He’d resisted Milton’s demand that he vacate his room, but Milton had unashamedly bullied him into packing his clothes and collecting his books.

“Go on. We’re less dangerous than the kids with the poison pen.” Everything about Joel’s body language suggested that he wasn’t sure of the truth of that statement. He jerked out from under Milton’s reassuring hand and practically ran into the kitchen when he spotted Mike.

Mike leaned against the counter and snatched a handful of nuts from a silver bowl. He  tossed an almond in the air and tried to catch it in his mouth. Milton stared at the boy’s clothes—a T-shirt advertising some third tier vodka and a pair of jeans that should be destined for the trash can.

“We have company. Go change and stop playing with your food.” Milton kept his voice conversational. Joel was already frightened; Milton wanted to avoid a full scale confrontation five minutes after he arrived. Mike ignored Milton and popped a second handful of nuts into his mouth. “Are you sure you want to play it this way?” Milton dropped his voice an octave.

Mike turned toward Milton and gave him a look of pure insolence before he tossed another nut into the air. Milton caught Mike’s wrist, forcing him to miss the nut and with the skill and speed of an experienced top flipped Mike against the counter and landed five hard swats.

“Change, or do I need to take you upstairs?” Milton growled.

“I’ll change,” Mike capitulated without grace. He threw his nuts on the counter and stalked toward his bedroom. “You need to watch the spaghetti sauce on the stove,” he shot over his shoulder.

“No jeans, button down shirt,” Milton said sweetly. He swung back toward Joel, who had retreated toward the kitchen door. “No, I won’t do that to you.” Milton gave Joel his most reassuring smile. “You’re not ours, and I don’t think you’re as impossible as Mike.”

Milton watched Joel swallow hard and stuff his hands in his pockets. His eyes if anything had grown even larger than they’d been with the campus police. 

“Let me show you where to put your things and find where everyone else is hiding.” Joel trailed behind Milton to the downstairs guest room. “Put your stuff down and come back out into the kitchen.” Milton knew Joel wanted to hide in the room behind a closed door.”

“I need to study.” Joel said softly.

“On a Friday night? Do I look gullible?”

Joel blushed and blinked hard. “I guess not.”

“Get your book and come in the kitchen. I shouldn’t discourage studying, but I’ve seen your grades in my class. You seem well caught up.”

Joel smiled shyly. He was a cute kid if you like small and fine boned with a faint pink flush. No wonder he was picked on, the poor kid screamed shy and vulnerable.

Milton chased Joel back into the kitchen. Eric was seated at the table with Xavier up in his lap. “Sit down. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Joel whispered, not taking his eyes off the other two men.

“Oh, never mind them. Eric must be feeling fresh today.”

Eric smiled, his blues eyes sparkling. “Don’t mind us. We don’t live here. I’m Eric, and this is Xavier.” He looked expectantly at Joel.

“Introduce yourself,” Milton prodded in a soft tone.

“Uh, I’m Joel. I don’t live here either.” Joel stumbled over the words.

“Just coming for the free dinner.” Eric gave Joel a soft smile. “Mace and Trent are good cooks.”

Joel shifted and looked at his feet. Milton fought the urge to wrap his arm around the young man’s shoulder. “He was getting threatened. He’s camping with us until the end of the semester.”

“Jealous boyfriend?” Eric asked, his pale eyebrows rising.

Joel grimaced but didn’t say anything. 

“Unfriendly fellow students and with exams coming Joel didn’t need the stress. Student housing will move him next semester.” 

Joel gave Milton a look of gratitude before focusing on his shoes. Did that kid think he’d spill all his secrets to complete strangers? Milton thought. Of course he had dragged that boy through the humiliation of talking to campus security. Joel had been spared the lecture that Milton had unleashed against the student housing office and the freshman dean, whose attitude was that boys would be boys. Joel would have fallen through the floor with embarrassment. He’d let Jer straighten out that young whippersnapper of a dean.  

“Who’s this?” Sheldon said, barging through the door with his usual grace. He tossed his briefcase on the floor. “Don’t tell me you brought another stray brat home. We’re not running a rooming house.”

“Behave,” Milton growled, but he wasn’t angry. This was Sheldon’s usual exuberance. “Joel’s staying with us until his exams are over. Joel Green, this red-haired menace is my partner, Sheldon Zath. If he gets too much for you, let me know and I’ll tone him down.”

Joel shot Milton a look of unshielded terror. Milton wondered if the terror was directed at Sheldon or the suggestion that Milton would do something about his partner’s unchecked behavior.

“Why?” Sheldon looked over at Joel. His glance wasn’t exactly hostile but not friendly either. 

“He’s changing rooms next semester,” Milton said.

“And what aren’t you telling me? l know you well, and you’re being closed lipped.”

“I am,” Milton agreed. “Joel is free to tell you as much as he likes.”

“Well,” Sheldon said, turning toward Joel. “let’s have the scoop. It’s not every day that Milton brings home a pretty student.”

“Sheldon,” Milton hissed. “Are you feeling neglected?” Milton gave Sheldon a look that he knew his partner wouldn’t misinterpret. Keep this up, and we’ll go upstairs for a few minutes, and dinner will be more comfortable standing up.

“No, sir,” Sheldon said, backtracking hard.

Joel made a choked sound. “I can’t do this.” He scrambled toward the door. Milton started to move, still unwilling to put his hands on Joel. This was a student in a bad spot, not a submissive. 

Sheldon, with no concerns for the niceties of teacher student interactions nor the possibility that Joel might prefer not to be grabbed by a virtual stranger, reached out and snagged Joel by his wrist before wrapping Joel in a hug. “Stop being a drama queen. That’s my role. Nobody’s going to flay you alive. The tops here are actually pretty nice. I’m sorry if I scared you,” Sheldon said in a softer voice. 

Joel stood, half leaning into Sheldon. To Milton’s surprise, Sheldon brushed Joel’s hair back and kissed him. “Whatever’s going on at school, you’re safe here. Sit down. Have a soda. I see you have your books. Milton and Tilden like good students. You’re already working on brownie points.”

“Sheldon, stop rambling. I think you’re scaring him more than I did.”

“No way. I’m only the red-haired brat.”

“You’re far scarier than Milton,” Eric said with a chuckle. “Watch out! The red-headed leprechaun is on the loose.”

“I’m a brat; I can’t possibly be scarier than a top. It’s the golden rule of all power exchanges. The head honcho is the scary one.”

“Only in your warped mind, honey.” Eric tightened his arm around Xavier’s waist and kissed his forehead. “Who do you think is scarier, Sheldon or Milton?”

Xavier looked at Milton and Sheldon, his dark brown eyes wide and apprehensive. He shrugged.

“OK. They’re both frightening.” Eric rubbed the junction of Xavier’s shoulder and neck. “Let’s try an easier question. Who’s scarier, Sheldon or me?”

“Sheldon, of course,” Xavier said with a wide smile. 

“How can you think I’m scarier than that Viking hunk just because he has a nice lap to sit on?” Sheldon demanded. “He probably rapes and pillages villages in his spare time.”

“That’s what I forgot this week. I’m overdue to rape and pillage.” Eric laughed.

“Tell that to the fair maiden being dragged off by a half clothed thug with a sword.”

“Honey, I think you’re confusing us with the Romans. Vikings were usually fully clothed; we come from the north. I thought your partner was a history teacher. He should enlighten you.”

“I’m lucky if he can remember that Switzerland is not a Nordic country,” Milton said with a smirk. “Television doesn’t require a knowledge of history. In fact the fewer correct facts the better.”

“Hey, there is an educational network.”

“And you don’t work for it.”

“The pay’s better, and I don’t have to preview movies on the discovery of mammoth bones.”

“My point exactly.” Milton smiled. “Entertainment and history—never the twain shall meet.”

During the conversation, Joel’s eyes were bouncing around the room from speaker to speaker.  Sheldon still had his hand locked around the freshman’s wrist, but Joel’s posture had begun to relax, and Milton saw Joel shake his head in disbelief.

“Are we less frightening when we’re arguing if Vikings pillaged in loincloths or fur parkas?” Milton asked softly.

“No, now he thinks he’s landed in the loony bin.” Mike stood in the doorway. He’d changed into a green striped oxford shirt and a pair of khakis. Despite it being winter, he rolled the sleeves to his elbow and was sporting loafers with no socks.

“Are you planning a trip to the Bahamas I don’t know about?” Milton asked.

“You didn’t say sweater and long underwear.”

“You’re pushing it, boy.”

“No, I’m not.” A slow seductive smile spread across Mike’s face. “I could have worn a Viking loincloth. It’s all the rage in Paris and Milan this year.”

“Careful,” Sheldon mouthed over Joel’s head, but it was too late. Milton moved across the kitchen floor with the slow stalk of a panther. Mike stepped backwards, bumping into the counter.

“There’s nowhere to go, boy.” Milton dropped his voice to a low rumble. “I thought you told us you didn’t want to openly play submissive games. Did you lie to me, boy?” Milton watched Mike’s face closely. This wasn’t his partner, but there was something wrong: a restlessness, a hyperactivity, a demand for attention. He’d seen Mike when Tilden had first brought the boy home, still reeling from the effects of alcohol and the feeling of desertion. He’d run again if this mood wasn’t shifted, and kind hearted, gentle Tilden would be devastated.

Milton snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor. “Down, boy. Don’t look at me like a gaping fish. I asked you a question and didn’t receive an answer. There are consequences.”

For a boy who insisted he didn’t play these games, Mike knelt gracefully, clasping his hands behind his back. Milton mentally kick himself. He should have noticed this earlier. Someone had taught that boy how to kneel. He was an idiot, Milton thought, taking inventory of the room. Sheldon had stepped toward Eric, towing Joel with him. Joel’s expression was a mixture of fear and shock. The slight settling that had occurred when they were bantering nonsense about Vikings had vanished. Eric had dropped a hand on Joel’s shoulder and was whispering something in his ear. At least at this point, it didn’t seem to be helping. Xavier was still sitting in Eric’s lap and looked more curious than frightened. Eric was nuzzling Xavier’s cheek as he spoke to Joel. Only Mike looked calm. His eyes were down, focused on the floor, and for the first time all day his breathing was slow and his shoulder and neck muscles relaxed.

Milton took a deep breath, forcing himself fully into what Gordon had always called his top space. He hadn’t played these games in years. They turned Sheldon into a whirling, snapping hyena. Sheldon loved strong boundaries but not the outward trappings of a dominant/submissive relationship. Milton thought Gordon had once or twice gotten Sheldon into subspace, but then, Gordon could get Milton into subspace. He could probably get the wall cabinet into subspace if he tried hard enough. Milton had only tried once or twice with Sheldon before they both mutually agreed it wasn’t for them. Now he had Tilden’s boy at his feet, and if Milton wasn’t mistaken, Mike loved it. This wasn’t his partner or a free agent. Mike’s partner was Tilden, a man with no experience with this sort of domination, and Milton thought no desire.

It was Eric who broke Milton’s mental whirlpool. “I think we have extra people for dinner. Are your extra table leaves still in the basement?”

“Yes.”

Eric pushed, cajoled, herded everyone out of the kitchen. Poor Eric, he didn’t need to be in the role of supporting three subs—or at least two subs and a terrified stranger. His own partner had died in an avalanche a year and a half ago. They’d been together; they’d done everything right and still one of them had died. Milton knew Gordon had practically dragged Eric kicking and screaming to Vermont this winter. Eric and his partner had been a fixture at the lodge during the winter. They could be counted on to celebrate the winter holidays with gusto, skiing the torches down the mountain in the New Year’s torch lit parade, participating in crazy competitions that combined skiing with a mix of unrelated activities. Calvin had disappeared into the ever blackness of soil and ash and Eric into self imposed exile. Now he had Joel and Xavier depending on him and Sheldon tagging along for the ride. Sheldon could be a chameleon; hopefully he’d guide the other two, not be a millstone around Eric’s neck.

Mike was still on the floor, his eyes down, his posture quiet. Milton ran his hand over Mike’s short, spiky hair. “Are you OK, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Where’s Tilden?”

“Grading papers, sir.” There it was again, the automatic sir. They’d both been blind. Of course this boy had also lied. Tilden had asked Mike point blank if he’d ever been in a power exchange relationship. Mike had answered with the rigmarole about Frank and Caleb, nothing about being a trained sub or even perhaps a slave. Mike hadn’t glossed over the facts; he’d lied.  

Milton clicked his fingers again, and Mike rose and followed him into the study. Tilden was grading in his usual chaos of papers. How he ever returned all those untidy papers strewn from the desk to the floor to the sofa was beyond Milton’s comprehension. Luke was curled on one corner of the sofa, flipping through his Russian book. It wasn’t like he needed to study Russian. Milton would bet that Luke could pass the second year exams.

“Luke, will you go help Eric with the dining room table. Josh, Jer, and Steve are coming to dinner. We’ll need an extra leaf.” 

Luke dumped his book on the sofa and stood up. He was too polite to say anything, but Milton knew that Luke wasn’t unaware that he was being dismissed. Luke gave both Milton and Mike a long searching look. Mike was standing at Milton’s left and never looked up. After the door clicked shut, Mike started to sink to his knees.

“No, by Tilden.” Mike dropped to his knees by his partner, and Tilden looked at Milton, bewildered. “It seems Mike has experience as a submissive. I remember you asking him about his previous experiences. He didn’t change his story later?”

“Misha?” Tilden reached down and stroked the nape of Mike’s neck, his fingers tracing the recently cut hairs.

Good, Milton thought, relaxing the tension in his jaw that he’d been unaware of until Tilden had touched Mike. Tilden gets this. He’s offering the right amount of comfort but sounding strict.

“Tell me.” 

Mike looked up at Tilden and then at Milton before dropping his eyes back to the rug.

“Do you want me to go?” Milton asked gently.

“No,” Mike blurted out and then more softly. “No, sir. Tilden will tell you anyway.”

“Not without your permission.”

Mike swallowed, working his tongue around his lips. “It was last year. I was at what you would call loose ends.” Mike tried to smile. “I’d gone to Central America with a friend—well, not really a friend. He left me in Costa Rica for a girl. You know what happens when I feel—I don’t know, lost. I drink, like the time you brought me home.” Mike shifted toward Tilden, who stroked his boy’s hair. Mike buried his face against Tilden’s thigh. “I was at a bar and shit faced drunk. This guy—I remember his shiny shoes. Well, anyway I puked on him. I thought I’d get the shit kicked out of me. He was clean, crisp, older, and I’d soaked the bottom of his pants in puke. He ran his fingers down my cheek. His voice was a soft purr. He spoke English, American English. ‘What a pretty boy, and what appalling manners.’ I must have passed out shortly after that because I woke up in his villa.

“Did he—”

Milton didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. “No, he didn’t rape me, and he didn’t beat me. I wised up before anything awful happened. Several boys lived there. This guy—master.” Mike sounded like he was choking on the word. “He gave me to his oldest boy for training. They’d taken my passport and what little cash I had.” Mike fell silent, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ground.

“And what happened?” Milton asked.

“I followed the older boy around. He taught me to kneel and all the other shit. The stupid thing is that I liked it—following him like a puppy, putting my head in his lap to be stroked, letting him touch me all over. I didn’t even know his name.”

“Did you know the master’s name?” Milton asked, keeping his voice level. 

“No. You don’t have to look at me like that. I know it was fucking stupid. I could have been hurt.”

“You could have been killed,” Milton said, struggling to keep the rage out of his voice. You didn’t drop a boy into the middle of that kind of lifestyle and not tell him what he was getting into. “Why did you leave?”

“I’d been there about a week. I hadn’t seen the master the whole time. It was evening, one of those hot sticky nights with swarms of mosquitos. The boy I’d been following around like a faithful puppy grabbed me, dragged me outside, and tied me to some sort of wooden frame. He’d played at tying me but not like this. I couldn’t move.”

“Did you have a safe word?” Milton moved to kneel next to Mike. He wanted to pin Mike between himself and Tilden’s knees. Mike was shaking, and thank God Tilden had been paying attention. Tilden had no experience as this sort of dominant or a master, but he’d heard Mike say he liked kneeling and being petted. Tilden had drawn Mike into his thigh and was stroking the boy’s hair, encouraging Mike to rest his head on Tilden’s knee.

“No. They played with me some or at least I think that’s what you would call it. I was too scared to enjoy it. Then master showed up. He had those same shoes on, but they were all shiny again. He put on a pair of latex gloves. I remember thinking why the hell did he want gloves. The way I was tied you couldn’t get good access to my ass. Another boy handed him something in blue paper, and they blindfolded me. Two or three of them were touching me all over, and then I screamed. He’d pierced my nipple. The second side was worse because I knew what was coming. After I stopped screaming, he kissed me and told me what a beautiful boy I was.” Mike wiped his tears, no longer holding his kneeling form. “There’s not much to tell after that. I got the hell out of there. I knew my parent’s lawyer’s number. She’d gotten them out of a few tight spots before. I spent two nights at a fancy beach front hotel while my missing travel documents were sorted out, and I did get some nice jewelry out of the deal.” Mike fingered the rings under his shirt and tried to smile, but as if the air had been let out of a balloon, he collapsed against Tilden’s legs and sobbed.

Milton sat back on his heels and watched, his mind sifting and resifting through the story. Mike had been lucky. Whoever had grabbed him in that bar hadn’t followed all the niceties of safe, sane, and consensual, but he hadn’t been a psychopath. Mike had been frightened, badly frightened if the sound of his sobs were proportional to the fear. Tilden had drawn Mike up in his lap, and the boy lay across his top, his long legs limp across Tilden’s lap. 

Tilden looked over Mike’s head, catching Milton’s eye. Milton had known Tilden for a long time and the expression was unmistakable. Help! What do I do now? “Punish him.” Milton mouthed, hoping Tilden could read his lips. Tilden must have understood because he gave Milton a grim look and nodded.

Tilden rocked Mike in his arms and kissed his forehead. The tears slowed to choked, embarrassed sobs. Mike wiped his eyes, trying to regain that cocky equanimity that Milton had seen Mike wear like a mask. 

“Misha, you’re safe with us,” Tilden said, his voice nearly a whisper.

“I know.”

“That’s why you finally told us, isn’t it?” Milton asked, picking up the conversation. He couldn’t get Tilden alone to plan strategy, so he would try to guide the conversation. His heart told him that Tilden shouldn’t spank Mike, but what should he do? “You feel safe with us, and you want a little more from Tilden.”

Mike nodded and found his voice. “I don’t want a master.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Milton said smoothly. “But you’d like a few more rules? You’re happier when Tilden keeps you close.”

“Am I crazy?” Mike looked at Milton and then back at Tilden a flash of anguish crossed his face before he schooled it into self deprecating grin.

“No,” Milton said firmly. “You’re an intelligent and adaptable young man who has realized that he’s finally found himself in a place where he can be true to his own soul.”

“What do you need from me?” Tilden asked, stroking Mike’s neck with his thumb. 

“I don’t know. Don’t tie me up.” Mike shivered.

“Would you like to kneel at Tilden’s feet, find a calmness?” Milton stopped himself before he said the calmness of submission. Mike wanted to give it all, more than Sheldon could ever give. Sheldon craved the brakes on his sometimes destructive behavior, but he also craved independence. They had finally come to an imperfect understanding. Sheldon could express his exuberant, frighteningly honest, and entirely tactless side of himself, and Milton would always be there to keep him from jumping off the cliff. Come too close to the boundaries, he’d be spanked, and the meter reset. It was for those few minutes after a spanking that Sheldon could be limp and calm across Milton’s knees. Sheldon dreaded real pain, but he craved the after effects like a drug addict. Milton had tried to offer Sheldon other paths to the same end, but none had worked, and they both had become experts in the game, and in some ways they both now enjoyed the game for its own pleasures. Sheldon baited just to see Milton respond, not always needing a spanking. The ritual of warnings and glares would take him to the same place.

“Sometimes,” Mike said, and Milton snapped his attention back on Mike. This was not the time to daydream about Sheldon. “I’m not a slave.”

“I don’t want a slave,” Tilden said, picking up his end of the discussion. “I want a partner, but I am a top, and you understand the caveats of being in a relationship with a top.” 

Milton heard the warning in the tone and so did Mike from the quick change in his expression. “I’m in trouble.”

“Yes,” Tilden said. “In our relationship we don’t lie to each other. I understand there were reasons behind the lie, but I trusted you to be honest with me. I have power in this relationship. I can hurt you if you are not honest with me. I don’t want to hurt you.” Tilden kissed Mike’s forehead. 

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“Without all the facts, I could easily hurt you. It’s dangerous.”

“I trust you.”

“Not enough to tell me what you want, or what you’re afraid of.” The silence hung heavy between the two of them. Mike chewed on his lower lip, a gesture of nervousness and vulnerability that Milton had never seen before. Mike usually blustered and made noise when he was unhappy or pushed. 

“Are you going to spank me?”

“No.” Tilden took a deep breath. “Russia has a deep history of contemplative monastics. I think some quiet reflection will help you remember to share things with me. The next two days you will spend in silent contemplation. You will not speak except for an emergency, and you will remain with me at all times. When I sit you will kneel or sit at my feet. In your diary, I want you to write all the details you can remember about your time in Costa Rica even if they seem trivial. I won’t read it, but I expect you to share anything your partners need to know. We are on your side.”

“I think I’d rather be spanked.”

“I know you would.” Tilden snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground at his feet. “It starts now.” 

Mike looked up at Tilden than over at Milton before sliding off Tilden’s lap and settling on the floor, his cheek resting against Tilden’s thigh. Tilden threaded his fingers through the short hair. 

Milton smiled and touched his friend’s knee as he rose to his feet. Tilden had made the right choices. Despite his insistence that he was inexperienced, he was a good top with excellent instincts. The calmness of the boy at Tilden’s feet attested to that.