Steve's Tale 13

Steve’s Tale

Chapter 13

Steve tossed his backpack down in the hallway and kicked off his shoes, not bothering to put them into the neat, militaristic row that Josh insisted on. They were shoes, not drilling soldiers, and at least he was taking them off and not tracking all over the house. Shoes in a jumbled heap would get a lecture; mud all over the floor would have him cleaning it up and most likely with a hot bottom. Josh didn’t do sass; he didn’t do lots of things when Steve thought about it. There would be a note on the table with a list of his homework to complete and even chores to do if he finished early. That wouldn’t happen today. He had a damn test with Professor Brown. Milton the Scary. Milton never did anything in class, or never did anything more than he did to any other student: staring, looming, and preventing evasions. The other students cringed and madly scanned their notes if Milton’s attention was directed their way, and they didn’t have to worry about getting pulled aside and swatted or worse have him come over in the evening for a private chat with Josh and Jer. 

Steve jerked his history notes from his backpack and shuffled into the kitchen, sliding along the slick wood floors in his socks. God, he didn’t want to study, and he needed lunch too. He usually ate at school, but he’d forgotten his meal card. Tilden or Milton would have spotted him, but it meant Josh knowing by this evening and being asked harassing questions every morning about having his stuff and even having to unpack his bag and show Josh if his answer was surly, and if Steve crossed the line from morning surliness to open hostility, Josh would pull Steve over his knees for a swift spanking. Steve tried to avoid sitting on a spanked butt in class, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chairs with red eyes and tears close to the surface. No one knew, of course, outside their little circle, but he always felt like he had a giant sign on his back, “freshly spanked.”

And today...Today when everything was wrong, they’d treated him like a normal college student. Josh wasn’t here when he got home. The house was empty, no fresh cake from the oven or the whine of the saw from the basement. Quiet, empty, and alone. Milton had been Professor Brown in class, not even a private look for Steve. God, he wanted that. They’d made him admit that he liked to be dominated, that he liked it when Milton stepped too close in the corridor and stared at him with those intense brown eyes. Where were they now? He wanted protection; he was their submissive; he was supposed to be in their protection.

Steve blinked back a tear. He wasn’t this big a wimp; he could manage. He rummaged in the fridge; nothing looked inviting. There wasn’t even any ham and cheese; Jer had gone shopping last, and he knew Steve liked ham and cheese. Why hadn’t he bought any? Jer had bought that awful turkey instead. Steve slammed the refrigerator door, and yanked a pot off the rack. He could make popcorn. At least they always had that, the real stuff that required a pan and oil. Steve liked the microwave stuff, simple and no oil to start smoking. Josh was a fanatic about hot stoves and watching pans; leave to grab a book or answer the phone and a swat soon followed along with a growl about hot oil and flames. Steve dutifully watched the pan, shaking it rapidly and watching for the swell of kernels against the lid. It did taste better this way, but now he had a pan to clean. 

He grabbed the popcorn and covered it in hypertension inducing salt. Jer had to watch his salt intake; Steve didn’t and he liked salt. He threw himself down on the living room floor and flicked through their feeble choice of channels: kiddy programs, soap operas, and sports only invented for cable television at the bleakest times of days. He settled for a ridiculous event where men with thighs the size of tree trunks were heaving rocks across a field. Steve didn’t like his men that muscle bound, but the sweat trickling down their broad chests and tight abdomens did have some appeal. He wasn’t supposed to eat in the living room, another of Josh’s many rules. They had a TV in the basement for the decadent slob behavior of eating and surfing the boob tube. He should go downstairs, but there was no one here to make him.

Steve flinched as the back door banged. If that was Josh or Jer coming home, he’d be in trouble. At least they’d notice him, Steve thought bitterly. With all the mess with Simon and Miles, Josh was always with them, his arm around Miles’s shoulder, not Steve’s. He was still Steve’s top; he was supposed to notice that Steve was upset. 

“Steve, what are you doing in the living room with food? I’ve heard Josh.” Miles was standing in the door frame, his hands shoved in his pockets, some dangly earrings with beads and feathers hanging halfway down his neck. He didn’t look very top-like. He looked like a sub; tops didn’t dress like that, and they didn’t slouch like that.

“Eating.” Steve rolled his eyes and shoveled the last of the popcorn in his mouth.

“In the living room? Is there something the matter?”

“No, of course not. Simon’s off getting the shit kicked out of him, and you’re yakking about food in the living room. Everything’s just peachy perfect.”

“Steve, don’t.”

“You’re not my top. Don’t Steve me. You’re probably not even a fucking top, but some fucking chameleon! How can you be both?” 

“Corner. I will not be shouted at.”

“Corner yourself.”

“Do you want me to spank you? Do you need me to spank you?”

Steve started to answer back and then stopped as his eyes caught the quiet calm and determination in Miles’s expression. Miles looked like a top. He hadn’t moved; he was even still slouching a bit, but his eyes were intense and unwavering. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Steve said, dropping his eyes to the spilled popcorn kernels on the floor.

“I think you should be. You weren’t very nice to me earlier, and I know Joshua has rules about no food in the living room. I’ve heard him.”

“He does,” Steve said softly, his eyes still down. 

“Do you need me to spank you?” Miles persisted.

Steve scuffed his toe against the rug. Josh never asked; he would just sit down and hold his hand out. That was how a top did it. He couldn’t tell Miles yes. He wanted it, but saying it aloud. Steve bit his lip and gave Miles his most pleading look.

“Steve, you have to take ownership of this. I’m not doing it alone.”

“Josh does,” Steve said very softly. “I can’t do this.”

“What can’t you do?” Miles moved to Steve’s side, caught his hand, and led him to the sofa. “I’m the one who has to do the doing in this exchange. Let me tell you a secret. I’m scared too; I’ve never been on this side, and I’ve only been on the other side once, and Josh did the hard work.” Miles kissed Steve’s forehead. “So what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I was ugly to you,” Steve said, letting his hand play in the soft fleece of Miles’s pullover. “Josh doesn’t tolerate it. I’m not supposed to eat in the living room; usually it’s only lines for that.”

“Josh wouldn’t let you talk to him like that, would he?” Miles’s voice was soft, calm, not the voice Steve had heard him use with Josh or Milton. Miles sounded like a top.

“No, sir.” Suddenly the sir just felt right. 

“I prefer Miles. Sir makes me feel old and gray and like I should take up reading the financial section or playing golf.”

“Yes, Miles.”

“Good boy.” Miles kissed Steve’s forehead again. “I think you need a spanking, don’t you?”

Miles still wanted him to answer. Why couldn’t Miles just tell what to do?  “I deserve it.” That was all Steve could manage, more was impossible. 

“And you want it too?”

“Miles.” Steve couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice; he knew he sounded young and childish.

“I take it that whine was consent and desire,” Miles said with a flash of humor in his eyes.

Steve gave a quick nod. He swallowed, trying to moisten a suddenly dry throat. He’d just agreed to a spanking. Josh was familiar, his thighs broad and safe, his hand sure. He didn’t know with Miles. Was this going to be safe? He could feel his breath coming quicker. Shit! What had he agreed to?

“Steve.” Miles firmly grasped Steve’s hand.

“No!” Steve started to pull away, and to his surprise Miles’s released his hand.

“I will not force you.” Miles stood, his hair draped down his back in a tight braid. “I’ll be in the kitchen. I thought you wanted this.” His voice sounded perplexed, higher and softer than earlier.

“Miles.” Steve blinked backed the tears that were blurring his vision, scraping his hand savagely across his face.

“Steve, I won’t touch you unless you give me full consent.” Miles flashed a quick, half smile at Steve and shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want!” Steve heard his own voice rise in a ragged shout. “You’re supposed to be a top, my top.” Steve grabbed a magazine from an end table and winged it at Miles. It careened off course, hitting a decorative bowl and sending it crashing to the floor in an explosion of multi-colored glass. “Shit!” Steve froze, staring at the colored glass. He’d thought the bowl was hideous, but he knew it had to have some significance to Josh and Jer. They didn’t crowd their house with knickknacks; they had a few photos mostly of Josh or Jer in their home or walking around town. There were a few pictures snapped by either obliging tourists or professional photographers at vacation spots and several group photos in Vermont.

“In the kitchen. Now! Don’t step on the glass!” 

The sharpness of Miles’s voice jerked Steve’s whole body toward Miles. Josh would cane or belt him for this. What would Miles do to him?

“Don’t run away.”

“I won’t,” Steve said miserably, his eyes roving from the broken glass and back to Miles. 

“You were thinking about it? I saw the tension in your shoulders, and it would have been my first instinct.”

“I know better.” It was more than that, but how could he say it? Yes, Josh would come after him, and yes, he’d be in terrible trouble, but he didn’t like to upset Josh. It wasn’t the fact that Josh would paddle and ground him for eternity plus whatever punishment was already due. He was in Josh’s protection; he loved Josh. Steve drew his eyes up off the miserable pile of glass shards. Miles was waiting, looking calm, not masterly. Miles didn’t look masterly; he never did. It was Simon who could kind of pull off the masterly look when he propped a hip against a table, crossed his arms, and stared. “Simon’s in Vermont today. You didn’t go with him.”

Miles flinched at Steve’s tone, but otherwise didn’t move, and his voice was still calm. “I’m not happy either, but Simon asked me to let him do this alone. I love Simon; I must respect his wishes even when I hate them. I tried to convince him to let me go along; I begged him, but he was adamant. I have to listen. What kind of partner would I be if I never listened?”

“I wouldn’t want to go alone.”

“I wouldn’t either, but I’m not Simon. I have to respect what he wants.” 

“He hardly knows them. You should have gone with him. What kind of top are you?”

“Steve, walk over here and into the kitchen. I’m not having a shouting match, and if you start stomping around you’ll cut yourself on that glass. Then I’ll have to explain to Josh how we have popcorn, broken glass, and blood all over the living room. I don’t have enough creative excuses to cover all that.”

“It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s not.” Miles moved to Steve and draped his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “If you won’t come to me, I guess I have to come to you. Shh. Don’t fight me. I’m not doing this very well, am I? I’m sorry I’m not Josh or Simon; you’re just going to have to live with me today.”

“No, you’re good. I didn’t mean it that way,” Steve said quickly. 

“Shh.” Miles draped both arms around Steve’s shoulders, crossing them over his chest and pulling him close. “Kid, I know exactly what you meant,” he said into Steve’s ear. “I’m not a top like you’re used to, and you want a top badly now. I wouldn’t mind a spare top also, but I seem to be the only one here, and we’re going to have to muddle along. You need a spanking. We’re going to go into the kitchen, and I’m going to give you one. We’ll work on everything else after that.”

Steve let himself be led into the kitchen. Miles wasn’t at big or as broad as Josh, but his arm was snug around Steve’s shoulders, and he seemed to welcome the weight of Steve against him. At least for the moment Miles felt like a top; something Steve desperately wanted, even though he feared admitting it to himself. He was a sub; they all said it was OK, good, and right for him to look to the tops. Other people didn’t do this. The guys back at high school would have razzed him for going quietly to his spanking, for wanting to go to his spanking. He shouldn’t be doing this.

The kitchen looked like it always did, the toaster pushed into the corner with its cord wrapped around it, pots of all sizes hanging from the pot rack, the primary colored napkins stacked on the table--blue for Josh, red for Jer, and yellow for Steve. They had other ones, boring dark green and some white ones that had to be ironed, but these were the ones they always used.

Miles pulled out a chair, well away from the table edges, and sat down. “Pants off and over my lap.”

That was an order, something that Steve understood clearly and easily. He slid his pants down, kicking them into a heap across the floor.

“Fold them on the chair.”

“Yes, Miles.” He was serious. Josh wouldn’t let him throw his clothes on the floor either.

“Over my lap.” Miles patted his thigh once.

Miles’s lap was narrower, bonier than Josh with worn faded jeans that smelled faintly of beer and peanuts. They were soft, almost threadbare; when Josh wore jeans, they were pressed and lightly starched and smelled strongly of laundry detergent. Steve squirmed, searching for a comfortable spot. Awkwardly, he pressed his finger tips to the floor trying to maintain his balance; Josh always put his hand, heavy and secure, over Steve’s back. He was floating on Miles lap, unanchored mentally and physically. 

“I’ve got you.” Miles’s hand rested on Steve’s back, still too light for real comfort, but at least there.

Steve flinched and tensed his ass cheeks as his boxers were drawn down. No matter how often it happened the waiting, exposed and vulnerable, was the worst part. Miles’s arm tightened around Steve, finally anchoring him against Miles. The first swat was hard, and Steve instinctively rocked forward to get away, listing from side to side as swats fell on alternate cheeks.

“You don’t throw things at me. You don’t intentionally break rules.” Miles landed a series of swats to punctuate each word. “Are we on the same page now?”

Steve nodded; choked in tears, he couldn’t manage words. It must have been enough because a final three swats hailed down on his already tender ass and then only the weight of Miles’s hand against the searing flesh. Steve flinched as his boxers were drawn up. Miles slid Steve gently to the floor, his arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulder. Steve buried his face in Miles lap, unable to stop the tears and embarrassed that Miles was seeing him red and snot covered. 

“Take your time. I’ve got you.” Miles’s hand played through Steve’s hair and reassuringly rubbed his shoulders.

Steve cried a long time, feeling shaky, sore, and more than a little embarrassed. This wasn’t Josh, the familiar older man where this relationship had seemed natural; this was Miles. He was hardly older than Steve; they necked on the sofa, giggling about Josh spying on them, and he’d just spanked him. Finally Steve pulled his head up and braved a glance at Miles. 

“You OK?”

Steve nodded and wiped at his sticky, hot cheeks. “You’re crying.”

“I’ve never spanked anyone,” Miles said very softly, making no effort to wipe the glittering tears from his eyes. “I didn’t know what to expect. Are you OK?”

“Better.” Steve scrambled to his feet, biting back the groan as his sore muscles stretched and his knees straightened. He kissed Miles on the cheek. He didn’t know why; it wasn’t something he usually did, but Miles looked like he needed comfort. “I’m OK. I was being horrible.”

“You’re never horrible.” Miles pulled Steve close and wiped the wet cheeks before kissing Steve lightly on the nose. “You were wanting this, my dear, and I guess I was topping. Oh God...” Miles trailed off.

“It’s OK; you did the right thing.” Steve managed a half grin and rubbed his butt. “I didn’t believe you could. I needed to know.” Steve bit his lip and felt a red flush blossom across his neck and face. “That sounds like stupid shit. Never mind. I’m an asshole.”

“Don’t.” Miles’s hand landed sharply on Steve’s tender ass. “You were right the first time. You needed to know I could do this. I needed to know.” Miles paused. “I love you, you crazy brat, and if loving you means spanking you occasionally I can do it.”

“It might mean a lot.” Steve felt his face flush a deeper red, and he leaned closer to Miles, wishing he was still kneeling and could bury his face in Miles’s lap. 

“If it’s a lot, Simon can do it. I think my hand hurts worse than your butt.” Miles rubbed his hand dramatically and held up the red palm for Steve to examine. 

Steve entwined his fingers in Miles’s larger but still fine boned hand. “You might have to use an implement. Just not the cane, please. I hate the cane.

Miles stood and wrapped Steve into a tight hug. “I’m not hitting you with a stick, my little boy. Don’t you even think of it. I’m not a great believer in black and white rules, but I think we can make one about canes. I do not hit my lover with sticks, and I don’t care that thousands of English school boys have reputedly survived unharmed.”

“If I break the pledge, you’ll be caned.”

“I’m counting on you to keep me well away from old guys with sticks.” Miles rubbed his hand down Steve’s back, heavy and comforting. “I know you’re a good boy, and I won’t have to fear Gordon with his damn stick.”

“I’m not good; I made you spank me.”

“Steve.” Miles’s hand played through Steve’s hair before dropping to the back of his neck where Miles’s squeezed firmly. “You’re very good; you’re wonderful, and you’re mine, well ours, Simon and me.”

“We should go to Vermont,” Steve said, pulling from Miles’s embrace. “Please.” Steve knew he was looking at Miles with his most pitiful expression, eyes wide and still wet with leftover tears. Josh would either laugh or swat Steve for what he called blatant manipulation, but maybe Miles would fall for it, and it wasn’t being manipulative. Steve wanted to go to Vermont. Simon was alone and in trouble. Steve was the brat; he knew what it meant to be in trouble, and he would have made Josh go if it were him. Josh would never have let him go alone. That was what family was for. Weren’t they always talking about family? 

“Simon wanted to go alone.”

“He said he wanted to go alone. I say things like that all the time, and I don’t mean it.” Steve shrugged and bit his lip. Miles didn’t get this. You didn’t leave someone alone in trouble. It just wasn’t right. “You say what you think you’re supposed to say, not what you mean.  Don’t you understand?”

 “Maybe,” Miles said after what seemed to be an eternity. “You have a test tomorrow.”

“I can study in the car; I don’t get carsick. Please.”

“You need to do this,” Miles said almost so softly that Steve didn’t hear him as if he were talking to himself. 

“We’re his family; we need to be there.” Steve wiped a tear that escaped his filling eyes. He didn’t want to cry now; he needed to make Miles understand. “When I broke the pledge, everybody came. I wasn’t even the one getting whacked, and Mace and Trent made my favorite cake. It’s not fair to make Simon do it alone. It’s wrong,” Steve said with as much force as he could muster. “He’ll need us.”

“Get your books.”

Steve grabbed his notes and texts and shoved his feet into his untied shoes. He practically ran back into the kitchen; he wasn’t going to give Miles time to change his mind. “I’m ready.”

“Tie your shoes,” Miles said absently as he headed toward the door.

Steve ignored him. It didn’t sound like an order, and he’d have plenty of time to tie them on the way. Miles drove some beat up little two seater. Miles insisted it wasn’t beat up, but in the process of restoration. As far as Steve could tell, it seemed to only get more rusty, not less. Steve flinched as his butt collided with the leather seat. Sitting and spankings never went well together.  

“Buckle up,” Miles said as the tiny engine spluttered to life, sounding more like a lawn mower than a car.

Steve tried to study as they drove through the light rain, just enough rain to dampen the windshield and cause the wipers to make a terrible screeching noise. “I hate that noise,” Steve complained as the wipers scraped over the windshield again.

“Study.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom too?”

“Sorry,” Steve said snappishly.

“I was teasing. I’ve been warned about brats and car trips, something about food and drink and knowing where all the bathrooms are. I must have failed top bladder skills because I’m the one who needs a bathroom, and I’d like a drink also.”

“Are you a switch?”

“What brought that up?” Miles asked with a quick glance over at Steve.

“I don’t know. Your answer to the question. Never mind. I’ll keep an eye out for a roadside rest.”

“Never mind is not an answer. You have every right to ask. You’re getting into a relationship with two guys who are supposed to be tops and one might be on your side of the line sometimes. Scary shit, I know. I’ve tried to figure it out, and I don’t know, and that’s a terrible answer. Some of today’s little tantrum was about that, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Steve said softly. “I felt discombobulated today.”

“Upset about Simon?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry I made you spank me.”

“I’m not. I’ve been having nightmares about the first time. It’s over now, and I think we both survived it, didn’t we?”

Steve nodded. Did Miles really want to talk about these kinds of things? It was too embarrassing. 

“Tough to talk about, I know. When Josh spanked me, I couldn’t explain why it made me feel better, it just did. We cleared the air or something, stopped all the posturing between us.”

“It makes me calmer.” It was more than that, but Steve didn’t have words for it or at least didn’t want to say it aloud. He liked having no choice. It wasn’t really no choice, he knew that, but an allusion of no choice. Miles was different; he’d wanted Steve to choose to be spanked. Steve wanted the other way, the top taking charge. “I’m a mess without direction.”

“Steve, you want to submit. I saw that today. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re lucky to find out so young.”

“What do you want?” Steve was surprised to find himself brave enough to ask that question. He didn’t usually like to talk about his feelings, but something about being in the car with half of Miles’s focus on the road and traffic made it easier.

“I guess it’s only fair for you to put me on the spot.” Miles turned and gave Steve a sheepish grin and a half laugh. “You seem to have a better handle on this than I do. I know I’m a top--or well, at least some of the time--but with Josh, I’m not so sure.”

“Josh won’t talk about it; he says it’s your decision.”

“That’s what they all say, and I thought all these older, stuffy tops loved to sort your life out.”

“Josh told me I was a sub.” Steve idly flipped the pages of his notebook; he wasn’t studying, just giving himself some time to think. “Maybe I’m on the easier end of this whole deal. I just have to follow orders.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not an expert on this subject, but you have to give your top an enormous amount of trust. It’s scary to give yourself to someone. You know, I was terrified when I went over Josh’s knee.”

“It worked out OK, didn’t it? Do you want to do it again?”

“It hurt.”

“Not that. I don’t get off on pain. Shit! How did we get off on this conversation? I should be studying my history.”

“Why do you do it?”

“I really am thirsty, and I need to take a leak.”

“Steve, that’s called changing the subject.”

“You’re getting this top thing too down pat.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Miles said with a snort. “I don’t seem to be able to stick to the manual.”

“I’ve got plenty of those. You don’t live with Josh.” Steve drummed his fingers on the dash. “God, what’s this car held together with--Scotch tape?”

“No, duct tape. You are good at changing the subject.”

“It’s what I’ve always done, divert and act charming. Don’t let anyone get close. Josh swats me when I do it.”

“I haven’t mastered swatting and driving; maybe that’s in advanced top training.”

“Red lights.” Steve smiled. “I pray a lot for the light to be green.”

“Remind me to only drive with him on the highway. In town sounds dangerous. There’s a roadside rest ahead.”

“I won’t have to use the side of the road after all.”

The rain was still falling in a steady drizzle as they jogged across the parking lot to the snack machines and bathroom. “What do you want for lunch? We have a fine choice of strange curly things dusted with fluorescent orange powder, sure to be stale donuts, and  a chocolate bar that looks like it might have survived the last world war,” Miles said, staring at the depleted vending machine. 

“Soda. You choose the snack. They all look non top approved, and then it will be your fault. I’ll get the drink.” 

“Thanks, for that I’m going with the orange curly things. I’m sure food coloring is in the major food groups.”

“My major food groups. You’re supposed to like tofu and brown rice.”

“I like tofu and brown rice, but I also like day glow orange snack things.” Miles tore open the bag and popped a handful into his mouth, leaving a telltale trace of orange on his lips and fingers. “Yum.” Miles turned the bag, his eyes scanning down the fine print. “Don’t read the ingredients. It sounds like something for chemical warfare.”

“Reading the ingredients ruins the fun.” Steve snatched a handful and shoveled them into his mouth. “No boy reads the ingredients.”

“What about Mace?”

“He’s hardly a sub or at least not my typet. Have you ever seen him brat?” Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s Mr. perfect. Not that he’s not a nice guy; he’s just boring.”

“You like Sheldon better?”

“We fight sometimes; Milton says we’re too much alike.”

“Don’t scare me.” Miles took another handful of the cheese curls.

“I’m not that bad, or at least not most of the time.”

“You’re not bad.” Miles looked over his shoulder and dropped a quick kiss on Steve’s hair. “I’d move to the opposite coast before I’d take Sheldon alone in a car.”

“He can be normal; I’ve seen him.”

“When Milton threatens to kill him.”

“No, really, he understands this stuff.” Steve grabbed another handful of the orange powdered snack. He couldn’t say they actually tasted like cheese, but he guessed the color was enough. “We get into it sometimes, but he can be interesting to talk to.” Steve wiped his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was telling Miles all these things. He didn’t usually talk much; most tops cornered him and forced him to answer questions. Miles was just shooting the breeze and sharing junk food. 

Miles took the last cheese curl and crumpled the bag into the trash. “I can’t believe you got grape soda,” he said, taking the can from Steve and swallowing in a long gulp. “I haven’t had this stuff since I was a kid.”

“Don’t drink it all. Thief!” Steve reached for the can but Miles held it well above his head.

“Ask for it nicely.”

“Not fair. You’re taller.” Steve jumped up almost knocking the can from Miles’s hand. 

“And the man faints to the right and passes behind his back to the star shooter.” Miles passed the can behind his back to Steve. “Finish it up. It tastes like drain cleaner.”

Laughing, Steve chugged the soda down in one swig and with a perfect jump shot landed it in the recycling bin. “And he scores,” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“Too much junk food.” Miles smiled and shook his head. “Now I understand the warnings. Come on. We still have more than an hour’s drive. Miles grabbed Steve’s hand in a warm, strong grip. “Run. It’s raining harder.”

Somehow it just felt right, hanging onto Miles’s hand and chasing those long legs over rain spattered concrete. Miles was his top, and maybe he was a little bit of a sub too, but that didn’t seem so scary now. It was pretty hard to be worried about a man with orange powder on his fingers and a purple mustache.