Steve's Tale 8

Steve’s Tale

Chapter 8

“Are you ready to cope with Milton again? I expect he’ll come get us if we don’t show up soon.”

“Yes,” Miles said with a sharp nod of his head. He could manage Milton. After all Milton was only a top, not some mythical creature that could enslave Miles and his family. “Do I have much choice?”

“Probably not,” Simon said with a trace of a smile. “I doubt if he’s a great believer in choice.”

“Or free will,” Miles added sarcastically.

“I’d be careful there. He’d never coerce someone into being either a dominant or submissive, but once the choice is made, he believes in tight guidelines for behavior. Do you understand the difference?”

Miles shrugged. He knew what Simon was saying, but he wasn’t sure he believed it, or maybe he didn’t want to believe it. 

“The Green Mountain Boys’ rules apply to both tops and subs. It’s not like I get a free ride.”

“They seem so arbitrary. I have to wear a tie tonight. Wearing a tie doesn’t make me a better person or a better top. All it does is make me feel like I’m being strangled. And what are they going to do about us?”

“Miles, my love,” Simon said, reaching over and giving his partner a quick peck on the lips. “They won’t try to break us up. I may have hell to pay for lying to them, but I’m OK with that.”

“You lied because they disapproved.”

“It doesn’t matter why I lied. I lied; that’s enough. It’s too easy to hurt someone when you don’t know all the information. You’ll understand more once we have Steve.”

“They forced you into the lie. They hate us together.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” Miles heard the sharpness in the tone. This was a top, warning someone he was coming close to unpleasant consequences.

“Don’t get all toppy with me.”

“I am a top--USDA certified.” Simon flashed Miles a wide, boyish grin, his blue eyes alight with humor. “Do you think I’m prime or choice?”

“Stop it,” Miles said and swatted Simon’s backside. “I was being serious.”

“Too serious,” Simon said, dodging out of the way. “We’re in love. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Being judged by Milton and Joshua is not fun. Or maybe you think having a bunch of guys telling you how to live is fun? I’m not into cults.”

“Miles, this isn’t a cult.”

“Free Masons, ghoulish secret society, demented country club. Call it what you like, but it gives me the creeps. Sorry,” Miles added before Simon could speak. “I know I told you I would try, and I will.”

“If you can’t do this, we’ll find another way.”

“No,” Miles said quickly and hooked an arm around Simon to pull him close. “I promised I’d try, and I’m not trying.” 

“You’re here,” Simon said softly. “I know that it wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah, I’m a wimp.”

“You’re not a wimp. No wimp would consider a threesome; it’s way too much work, and I don’t know any wimps in the Green Mountain Boys. It takes courage to do this right. It doesn’t matter whether you’re on the top side or the sub side.” Simon touched his lips to his partner and grasped Miles’s neck with a strong hand. “Are you with me here?”

“Yeah,” Miles said and shook out his long limbs. “I’m going to have to take up meditation or yoga if I have to do this every day.” Miles rotated his head and shrugged his shoulders. “God, I feel tense, and that Milton knows he’s got me. I can see it in his eyes. I can’t believe I let him intimidate me.”

“Miles, this isn’t a contest about which top can shout louder or piss farther. Milton’s very focused, and he reads body language well. He’s done this a long time.”

“He’s not much older than you. You don’t make me feel like that.”

“Good,” Simon said with a snort. “I couldn’t imagine you in bed with Milton.”

“I was being serious.”

“Too serious. Go with the flow here.”

“Oh great! That sounds delightful,” Miles said, not hiding his sarcasm. “I just let myself get pushed around.”

Simon shook his head. “You’re being stubborn today.”

“I don’t rollover and die for a guy I hardly know. I don’t care if he’s super top or the President of the United States.” Miles shoved his hands in pockets and turned his back on Simon, trying to regain his temper. He flinched as Simon landed a hard swat on his butt. “I’m not your submissive,” Miles spat and spun around.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me when I’m talking to you. It’s rude.”

Miles stepped back, shaken by the fierceness in Simon’s usually gentle blue eyes and the cold precision of Simon’s speech.

“You may argue with me; you may disagree with me. You can even yell at me, but you do not turn your back and walk away when I’m talking to you. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” Miles said softly, surprised at the deference in his own voice. “I’m upset.”

“I know you are.”

Miles found himself drawn into a tight hug, unable to resist. He rested his head against Simon’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of his partner, the coconut shampoo from the shower this morning, the smell of beer and hotdogs from the basketball game, and the faint smell of Steve still clinging to Simon. Steve was cuddly, far more so than Miles. Josh or Simon always seemed to have a hand on Steve, and even Miles found himself with his arm draped over Steve or Steve half sitting in his lap. Miles hadn’t grown up in a family that touched much. His parents had been OK, hardly batting an eye when he’d brashly announced at thirteen that he was gay, but they didn’t touch him a lot or each other. They were probably too busy dealing or not dealing with the chaos of the Canton household. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his father give his mother more than a ritual peck on her cheek, and they most definitely didn’t hug.

“Thanks,” Miles said into Simon’s shoulder.

“For what?” Simon asked, playing his fingers down Miles’s back.

“I’m being a jerk, and you’re being nice.”

“You’re feeling unsteady right now. I do get that, but I just reacted to you as a top. You don’t like that.”

Miles leaned harder into Simon for a moment before pushing away. “It’s all right; I deserved it. I was being a snot.”

“You deserve to be loved and adored.” Simon smiled that fleeting half smile that always made Miles remember why he’d fallen in love with that man. “I’m a top, and I sometimes can’t stop myself from being a top.” Simon reached forward, caught Miles’s hand, and intertwined their fingers together. “Steve will make my top side more pronounced. Being around a submissive does that.”

“I’ll be OK,” Miles interrupted before Simon could go further. “Maybe I sometimes need to see that top side. I am a young top, and at least Milton sees that as some sort of defect to be trained out of me. I’d rather have you do that than him.” Miles hesitated before continuing. “I don’t trust him.”

“Miles,” Simon said and kissed Miles’s forehead.

“I’m not a stuffed toy; remember?” Miles said, half laughing.

“You’re going to have to get over your aversion to that. With Steve around, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” Simon dropped another kiss on Miles’s forehead, a teasing grin on his face. “I think I’ll start that training now.” He touched his lips again to Miles’s forehead.

Miles squirmed but didn’t seriously try to pull away. “Are you done yet?”

“For now.” Simon stroked his hand down Miles’s cheek, his eyes no longer laughing. “I was teasing here, but in all seriousness I’m sure Milton can be trusted. Try to trust him. He may not be your style, and he’s more hard line than either of us, but, like Josh, I think he’s a good man. Watch him tonight at dinner; I think it will put your mind at ease.”

“Making his boys be servants. They probably have to kneel and kiss his feet,” Miles snapped.

“Your moods are all over the place today,” Simon said, unruffled. “Watch Milton tonight, and then tell me if you think he treats Sheldon and Blade like slaves.”

“Fine,” Miles snapped.

“Open mind,” Simon warned. “I’d swat a submissive for a comment in that tone; you should know better.”

Miles felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered and gave Simon a feeble smile. “I deserved that, didn’t I? You are a very effective scolder. I feel sufficiently chastised.”

Simon kissed Miles’s forehead. “Good boy,” he said, the tease evident in his voice.

“Enough,” Miles said, pushing away again. “I might decide I like it, and then you would have two submissives.”

“You’re not a sub. Stop worrying. No one’s going to assume you’re a sub. Landon knew the minute he laid eyes on you three years ago, and Milton knew instantly. Tops don’t all look like Milton and Josh.”

“Haven’t I heard this lecture before?”

“Yes, but it must not be sinking in. We all know you’re a top, and most importantly Steve knows you’re a top. I find him tucked under your arm or leaning against your leg every time I start to worry about him being stressed or out of sorts. He gravitates to you.”

“We’ve not handled him in a crisis.”

“Not yet. It will come, and you’ll do fine. I was a disaster the first few times with Sam. David alternated between holding my hand and kicking me in the ass. I’ll fumble with Steve too until we find the right steps. Discipline is a dance, and we’ll all be left footed on the first few tries.”

“Maybe we’ll never have to spank him,” Miles said, knowing it was false hope.

“Unlikely,” Simon said dryly. “Steve gets spanked more in a month than some bubmissives in a year. He needs it; it’s who he is, and it’s who we are. You’ve swatted him a few times. Was that hard?”

Miles was silent; it hadn’t been hard. That was the frightening thing. It had felt right to change Steve’s behavior with a quick whack on his ass. Did that make it right? Why couldn’t he just love the kid without all these complications and crazy rules?

“You’re stewing, but we need to get downstairs before a rescue party shows up.” Simon looped an arm over Miles’s shoulders and herded him downstairs.

The kitchen was busy with activity; blue-jeaned legs moved in all directions, followed by laughter and shouts. The smell of onions and garlic was rising from the stove. Two redheads were peeling potatoes when not jostling each other and tossing potato peels haphazardly toward the trashcan with fancy behind the back shots. A brown-haired man looked up from a mass of dough he was beating into shape and wiped his flour covered hands on his jeans. 

“You must be Miles and Simon,” he said in a slow drawl and sauntered over to them, gripping Miles’s hand in a firm grasp. “I’m Mace. Milton said you were upstairs. Have you been hiding to keep Trent from drafting you into kitchen labor? You’ve shown yourself now, cowboy, so I’m afraid your days of freeloading are over.” Mace smiled, a slow easy smile. “Who have you met in this circus?”

“No one but Milton,” Miles said.

“Everyone else is easy after that,” a tall man with bangs askew and eyes that were almost violet said from the door. Behind him stood a smaller blond man and a tall dark-haired man who was unabashedly studying Miles.

“I’m sure Milton loved your get up,” the young brown-haired man said. “Cool eyebrow piercing. Tilden would kill me if I did that.”

“Yes, I would, Misha,” the violet-eyed guy said. “Mace, are you going to introduce these guys, or should I do the honors?”

“Hold your horses. I was getting there when you barged in,” Mace said with an easiness that made it clear that he and whoever was standing in the doorway were friends. “Propping up the doorframe is Tilden and his two partners. Luke is the blond and the sweetheart, Mike is the dark, tallish one, and you want to watch him. He might try to give you a run for your money. But he’s easy compared to the two redheaded rogues with the potatoes. Everyone knows they’re certifiable maniacs.” Mace caught a chunk of potato that was lobbed at his head. “See what I mean.”

“No throwing things in the kitchen,” a man said from the stove. “Blade, you know better.”

“Mace was being mean.”

“He was teasing, inappropriately with guests in the house, but he wasn’t being mean, kiddo, and you know that.”

“You always take his side,” Blade whined.

Miles watched, trying to not show the shock on his face. Theoretically he knew some subs longed for attention and could become whiney and demanding, but he’d never seen an adult man act this way in a kitchen with strangers present. Blade was young that was obvious from the traces of acne still on his face, but he wasn’t a child. He must be around Steve’s age.

“Blade, corner,” the man at the stove said, his voice placid as if this strange behavior was a normal occurrence.

“Not fair,” Blade whined, but moved toward the corner. “Mace started it.”

“I’m aware of that, and he’s going to finish the potatoes.”

“What about the rolls?” Mace said, but he was already moving to pick up the knife that Blade had dropped on the counter.

“I’ll finish them.” The man turned toward Simon and Miles and gave them an easy smile, his gray eyes warm and welcoming. “Welcome to our madhouse, and it’s always this way. Don’t let anyone fool you. I’m Trent, Mace’s partner. Sheldon is over with Mace and the potatoes, and Blade, our young scamp, is in the corner.” Trent walked over and squeezed Blade’s shoulder affectionately. “Thank you for going to the corner,” he said in a lower tone, but still clearly audible to Miles

“It still doesn’t seem fair.” Blade twisted partially around, so he could look at Trent. 

“Corner.” Trent turned Blade’s shoulders back around. “I had only planned to tell you not to toss food, but then you fussed at me. You know how this works.”

Blade thumped his head into the wall. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Trent said, squeezing Blade’s shoulder. “Be glad it was me and not Milton.”

Blade groaned. “He doesn’t do backtalk. He would have spanked me.”

“Probably. The corner looks pretty nice when compared to a spanking. Settle down a few minutes, and then you can help me make the icing to the cake. The helper gets to enjoy the extra, and I’ve seen you with sugar.”

Miles couldn’t hear what Blade muttered in reply, but it must have been satisfactory because Trent tousled the untidy red hair and moved back to the stove.

“I thought I heard a lot of noise in here,” Milton said, his big frame filling the hallway. “Blade giving you trouble?”

“Nothing serious,” Trent said easily. “He just needs to settle for a few minutes.”

Milton nodded, but his expression was skeptical. “Do you need any help?”

“I thought I’d roped Luke and Mike in to help with the vegetables. Tilden can set the table; he’s safe in the dining room.”

“Unfair, below the belt contact,” Tilden said with a laugh.

Miles looked at Simon, perplexed. Simon shrugged his shoulders, his expressions as confused as Miles’s.

“My inability to cook is a running joke,” Tilden said. “I’m not even trusted to wash vegetables.

“You’d probably flood the kitchen,” Mace said.

“I should try that,” Sheldon said. “I hate potatoes.”

“You always eat plenty, boy.” Milton said, moving across the kitchen toward Sheldon.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. If I tried the kitchen flooding trick, you’d blister my butt, and I’d be peeling potatoes until I’m eighty.”

“You’re right, boy.” Milton landed a soft swat on Sheldon’s backside and kissed the top of his head before reaching in the drawer, pulling out a knife, and starting on a potato.

 “Cool, help.”

“At the rate you were going, we were going to be eating at midnight even with Mace’s help.”

 “I don’t want to do this.” The confession was half under his breath, and Miles was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it. 

Trent turned something up on the stove and the sizzling became louder. Tilden grabbed both his partners and nodded toward Simon and Miles. “We’re going to finish polishing the silver. When you need them for the vegetables, call.” Miles started to follow when he was halted by Milton.

“Miles, wait. You need to see this.”

Miles turned back to Milton and Sheldon, feeling as embarrassed as Sheldon looked. Milton had his arms wrapped around his boy and had pulled Sheldon tightly to his chest.

“Sheldon,” Milton said gently. “This is your call, and I know you’ve not been involved extensively in top training.”

“It’s OK,” Sheldon said quickly. “I’m not a shrinking violet. It’s not like I won’t tell everyone five minutes after it’s happened,” Sheldon said with a rueful smile.

Milton kissed him and ran his fingers through his boy’s hair with what Miles thought was genuine affection. “Thank you,” Milton said sincerely.

“You trust him, and I trust your judgment.” Sheldon leaned into Milton, the trust obvious in his posture.

“Do you want us out of here?” Trent asked from the stove.

“No, we’ll go in Tilden’s study. I know you’re trying to make dinner, and I just stole your help.”

“We’ll manage,” Trent said, “I’ll draft Simon, and I’ll put you to work when you get back.”

“Fair enough,” Milton said with a slight smile.

Miles heard Trent release Blade from the corner as they walked down the hall into the study. Tilden’s study, if anything, had more books than Milton’s. Books overflowed the floor to ceiling shelves and were stacked under the desk and in wooden crates along one wall. Half the titles were in some indecipherable text, Russian Miles presumed. Steve had talked about Tilden and Russian class. Steve called the man obsessed with all things Slavic.

Milton motioned Miles into a chair and pulled Sheldon down with him on the sofa, waiting until Sheldon draped himself across Milton, his red hair tucked firmly under Milton’s chin and mixing with Milton’s close cropped beard. “We talked about this,” Milton said gently. “I thought you agreed. Did I misunderstand?” Milton’ s voice was devoid of accusation, only gentle and perplexed.

“I’m not Mike.”

“Meaning what?”

“I’m not into this. I'm the bratty boy, not the well-behaved sub. I don’t like serving, and I’m no good at it.”

“I don’t expect perfect service. We don’t do this often. I will help; you know that.”

“I’ll make a fool out of myself. I can’t do it. I’ll drop a plate or spill the water.”

Milton tightened his arms around Sheldon and kissed his forehead. “I’m not expecting perfect service. When we talked about this, what did I tell you?”

Sheldon made a face and recited, “Service is not about being a servant or a slave. It’s a tool used in training both tops and subs to understand and express themselves within the dynamic. There is nothing inherently degrading or humiliating about service. It is an act of generosity and kindness that should be cherished by the recipient.”

“And you believe none of that,” Milton said.

Sheldon shrugged. “You know me.” He shot Miles a wide grin. “I’m the maniac, the impossible redhead. He should just thump on me and get this over with.”

“Sheldon, do you need me to spank you? I can,” Milton said.

Sheldon sat quietly for a moment. Miles thought he was taking an internal inventory. “No.” The question was answered in a whisper. “I can manage. You won’t make me kneel at dinner?”

“Have I ever made you kneel at dinner?”

Sheldon shook his head. “Gordon did once.”

“I believe you spat on a visitor and launched an entire platter of meat at his head, including the silver carving set. You’re lucky Gordon didn’t strangle you. I might have.”

Sheldon turned an impressive shade of red and ducked his head. “It wasn’t one of my finer moments.  He was a prick. He deserved it.”

“Do you believe that?” Milton asked, his voice sharpening.

“No, but it was worth a shot.” Sheldon was smiling again, a grin that Miles was beginning to thinks was irrepressible. Thank God, Steve didn’t bounce from mood to mood like this. Sheldon was dizzying, even though Milton seemed well used to it and kept up easily through each hairpin turn. “You won’t make me kneel?”

“No, Sheldon, you have my word. If you do something as insane as throwing plates of food at our guests, I’ll take you upstairs and spank you until you can’t sit down for a month. I know that works with you.” Milton had smiled slightly thorough the exaggerated threat, but now his face turned serious. “Your brother is a different person. Will you handle it if I ask him to kneel?”

Sheldon’s green eyes flickered to Milton’s face and then back to the floor. He ran his palm repeatedly up and down his pant leg until Milton caught his wrist and stilled his hand.

“Are you good with what I do with your brother?”

“I trust you,” Sheldon said almost under his breath. “He’s not me.”

“No, he’s not,” Milton said, rubbing his beard against Sheldon’s cheek. “You’re my partner and lover. He’s family and a boy in training.”

“He’s in this deeper. I don't want some of those things.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

Sheldon shrugged. “Not really, but I see him watch Mike. He’s envious.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, you force me to answer when I make those noncommittal noises.” Sheldon elbowed Milton in the ribs.

“Was that a question? I thought it was a statement.”

“And I thought that I was the bratty one in this relationship.”

“You are my boy, you are.” Milton tousled Sheldon’s hair. “My best bratty boy.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s forehead, his lips resting on the skin for a moment before pulling away. “Will you manage tonight?”

Sheldon jumped up, and shook his short hair across his forehead. “I’ll manage. I better get back in there before Trent and Mace have a stroke about all the extra work. Blade’s useless; he spends more time in the corner than helping.”

“Be nice to your brother; he’s trying.” Milton landed a light swat on Sheldon’s hip and chased him from the room. 

Miles watched Sheldon practically skip from the room. He seemed more than happy with his discussion with Milton. A discussion that Miles thought should have been private. He’d only met Sheldon a few minutes ago, and he’d been allowed to eavesdrop on a private conversation, a discussion without a satisfactory outcome as far as Miles could tell. He didn’t get it. Milton hadn’t really agreed to anything. He hadn’t agreed to exempt Sheldon from serving dinner and whatever else was expected tonight. He’d made a rather vague promise not to make Sheldon kneel, but even that promise seemed to have exceptions--something to do with hurled meat platters. He hadn’t spanked Sheldon. At least that was a promising development. Miles would have pegged Milton as the spank first ask questions later type guy, but spanking hadn’t seemed to be on his mind during the conversation.

“Sheldon’s wound tight tonight,” Milton said. “Try to be nice to him.”

“I don’t go around spanking strange subs or airing their private problems in public,” Miles snapped. “I think that’s more your gig.”

“You are trying to hang yourself, young man,” Milton said mildly, crossing his long legs and settling back on the sofa.”I was not asking you not to spank Sheldon; I would probably interfere if you tried, and Sheldon granted me permission to include you in our conversation. Both or us are comfortable in our relationship, and we both understand the value of sharing and teaching even when it isn’t the easy or pleasant option. I was asking you to smile and nod when he passes you a plate or refills your water, to perhaps say thank you, or to touch his shoulder reassuringly. As you heard he’s uncomfortable doing service--”

“Then why make him do it?” Miles interrupted. “It’s old-fashioned, dated, and demeaning.”

“I will answer your question when I finish the sentence which you so rudely interrupted,” Milton said, his voice frigid.

Miles felt a flush rising in his cheeks. No, he wasn’t going to apologize to this pompous windbag. Milton had no right to lord over him. 

“It is customary to apologize when you’ve been chastised for rudeness,” Milton said, his eyes boring holes in Miles’s face.

Miles flushed again and looked away. He wasn’t going to let Milton browbeat him into a servile attitude.

“I see your law of jungle behavior does not include basic politeness. So we are clear here, guests in this household must follow the same rules as family. This includes common courtesy. Now if you will allow it, I will continue.”

Miles nodded, twirling the beads on his wrist. How did this man make him feel angry and embarrassed at the same time? He had been rude; Milton was right, but he didn’t need to be chastised like a small boy.

“As I was saying, Sheldon is uncomfortable with the idea of service. I have never pressed him to perform these duties, even though with his volatile personality the routine should be settling. I have no strong preference that he bring the food in from the kitchen or wait for me to eat first. As you mentioned, it is dated and rigid, from the days when meals were served by the kitchen staff. However, I, along with my partner, will be head of the Green Mountain Boys. It is a valuable tradition in training subs as it provides a rigid framework to begin to understand the intricacies of the relationship between the dominant and submissive. More importantly for tonight it provides a distraction to try to prevent conflict between Sheldon and Steve, between Blade and Steve, or among all three. Sheldon and Steve do not have a good history together, and I prefer it not be repeated. Service when done properly need not be demeaning. It can be a gift of caring between partners. Now do you have any more questions?”

“No.” Miles felt heat rising in his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was being an ass.”

“Thank you.” Milton rose to his feet and moved to Miles’s chair, pulling the slighter man up easily. He dropped a kiss on Miles’s forehead. “I know you hate that; I saw you with Simon, but you might as well get used to it. You are one of us even if you are dragging your heels and protesting. Milton kissed Miles again before dropping an arm over the young top’s shoulders. “Are you going to punch me for that?”

Miles could hear the smile in Milton’s voice and he looked up, surprised at the genuine warmth in Milton’s eyes. “I think it might end badly if I tried.”

Milton laughed, the sound warm and friendly. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Miles, I’m not trying to make this hard for you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Miles said after a moment.

“Intellectually but maybe not yet in your heart.” Milton squeezed Miles’s shoulder. “Growing into the dominant side of your personality is sometimes painful. I am a dominant; I embrace that role, and I’m proud to be a top. I don’t hide from it. I get great joy from Sheldon, but I won’t tell you it’s always easy, and at the beginning it was daunting. I have a temper. I resented Gordon; I resented my grandfather, and the young submissives were driving me wild. It seemed if they were going to meltdown they did it with me, and at least according to Gordon, it was invariably my fault. I was disciplined more thoroughly for my failures as a top than the sub was for throwing dinner across the room. I spent more time across Gordon’s knee than any submissive. He treated me as his boy. It worked for me, and now looking back at it I can even remember some of my time with him fondly. I respect and even like the man. I hated him most of the time in the beginning,” Milton said with a wry grin. “Fascist was one of my more pleasant names for him, and it was probably easier for me than for you. My grandfather, who raised me, is a top. While as a child I was blissfully unaware of it, I expect the calmness and discipline that was maintained in our household made my transition easier.”

Miles’s household as a boy had been anything but calm and peaceful. He was the middle boy in a pack of children who always seemed to be shouting, running, or getting into some kind of scrape. In his family, he was the one known for having the most common sense. Unlike his elder brother, he hadn’t driven the family car into the side of the garage before acquiring his driver’s license. Unlike his younger sister, he didn’t have to call his parents from Florida to be rescued from a hotel room with no possessions except a bikini, a pair of flip-flops and a T-shirt advertising a strip joint. He had always been the kid who had his act together. He didn’t get thrown out of school, arrested, or try illegal substances. He was the one his rather crazy siblings still relied upon for a few dollars to buy groceries or a place to crash. Simon had some pretty tough rules for free loading guests that had lessened the traffic, and Miles had become wise to the grocery ploy and would now food shop for the sibling in need of rescue rather than hand out a few dollars. He loved his family in all their disorganized craziness, and his parents had always tried hard. They were simply overwhelmed and not cut out for the parent thing, 

“You’ve never yielded to anyone’s authority,” Milton said. “Certain behavioral standards were expected in my household when I was growing up, not that my family was harsh or used physical discipline. They didn’t, but both Grandfather and Uncle Doug had rules, and I for the most part followed them. They weren’t capricious rules, and they didn’t change arbitrarily, so it wasn’t difficult or over burdensome.”

Mile’s parents had tried rules several times. They’d even hired a family coach with no success. All the kids had still broken any prohibitions, and nothing had been enforced with any consistency. They’d tried, Miles thought, but it was like stopping a tidal wave with a few sandbags. 

“I take it your family wasn’t so calm?” Milton asked.

“There were six children. It was loud and chaotic,” Miles said, choosing his words carefully. He loved his family; he wasn’t going to condemn them in front of a near stranger.

“And you did your best to prevent catastrophe. Parental dictates be damned. You were probably the only person in the household with halfway sensible judgment.”

Miles shrugged; Milton had nailed it, but he didn’t want to talk about it. It had been crazy, and Miles had been the go to person when disaster struck for as many years as he could remember.

“OK, I’m prying,” Milton said with a soft smile. “I’m a top; I have a license to pry. You do not have to tell me anything. I have stepped out of bounds, and I know it, but I’m going to make you endure my mini lecture. I believe you were raised in a household where ceding authority to anyone but yourself was reckless and foolhardy. You haven’t told me this, but it fits the behavior I’m seeing and the words you haven’t quite said. You trust your own judgment, but you’ve never trusted anyone else’s, and the thought of doing so is more than a little frightening. Simon has skillfully sidestepped any direct clashes with you. And now for the part you really will not like.” Milton placed a hand on each of Miles’s shoulders and turned the young top to face him. “As a Green Mountain Boy, you must be willing to cede authority. I will insist, and I will be as tough as necessary. I can make you hate me if that’s what I need to do. Simon and Steve both need you to understand the power involved in both taking authority and giving authority to someone else. You have a difficult road to travel, but only you can decide how difficult it needs to be. Those men love you; you need to love them back properly, unshielded and with complete trust.”

“And saying sir to you or kneeling on the floor makes that happen,” Miles snapped.

“I’m not going to respond to that. I advise you watch how we interact tonight. Now, I’m going to leave you with Tilden to help him finish setting the table. Hopefully you will find his company more agreeable than mine.”

Leaving him with Tilden involved hustling him into the dining room and dropping him off with a quick word to Tilden that Miles could lend an extra pair of hands. The large dining room table was covered with assorted pieces of silver. Tilden was polishing a pitcher; he looked up and smiled at Miles.

“Do I get some help? Trent stole mine,” Tilden said in an open friendly manner but not hiding that he was studying Miles.

 “Miles has graciously volunteered,” Milton said and strode from the room with no further discussion.

“If you could get the silverware laid out, it would be helpful. I’m told we’ll need salad forks and dessert forks. It should all be polished. Sheldon and Blade did it last night,” Tilden said.

Miles sorted through the silverware, glad that Tilden seemed less inclined to talk but disconcerted by the knowing eyes that kept watching him. They worked for several minutes in silence, broken only by snatches of song in an unrecognizable language that Tilden was half singing, half humming under his breath.

“How many place settings?” Miles finally asked.

“The eight of us plus you, Simon, Steve, and Josh and Jer.”

“No Gordon?”

“Not tonight. Milton didn’t look happy with you. If Milton’s irritated, Gordon would be beside himself. It would serve him right.” Tilden smiled gently, his eyes flickering between blue and violet. Tilden continued to polish the silver, never taking his eyes off Miles.

“Do you always stare?” Miles asked, trying to swallow the exasperation in his voice. He had to get through this dinner. How hard could it be to have dinner? Pass the peas, and make stupid conversation about the road construction and slow trains.

“How bad was the talk with Milton? He can be strongly opinionated. I should know; we share a house.”

Miles couldn’t help but smile at Tilden’s easy and relaxed attitude. “You’re not like him.”

“You mean like Milton? This house could only survive one Milton. We would all go crazy.”

“I could see that,”

“Don’t let him get to you; he means well, and he’s the most generous man I know. He’s just impossibly bossy. You’ll learn how to divert that side, or at least most of the time. He still gets on my case sometimes.”

“And you let him?” Miles had stopped polishing the silverware and was now openly staring at Tilden. This was a man Milton’s age who had two partners of his own. He was in no way beholden to Milton, and he casually mentioned that he sometimes let Milton boss him.

“He’s usually right when he gets that way,” Tilden said, leaning his elbows on the table and studying Miles. “We laugh about it later, and it’s not like I don’t sometimes do the same thing to him. We tops can’t help it; it’s how we’re wired. Don’t let him get you down. The guys adore him, so he must be doing something right even if he sometimes drives his fellow tops wild. But to be honest, Miles, I’d follow that man off a cliff if he asked me to. He’s as much a brother as a friend or a housemate, and I absolutely trust him with myself and with my two partners. Finish the silverware and think about it.”