The Boys of Autumn

The Boys of Autumn

Mike walked backwards, pointing out the buildings of interest and watching the gaggle of tourists in front of him. They weren’t actually tourists but prospective students. It was a perfect day for a campus tour. The sky was an unusual cloudless blue; Mace called this sky the color of the West. The leaves were turning New England postcard perfect, crimson and gold. Mike rambled on about the library as his feet crunched the leaves that were gently tumbling off the trees and collecting on the path. Mike droned on about the number of volumes, and the wonders of interlibrary loan. He enjoyed watching the students and their parents: the geeks who asked about the science buildings, the kids who didn’t care as long as there were good parties, and the children of alumni whose parents thought their comments weren’t carrying to the rest of the group.

He swung the group by the fountain, thinking of his encounter with the water last year and sitting through a history lesson dripping water and sloshing in his shoes. It was hard to believe he now lived with those professors and was a poster child for the college. He, the perpetual bad boy, was giving campus tours.

Mike continued the tour into the student union building. It was one of the ugliest buildings on campus, a futuristic steel and glass structure with some metal sculpture outside which Mike thought looked like a sex toy for a giant, however he refrained from making that comment. He’d had the back luck of being overheard by Milton when he made the joke with one tour group. He’d spent an hour on his knees contemplating the error of his ways and an afternoon writing about proper manners. 

Inside Mike thought the building was no more attractive than outside, but it was always teeming with students. Since it was early in the academic year the cork boards were lined with recruitment posters for the various clubs on campus. Mike was blathering on about student participation in extracurricular activities while a mother was reading the Green Mountain Boys’ poster. This year they’d started a student chapter, the first one in the nation. The poster was suitably discreet with a picture of young men in front of a lodge in Vermont.

“Look at this, Braxton,” the woman said, the oversized beads around her neck clanking as she turned toward her son and continued in a loud voice. “It must be a new outdoors club. I’ve never heard of Green Mountain Boys. You like the outdoors.”

A sullen boy with dishwater blond hair, which flopped in his eyes, hissed something at his mother that Mike couldn’t hear. Several other young men were giggling and trying unsuccessfully to hide their amusement from their parents. The trailers had started to come out this fall for Mark and Bryce’s new documentary, The Boys in Green. Mike had seen the trailer run in front of several films at the Cineplex, and it didn’t take much imagination to realize that the Green Mountain Boys were the Boys in Green.

“Stop muttering, Braxton,” the overloud woman said. 

The group had shifted closer to Mike, and he was practically gagged by the overwhelming smell of perfume from Braxton’s mother. Mike was suddenly glad his parents were in Africa digging irrigation ditches.

“It’s not a nature club,” Braxton shouted at his mother, his face red.

“You needn’t shout, dear,” his mother said in a voice that could have been easily heard across a playing field. “I’m standing right next to you.”

“Fuck, mother! I thought you didn’t want me muttering. It’s a club for gay boys who like to get their asses beat,” Braxton said at full volume. Mike was sure Braxton could be heard throughout the cavernous building even with the background noise of students chatting and running through the building as a shortcut to the science side of the campus. 

Mike’s once peaceful tour group was like watching a slow motion scene in a movie of an ambush gone horribly wrong. Parents grabbed for their offspring, a range of expressions crossed the prospective students’ faces from embarrassment to unmitigated glee, and Braxton’s mom went white, then red, and finally a unique shade of purple. 

Braxton’s mother made a choking sound and spluttered, “You don’t need to shout.”

“I was trying to tell you. You never listen. Why can’t you get the fuck out of my life?”

Mike coughed and started speaking loudly, “We have a lot of ground to cover. I need to have you back at the admissions office in thirty minutes.” He started walking, hoping they would follow. 

The group divided itself. A couple of jock looking guys hung back, pointing and jeering at the sign. Braxton and his mother were arguing, at least they were no longer at ear splitting volume, but they were gesticulating wildly, and Braxton looked close to the point of either running away or hitting someone. Mike looked around. Where was a top when he needed one? Milton and Tilden had a terrible propensity to pop out from behind trees or come around the corner of buildings at crucial moments when Mike was making snide comments, but now when he wanted them desperately, there were only students watching the melee with unabashed glee and enthusiasm.

The brief lull in Braxton's and his mother’s voices had passed, and their shouts were shaking the windows. Mike shouldered his way back toward the screaming boy and the red faced mother. 

“My apologies. Will you please make your way back to the admissions office. You will have to join another tour,” Mike said to the group. He grabbed Braxton’s shirt and pushed him into the men’s bathroom, which by some act of God was actually empty. Mike jammed the cleaning cart in front of the door, blocking the entrance. “Stop it. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

Braxton stood panting, his eyes roving around the bathroom, trying to get his wits about him. “Hey, man, why’d you shove me in here?”

“Disturbing the peace. Acting like an asshole. Do any of those things sound familiar?” Mike kept a firm hold on Braxton’s arm. Mike had always been tall, and over the summer he’d broadened across his chest and shoulders. He’d seen Milton grab plenty of raving brats, and he’d been on the receiving end enough. He figured he could fake it.

“Back off, dude.” Braxton gave Mike a halfhearted push.

“I don’t like my tour turning into a personal vendetta against your mom.”

“She’s a freak.”

“She’s also your mom. You could’ve handled it a little more tactfully--a lot more tactfully.” Mike grinned at Braxton. “So when did you decide you were a submissive?”

“I’m not. Fuck you!”

“Really,” Mike said with a laugh. “I know a fellow sub when I see one.”

Braxton eyes widened, and he shook his long bangs from his forehead. “I’m not a sub.”

“Save that protest for someone who will believe you. Now are you going to mind your manners, or do I need to find a top?”

“Shit, dude!”

“Swearing doesn’t go over too well either. Trust me.”

“Fuck!”

“You’d be fucked if my partner had heard, but you’re safe with me. Do you think your mom’s still out there, or will she have wandered off?” Mike prayed the woman had wandered off. He could sort of manage freaking submissives, but crazy moms with hideous beads and awash in perfume were out of his jurisdiction.

“She’ll be there. She’s the ultimate helicopter mom.”

“Oh, fun.” Mike grinned conspiratorially. “Stay close to me, and we’ll lose her on campus, and you’ll get to meet a real live dominant.”

Braxton didn’t say anything, but Mike could see a flicker of interest in his eyes.

“Come on, kid” Damn it was great to be able to call someone else a kid. He and Luke were always lumped together with Blade as the kids or the boys.

Mike pushed the bathroom door open and sprinted for the far side of the student union. He pulled a stunned Braxton with him. Mike didn’t need to look around to know they were being pursued. He could hear the clank of the beads and smell the cloying perfume. The boy’s mother must bathe in the stuff. Mike expertly dodged the clusters of chatting students, darted out the door, and made a sharp left into the botanical garden. He hurdled over the herb garden, most of the herbs already brown from the early frost, and raced up the path between the specimen trees. Mike didn’t bother to read the name plates or notice the fall color changes as he skidded over the cobblestone path. He plunged through a small patch of pines, the needles soft underfoot, and exited at the rear of the history building. Mike swiped his keycard through the controller and pulled Braxton in with him.

Mike stood panting in the vestibule as his eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness. The history building always had a grim appearance with its massive stone structure and small windows, but the rear entrance was downright bleak. The floor was an out of style green tile covered by a black runner studded with clumps of dirt and leaves; two tired vending machines stood against the wall, one with a hand lettered out of order sign taped on its front.

“I think we lost her,” Mike said with a grin.

“Where are we?” Braxton said looking around.

 “The Edward Lock History and Government Building. It is one of the original buildings on campus, first built as a dormitory and later converted to classrooms.” Mike said in his best tour guide voice.

“It looks old.”

“It is, and it’s not as sexy as the new science labs I’m supposed to show the prospective students. At least the wireless internet works here now. Last year it was broken half the time. Do you want a soda?” Mike said, digging around in his pocket for change. “That machine was working yesterday.”

Braxton shrugged.

“It’s a yes or no question. I can’t interpret shrugs.”

Braxton’s face colored, and he scuffed his foot against the rug.

“Sorry,” Mike said, giving Braxton a lopsided grin. “I live with a bunch of tops; you get used to being told to answer the question. I guess it becomes second nature to interrogate everyone.” Mike dropped change into the machine and pushed several buttons until a soda clanked into the tray. “Orange it is today. I hope that suits; nothing else seems to be working.” He handed the can to Braxton before getting his own. “Do you need to be someplace, or can we talk?” Mike asked, after taking a long swig of soda.

“I’ve got an interview soon.”

“Ugh. Mine was pretty dismal, and they still took me. I had the admissions director. The guy tried to be real chatty and hip and came off like a boring fool. He was obsessed with baseball, kept talking about the playoffs. I hate baseball.” 

“I hate interviews. I don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Or what you have to talk about you have to hide, right?”

Braxton shrugged again.

“Come off it.” Mike gave Braxton a friendly shove. “I’m a fellow submissive; you can talk to me. I get it.”

“I’m not a sub.”

“And my hair’s not brown. Give it up, boy.” Mike grinned and stuck his tongue out. Mike watched Braxton kick the carpet and chug his soda. “I didn’t think you were shy when you were screaming at your mom.”

“She drives me crazy.”

“Parents can do that, but at least she’s interested.”

“I wish she would get out of my life. God,” Braxton groaned, “I was screaming at her in public.”

“Yep. Hey don’t worry. Crazy things happen here every day. We need to head back for your interview.”

“No.”

“Come on. It’s boring, not life threatening.”

Braxton turned away; Mike was sure he was hiding tears. “I can’t cope right now.”

“Who’s interviewing you?”

Braxton pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Someone from the history department, a Dr. Brown.”

Mike grinned. He knew he had to look like a crazy smiling Jack-o’-lantern with his ear to ear grin. “Come on. Let’s go meet him.”

“What?”

“He’s a top and don’t tell him this, but he’s a great guy.”

“I can’t.”

“Stop with the theatrics.” Mike grabbed Braxton’s elbow and pulled him up the two flights of stairs to Milton’s office. The history department secretary ignored their presence as Mike pushed Braxton into Milton’s office.

“Mike, it’s usually polite to knock when the door’s closed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Milton lifted his head from his book and studied Mike. Mike knew that his use of sir would have clued Milton in; sir meant he wanted a top, not a friend or a professor.

“Boy, what’s the problem?” Milton’s gaze fell on Mike. “And who is with you?”

“Braxton, sir. He’s your admission’s interview.”

“Braxton, is there something else you want to tell me about yourself?”

Braxton looked at Mike, his eyes wide behind his fringe of bangs.

“Tell him.”

Braxton swallowed and licked his lips. “Mike says I’m a submissive.” There was a hesitation. “Sir.”

“Are you?” Milton asked in a mild voice.

Braxton licked his lips again and nodded.

“OK. I’m a top. I’m sure Mike told you, but I can’t be a top here. It’s unethical. Do you need a top?”

Braxton’s eyes were huge as he looked at Milton. “Yes, sir.”

“All right. We do the official stuff first, and then we go off campus and talk. Let’s go.” Milton uncoiled his large frame and stood up, towering over Braxton.

“Please, can Mike come with us?” Braxton said in a small voice.

“Admission interviews are usually private.”

Braxton wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m scared.” The words came out as if they were wrenched out of his subconscious.

“Because I’m a dominant or because of the interview?” 

Mike listened to Milton’s voice. It was soft and quiet. He was good at this, Mike thought with sudden pride. Milton wasn’t his top, but as the incoming head of the Green Mountain Boys he represented all tops, and he was Tilden’s closest friend. The scared submissives were really Tilden’s forte. He did gentle naturally; it was work for Milton. It wasn’t that Milton was unkind; God he never was, and he’d move heaven and earth to help anyone in need, but he oozed toppiness. He couldn’t turn it off, and Mike had to work not to call Milton sir all the time.

“Both,” Braxton whispered.

“All my candidates have survived the process,” Milton said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Is this your first one?”

Braxton shook his head.

“Did it go badly?”

“I was an idiot. I couldn’t put a sentence together.”

“We’ll work on it, and Mike will be with you. He’s not shy about speaking his mind.”

“Milton.” 

“Mike,” Milton said in a mimic of the semi whine Mike had used. “We need to get going.” Milton said suddenly all business. On the way over, you can tell me why you ended up at my office. I’m sure it will be an interesting story.”

Mike retold the story, trying to downplay the incident with Braxton’s mother.

“This is the edited version, isn’t it?” Milton said, his eyebrows climbing into his hair line.

“It has all the pertinent facts,” Mike said, kicking a few stray leaves off the path. “Brax, I didn’t tell you about the time Tilden kicked us out of class and made us run around the quad. It was winter then, snow everywhere.”

“Mike, we’ll talk about you changing the subject later,” Milton said with a hint of menace in his voice. “But here we are.”

The admissions office had been decorated for the fall season with pumpkins and corn stalks. Mike climbed up the steps and held the door open. Braxton’s mom was sitting just inside, talking loudly to another parent. Braxton cringed, and Mike thought he would have run, but Milton blocked him by putting his hand on the boy’s back. He whispered something that Mike couldn’t quite hear, but Braxton smiled.

The secretary handed Milton a file, and he ushered both boys into a small room. It was the same room where Mike had been interviewed two years ago. It even had the same flower arrangement on the table, silk mums in orange and gold.

“Sit down. Let me take a quick look at your file.” Milton scanned the notes before turning back to Braxton. “What happened last year? You do know your junior year is the most important for college admission?”

Braxton dropped his eyes to the table, and Mike saw the kid’s jaw clench. He was fighting tears. Mike scooted his chair closer. The hell with propriety and the difference between school and home life. They were always getting all jumbled anyway. He wrapped his arm around Braxton’s shoulder and ruffled his hair.

“You’d look better with this cut?”

“You’re sounding like my mom.”

“I hope not.” Mike tousled Braxton’s hair again. “What happened junior year?” Mike reached over and snagged the folder from Milton.

“That’s confidential information,” Milton said.

“Brax, can I see?”

“Yeah.” Brax buried his head in his arms

“Junior year was ugly, but your scores are great.”

“I’m good at standardized tests.”

“How’d you get a D in history? That’s pretty dramatic, and you’re sitting across from a history professor.

“I hated him,” Braxton said into his arms.

“Braxton, look at me.” Milton said, the authority back in his tone. “Did something happen last year?”

“No, not like that,” Braxton said and quickly buried his head again.

“Braxton, I don’t want to talk to the top of your head.”

Braxton dragged his eyes up. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you understand what it means for a submissivet to say sir to me?” Milton asked softly.

 “Sir.” Braxton sat up straighter and looked at Milton.

“Milton just do it,” Mike said, not hiding the irritation in his voice. “He needs a top, not a damn straight laced history professor.”

“I know, and I’ve already crossed all kinds of lines here. What happened junior year?”

Braxton sat silent. He eyes jerked back and forth between Mike and Milton.

“Fuck this!” Mike swore in frustration. “Order him to tell you. Don’t ask.”

“I can’t,” Milton said softly, almost sadly. “This is work.”

“And you’re a fucking top,” Mike said, not hiding the sarcasm and frustration in his voice. “Brax’s gone from a shoo-in to an Ivy to a stretch to get in here. And you tell me it’s not your business to ask.” Mike hurled the folder at Milton. It wasn’t an effective missile as the papers fluttered harmlessly to the desk.

“We’ll talk about that at home,” Milton said, gathering the papers and tucking them back in the file. “He can’t give me permission. I’m an official of the college and acting in that capacity. I already have too much power for him to freely give permission. It would be coercion.”

“Then we’ll go for a walk.” Mike pulled a stunned Braxton to his feet and headed for the door. “Are you coming?”

Milton didn’t stop them. He picked up his sport coat and followed them. He said something to one of the admissions people, and they all went outside.

“Am I dead, sir?” Mike asked as his feet headed down the path.

“Home,” Milton growled.

“I’m dead.” Mike laughed, scooping up a handful of leaves and shoving them down Braxton’s shirt.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“We’re off college property. We just crossed into town. Loosen up. Milton can top now.” Mike tackled Braxton and tumbled him into the leaves. They rolled down the hill, grappling with each other, wet leaves sticking to their hair and clothes.

“Do you feel better?” Milton asked when he caught up with them on the small plateau before the hill continued steeper than before. “You two are a mess.”

“Better,” Mike grinned and pulled a leaf off his shirt and threw it at Milton.

“You’re already in trouble, boy. I wouldn’t add to it.”

“Yes, sir and thank you, sir.”

“Cheeky boy. Come sit down.” Milton patted the retaining wall. It was a favorite place to sit overlooking a grove of maples now ablaze with color. Farther down the hill, the buildings of West Banner were laid out like a village on a model train set. Two church spires marked either end with a small shopping district in between.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Mike said after it became obvious Milton was waiting.

“I didn’t think you liked village life,” Milton teased. “No night life.”

“Tilden wouldn’t let me go out anyway,” Mike shot back.

“No, he wouldn’t, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Braxton, how old are you?” Milton asked.

“Seventeen, sir.”

“You were only seventeen when you were with Gordon. I’ve done the math,” Mike said hotly.

“Gordon was a family friend, not a stranger.”

“Bullshit!” Mike exploded.

“Mike, stand up. Hands behind your back and face the wall.”

Mike didn’t move.

“Mike, would you rather kneel?” Milton said. “Now, boy.” Milton pulled Mike up and swatted him hard.

Mike stood, his thighs pressed against the sun warmed rocks. Milton had left Mike within easy earshot, and he could hear Milton rustling through the papers.

“Braxton, Mike will be fine. He understands.”

“You hit him.”

“No, I swatted him. I’m a top, and we have an arrangement. What happened in school last year?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to make you talk about it?”

Mike tried to peer over his shoulder and see Braxton’s expression.

“Eyes on the wall, boy. This is your last warning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Braxton, what do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“Lying to a top isn’t smart. Let’s try the question again, shall we. Do you need me to top?”

“Tell him yes,” Mike burst out.

“Mike.” Milton grabbed Mike and pulled him over his knees in one fluid motion. 

At least my pants are up, Mike thought as the first swat landed. God, he hoped, no innocent passerby happened on this little scene--boy getting his butt whipped. It was quick, maybe ten swats in all, but they were all on his thighs and hard.

“Sit. Hands on your head.”

Mike sat. The hard ground irritated his newly spanked flesh.

“Are you OK?” Braxton whispered.

“Never better.”

“Behave. If I have to do it again, we’ll go in that nice quiet grove of trees; I’ll take down your pants and find a switch.”

Mike grasped his wrist harder over his head. Milton didn’t make idle threats and being switched by him sounded awful.

“Braxton, do you need me to top?”

“I couldn’t do that,” Braxton said, looking at Mike.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. He’s my best friend’s partner, and he knows me well. I won’t physically punish you. You’re under eighteen. Brax,” Milton said softly, putting his hand on the boy’s knee. “I will put pressure on you if you give me permission to top. I won’t accept half answers.”

Braxton nodded. He looked scared. His hand played on the side of his trousers, and he picked off flecks of dirt.

“Brax,” Milton prodded after a minute.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you call your teachers sir?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you trying to give me permission without really saying it?”

Braxton nodded and looked away embarrassed.

Milton caught his chin. “Eyes on me. Deep breath. Do you want me to top?”

Braxton worked his jaw as if he’d forgotten how to form words. Mike stared at the boy, willing him to get the words out.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Milton shrugged out of his blazer, pulled off his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. “I’m Milton now. I’m not Professor Brown, Dr. Brown, or the guy conducting the dreaded admission interview. I’m Milton, and right now I’m acting as your top. Do you understand that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Milton squeezed Braxton’s shoulder. “I know you just agreed to something you don’t really understand. You can’t understand, but I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

Braxton looked down at Mike.

“Did I hurt you, boy?” Milton said.

“No, it stung, but I think a switch would hurt.”

“It would, but would I hurt you?”

“Never.”

“Thank you,” Milton said. “Come sit on the other side of Braxton.” Milton waited until Mike shifted to the wall.

“Yow!” Mike jumped off the wall.

“Sit, boy. Rocks on spanked thighs hurt. I know, but you were pushing.”

“I’ll live.” Mike jumped up on the wall and gritted his teeth as he settled onto his hard perch.

“Braxton, what happened in school last year?” Milton asked in a soft voice.

“Nothing,” Braxton muttered.

“Do you want to try that again?” Milton asked, his voice harder.

“No, nothing happened.”

“Boy, I won’t lie to you, and you don’t get to lie to me. What happened in school last year?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t study.” Braxton kicked the rocks with his feet.

“See the stop sign down there,” Milton said in a deceptively mild voice. “Run there and back. Take Mike with you.”

“He’s not kidding," Mike said pulling Braxton off the wall with him.

“I hate running.”

“Then answer the questions, or we’ll be doing this all day.” Downhill was easy enough, but back up the hill was going to be a bear, and he wasn’t dressed for this. 

“I can’t do this,” Braxton wheezed as he slowed to a walk still well below Milton.

“Come on,” Mike grabbed Braxton’s wrist. “Milton just stood up. It’s not going to be pretty if he has to come down and get us.”

They made it up the hill. Braxton stood doubled over, wheezing like an old steam engine.

“Do you have asthma, boy?”

“No, sir,” Braxton choked out between gasps. “I hate running.

An evil smile played on Milton’s lips. “Good, I have an incentive to get you to talk. What happened at school last year?”

“Nothing.”

“Down and back. Get going, boys.”

“Brax, you’re going to have to tell him,” Mike panted as they hit the stop sign for the second time. “He’ll make us do this all afternoon.”

 “I can’t.”

“All right then. At least it’s a nice day for physical training.”

They stumbled back up the hill. Braxton stood, knees shaking, chest heaving, in front of Milton. 

“What happened in school last year?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Tell me or run.” Milton nodded his head at the path and the hillside.

“I can’t do this.”

“Boy, get down that hill and back. Now move.” Milton leaned into Braxton, practically snarling. 

They were halfway down the hill before Mike realized Braxton was crying. Mike slowed and pulled Braxton into a hug, “Hey, it’s not that bad. It’s only a little running.”

“I can’t tell him. It’s too embarrassing.”

“Is it more embarrassing than running up and down this hill until we both puke or Milton get’s more creative.”

“Sorry.” Braxton wiped his eyes. “Fuck! I can’t do this.”

“Let go. It’s damn scary the first time, but Milton will be good to you. I trust him.”

“I can’t do this. It was a mistake.”

“Yes, you can.” Mike pulled Braxton into his arms. “Cry. I’ve got you.” Mike sank down into the grass, his arms around Braxton who was fighting tears. Milton would show up soon. He’d realize something was wrong when they didn’t come out of the trees. “Stop fighting it, Brax. Tears are normal.” 

“I’m a wimp.”

“No, you’re not. You’re damn brave to admit to being a submissive and to let Milton have a go at you. He’s intimidating when he sleeps.”

“You talk back to him,” Braxton gulped. “I’d never be that brave.”

“You only met him today. He grows on you, but I’m in deep shit for my tantrum in the admissions office. That’s a no go with tops. My ass and a piece of wood are probably going to have a close encounter tonight.”

“You were protecting me.”

“I know better. Don’t worry, kid. I’ll take my licks, and everything will be fine. He’s here now.”

“Come on, kid.” Milton wrapped his arms around Braxton, burying the shaking boy against his chest. “I’ve got you. Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”

“They bullied me at school. I told my friend I was a sub, and he told everyone.”

“Asshole,” Mike muttered.

“Easy. Let him talk,” Milton mouthed over Braxton’s head.

“Did you tell a teacher or your parents?”

“Both,” Braxton gulped. “Dad thinks I’m a freak, and the teacher egged the bullies on.”

“The history teacher?”

“Yes.”

“I get it,” Milton said softly, rubbing Braxton’s back. “Is it as bad this year?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to write an essay, explaining all this.”

“I can’t,” Braxton choked.

“Do you want to run up the hill again?”

“No, sir.”

“Good boy.” Milton kissed the top of the Braxton’s head. “When do you turn eighteen?”

“December. Why?”

“It’s my worry, not yours. I’ve got you now. No one’s going to bully you. Mike, take him home. Both of you get a shower, and, Mike, you help him with the essay. It’s on your head if it’s not done. I’m going to go talk to his mom.”

********

Milton carefully knotted his tie, focusing on his breathing. He needed to get back in the right headspace: respected college professor, not irate top who wanted to take a belt to a bunch of bullies. He hadn’t needed to know every detail once Braxton had started talking. It was all too sickeningly familiar, and he wasn’t going to let it ruin that boy’s life. He was a top first then a college professor. He’d violated about every rule of decorum possible for a teacher today, and the college had every right to fire him. He’d topped a kid who wasn’t even a student; the kid wasn’t eighteen. He’d taken the boy off campus, but Milton knew that was of little difference. He knew the boy because of his role as a college professor. His ethics as a top and a human being demanded one thing, and his ethics as a professor demanded another. No amount of nice professor would have convinced the boy to talk this quickly, and that boy was suffering.

“Dr. Brown.” Braxton’s mother stood as Milton entered the admissions office. “Where’s my son?”

“He’s with Mike. They were horsing around, and he needed a change of clothes and a shower. Come with me, and Jim also, please.” Milton smiled at the admissions officer and jerked his head toward an empty room. “Please, Jim.”

“Mrs. Bream,” Milton said as soon as the other two had seated themselves, “you have a delightful son, but he’s having a hard time right now. Are you aware of the difficulties he’s having in school?”

“His grades slipped a little,” Mrs Bream said, rolling an oversized ring around her finger.

Milton snorted. “He almost failed last year. I would characterize that as more than a little slippage.”

“Teenage boys get distracted.”

“Yes, they do, and they also get hurt. He entrusted a confidence to a friend, and he was betrayed, and no one stepped up to defend him.”

“I love my son--”

“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Bream, but this is a difficult topic to discuss with parents in the best of circumstances. I was fortunate my parents share my sexuality.” Milton folded his hands on the table. “Your son came out as gay but also as a submissive. He’s been ridiculed and bullied. He’s miserable, and I’m worried for his safety. Seventeen is hard; seventeen when you’re different can be fatal. He’s becoming desperate.”

Mrs. Bream stared at Milton her mouth open. “My son would never kill himself.” Her right hand played on her gaudy beads.”

“He’s failing school; he’s alienated from his friends, he’s belligerent with his parents. Those are all warning signs.”

“He’s a good boy. He’d never do that. You are wrong. You don’t know my son.”

“I hope I’m wrong. You are correct I don’t know your son, but I know boys, and I don’t mean boys only in the chronological sense. Are you following me, Mrs. Bream?”

“You pervert,” she spat. “What have you done with my son?”

“He’s with Mike, and this is my point exactly,” Milton said calmly. “He’s a submissive, not a pervert. He’s seventeen. He needs a safe place to explore who he is, not ridicule and not disgust.”

“How dare you?” Mrs Bream was shaking with rage. Her normally loud voice was now at excruciating pitch and volume. “My son is seventeen. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he is not a sexual deviant. You should be arrested. I want my son now. Where is Braxton?”

“Mrs. Bream,” Jim, the admissions officer, said in a professionally calm voice, “I’m sure Braxton is fine. Dr. Brown has been here for many years, and he’s very reliable with students. I’d trust him with my own boys.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Please, ma’am,” Jim said soothingly. “Dr. Brown will get Braxton immediately. I’ll have campus security escort him.”

“I want to talk to someone in authority. This is outrageous.”

“I’ll get his department head and a dean immediately. Get out of here,” Jim said to Milton under his breath. “Get Braxton, and I’ll try to prevent this from blowing up any further.”

“Get Jeremiah Tyler. He’ll understand.”

“Go,” Jim said, pushing Milton out the door. “We’ll be lucky if this is not front page news, and I’ll do what I can to save your job, but I think you better be looking.”

“I know,” Milton said softly and clenched his jaw. Gordon had taught him silence and respect, and he wrapped himself in those hard earned lessons. Braxton was seventeen. Milton was going to have to let the boy go back, and he’d done nothing but make the situation worse. He’d promised the boy protection, and he could do nothing more without risking arrest. He’d probably already lost his job, but his firing wouldn’t help Braxton.

A young campus security officer, whom Milton didn’t know, met Milton on the path and escorted him back to his house.

“This way, please” Milton said with his best company manners as he entered through the kitchen door. Mike and Braxton were sitting at the kitchen table, a small pyramid of soda cans stacked between them.

“Hi,” Mike said brightly and then spotted the campus officer. “Oh.”

“Braxton, I’m sorry. You’re not eighteen.”

“You’re sending him home,” Mike broke in. “Back to that horrible school.”

Milton pulled off his glasses and wiped the lens for microscopic specs of dust. “I’m sorry. You’ll be of age in eight weeks.”

“I can’t do it any more.” Braxton ducked his head and wiped his eyes.

“You’re not doing it.” Mike’s voice rang across the kitchen. If only Braxton’s mother had understood the difference between being a boy and being a pushover. Mike turned and pulled open the change drawer in the counter. He stuffed the stray bills in his pocket and grabbed two rail passes. “Excuse us, sir,” Mike said in an ultra polite tone to the campus officer, who was no older than Mike, and pushed a startled Braxton out the door. 

Milton heard a car start and rattle across the gravel drive before he had a chance to react. “I’m afraid he’s left.” Milton hid his smile. He had a good idea where Mike would go, but he didn’t feel any need to share the information.

“Where’s he going?” the young officer asked. “Stop him.”

“I can’t. I have no way to reach him.” Milton pointed to the cell phone that had been left prominently on the counter. “Mike didn’t tell me where he was going.”

“You must have an idea?”

“Mike’s lived all over the country. He could go anywhere. I believe since he is an adult that I cannot even report him as a runaway for several days.”

“Do you know the license number of the vehicle he’s driving.”

“Not off hand, and the registration is in the glovebox.”

“Make and model.”

“Black Beauty. She’s an old station wagon. Sorry, but automobiles aren’t my specialty.”

“Are you trying to be particularly difficult, Dr. Brown?” the young officer said, licking his lips and looking around nervously.

“Do I look like I would obstruct justice?” Milton asked innocently.

“No, sir, I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” 

You were, Milton thought, and you were correct, but we’ll all pretend I’m a nice law abiding citizen. “I think we need to inform Mrs. Bream about what happened.”

The officer swallowed and fiddled with his radio. “I have to report it, sir.”

“Relax.” Milton gave the young man a true smile. “I’m the one who’s going to take the heat for this. 

Jim had done well; he’d managed to coral both Jer and the head of Milton’s department along with a tray of relatively edible sweets.

 “Milton, where’s Braxton?” Jer said in that ultra smooth voice he used at professional engagements when he was nervous.

“He took off with Mike.”

Jer raised his eyebrows to his hairline but refrained from commenting.

“You don’t know where my son is?” Braxton’s mom said, her voice on the edge of hysteria.

Milton ground his teeth together and forced himself into his best company manners. “I’m sorry ma’am, but he’ll be very safe with Mike. Mike has a good head on his shoulders and will take care of Braxton. Your son needs some space with no pressure.” Milton swallowed the last lie. He’d put pressure on the boy, but he couldn’t say that Braxton needed space without his parents.

“My son was fine until he met you. What have you done with him?”

“I took him home so he could get a dry change of clothes after horsing around with Mike, and he took off.”

“Dr. Brown, might I have a word with you.” Robert Duff, the head of the history department, gestured toward an empty interview room. “Milton, what the hell are you playing at?” he said as soon as the door was shut. “I’ve never interfered in your private life as odd and distasteful as I may find it.” He held up his hand. “Let me finish. What you do in your own home and your own bedroom is your business, but you don’t bring it on the campus of this college. You are a very fine teacher, and I would hate to lose you over this, but at least in my opinion this is where this is going. This was a prospective student, not one of your boys or whatever you call them!” Robert crashed his hand down on the table.

Milton stared out the window, watching the students climb the campus paths, weaving in and out of the crimson and golden trees. He liked it here, and he liked to teach, but he had a responsibility to that boy. “Robert,” Milton said softly, “I’ve always tried to keep my two lives separate, but I have a responsibility to young men like Braxton because of who I am in private. I couldn’t leave it. I may have destroyed my career, but I would have destroyed my soul if I hadn’t reached out to him. Braxton was teetering on the edge of a bottomless chasm. You know the statistics for suicides in this age bracket, and you know the odds increase for young gay men. For young kinky gay men, the numbers are terrifying. They make me wake up in a cold sweat.”

“You are not a mental health professional.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve seen plenty of young submissives in distress. Did you know that Tilden pulled Mike off a floor passed out from drugs and alcohol? A few more pills and that boy would have been dead. Mike’s tough; Braxton is not. He needs support, and he’s not getting it at home.”

“You talk to the parents. You call the mental health staff. You don’t kidnap them.”

“I didn’t kidnap Braxton. He ran off with Mike.”

“And if you ordered Mike to stop? I do know something about your lifestyle.”

“You don’t know enough.” Milton clasped his hands behind his back to keep from rubbing them up and down his trousers. “Mike only obeys because we give orders that he knows are in his best interests. I’m not going to order him to do something that will harm a fellow submissive. It’s a violation of trust.”

“Milton, you’re going to be fired over this. Tenure won’t save you, and what about that young man that you’re so adamant about protecting? Where is he going to go? You just wrenched him away from his family.”

“I know.” Milton watched a squirrel race up a tree, a fat nut clutched in his jaws. 

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Milton, I never thought I’d see the day you weren’t absolutely truthful with me.” Robert pinched his nose and looked down through his glasses. He was never a man of much expression. The students found him colossally boring, but Milton knew he was hard working, and he’d always been very fair.”

“Mike didn’t tell me where he was going.”

“Make an educated guess.”

Milton leaned against the window, trying to look relaxed. Gordon had taught him to control his body language, not to give anything away. “I think Mike took him to Gordon.”

“Gordon?”

“He’s a friend. He’s safe, and he’s good with mixed-up kids.”

“I assume he’s in your lifestyle.”

“Yes.”

“Milton, I don’t have the power to fire you; I’m not even sure I have the power to suspend you without it going through proper channels. I’d like you to voluntarily take a leave of absence for the rest of the semester until we straighten this out.” Robert pinched his nose again. “I want to trust you, but I’m not sure I can. For God’s sake, the boy is only seventeen!”

“I’m sorry, sir and thank you.”

“I may be calling for your head louder than anyone else. Get that friend of yours to call the parents, or better yet get Braxton to do it. A phone call would go a long way here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do that sir thing with me. It makes me uncomfortable. Get off campus and stay off campus.”

Milton turned to leave.

“Milton.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do what I can. I don’t understand this, but I do think you acted in what you thought was that kid’s best interest. I’ve seen you spend too many hours sitting with kids, teaching them to write, teaching them to study, and talking to them about life to think you don’t care. Get him to call his parents.”

“I’ll try.”

The sun was still high in the autumn sky as Milton made his way back down the path to home. He studied the warm stone of the dormitories. He might never walk across this campus again as a professor. Music flowed through the open windows; a Thursday afternoon and it was already the start of the weekend. A few students smiled as he passed, but most avoided him. He did have the reputation for being the most difficult professor on campus.

Milton pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number from memory. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or apprehensive when he heard the strong baritone at the other end of the line.

“Gordon Lewis.”

“It’s Milton, sir”

“What have you done, boy?”

“How do you always know?”

“How do you know as a top?”

“Tone, behavioral pattern, body language,” Milton answered by rote.

“It’s a Thursday afternoon, and you called on my private cell line. Plus for you your voice is tentative, and you called me sir. Most people wouldn’t notice, but I know you, boy.”

“Have you heard from Mike?”

“No. Start at the beginning.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Is your cell phone charged?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, sir. I’m walking.”

“Find a place to sit down.”

Milton scrambled off the path to a bench set in the shadow of several large fir trees. At night it was a favorite spot for some private necking, but today it was quiet.

“Have you found a spot?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it private?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kneel.”

“What?”

“You heard me, boy? Are you being defiant?”

Milton swallowed hard. It had been years since he’d lived under Gordon’s authority, but those words still made him shiver. Defiance meant the cane. Milton dropped to his knees. It was quiet here; the probability of getting caught was small. 

“It’s private enough for this, isn’t it?” Gordon asked. 

Milton looked around. He wanted to say it was too risky, but not a soul was in sight, and he was facing the path. He could quickly cover his posture with a white lie about tying his shoe. “It’s private, sir.”

“Good. Take your time, and tell me what disaster has befallen your household.”

Gordon, as always, was a good listener. He only asked questions to clarify uncertainties in the narrative and made enough noncommittal noises to reassure the speaker that he was listening.

“You do have the ability for dramatic difficulties,” Gordon said when Milton finished. “Keep your head down and stay out of further trouble. Are you capable of doing that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Gordon’s voice was dry. “But why do I doubt it? I’ll call you when I hear from Mike. Now go home. Change into casual clothes. Do you have any projects that need finishing?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well, wash the woodwork; do the laundry, including the ironing.”

Milton groaned.

“Boy, do you need more work?”

“No, sir.”

“Off you go.”

Milton stood up and dusted his pants off. The stain on his trousers was telltale evidence that he’d been on his knees. More laundry, Milton thought, and the laundry has to be ironed. Gordon would never check on the assigned chores; it was a matter of trust, and Milton wouldn’t let him down.

Milton dumped a fresh load of laundry into the machine. He’d have to speak to Blade; the boy was supposed to empty his pockets before he tossed his jeans into the hamper. Tilden’s shirts were pressed and hung, and Milton had started on his own. He’d managed the woodwork in the downstairs; Blade had washed it last week after a raucous argument with Tilden. Tilden should just give up and spank the boy. Blade merely joked around about the slave labor. Milton pressed the iron on the cuff. He was buying wash and wear shirts next time.

“Haven’t you ever heard of dry cleaners?”

“Blade, what do you need?”

“I was looking for my black jeans.”

“It’s a school night.”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll be home by ten. I’m going to Joe’s to study.”

“Study?” Milton raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, study. I know it’s a novelty for me. Joe shares an apartment with his brother who’s a grad student, and we will be studying. Joe’s brother takes the whole older brother thing a little too seriously. He’ll make sure we study. He’s almost as bad as you.”

“Top?”

“I think so, and he’s hot too. You’d approve.”

“Study. Don’t drool on the poor guy. Your pants are in your stack. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, but why are you doing the laundry? It’s my week.”

“Gordon.”

“You’re in trouble,” Blade said gleefully with a broad grin. “Do tell.”

“Blade.” The warning was clear.

“Oh come on. I’m always in trouble. Can’t I have a little fun?”

Milton wrapped an arm around Blade’s neck and kissed the top of his head. “A little fun is fine, but I may have lost my job today?”

“What?”

“I topped a kid today.”

“At school?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Blade looked at Milton with wide, frightened eyes. He was so much like Sheldon.

“Oh is right.”

“The kid must have needed it.” Blade leaned against Milton and wrapped his arms around him. “Is he OK?”

“Mike took him to Gordon. His parents were less than receptive, and he’s under eighteen.”

“Shit!”

“Language, Blade”

“Sorry.”

“You aren’t really?” Milton tousled Blade’s hair. “Do I need to do something, or can you be more careful?”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you. Go have fun.”

“I’m going to study.”

“Uh-huh. Go, boy.”

Blade kissed Milton’s cheek. “I’m sure it will work out. “You’re a good man. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“You’ve grown up, kid.”  Milton mussed Blade’s hair again.

“You taught me. The school has to know you’re safe.”

“I broke all kinds of rules today. I accept that. The college has to treat all the professors equally. Their first priority is to protect the students.”

“You wouldn’t hurt a student.”

“You live in this lifestyle. You understand our arrangement in ways no non participant will ever understand, no matter how open minded and well meaning he or she is. Even Banner and our erstwhile president have their limits. I understand rules and consequences. I was raised that way.”

“But Gordon shouldn’t be mad at you. A Green Mountain Boy is supposed to provide aid to distressed subs and tops. I don’t like him.”

“Careful, boy. Gordon and I understand each other, He’s as much distracting me as punishing me.”

“He’ll cane you for this?”

“I expect,” Milton said with a wry grin.

“I hate him.”

“Blade, go off and enjoy your evening before you get yourself in trouble. You’re getting close, and I’m sure I could find more ironing.”

“Tops,” Blade humphed. 

“Go, boy.”

“Take care of yourself,” Blade said with genuine sincerity as he took the stairs two at a time.

“I will. Be back by ten.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Cheeky brat.”

“You like me that way,” Blade said, disappearing through the door.

Milton turned back to the ironing. Blade was growing up, and he was ready for a top. Milton idly wondered if this mysterious graduate student was more than a five minute fling. He’d watched Blade chase after more than a few men and woman, but Blade’s tone had been different tonight. He’d described the guy as a top; Milton couldn’t remember Blade even feigning interest in the few tops they’d contrived to introduce him to.

Milton grabbed the newly ironed sheets and headed upstairs to the bedrooms. He always associated pressed sheets with Gordon, It was something he insisted his boys do. Proper service makes a proper home. 

Tilden came in as Milton was tossing the final throw over the bed. Milton didn’t even try to follow the softly whispered Russian that sent Luke out of the room, his blond hair not completely hiding his worried expression.”

“I take it you know,” Milton said with a halfhearted smile.

“Jer came and told us, and then Gordon called.” Tilden made his usual expression of distaste when he mentioned Gordon. “Are you holding up OK?”

Milton studied his friend and swallowed the glib reply that he would be fine. He’d turned everyone’s life upside down today. Deliberate and well planned, the Milton hallmarks, it hadn’t been. “I don’t know.”

“How can I help?”

Milton smoothed the pillowcase. “Sheldon might need to lean on you. I’m not feeling very top like right now. Trent will help with Blade. Those two get along well, surprisingly well.”

“Where is Blade?”

“On a date.”

Tilden smiled, his eyes shimmering a near violet color. “Is that safe?”

“No, but--he’s growing up.”

“Serious?”

“Not yet, but maybe later.”

“Guy or girl?”

“Guy, and Blade described him as a top.”

“Does this poor man know what he’s getting in to?”

“No,” Milton said with a laugh. “He’ll have to figure out the intricacies of a Zath like we all do with trial and error. Lots of error.”

“You’ve done well with him.”

“Tilden, you don’t have to reassure me. I’m not going to fall apart because I just got fired.”

“Stop it.” Tilden’s voice was sharp. “I’m your friend, and you’re on leave, not fired. You have friends who will dig in and fight for you.”

“Don’t risk your position.”

“I’m not your brat,” Tilden said gently. “I’m a top, and I’m your friend. Lean on me.” Tilden pulled Milton into a hug and kissed his forehead.

“I’m supposed to be doing this,” Milton said but made no attempt to pull away.

“It’s my turn today. I understand why you did it, and I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Tilden. I’m just not sure I made it any easier for Braxton.”

“I don’t like Gordon; you know that, but he and Landon have a good relationship. I’ll give him that. Braxton will see this relationship modeled. He’ll see that the brat isn’t weak or a lesser being, and if he doesn’t get that from Landon, Mike will take him out back and knock him silly.”

“Gordon and Landon are good with kids. I should know.” Milton gave Tilden a wan smile.

“Did you like it when you lived with them?”

Milton ran his hands across the coverlet, straightening an imaginary wrinkle. “I learned about myself, and I have a deep respect for Gordon.”

“It was hard,” Tilden said with such softness that Milton had to strain to hear him.

“Being seventeen is hard. You see enough of these kids. You know.”

“It’s harder if you’re hard wired to be in a power exchange relationship.”

 “You’re a top also,” Milton said. “I’m not the only one here.”

“I was clueless at seventeen. Maybe it was lucky I was so slow to figure it out. I got to suffer through my teenage years as an academic nerd, not as an academic nerd who was also a top. You taught me how to top.”

“You’re a natural, and Tilden,” Milton said with a wry grin, “I’m aware you’re gently topping me. I’m not fragile.”

“You need a counterweight to Gordon. What’s he going to do to you?”

“Nothing I don’t want. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“Tilden,” Milton said, letting his voice deepen into his usual top mode. “Gordon is not your style of dominant, but I trust him, and he understands me. He’s harder than you’ll ever be, but sometimes I need that.”

“He’ll cane you?”

“He might, and I’ll live. It won’t be for rescuing Braxton. He understands that. It will be because he has to rescue me from my own folly. Do you understand the difference?”

“Milton.”

“I asked you a question.”

“You’re back in top mode,” Tilden muttered.

“Yes. Answer the question,” Milton repeated.

“I get the difference,” Tilden said, not successfully hiding his irritation. “It doesn’t mean I think it’s right.”

“It wouldn’t be for you, but it is for me. Accept that.”

Tilden nodded. Milton knew that Tilden understood, even though he didn’t like it. Tilden would never like Gordon, and Tilden detested harsh corporal punishment. For him, it was about guiding and teaching, not punishing. 

*********

Milton sat on the hard seat, his small bag overhead. The train clattered across a crossing, its whistle a shrill warning to the passing cars. This was his home state with maple trees coloring to brilliant gold, black and white holsteins dotting the hillsides, and small villages tucked between the rocky farmland. A hint of frost still clung to the grass where the sun had not yet found the shimmering crystals.

Milton’s stop was next. Gordon had insisted that he take the train and not drive. Milton understood the psychology, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Gordon was exercising his authority by preventing Milton’s free movement. Taking his car was only one link in the chain to remind Milton of his need to submit to Gordon. Gordon had sent him a packing list, and Milton knew that Gordon would verify that only those items had been brought. He plucked at the front of his sweater, Gordon approved traveling clothes, conservative and understated.

They’d be at his stop shortly. Milton searched in his mind desperately trying to find the right place, the quiet submission and acceptance. He’d been a top for a long time; he wasn’t sure he could find it. Gordon had saved his career; he owed this to him no matter how hard it was going to be. Milton didn’t even know how Gordon had found the right people and what he must have promised. The chairman of the board, a man who had given millions to the college, had defended Milton’s actions as foolhardy but ultimately right. More importantly Braxton’s parents seemed to have reconciled themselves to the idea. They’d agreed to Braxton spending the year in Vermont with the Green Mountain Boys. Milton had received an absolutely blistering lecture from his department head and the college president along with a strongly worded note in his file, but he had a job next semester. He was suspended for this semester, a warning to all other faculty who were tempted to try something as foolish.

The train ground to a stop, and Milton grabbed his bag. He was the only passenger getting off at this stop, a small rail station that looked like its last renovation was during World War II. Milton strode across the empty platform to the older gentleman who rested on a bench surveying the single passenger and a flock of pigeons hoping for a handout.

“Gordon, it was kind of you to meet me.”

“It’s too far for you to walk. Boy, is that all your luggage?” Gordon turned and headed for the exit, not looking to see if Milton was following.

It was already cold up here. Milton huddled into his sweater and hurried after Gordon. 

“Put your bag in the back.” Gordon unlocked the car and pointed at the front seat.

Milton slid in, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his knees. Gordon could make Milton feel like a teenager again: awkward, belligerent, and shy all at the same time. “How’s Braxton?”

“He’s a nice boy.” Milton couldn’t tell from Gordon’s flat intonation if he’d meant boy in terms of a submissive or merely a reflection of Braxton’s age. “How are you?”

Milton studied the passing countryside. Gordon would force him to answer, but Milton wasn’t ready to talk yet.

“Are you going to be difficult, boy?” Gordon gave Milton a piercing look. “I’ve sent Braxton and Landon away for the day. We have time to work this out.”

Milton said nothing. He wasn’t ready for this. He felt Gordon’s hand on his knee.

“You can’t hide from me forever. We could have a nice polite chat in the car and be done with it.”

Milton dropped his eyes and picked an invisible piece of lent off his sweater. “I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see it. You know what happens to boys.”

“Milton, I know, but I won’t be here to rescue you forever. You’ll be head of the Green Mountain Boys in January. You’ll be the one doing the rescuing.”

Milton clenched his hands. He’d been trained all his life to do this. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. You need to remember to use your usual cautious judgment. You’re good at this. Remember that.”

The car wound up the tight gravel road. Milton gripped the dashboard. Gordon had a penchant for driving every vehicle like a finely tuned race car. He wasn’t as bad as Landon, who was terrifying, but Milton still clung tightly to the grab strap.

The outside of the lodge had changed little since Milton’s days as a student. It had been expanded with new cottages, their steep A-frame roofs peeking out from between pine trees. Gordon parked the car and signaled for Milton to grab his bag and follow him. He pushed the door open into a small suite of rooms.

“You know where everything is. Put your bag in the boys’ room and come join me.”

The boys’ room still had the simple bunks with red and blue throws that were probably originally purchased thirty years ago. Milton pulled open the dresser drawer and stacked his folded clothes inside. He hung his blazer and dress shirts. Several badly ironed shirts hung in the closest. Braxton still hadn’t mastered the iron. Milton automatically smoothed the coverlet on Braxton’s bed. Gordon had always checked the room, and a messy bed meant punishment. 

“Brax,” Milton muttered to himself as he pulled a crumpled pair of jeans out from under the bed. “You’re playing with fire.”

Milton caught his reflection in the mirror where Gordon had taught him to tie a Windsor knot. His hair had been brown the last time he’d stayed here, and he’d been young and keen. He looked tired, and he was definitely too old to be someone’s boy.

Milton squared his shoulders and walked boldly into the living room. He was a top, a full professor, a man in his fourth decade. He wasn’t that teenage boy that Gordon had so easily intimidated.

“You’re going to fight me.” Gordon’s voice was perfectly modulated as he sat in the armchair with crisp pants and shined shoes. 

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Did I ask you a question?”

Milton bit back the automatic no, sir, but he couldn’t stop the heat that was rising in his face.

“I see. We’re doing this the hard way. Kneel.”

Milton was too well trained to absolutely refuse. He dropped to his knees, listening to them crackle and pop and wondering if the floor had felt this hard when he was seventeen.

“Hands on top of your head. Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

Gordon was going to make Milton surrender. This had been bad enough when Milton was in his teens. Milton remembered one incident--he couldn’t actually remember why he was resisting-- he’d been on his knees for the better part of two days. Milton shifted; the floor was hard. He hadn’t remembered the floor being this hard; the pine planks were grinding through his pants. Gordon ignored Milton, reading his paper in the comfort of his chair. Milton wanted to look at his watch, but he knew Gordon for all his feigned inattention would notice if he pulled his hands off his head for even a second.

“Do you have a cramp?”

Milton blushed at the refined cultured voice. “No, sir,” he managed to choke out.

“I’ll let you up every hour to stretch your legs. I’m not heartless.”

Tilden would beg to differ, and Milton’s knees were screaming at Gordon’s heartlessness. Milton struggled to find the place where he would accept the quiet discipline of kneeling. Gordon kept his word and sent Milton to walk down the hotel corridor every hour, a five minute walk and then back on his knees. The hotel was quiet with ski season still weeks away. Milton was surprised to see the smiling Jack-o’-lanterns at the front desk tucked between colorful gourds.

“It’s young Braxton,” the clerk told Milton. “He convinced Gordon we needed Halloween decorations. I think he’s even lobbying to go trick or treating.”

“Where? There are not a lot of houses.”

“Those of us in residence could give out candy. It might be fun.”

“Is Gordon considering it?”

“Yeah, he’s going soft in his old age.”

Milton groaned silently to himself. Gordon wasn’t being soft with him. Milton rolled his shoulders loosening the tight muscles.

“Gordon giving you a hard time?” The clerk reached out and grabbed Milton’s wrist.

“Does everybody know? I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Dex. I’m a wandering artist, or what Landon calls a wandering lost boy. I’ve been here about three months. We all know what you did for Brax. Thank you. Gordon’s so proud he’s about to bust his buttons.”

“He’s damn irritated.”

“Only that you didn’t protect yourself. He’s afraid he’s not going to be around forever to do it.”

“And you know this?”

“Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t gossip.”

“It’s OK, Dex. I’m not topping right now, and I’m not mad.”

“You’re always topping; it rolls off you in waves.”

“Great.”

“Sorry, sir. Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No, you were being honest, and you weren’t wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Ah, yes, sir, but this is so much more fun.” Dex batted his eyelashes at Milton.

“Behave. I have more than enough boys at home, and you’re plenty cute without the simpering and flirting.”

Dex dropped his eyes and blushed. “I’ll get back to work, sir.”

“Good choice, boy.” Milton ruffled the sandy curls.

Cute kid, Milton thought as he retraced his steps back toward Gordon’s quarters. 

“That was more than five minutes,” Gordon said severely from the chair.”

“Sorry, sir. I was distracted by Dex.”

“He is distracting.” A hint of a smile played around Gordon’s lips. “Did he tell you anything interesting?”

“Only that you’re upset because I put myself at risk. Helping Braxton was the right thing.”

“Of course it was the right action, but it should have been done with more planning. If you destroy yourself, you’ll destroy all of this.”

“The Green Mountain Boys are more than one man.”

“Without a leader, they will disintegrate. I have been neglecting the club for the last decade. I thought the need for protection of submissives had passed. I was wrong.”

“We all read the climate wrong. The open hate and fear are gone. The legal discrimination is gone, but there is still the insidious hatred that caught Braxton. It was as much about being different as being a sub.”

“I’ve studied the suicide rate for young gay men. It’s appalling.”

“Young men in general. They don’t have to be gay.”

“We need to do something about it, and you’re in the position to make a real difference if you manage not to get yourself blacklisted for going off half-cocked. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Much better. The resentment’s gone from your voice.”

“I’m tired of kneeling.”

“It did always work well with you.” Gordon folded the paper, stood up, and walked over to the sofa. “Drop your trousers and over my knee.”

“I hate this.”

“I know you do. A strapping or a caning is easy for you. You detach yourself. You can’t do that when I spank you over my knee. I want a good strong deterrent for such foolishness. Come now. Don’t dawdle.”

Milton unbuckled his belt and slid his pants off. He folded them over the sofa arm, willing his hands not to shake. This was the worst kind of punishment from Gordon. Strapping or caning had a set number. This would be until he broke and was sobbing over Gordon’s knee. He dropped himself over Gordon’s lap, trying to figure out how he used to get comfortable here. Gordon’s knees pressed into his stomach.

An arm snaked around his waist. “Relax. You’re as tense as a first time submissive.” Gordon’s hand rubbed down Milton’s back. “This is about remembering you’re important also. You don’t needlessly put yourself at risk. Gordon pulled down Milton’s boxers and landed the first spank.

Milton sucked his breath in and gritted his teeth. It was as bad as he remembered, relentless swats over and over, covering his entire butt from waist to the top of his thighs. Gordon could do this for what seemed like hours. His seventh decade hadn’t weakened his stroke. Milton squirmed despite his resolution to stay still. Gordon concentrated on the top of Milton’s thighs, and Milton could feel the hot tears begin to scorch down his face. 

“Don’t fight it,” Gordon said softly and landed another flurry of spanks.

Milton let go, sobbing across his mentor’s knees. He hadn’t cried this way since he’d been in his teens, frustrated at himself and angry at his grandfather and Gordon.

“Good boy. I’ve got you now.” Gordon rubbed his hand up and down Milton’s shaking back.

Milton lay there, absorbing the reassurance. He knew Gordon wouldn’t ask him to get up until he was limp and cried out. He never hurried this part. It was one of the reasons that despite Gordon’s perceived harshness he was such a damn good top. He never begrudged affection, forgiveness, or reassurance. He never hesitated to punish, but he never withheld the absolution.

Gordon’s hands were gentle as he pulled up Milton’s boxers. “Let’s go lie on the bed. We’ll both be more comfortable.”

Milton collapsed on the bed, his head resting on Gordon’s lap. Gordon played through his hair, mumbling soft reassurances.

“Sleep. We’ll talk later. I’ll be here.”

Milton shut his eyes. Gordon would be here. He’d always been here.

“I have aspirin and water for you.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours. You needed the rest.”

Milton groped for his glasses on the nightstand. His hand still knew where Gordon kept the furniture and reached for the water and aspirin. “You’re letting me have drugs?”

“You’re not eighteen anymore, and I don’t want to scare Braxton to death if you’re hobbling around.”

“You haven’t spanked him?”

  “I won’t until we negotiate it after he turns eighteen.”

“I wasn’t eighteen.”

“I knew your grandfather and your uncle, and it was a different world.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to provide structure and good role models. Ease him into what it means to be someone’s boy. He’s very young, much younger than you were at that age.”

“It is a different era.”

“They know all about the sex, but they have none of the maturity.”

“I know. I have Blade. But doesn’t every generation complain about the improprieties of youth?”

“Yes, but at least you could make a bed.”

“I saw. I picked up his dirty clothes also.”

“You haven’t even seen the wreckage in the kitchen. Landon and I’ve been eating in the lodge’s dining room, and he’s been subsisting on peanut butter and cold cereal.”

“Ouch.”

“I need you to set an example for him. I think he’ll follow your lead. I haven’t been able to push him there, especially since I won’t spank.”

“I didn’t think Brax was the difficult type.”

“He’s not--just lost. He’s pushing around the edges to see what I’ll do, and I’ve been staying in the parental mode, lectures, early bedtimes, and extra writing assignments. I haven’t even put him in the corner yet because if he fights I can’t touch him. He needs to spend time on his knees, contemplating what it means to be a boy.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to model the behavior.”

“He sees me as a top.”

“You are a top, but you are also my boy.” Gordon brushed the hair off Milton’s forehead and planted a firm kiss. “Brax was teased pretty hard, and he associates being a boy with some kind of inferiority. You should be the perfect cure for that.” 

“Hasn’t Landon set him straight?”

“He’s tried, but Brax doesn’t understand Landon. Landon’s dynamic is unique.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Milton, watch your tone.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Gordon kissed the back of Milton’s neck. “You’re accepting my affection now.”

“I’m wrung out and sore. You have always known how to push me.”

“Are you angry that I pushed you there?”

Milton pressed against Gordon’s fingers as they gently played along his neck. He needed a moment to think. “Now or when I was Braxton’s age?”

“Both.”

“I hated you at times but not anymore. You taught me to cherish the gift Sheldon gives me every day. I understand the power that Sheldon sometimes so casually drops in my lap. He does it with unquestioned acceptance and with complete trust. Something I don’t think I could ever do.”

“Don’t downplay or second guess yourself. Sheldon is right to absolutely trust you.” Gordon traced his fingers through Milton’s hair. “You answered my earlier question by dividing it into two: when you were young and now. How do you feel about now?”

“I knew you were going to make me give up control. I was dreading it, but I feel lighter now.”

“You’re not resentful?”

“I was when I was on my knees, but not now.”

“Why did you let me put you on your knees? I wasn’t sure you would.”

“You hid it well,” Milton snorted.

“Sometimes a dominant has to hide his insecurities. Why did you kneel for me?”

Milton rolled over to look at Gordon’s face, studying the deep set eyes and the furrows that lined the high cheekbones. “I trusted you to take me someplace where I would feel better, and I was well trained. I dropped to my knees out of habit. I don’t defy you.”

“It’s less painful if you roll back over.”

“This is the nice way of saying I’m more open when I can hide my expression.” Milton flipped back over, making no effort to remove his head from Gordon’s lap.

“Easier for me also. You are the top I will never be. Landon and age have tempered me some, but I enjoy dominating. My blood runs hotter when a boy gives himself to me. You dominate to protect, to cherish, to love more thoroughly.”

“I’m not perfect. I made a royal mess with Braxton.”

“You made a mess with Braxton because your generosity interfered with your commonsense, not because you were drunk with power.”

“You are not your father and never will be.” Milton could feel Gordon shift, and the hand that had been stroking his shoulders stilled. “Landon told me. He thought I should know.” Milton didn’t look up or turn over. He let the silence stretch between them.

“Landon was right,” Gordon said, his voiced strained. “I expect complete honesty from you. It’s only fair for you to expect the same from me.”

“You never lied. You just didn’t talk about your past, and I didn’t ask.”

“You’re more forgiving than I am.”

“I’m a different top, not a better top.” Milton rolled on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “What are you doing with Braxton? We have wandered off topic.”

“You’re being kind,” Gordon said with a soft smile. “I’m trying to give him a framework to understand the concept of submission. He doesn’t understand the strength it takes to give control to someone else. Ultimately he has to give up the control. You and I can push him there to some degree, but when he yields it must be a gift, not wrenched from him, and he must fully understand what he has given. It’s not about fear or humiliation.”

“Mike might be the best help with this. He has at least some relationship with Braxton, and he’s fearless.”

“This will be yours and Sheldon’s role. You can delegate it, but you need to be able to work through it yourselves. I’m sure Braxton will learn from you.”

“Now you’re being cruel.”

Gordon smiled, a predatory gleam in his eye. “I’ve never been easy. Are you feeling well enough to sit up and do some writing?”

Milton didn’t hide the groan. “What do you want, sir?”

“A plan for helping boys like Braxton without sacrificing yourself, Tilden, or any of your boys. You may sit in the armchair and use the lap desk as long as you’re diligent. If I catch you writing about baseball, it’s the hard chair in the kitchen.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Milton said with a grin. 

“No? You’ll probably write next semester’s history lectures.”

“I understand, sir.” Milton didn’t hide his cheeky grin.

“Careful, boy. I can take back my offer of comfort.”

“I’ll behave. I might be facing a week’s worth of peanut butter. I at least want to sit in some comfort.”

Writing a workable plan was difficult. Milton felt himself drift off to contemplate Marxist economic policies or the battles of the Hundred Years War more than a few times. Fortunately he caught himself before the wrath of Gordon fell on his head.

Braxton and Landon came home in the late afternoon with noisy clumping and a trunk full of pumpkins and cornstalks.

“More pumpkins?” Gordon questioned affectionately. “The front steps are already crowded.”

“We don’t have any here.” Braxton’s voice was soft and deferential, but Milton flinched at the lack of sir.

“Braxton, I won’t be happy if guests break their ankles falling over pumpkins.”

“I won’t put them in the paths. I thought we could line the walks and put candles inside. It would be very festive.”

“Farolitos, sir,” Milton said with a smile. “It’s the tradition in the Southwest, but it’s usually done at Christmas, sir.” Milton wouldn’t usually use sir, but he could model it for Braxton, and he could tell from Braxton’s expression the boy had noticed.

“Please,” Braxton pleaded.

“No mess, and I do expect something edible for dinner.”

 Braxton’s face fell. “I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“You’ve never learned. It’s not hard unless you’re Tilden.”

Milton laughed. Poor Tilden. His cooking prowess was known worldwide.

“Who’s Tilden?”

 “A friend of mine who cooks by setting the curtains on fire.”

“I haven’t done that. Everything just tastes terrible. I can’t help it.” Braxton looked impossibly young as he stood there, shuffling his feet and mumbling about bad cooking.

“I know how to cook. We’ll do fine. Now thank Mr. Lewis for letting you cover the place in pumpkins.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Milton prodded. “Listen to my speech pattern. I’ll try to model it for you.”

“But you’re a top.”

“I lived with Mr. Lewis when I was your age. He trained me to be a top.”

“You were always a top. I only helped you find your footing,” Gordon said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go do something in the kitchen and then deal with the pumpkins. I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you need, sir?” It had been years since Milton had done the formality of service. Gordon had taught him, but Milton didn’t do it at home. He had considered teaching Blade, thinking it might settle the boy, but he’d never gotten around to it. He’d watch Braxton. Maybe it would be worth it with Blade.

“Shit!” Braxton said, as soon as they were alone in the kitchen. “Does he expect that? You do it so easily. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Take a breath, kid.” Milton rubbed Braxton’s shoulders. “Don’t swear. I don’t like it, and I’m sure Gordon--Mr. Lewis--I haven’t used his surname since I was your age, and I’m sure I’m going to trip up. Anyway he’ll punish for it.”

“He made me write lines last time. ‘Well educated gentlemen do not speak as if they were raised in the gutter.’”

“That sounds like him. Well educated gentlemen also use sir. He won’t let it slide forever.”

“It sounds--I don’t know--weird.”

“You’ve used it with me before. I heard it. You have to get used to it. It’s a reminder of status and rank, and you’re only just starting to learn that. We want you to understand that you are giving power and authority to someone else. Sir is a simple acknowledgment of that agreement, and for you a safe way to explore these relationships. You have to understand where your headspace is for a relationship as a submissive and what it feels like to cede power and control. I’m going to show you the formal side of the role, the part that doesn’t touch the psyche. This is the easy side; any halfway decent actor can do it. The submission you’ll give your partner or what I gave Gordon this afternoon in private is far more difficult.  Later with your own top the two of you can decide to remove the trappings of formality, but right now it’s both your shield and your introduction. Sheldon, my partner, only uses sir when he’s in trouble or trying to wiggle out of trouble. Mike uses it with Tilden when he’d like Tilden to take more control. Use it with Mr. Lewis, and you should use it with me. You’ll have to ask Landon. In general all tops should be sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Milton kissed Braxton’s forehead and chuckled when the boy flinched. “We’re touchy-feely; get used to it. Most subs like it, even Blade who darted across the room the whole first month when I touched him likes it.”

“Who’s Blade?”

“Who’s Blade, sir?”

“Who’s Blade, sir?” Braxton dutifully repeated, making a face.

“Don’t scowl at me. He’s Sheldon’s younger brother. It’s a long story. If we have a few days I’ll tell you, but suffice it to say he lives with me and is my submissive but not my lover.”

“Like I am with them?”

Milton waited a beat, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Sir,” Braxton added after a moment’s hesitation.

“Less formal, but yes.”

“Do you--” Braxton broke off and rubbed his foot up and down his pants leg.

“Spit it out, boy. You need to learn to say want you want or need, or these relationships can get nasty. Don’t make the tops guess.” Milton smiled to soften his words. “I have a good idea what you want to ask, and it’s fine to ask. I’m not at the college. I can talk about all this stuff.”

“Do you spank him, sir?” The words were almost inaudible.

“I’m going to be nice and not make you ask again louder. The answer is yes. Frequently. He’s wild.”

“He won’t spank me.”

Milton cleared his throat.

“Sir.”

“You’re not eighteen, and we want you to understand what you’re getting into. There’s no hurry to make this decision.”

“I’m a sub. I know I am.”

And you only about half know what it means, Milton thought. The kid was earnest, but he needed time. “Braxton, how are you supposed to address me?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Milton opened the refrigerator and looked through the shelves. It was time to get the kid focused on work. They could talk more as they worked. “Do you know how to peel potatoes?”

“I’m not stupid.”

Milton gritted his teeth at the whine. “The answer is yes sir or no sir. Is that clear?” Milton leaned into Braxton, pushing him against the table.

Braxton swallowed hard, his face flushed. “Yes, sir.”

“Get started. The knives are in the middle drawer. That’s where they had always kept them, and nothing much has changed in this kitchen--a few new appliances but nothing else.”

“He doesn’t even have a mixer.”

“Braxton.” Milton reached in a drawer and tossed Braxton a notebook and a stub of a pencil. The notebooks were where they’d always been. Milton wondered if his from his teen years lay buried in the drawer under the ball of string and the broken ruler. “Write I will address tops as sir. Tell me when the sheet is done.”

Milton turned back to the refrigerator. He could hear angry grunts and the sound of Braxton throwing himself in the chair, but he ignored them. Instead, he pulled out the roast and began to prepare it. Braxton was at the table huffing and muttering, but the paper was filling with lines. Good because Milton didn’t care about sir, and he wasn’t sure how far he could take this without the sanction of corporal punishment. He’d have swatted Blade or Sheldon for that little display of temper.

“I’m done, sir.” The lines had settled Braxton. He presented the notebook, his eyes down, the picture of politeness.

“Thank you. The potatoes.”

The silence didn’t last long, no more than two potatoes. “Did Mr. Lewis spank you when you lived here, sir?”

“He did, and it hurts if that is your next question. Pay attention to the potatoes. They don’t taste better with blood on them.”

“Why did he want us out of the house today, sir?”

Milton sighed; he’d wondered how long it would take to get to this question. “He wanted to have a discussion with me alone. And, yes, discussion is a loaded word. So you don’t have to ask a thousand questions, he spanked me and I’m sore.”

“It was about me?”

The kid looked so dejected and upset that Milton didn’t have the heart to hassle him about sir. “It was about me not protecting myself. We are both glad that you are here, and we hope you’re happy here.”

Braxton smiled a dazzling smile that was going to break some man’s heart. “I like it here, sir.”

“Do you find it hard?”

“Nobody’s threatened to stuff my head in the toilet or worse, sir.”

“How bad did it get at school?”

“They beat me up a little, and a couple of the jocks took some pictures. They caught me in the shower.”

“Come here, kid.” Milton wrapped his arms around the boy. “Did anything else happen?”

“Nasty text messages and stuff, but they weren’t stupid. They didn’t do anything that was a crime. Sir,” Braxton added hastily as an afterthought. 

“Brax, nothing like that will ever happen when you’re with us. We protect our own.”

“I know, sir and thank you.”

“We’ll protect you even if you tell us you’re not a submissive.”

“I am a sub sir. Stop worrying I’ve been coerced into something, sir.”

“Point taken, boy. Now back to the stove. I don’t like peanut butter.”

“I hate it, sir.”

“Learn to cook. I’ll help you. It’s not magic. We’re having roast beef, mashed potatoes, and broccoli tonight. Simple but appropriate.

“I don’t know how to make roast, sir”

“I do, and there are cookbooks in the cabinet over the stove. We’ll get the roast in the oven, and then we’ll deal with your room which is a mess. Don’t look shocked. I looked in your drawers and found the pants rolled up under the bed. I can’t even imagine where you learned to make beds.”

“I’m not the maid.”

Milton pointed at the table. “Same lines as before.”

“Fuck!”

“Twice as many.”

 Braxton had the good sense to be quiet and write.

“I’m done, sir,” Braxton said quietly after a half hour. “I don’t like to write lines, sir.”

“I don’t know many people who do. Will it help you remember?”

“Yes, sir, but it’s hard.”

“It will get natural and then you’ll have no trouble doing it.”

“Why is it important, sir?”

“Remember what I said earlier. It’s a reminder of status and an acknowledgment of consent.. Every time you say sir it reinforces your place in the hierarchy.”

“At the bottom.”

“Careful, boy. You gave us this status. Speaking respectfully tells the top that you have agreed to the arrangement. It’s an acceptance of the authority. You can withdraw from the agreement at any time. Once you’re eighteen Gordon--Mr. Lewis--might put certain restrictions on it but not now. I told Blade he had to stick it out for three months, and if he hated it then we would try something different. Do you understand, Brax?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s deal with the room.”

Braxton managed to clean the room to Milton’s specification with a minimum of whining. His bed making skills were dismal, and Milton finally took the sheets off all the bunks three times before he declared them satisfactory.

“Mr. Lewis isn’t this picky, sir.” Braxton huffed as he dusted the lamp.

“He’s been giving you some leeway, letting you adjust. He told me to take care of it, and I will answer to him if it is inadequate.”

“I have to do this every day, sir?”

“It will be easier when it’s not such a mess.”

“It was clean, sir.”

“Compared to what? The local landfill? Let’s finish dinner. I will be unhappy if I get put on peanut butter rations.”

Milton managed to get the dinner finished while coaching Braxton through the table service. The kid didn’t even know how to pour water without sending ice splashing into the glasses. At least he knew the difference between the salad fork and the dinner fork. Milton dressed them both for dinner, frowning over Braxton’s shoes.

“You need to polish these. Dinner is formal here. Haven’t you eaten dinner with them?”

“No, sir.”

“That bad, eh. Don’t worry by the end of the week you’ll be eating dinner with them every night.”

Braxton made a face.

“It beats peanut butter, and this stuff gets easier after you’ve done it a few times. The ritual can be relaxing and centering.”

“Do I have to make conversation, sir?”

“Not at first, but they’re good ones to learn the fine art of dinner chatter. That is when Landon’s not trying to drive everyone crazy.”

Milton lit the final candle on the table and rang a small silver bell. Gordon walked in hand-in-hand with Landon. They both stopped at the door and studied the table.

“I’m impressed,” Gordon said. “I would have had you come up earlier if I’d known you could make such an enormous difference.”

“Thank you, sir. Milton said smoothly. “I’m teaching Braxton tonight, so I apologize for any errors, sir.”

“Let’s eat,” Landon said. “It actually looks edible. Milton must have cooked.”

“Landon, do you want to eat in the kitchen?”

Landon caught the tone because he immediately stilled in his chair. “No, sir. I’m sure they both contributed to this meal.”

“I’ll tell you later,” Milton mouthed and winked at Braxton who hadn’t hidden his surprised look at Landon’s reprimand. “Have you ever carved before?”

“No, sir.”

“Watch me. I’ll teach you with the leftovers.” Milton filled the plates with practiced ease and remained standing until Gordon waved at them to eat. As Milton had promised, Gordon conversed with Landon and let Milton quietly instruct Braxton on proper service. 

It wasn’t until they were back in the kitchen that Braxton collapsed in the chair with relief. “Peanut butter in the kitchen maybe isn’t so bad. I can’t do that alone, sir.”

“Give it time. I haven’t done it in years.”

“You’re so natural, sir.”

“I lived with him for three years and Landon helped. Landon has impeccable manners when he wants to.”

“Would Mr. Lewis have made him eat in the kitchen, sir?”

“Yes, he would.”

Braxton seemed to digest that piece of information, toying with the dirty dishes. “Is Landon his boy, sir?”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s different from Dexter or Xavier, sir.”

“I’m different from Gordon.”

Braxton looked down at the table.

“We both have the scary top thing. You can’t figure out Landon?”

Braxton nodded.

“He’s Gordon’s--sorry Mr. Lewis’s--boy, but he’s also a top. He won’t top me, but he’ll top you if you need it.”

“How do I know if he’s topping?”

Milton glared at Braxton?

“Sir.”

“Listen to his voice. Watch his expression. You know who’s a top here?”

“Usually, sir, but not always.”

“Dexter and Xavier are boys. You’ve met Armand?”

“He’s a sub, sir.”

“You figured that out quickly.”

“He threw a plate at Eric. Should I call Eric by his last name, sir?”

“Ask him, but you can never get in trouble by being too polite. I prefer my first name. It makes a clean break from my position at Banner. Do you have homework tonight?”

“Always, sir.” Braxton made a face. “It’s way more than I ever had in school.”

“Go do it. I’ll finish up in here.”

“I wanted to carve the pumpkins, sir.”

“Not tonight. I want an early bedtime, and I won’t get any sleep until your homework is done. Now get to it. I will check.”

Milton couldn’t hear the mumbled words, but he knew it was a complaint. He finished the dishes, drying and putting away the silver that had been on the table. He liked the fine linens and silver service, but it was hardly worth the struggle with Sheldon. It had always ended up with a spanking and tears and had not seemed worth the fight. He’d have to reconsider. Sheldon had grown into his role and as the partner of the future head of the Green Mountain Boys, Sheldon needed to know how to teach a boy proper etiquette. Mike would like it; it would appeal to his submissive side. Mike’s acknowledgment and acceptance of his desire to fill a more visible submissive role without the cover of bratting had actually led to Sheldon playing around a few times with sitting at Milton’s feet. He hadn’t knelt, but Milton had caught Sheldon watching Mike. Sheldon always denied he wanted to try it, but Milton was no longer so sure. Once a week would be a doable schedule for formal dinners.

“Milton, if you’re not finished, we’ll come help.” Gordon stood in the doorway, a glass of brandy in his hand. “We have a fire in the living room.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Gordon caught Milton’s arm and turned him to face the older top. “Are you all right? Tonight was more formal than I expected, and you don’t have to call me sir.”

“Braxton needs it. He needs the formal structure especially since you’re not spanking him. He’s lost right now.”

“Am I hearing you correctly? I need to be harder on him.”

“Yes, sir. He’ll find the formality comforting. He was confused today when you didn’t correct his informality.”

“I wanted you to hear it. It’s his way of testing the waters. He’s not openly defiant.”

“For him, that is defiant. You need to press him.”

“He’s going to find it hard.”

“He wants hard. He wants to prove himself. He can’t prove himself by surviving a spanking, so you have to improvise.”

Gordon shook his head. “You know kids today better than I do, but this sounds draconian. Most of them have never made their bed, and you’re suggesting formal service.”

“It will give him a clean break with his past. You were already doing it part way.”

“I was trying to give him some breathing room before I became the heavy.”

“He wants it, and he likes Eric. He’ll tell Eric if it gets too much, and I know Eric will tell you.”

“He’s protective. That’s why he’s so good with Xavier. The kid finally feels safe with his Viking body guard.”

“It’s a good match.”

Gordon smiled. “Come enjoy the fire. I’m sure you’re stiff.”

“You’re enjoying that part too much,” Milton snorted, noticing Gordon’s wicked smile. “I know I deserved it, but I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No you’re not. You’re a tenured faculty member, a husband, a mentor, an excellent top, and one of the finest human beings I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. I’m aware that we’ve been hard on you sometimes, but we’re proud of you, more proud than I can describe in words. Now come sit by the fire before I have to make it an order.”

“Yes, sir.”