My Man Blade 1

My Man Blade 1

“Hey, you do OK on that test?”

Blade hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder as they jostled through the doors and spilled out into the hall. He usually liked to hang and talk with Ray. Ray was cool; he liked burgers with too much ketchup and coffee with as much milk and sugar as Blade. He also liked to have a good time in ways that would get Blade fried if Milton or worse Ryan found out.

Ryan, God Blade missed him. They, Ryan, Milton, and Blade, had agreed that Blade should finish his last year of college in Boston rather than transfer as a senior. It had all sounded so practical and reasonable when they’d discussed it over the plastic table at the local fast food joint. Ryan would come to Boston or Blade would go to New York on the weekends, but during the week he’d stay with Milton and company. Blade had felt so grownup agreeing to it, thinking about his future in all those proper adult ways. It had been his choice; both Ryan and Milton had refused to dictate that Blade stay in Boston.

“I’m your dominant,” Ryan had said softly, capturing Blade in those brilliant blue eyes, “but I won’t use that role to mandate this decision. I will use it to enforce it, but not to mandate it. This is your choice; you know what both Milton and I believe is the best choice, but ultimately you must live with the decision.”

Blade had stayed in Boston, not that he didn’t wish almost daily that he’d fled to the safety of Ryan’s arms and insisted on going to New York. It was hard, damn hard. Milton was trying, and it wasn’t that Milton wasn’t a good top; he just wasn’t Ryan. Blade wanted to go to bed in Ryan’s arms; he wanted to study with his back resting against Ryan’s knee; he wanted to serve Ryan his breakfast. That was a new one for Blade. Milton had taught him the rudiments of service, and Gordon had insisted that partial summer he’d spent with the old dragon. Blade had found the cooking and cleaning irritating. The formal service: quiet at Gordon’s feet, waiting for a dish to empty or a glass to fill had been different, fulfilling in ways Blade couldn’t explain. Gordon had described it as a mystical tranquility, Blade wouldn’t go that far, but during formal service was one of the few times Blade wasn’t getting absolutely bawled out by Gordon.

Ryan didn’t insist on formal service; they hadn’t even talked about it at first, but Ryan got Blade. He’d looked at Blade with that thoughtful expression on his face, his full eyebrows drawing together. It had taken several days of Blade serving the toast and scrambling immediately to the refrigerator for the forgotten jam or butter for Ryan to push his plate away and draw Blade into his lap.

“Do you want to do service, boy?”

Blade had nestled against those solid chest muscles and managed to squeak a faint yes.

“I don’t want a servant, boy.” Blade had felt a stab of disappointment at those words, but Ryan tousled his hair and continued, “But I don’t mind a submissive lover who enjoys giving of himself in this manner.”

Ryan’s rules for service were different than Gordon’s. Blade served the breakfast with silver and everything. The silver was a family heirloom or something. It looked great, but Blade hated the polishing which was put solidly on his plate and never shared.

“Service means doing what you enjoy along with what you don’t. I try not to be too onerous,” Ryan had said with an enigmatic half smile.

And he wasn’t except for the silver, of course. Ryan spanked for tarnished silver, each and every time with unrelenting precision. Otherwise he was relaxed about the service. On leisurely weekends, Blade would serve Ryan breakfast, clear the plates, and Ryan would return the favor crowded into the tiny kitchen with the pans piled high into a jumbled and precarious tower. Ryan was a far better cook than Blade despite his enthusiasm for vegetables that Blade preferred to see only on an exotic cooking channel. Blade could manage oatmeal, eggs and the basic hamburger; Ryan could make a feast.

Ryan would cook and casually chat with Blade, questions about the week, questions about Blade’s dreams and fantasies, questions about things that Blade would swear had never entered his mind. Blade wasn’t an idiot, and it taken him only two weeks to realize that Ryan was conducting a calculated interview with all his pretense at the domesticated man, and there were rules to the game. A slight hedge and Blade would end up with cereal and some fruit melange heavy on grapefruit and prunes. Play nice and he’d get strawberry filled crepes or Blade’s new favorite coconut rice with mangos. Mace and Ryan had talked; breakfast this morning had proved it. Milton hadn’t even raised an eyebrow at the rice and mangos, even though Blade was adamantly sure that Mace had never served rice for breakfast before, and cold Chinese takeout was frowned upon.

“Blade.” Matt snapped his fingers in Blade’s face. “You with us buddy? I’m sure it wasn’t that bad for you. I’ve seen the grades you get, dude.”

Matt was Ray’s roommate and not high on Blade’s list of favorite people. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, but Blade always felt Matt pushed Ray. Ray was surfer boy cute with blond hair, a little too long for Ryan’s and Milton’s regimented look and in shorts until the snow was flying. Matt was slicker, faded jeans, shirt open at the collar, and the newest gadget in his hand. He mixed well with everyone, a wink and a smile at the cute girls and a quick ass grab at the hot guys. 

“You got another fucking A, didn’t you?”

He had. With Milton and Ryan all over him about his school work, Blade had turned into one of those geek students. Milton called it something nicer, an appropriate use of Blade’s time, and Ryan had just threatened to make Blade study all weekend on a flying visit if Blade didn’t keep it together. Studying wasn’t how he wanted to spend his precious weekends.

Blade gave Matt his best grin. “Well, I have to keep up my reputation.” That could mean anything. He could have a reputation for an F as well as an A. Matt had guessed right; Blade’s paper was marked with a bright red A. The test hadn’t been hard, or maybe it was because it was Milton’s subject, Eastern European history from Lenin to Perestroika. Milton’s questions were a hell of a lot tougher than Professor Swan’s. Swan had a tough reputation, probably more a result of the terminal boredom that instantly invaded the student’s soul as he continued in his listless monotone of his lectures. Milton had taught Blade the material, not the white haired stick in his too short of pants. 

“Fucking dickhead! Ruining the curve again!”

“He doesn’t curve,” Blade said, “and hey, history’s one of my better subjects.” His best subject; Matt and Ray just weren’t privy to the unique teaching methods that went on at Milton’s house of horror. Drinking parties on weekdays and all nighters because of needless procrastination ended badly. Blade reached up and shifted the strap of his backpack, letting his fingers slide over the chain hidden by his shirt. Worth it. Without a question worth it.

“You did get an A, asshole?” Matt gave Blade a shove, knocking him against the drinking fountain.

“Hey, I studied,” Blade said holding up his hands in a peace gesture. He’d rather clock Matt, but Blade had a good idea where that road would lead and sitting in class for the next few days would be hell. Ryan had spanked him Sunday just as a reminder to be good for the week, that had hurt enough, not totally in a bad way, but a pissed off Milton spanking was something Blade wanted to avoid. Having a brawl in the corridor would bring just those results; Milton was in a take no prisoners mode right now. Blade knew why, and he even supported the logic. He was spinning without Ryan every night, but it still didn’t mean that Blade greeted all the restrictions with enthusiasm. Ryan hadn’t demanded that Blade stay within a top’s sight, but damn it felt that way.

“Can you two knock it off,” Ray muttered. “I’ve already had a bad enough day. Great birthday!”

“Not so hot?” Blade asked, genuinely sympathetic. 

“Disaster,” Ray said with an attempt at a grin. “Better luck next time, I hope.”

“Jesus, I forgot it was your birthday. Let’s go out and celebrate,” Matt said.

They’d made it outside to the afternoon sun. Blade looked up the path, past the trees with their reds and yellows of fall to the gates of the campus and the T stop. Going with these guys would not have a happy ending.

“Don’t you cop out on us again,” Matt said.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” Ray pleaded.

Blade nodded, giving in to Ray’s longing look. Blade didn’t give a fuck about Matt, but he liked Ray, and he couldn’t help but recognize a fellow submissive in Ray, not that Ray acknowledged it, and Blade kept his own orientation quiet. This wasn’t the Green Mountain Boys. Sure some people must know; Blade had flitted across the screen in several cameos in that documentary a few years back, but he hadn’t appeared on the far more popular television series. Ray didn’t go much for art house films; his taste ran more toward action with multiple car crashes and a hot hero stripping off his shirt at every opportunity. Blade liked those films also; it was especially fun to take Milton as Blade could hear Milton grinding his teeth at each more spectacular explosion. Milton liked incomprehensible and slow art films by world famous directors who, at least to Blade, seemed more interested in making a cinematic impression than shooting a good movie.

“Where are we going?” Blade asked as he let himself drift along with Matt and Ray. He needed to slip out and call if he wasn’t going to make dinner. Meals were eaten together with no books, magazines, music players, or God forbid television. Milton treated the television at the best of times with deep derision; at dinner it was the spawn of Satan. Blade had found the whole meal arrangement weird at first, but at least Milton didn’t do the jacket and ties of Gordon, and after awhile Blade found himself looking forward to dinner. There was something quaint and old-fashioned about the arrangement, and it was just, well, nice to be included so comprehensively in the family.

“You’ll see,” Matt said with a gleam in his eye that made Blade question his own sanity. “It’ll be cool.”

“It’s too early to go clubbing,” Blade said, wishing for a graceful exit.

“We’ll go to New York. We can take the express home.”

Blade started to object, but swallowed the words. How could he tell them that he couldn’t without spilling facts that were best kept hidden? He was a senior in college; he shouldn’t have curfew and check in times. Blade hated to imagine the derision revealing that side of himself would cause.

“Come on, Blade,” Ray said, giving Blade a look that Blade recognized in himself, wide eyes and a slight pout.

If only they knew where this was going to lead for him; canes and belts flashed through Blade’s mind, but he smiled and nodded yes. “Let’s go celebrate. After all you only have a birthday once a year.”

Blade tucked himself against a corner of the train car and pulled open a thick text and started to read. God, he was going to die a thousand deaths by the time the night was through. He could at least be well caught up in his classes; that might mitigate some of the disaster. Twice he’d pulled his phone out to text Milton, but what would he say? He fiddled with the switch; he should just turn the damn thing off. Milton would start to call Blade at six, and he didn’t have any ready lies for his brother-in-law. Milton didn’t deserve lies, but Blade sure as hell couldn’t tell him. Ryan would meet them at the station, and for Blade there’d be no hiding behind his cute flirting. Ryan screamed dom even in his blazer and striped tie as he headed off for his gig at public school number whatever. At a train station, looking for an errant and disobedient sub, he’d be spitting fire. Blade would probably hit his knees despite coaching himself to stay standing. Thinking about it was making his stomach churn. No, he’d be fine. Milton would belt him for running off without a word, but Blade had lived through plenty of those. It wasn’t all that bad; he’d sleep on his stomach and grimace his way through class the next day on those incredibly hard chairs, but it wasn’t devastating.

Blade fiddled with his phone again. Text message or no? He could text that he’d be late, very late and then turn the infernal contraption off. That might offer some mitigation with Milton. No, who was he kidding? The last time he’d turned off his phone he’d been grounded for a week. Willful disobedience it had been called, a place Blade tried to avoid.

“Going out with friends to celebrate a birthday. Home late,” Blade texted to Sheldon. Sheldon would tell Milton; it was the safest course of action Blade could think of as the train roared to its destination. Ray and Matt seemed oblivious to Blade’s dilemma. They were chatting excitedly about clubs; Matt was bragging about places he’d been with naked boys and masters with whips. Blade rolled his eyes; he knew what a master looked like with a whip, and he doubted if Matt had ever encountered one unless he visited the porno theater or shady sites on the internet, and Ryan was a hell of a lot scarier than those fat guys trying to look tough. Ryan was tough while looking clean cut, wholesome, and even a little sweet, far more terrifying than leather and motorcycle boots. That was dress up; Ryan was real.

“You’re quiet,” Matt said, putting his feet up on the empty seat across from him. “What? You have a test in two weeks or something?”

“I like to keep caught up,” Blade said as neutrally as he could manage; decking Matt was looking more and more like the best option. Blade wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive the evening without putting his fist through that obnoxious grin. Not a good move, he scolded himself. Missing dinner and getting into a fistfight, the penalty would be draconian. 

“You used to be a lot more fun,” Matt muttered.

“Hmm.” Mumbling was safe; Blade wouldn’t get his butt scorched for mumbling. 

They clanked through the stations of Connecticut with only a few passengers boarding as they were too late in the day for the main rush to work and still early for a night out. The train pulled into Penn Station right on time to the always garbled messages announcing the trains on the other tracks and their departures. Blade followed Matt and Ray to street level. Matt plunged through the always present throngs of pedestrians, ignoring the lights and don’t walk signs like a native New Yorker. Matt seemed to know where he was going, and Blade swallowed hard and followed behind. It was an enormous city with millions of people; it would be statistically impossible to run into Ryan.

Blade hadn’t been paying attention until they entered a building with a plain green awning over unremarkable glass doors. It could have been anywhere, but it wasn’t. The gentleman in the green blazer was the giveaway. Blade wanted to make a break for the street, but a suddenly fleeing boy would be obvious. He longed for the fictional dark corners of shady bars in the romance stories. There were no dark and musty corridors in front of the doorman and his desk. By some small favor, he wasn’t one of Ryan’s personal friends. 

Matt produced an ID. The doorman glanced at it and had Matt sign the visitor’s book before asking Blade and Ray for identification. Blade reached into his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license with his official name Meriwether Lewis Zath. Everyone here knew him as Blade, and he’d only been here a few times. Ryan considered The Forest his place of work, and he kept his play well separated. Blade’s first attempt to visit had lasted only a few minutes before he’d been dragged home by Ryan, the captured but willing prey. Ryan had brought him once to show Blade off as Ryan had put it and to let Blade see firsthand some games he’d only imagined, and Blade had met Ryan here several times on the way to other places.

So far so good and they were waved into the bar area with its dark paneling and brass fixtures, the quintessential gentlemen’s club. It was early and still quiet; only a few tables were occupied and most were doing innocent activities, reading the paper or quietly contemplating a glass of ginger ale. Matt took a table against the bookshelves full of both books to read as well as beautiful leather bound volumes of the classics.

“It’s boring now, but it will get fun later,” Matt said with a cockeyed grin. “You wouldn’t believe the crazy shit some of these people will do.” Matt shrugged. “A bit out there for me, but half the guys who belong here make money by the boat load on Wall Street, and hell I don’t mind watching. It’s my brother’s membership. He’s more into this shit than I am, but Ray here I thought might want to give it a try.”

Ray looked at Matt, confusion on his face, not getting the veiled references. Blade looked around. In here it did look innocent enough, ties loosened, suit jackets over chairs, no handcuffs or whips in sight.

“Wait til later,” Matt said with a sly grin. “Some of these guys can spank. You haven’t lived to you’ve see a red assed boy taking his due. Stupid shit to get over someone’s knee, but a damn cool show.”

Blade curled his fists in his lap. He was that stupid shit. “I’m getting a drink.” Blade stood up, not waiting to hear if anyone else wanted anything. He had to get away from Matt. A punch here would have the tops on him like flies on carrion, and Blade would be just about as dead as the flies’ supper.  

“Three Cokes please,” Blade said to the bar top. He didn’t glance up; he didn’t use his usual charming and disarming smile.

“Blade? Does Ryan know you’re here?”

Blade looked up for the first time. The bartender that he’d thought he’d been talking to had melted into the background and was busy squeezing lemons with intense concentration.

“Camden?” Blade managed with a weak smile. Camden knew Ryan, was friends with Ryan. They’d gone to Coney Island together. Ryan didn’t do whirly twirly upside down rides, but Camden loved everything, including a half dozen rides on his beloved woodie, the historic Cyclone. 

Camden was an actor or so he said. He spent most nights either tending bar at The Forest or at this second job being a doorman in one of those posh apartment buildings overlooking Central Park. Camden had laughed about it and joked that there were more actors serving tables than working Broadway.

“He doesn’t know,” Camden hissed, giving Blade a look that suggested that Blade was mentally deficient. “You’re at a club without your dominant. Call him.”

Blade shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You still with him?”

Blade nodded again, suddenly very aware of the chain around his neck, the metal resting against his skin.

“Kiddo, you’re in a mess.”

“No shit, Sherlock! Tell me something I don’t know.” 

“You have to call him,” Camden said, leaning against the counter and looking intently at Blade. “I’m not the only one who’s going to recognize you here.”

“I can’t. What am I’m going to say?” Blade rubbed his hand across his face. “Just give me the Cokes. I’ll figure it out later.”

“Blade, you trust Ryan, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So call him. You’re already beating yourself up far more than Ryan will. He’ll punish you; I don’t have a doubt, but he’s a good guy. I tried for more than a year to get him to be more than passingly nice to me.”

“He’s your friend.”

“He’s your lover,” Camden shot back. “The rest of us submissives can only dream about it.” Camden pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Here call.”

“No. Please.”

“Own your mistake. It will go down easier.” Camden scrolled through his contacts and tapped the phone’s screen. “Hello. Ryan, I’ve got someone here who needs to talk to you.”

Blade held up his hands, trying frantically and uselessly to push the phone away. “No, I can’t.”

“Take it.” Camden pushed the phone into Blade’s hand.

“Ryan. Ryan, I’m at The Forest.”

“So I gathered.” Ryan’s voice was warm, infinitely soothing, and hinted at his usual offbeat sense of humor. “Sit tight. I’ll come get you.”

“Ryan.” Blade knew his voice sounded pleading.

“Blade, sit tight. We’ll talk when I get there.”

“You’re mad?”

“I’m not happy, and I think you understand the reasons. Now promise me you won’t take off before I get there.”

Blade gulped and looked around the room. Where would he run to? Back to Boston where Milton was going to kill him.

“Blade, I love you. Promise me.”

“Yes, Ryan,” Blade whispered, unable to raise enough saliva to make his voice heard beyond the faintest croak.

“Give the phone back to Camden.”

Blade handed the phone back to Camden, not noticing the people and movement around him. He wanted Ryan, and perversely he wanted to hide from Ryan. What was Ryan going to do to him? Blade was a collared submissive. He’d been disobedient, defiant, deliriously stupid. He didn’t deserve Ryan.

“Kid, stop it.”

Blade looked up into the weathered but handsome face of a man who had stepped well into Blade’s personal space and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, reassuring but also hinting at restraint.

“I’m Gavin.”

Gavin Randolph. The picture in the living room. Ryan and Gavin on a sailboat. Gavin had been Ryan’s mentor during college.

“Who did you come with?”

Blade nodded toward the table. Gavin, his hand still on Blade’s shoulder, pushed him toward the table and Matt and Ray who were looking more bored than concerned.

“Gentlemen, come with me.” Gavin had a voice, not loud, not bossy, but somehow it made the legs work independently of the body. Even Matt stood up from the table without a word of protest. Silently they walked to the back of the bar and entered the private corridors. Gavin led them up two flights of stairs and into an office.

Blade looked around the office. It looked like any high end office: a large glass table for a desk, an oversized leather chair with a matching leather sofa, and beige carpeting underfoot. Only the art work was different. They were black and white photographs, not of landscapes or the sunlight glittering through the rubble of an ancient church, but of men. They weren’t lewd; all the vital parts were covered, but they drew the eye in a powerful and breathtaking way. A man, his back muscles rippling, perched on a barn nailing in the final plank as the sun set in the west.

“Shoes and socks off, boy. In the corner. Hands on your head.”

Blade bent to untie his shoes. He couldn’t argue with Gavin; he deserved this, but Ray and Matt didn’t know. They knew now, and there was nothing he could damn well do about it, and it was going to get worse. Blade tried to avert his eyes, but he could see Matt smirking and Ray looking terrified. 

“Don’t scare Ray.” Where had that come from? “He doesn’t know about this.”

“Blade corner.” Gavin was suddenly much too close. He was a big man, not with the breadth of Milton or Ryan, but still big. Gavin ran his fingers through Blade’s hair. “Ray is going to have a front row introduction to our world. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

Blade swallowed and shook his head. It was his fault. He should never have come. He knew better. He was Ryan’s.

“Corner, boy,” Gavin repeated, propelling Blade to the designated corner with a strong hand on his shoulder. 

Blade interlaced his fingers over his head and stared at the paint,  dove gray not the white of Ryan’s apartment, but still boring paint. Blade had painted for Josh one spring break; this looked like a latex flat paint, easy to apply, but not great wearing. He could only distract himself for a minute with the paint. This wasn’t home. He was in real trouble.

“Steady.” Blade felt a hand on his back and heard the voice in his ear. “Ryan’s always fair. You’ll survive this.”

“Can we go?” That was Matt. “I don’t know what you two are playing at, but it’s not my deal.”

“Sit down, boy.” 

“You don’t have any right.”

“I have every right.” Gavin’s voice was knife sharp, and Blade shivered under its onslaught, even though it was directed at Matt. “I know Greg; I respect Greg. You are not your brother. Matty, your brother respects what he is. You haven’t grown up enough to even begin to understand who you are. You are just a punk kid, dragging your friends into trouble.”

“Fuck you! I don’t have to listen to this crap.”

“I could beat you instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I haven’t consented; you wouldn’t touch me without my consent.”

“Maybe I don’t play by the rules, Matty. You don’t seem to play by the rules. Maybe I thought you were a mugger; you are here illegally. Maybe I like to have a boy really struggle, to be really afraid of me. It might do you some good, Matty.”

Blade glanced over his shoulder. A cruel smile played across Gavin’s face. Matt was on the sofa, his brown eyes wide and frightened despite his attempt at cocky nonchalance.

“I’m not afraid of your bluster.”

“Your eyes tell me differently. I play with boys; I know how to read them. You’re a scared submissive, so scared you won’t even admit to yourself you’re a submissive. Your brother has always been better than you. He went to Harvard; you’re at Boston University. He’s a member of The Forest; you stole his membership.”

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything.”

Blade gave up any pretense at standing in the corner and openly turned around. Matt lunged at Gavin who sidestepped easily and caught the wildly swinging arms at the second pass and pinned Matt between the desk and his body.

“You just told me everything I need to know. Settle down, Matty. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Let go of me! I’m not a whiny, sack of shit submissive.”

“No, you’re a submissive who should be put on the cross and beaten raw, but you were right earlier; I won’t do that without your permission. Matty, can you sit back down on the sofa, so I can call your brother?”

“I hate Matty.”

“Your brother calls you that, and I like it. Now sit down for me.” Gavin pushed Matt back to the sofa and bodily set him on the cushion. “You doing OK?” Gavin squeezed Ray’s knee. “A sweet boy caught between the wild ones.”

“Yes, sir.” Ray whispered.

Gavin pushed the hair back from Ray’s face and kissed his forehead. “Do you know Ryan?”

Ray shook his head, his hair tumbling across his forehead and partially hiding his eyes again.

“Make sure you ask Ryan what it means to call a dominant sir. I won’t take advantage of it, but there are people who would. Blade, do not tell me that Ryan never taught you to stand in the corner,” Gavin said, his eyes trained on Blade.”

“No, sir.” Blade spun around and buried his nose in the corner, hoping to avoid a swat. 

“Babies, all of you,” Gavin said with a sigh. 

The room was quiet. At Milton’s place there was always some sort of noise: footsteps on the stairs, a timer going off in the kitchen, or the chimes of the grandfather clock in the study. Gavin, Ray, and Matt had to be sitting on the sofa in absolute stillness. There wasn’t even a creak of a spring or a rustle of a shoe against a pant leg. If Milton were here, he’d be between the two boys, his arm slung over each shoulder, silently offering reassurance just by being there. Blade had long ago lost count of how many times he’d leaned against that solid chest and felt those strong arms around his back.

Blade shifted his shoulders. He wanted to let his arms down. He could ask Milton or Ryan. Milton would usually let him; Ryan was less generous. The corner was punishment. Ryan knew Blade hated to be still, and he used it to his advantage. Where was Ryan? He didn’t live that far away. What if he didn’t come? What if he’d had enough? Blade had never had a long term relationship; he drove people crazy, cute for short intervals, a great flirt, not mature enough for a serious relationship. He could hear the words in his head. They were all true. Milton had kept him, but he didn’t have a choice. Blade was Sheldon’s brother; Milton had strong and unshakable beliefs about family. He’d keep a rabid dog if it were family.

“Take your shirt off.”

Ryan. Ryan was here. His voice, despite the sternness, was a welcome relief. Blade turned around, his eyes roving over his dominant. Ryan was still dressed for work, khaki pants and a white oxford unbuttoned at the neck. He’d taken his tie off somewhere in transit.

“Boy, you do not want to defy me. Not now.”

Blade scrambled, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing in to the ground. 

“Fold it and put it on the desk. Hurry. Kneel here when you’re done.”

Fold the shirt, Blade could do that. He knew how to make the neat folds that pleased Ryan. Blade did the laundry; it was part of his duty. Barefoot and shirtless, the links of his collar visible for all to see, Blade felt naked and exposed. He had his jeans, but still he’d dropped his clothes on order, and he’d shed his pants if Ryan asked. He was a submissive; he was supposed to be proud to be a submissive or so Ryan said when he blabbered on about the courage of submission. What did it look like to the others? He was the one with the collar around his neck. Blade shut his eyes; he didn’t want to see the others. Matt had probably recovered from Gavin’s onslaught and would be leering at Blade. Blade touched the chain, fingering the fine links and feeling the comfort of its familiarity. He could do this. He had to do this. He was Ryan’s. Please, don’t let him have messed that up.

“Boy.” Ryan clicked his fingers and pointed at the floor.

Blade scurried into position and dropped to his knees, automatically lowering his eyes and placing his hands behind his back. This usually wasn’t punishment. Blade knew Ryan used it to settle him. Ryan would stroke Blade’s hair or encourage Blade to lean against Ryan’s thigh. Not today. Ryan towered above Blade with cold, hard remoteness. 

“Look at me, boy.”

Blade didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see the disgust or maybe the pity as Ryan sent his useless submissive away. 

“Look at me,” Ryan repeated, tugging on Blade’s hair until he was forced to look up.

Ryan didn’t look furious, stern yes and maybe concerned, but not furious. His blue eyes locked with Blade’s, searching and worried, not angry.

“You’re my collared submissive. Do you still want that?”

Blade wanted to shout yes. He wanted to wrap his arms around Ryan’s legs and not let go, but all he could manage was a croak that he hoped was understandable as yes.

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked, his voice flat and unemotional. “You didn’t act like a collared submissive today.”

“Yes.” Blade blinked back the tears. Ryan couldn’t toss him out. He needed Ryan; he loved Ryan. 

“Boy, you’re in a shit load of trouble.” Ryan was over top of Blade, his massive legs nearly straddling Blade. He grabbed the collar and tightened it in his fist, the chain pressing against Blade’s throat. “You’re mine. No one touches you without my permission. You do not go into clubs and offer your body to passing strangers.”

“I wouldn’t,” Blade protested.

“You did, boy. That’s what this was.” Ryan tugged sharply against Blade’s hair. “Never again, boy.”

“No, Ryan,” Blade gasped. He couldn’t get more out. The collar was tight against his neck; he could still breathe, but it was an effort; he’d have a mark from the links. “I’m yours. Please, only yours.”

“Mine,” Ryan growled. The pressure eased, and Ryan’s big hand rubbed gently over Blade’s neck. “All mine.”

Blade slumped against Ryan. He didn’t care what Ryan did to him. This was all that mattered; Ryan still wanted him. He deserved whatever was going to happen. His throat hurt; the roots of his hair hurt. He deserved punishment; he welcomed punishment. He heard and felt the leash snap onto his collar more than saw it. His vision was blurry with unchecked tears.

“Good boy.” Ryan brushed the tears from Blade’s cheeks, so gentle from the hands that had tightened the chain and tugged his hair. “We’ll be OK.”

Ryan was talking now, not to Blade but Gavin. Blade let the noise wash over him. He had fingers through Blade’s hair.

Blade felt the tug of the leash, and he swayed to his feet, steadied by Ryan’s hand on his back.

“Heel, boy.”

Blade tried to get himself in position; they didn’t do this stuff much. Ryan had messed around with it once or twice in Vermont, but that was play. He’d laughed and swatted half in fun when Blade had ended up on the wrong side, tangled in his own feet, or missed Ryan stopping and plunged ahead. Blade wanted to do it right; he wanted to stay the two paces behind.

They wound through the corridors; Blade focused on Ryan’s feet, watching each step. He wasn’t paying attention to the surroundings. Please don’t let Ryan take him outside, barefoot and shirtless. Blade would go; he knew he would. He was Ryan’s. If Ryan said walk in the street naked, Blade would try. The carpet was softer. They must be back in the public areas. Blade could hear voices around him; he saw pants legs move by. No one spoke to them, and Blade wasn’t going to look up to see the look of disgust on their faces.

“Lucky bastard. I wish I had that.”

Was that about him? Leashed, half-naked, and in disgrace. He had Ryan. Maybe he was the lucky bastard.

Blade crashed against Ryan’s hip. Ryan had stopped.

“I will have to teach you to walk at heel properly, or you’re going to break one of us. It’s customary to kneel when I stop, not run into me.”

Blade could hear the tease in Ryan’s voice and he smiled up in relief. This was his master, not that Ryan would let Blade call him that.

Ryan slid the key card and opened the door. “Find a corner in the bedroom while I get Ray settled.”

Blade had forgotten about Ray. It was all a blur: being recognized at The Forest, Gavin chewing out Matt, Ryan showing up. Poor Ray and it was his birthday. He’d been exposed to all these fireworks, and Ray was a submissive. Blade knew it in his heart, a sweet, kind submissive, and he was probably terrified now. Gavin was a hard ass; he was in the same league as Gordon, Milton, and Ryan. Do what I say or die. Blade liked that. He knew that about himself; it had been a long hard lesson to learn, and he sometimes wanted to deny it, but when he was honest about himself, he was a submissive. He was useless at being in charge; he wanted to give it all up, all the time.

The corner again, not that it wasn’t deserved. This corner was pale blue if Blade squinted at it just right. It probably looked white to the more casual observer. How long was he going to be here? At least Ryan hadn’t ordered Blade to keep his hands on his head. Blade leaned against the wall, feeling the cool surface against his cheek. What was Ryan going to do to him? He shivered; Ryan could punish. Blade liked to be spanked; he liked it a lot, but he didn’t like to be punished, not for real. This was different than the teasing and games they played.

“Blade, come here.”

Ryan was sitting on the bed, his expression, while not forbidding, wasn’t exactly welcoming either. Blade moved cautiously toward him, not sure if he was going to be immediately upended. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad outcome; the talk was going to be far worse than any physical force Ryan might use.

“Blade.” Ryan patted the bed. “Sit and talk to me a minute. We need to figure out how we’re doing this.”

“I’m in trouble,” Blade mumbled, keeping his eyes well on the floor and his bare feet.

“Yes, but I want to know what you were thinking. Why did you end up here? I know living in Boston isn’t easy for you, but it’s what we decided.”

“It wasn’t that.” Blade hated being in Boston, but he hadn’t shown up at The Forest to coerce Ryan into letting Blade stay in New York. “I don’t like it, but I wasn’t trying to force your hand.”

“Why did you show up here?” Ryan put his hand under Blade’s chin, forcing him to look up. “What do you need from me to prevent this from happening again?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Blade shouted.

“Don’t shout.” Blade flinched at the sharp swat on his thigh. Nothing about being hit on the legs was ever erotic for him. “Tell me what it was like. I’m your top, your dominant, someone I think you want to call master. You have no permission to withhold from me.” Ryan traced his finger around the collar. “Someday you want this to be a slave collar. I will own you: mind, body, and soul. Make sure you are willingly to give that.”

“Ry,” Blade choked. When Ryan got all serious like this Blade always cried. It was stupid, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Please.”

“Talk to me, boy. Or we can do this with you hanging over my knee.”

“I’m trying.” Blade scrubbed his face with his hands. “It was Ray’s birthday today. I did really well on the exam.” The words were coming out in a jumbled rush. Blade hoped Ryan understood. This was hard enough; he couldn’t give an orderly presentation the way Milton insisted. He just couldn’t. “Matt was giving me a hard time about being a geek. Matt wanted to take Ray out. Ray’s a submissive. I didn’t want... Matt’s not always nice. I didn’t know we were coming here. I swear.” Blade stopped, gulping for breath.

“It’s Ray’s birthday? How old is he?”

“Twenty-two, I think.”

“How well did you do on the test?”

“An A.” Blade should have been proud of those results; he’d worked hard for it, but he didn’t care right now. All he wanted was for Ryan to make it OK.

“Good. You studied hard for that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Blade said, a shrug evident in his voice.

“I’m proud of you,” Ryan said, his eyes trapping Blade’s. “I’m proud you wanted to help Ray. I agree he needs protection from Matt. Ray’s a submissive. I see that, and I’m sure you see it. Blade, if you’d asked I would have been happy to have him up for the weekend. The Forest is a good, safe place to let him explore that side of himself. I would not have been upset if you had wanted to give Ray a guided tour. Why am I upset?”

Blade squirmed in Ryan’s grasp. He wanted to look back down at the floor. He’d done everything wrong today, and Ryan was going to make him recite his failures.

“No, boy. I’m going to punish you tonight. You don’t get to hide from any part of it. Answer me.” Ryan’s voice was firm, and somehow despite its sternness, it was reassuring. Ryan was in charge; all Blade had to do was answer the questions.

“I was supposed to be home at six for dinner. I’m not supposed to be late without calling. I turned off my phone.”

“No, you have to settle all that with Milton. Think. Why am I going to punish you?”

Blade shook his head. “I broke all those rules.”

“Those are Milton’s rules. What else?” Ryan asked relentlessly.

“I don’t know. How can I answer your fucking questions when I don’t know the answer?” Blade knew his voice had risen beyond the level Ryan would accept, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted this over.

“Down, boy.” Ryan unceremoniously pushed Blade to the floor. “If you can’t speak politely, you can contemplate the question on your knees.”

Blade grabbed for Ryan’s pants, his hands clutching desperately at the pressed khaki. “Don’t make me stay here alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Ryan’s hand scattered Blade’s hair and then smoothed it again. “Think, boy.”

“I can’t.” Blade knew his voice sounded as desperate as he felt. He wanted in Ryan’s arms; he wanted forgiven. He needed to feel those lips against his forehead, the ritual of forgiveness.

“Blade you went to a club without me. You’re my collared submissive. You don’t offer yourself to others.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know.” Ryan squeezed the back of Blade’s neck, his hand heavy and reassuring. “But other dominants wouldn’t have. Your collar was hidden. You looked available.”

“I would have told them no.”

“I know. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t know. I would have taken your collar and turned you out on the street with a train ticket and dinner money. I don’t share what’s mine just as I don’t go in The Forest without my work jacket. I’m yours; I’m not available.”

“Yes, Ryan.” It was an inadequate reply, but what else could Blade say? It hadn’t been infidelity. He didn’t even notice guys now that he had Ryan. Ryan was everything.

“At The Forest, someone would have stopped an aggressive dominant. But elsewhere you’d have been called a cock tease, or maybe you would’ve run into someone who likes a little real fight and is not so careful about consent. They’re out there. You’ve been in Milton’s protection. I went to the wall to have you; standing in a raging forest fire might have been easier than passing Milton’s inspection. I’m your dominant, you’re in my protection now, and I take that role seriously. I can’t protect you when you run off on harebrained schemes. I’m not draconian in my expectations, but I do expect your loyalty, your honesty, and your attempt at obedience.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade sank down on his heels, shame engulfing him. He’d been an overwhelming idiot.

“You’re a Zath. I don’t expect perfection.” Ryan pulled Blade up and captured his boy in his arms. “All right. You’re shaking.”

“I’m an idiot.” Blade buried himself against Ryan’s chest. He wanted to stay forever in the shelter of those arms.

“No, you didn’t think, and I’m going to try to remind you to think. I’m going to spank you.”  Ryan tightened his arms. “I was going to put you over the bed and use my belt, but I think you need to be over my knee. You need the security and a reminder that I have you. I’m still going to use my belt, but over my knee is very different from a whipping over the bed. Pants off now.” Ryan untangled Blade’s arms and pushed him away. 

Blade fumbled with his zipper and snap, having difficulty seeing through the blur of tears. Ryan was quiet, his eyes watching, but he made no effort to assist. Finally Blade got his jeans off, leaving them in a tangled heap as he moved blindly toward Ryan. Blade felt Ryan’s hand grab his wrist and tug him the last short distance. He tumbled into place, trapped between Ryan’s powerful thighs, his wrist drawn back and corralled in one of Ryan’s larger hands.

“This is punishment and will hurt, but I won’t give you more than you can take.”

The first swat was powerful and low against Blade’s thighs. Blade yelped and jerked.

“We have a long way to go, boy. Sink into me and take it.”

The swats fell in a cascade of powerful blows, everywhere that Blade most hated. Within seconds his thighs were scorched, and Blade had long stopped trying to choke back the sobs. He collapsed against Ryan and sobbed, long gulping breaths. It hurt. Ryan just continued on and on. A respite and Blade tried to turn to look at Ryan to plead for undeserved leniency.

“Keep your head down. We’re not done.”

Blade howled. The leather bit into his backside, inflaming it beyond rational thought. He clutched at the comforter, letting the soaring pain wash over him. He deserved this. He was Ryan’s. Ryan was just and fair; Blade must accept.

“Good boy.” 

The blows had stopped. Blade hadn’t noticed, lost in the feeling of just retribution. He went into Ryan’s arms limp and spent, content to lie unmoving against his dominant.

“No sleeping.” Ryan propelled Blade to his feet. “Shower. I’ll find dinner and pajamas.”

“Not hungry,” Blade mumbled, trying to collapse back on the bed. 

The swat on his thigh was light, but it hurt like hell. Blade’s eyes flew open, and he glared at Ryan.

“We have a guest. It’s his birthday. He deserves dinner and an explanation from a semi-coherent host. Now shower.” Ryan softened his voice. “I let you rest as long as I could. Ray has to be terrified. We owe him our reappearance.”

Blade made a face. He knew Ryan was right, and he wasn’t going to argue, not the way his ass felt at the moment. Ryan didn’t leave bruises, or at least he’d never had before, but God it hurt. He felt one hundred years old as he limped toward the shower.

“I don’t have to sit, do I?” A pathetic question, but Blade couldn’t imagine sitting. He’d rather kneel at the swankest restaurant in midtown where everybody pretended they’d never imagined a submissive, even though many prominent patrons had handcuffs in their night stand.

“You’ll live,” Ryan said with a grin.

“It’s not funny.”

“Boy, I know it hurts, but you deserved it.” 

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade dropped his head in supplication. He’d deserved it, every last stroke. He wasn’t arguing about that.

“Blade, I do know it hurts,” Ryan said gently, his eyes far kinder than Blade deserved. “You met Gavin today. You know he trained me. I was his boy. I think you can imagine how he handled disobedience.” The corners of Ryan’s mouth turned up in a quirk of a smile. “His implement of choice is the strap. Twenty every night will make you have religion.”

“What did you do?”

“Don’t look so bright eyed and bushy tailed at your top’s youthful indiscretions. It’s what didn’t I do that would be more accurate. Later. Shower now. I want you in bed early.”

“You’re grounding me,” Blade moaned. If Ryan could hint at his wild side, Blade could risk a play for open sympathy.

“I’ll be reminding you of your obligations and commitments,” Ryan said sternly, sounding remarkably like Milton in one of his interminable lectures. “I’ve been giving you substantial privileges. They’re gone."

Blade started to protest.

“Blade, you gave me your submission. Now shower.”

Blade stood in the oversized shower, letting the water cascade over his shoulders. He tried all the different water flows: spray, trickle, blast, mist, and who knows what else, but none of them made his ass feel any better. It hurt. It wasn’t blistered, but it was red, shiny, and still hot. Ryan knew what he was doing. Blade turned the water off with a jerk and grabbed a towel. His ass was going to have to drip dry. There was no way he was touching that with a towel. 

Ryan had found some pajamas, light blue with a drawstring and a buttoned jacket. They looked like something Blade’s dad would wear. Blade tossed them back on the counter, wanting to complain.

It’s about submission. It’s only pajamas, hideous old-fashioned pajamas, but still only pajamas. Blade slid them on, pulling the pants carefully over his seared flesh. They were soft cotton, washed many times, and almost tolerable on his toasted flesh.

Ryan had pulled the small table from the wall and moved two chairs to create a semblance of a dining area. Both Ryan and Ray were seated. Ray’s eyes were down, and he picked at the edge of the table with his fingers. He looked up at Blade with an expression of desperation.

“I’m alive. It only sounded like he was killing me,” Blade said with an attempt at his best smile. “It’s what we do. I act like a nincompoop and he spanks. We make a great team.” It wasn’t that easy. Blade didn’t feel jolly, but he owed Ray. Blade remembered his introduction to this lifestyle. He mentally put lifestyle in quotes. It wasn’t like choosing to live off the grid or having a summer home in the Hamptons. Those people had lifestyles. Blade chose to submit; he chose to be spanked. Milton had been so kind, and Trent, a man who’d rather cook regularly for a thousand vocal critics from the Times than advertise his toppiness, had taken Blade aside and given him a gentle introduction. Blade had Sheldon, and it had been hard. Ray must be scared shitless. They were buds at school. Ray hadn’t known about this side of Blade; the flirtatious boy with the ever ready smile and the sharp tongue was a card carrying submissive.

“Blade.” Ryan clicked his fingers, and Blade went and knelt by Ryan’s chair. Blade pressed himself against Ryan’s leg; he wanted the reassurance of Ryan, his man’s smell mixed with chalk and the dust of the school building. Blade smiled, thinking of Ryan in front of a classroom of high schoolers. Ryan had the unenviable task of teaching health class along with the onerous duties of guidance counselor. Blade remembered snickering through Mrs. Pomfrey’s ludicrous description of safe sex and where to purchase condoms. Mrs. Pomfrey had been at least thirty kilograms overweight and ancient, or Blade at least remembered her as ancient.

“What are you smiling at?”

Blade glanced up at Ryan before dropping his eyes respectfully back to the ground. “I was thinking of you as a teacher--sex ed. You have a boy at your feet.”

“Blade.” Ryan’s voice was warm, a caress that washed over him like a wave in the ocean. “I’m a dominant with my beloved, cherished, and frequently naughty submissive at me feet. I am also a teacher and counselor of impressionable young people in a society that isn’t ready for me to tell sixteen year olds that I have a submissive. Do I agree with that? No, but I have chosen to live within the system. I do not hide who I am and neither should you, but I don’t teach in leather with you on a leash. It might get those boys in the back to pay attention. Maybe I should try it.” Blade could hear the humor in Ryan’s voice, and he longed to look up and see the smile that he knew would be lightening Ryan’s eyes. “It would have saved you and the people around you a lot of pain to be told at sixteen, but out there isn’t ready for this yet.”  

Heath, Mary. Blade had forever hurt both of them. He tried with his son. Ryan was so good at it. A smile lit up Heath’s face whenever he saw Ryan. Ryan would swing the toddler up onto his shoulders, and they’d walk like that for hours, Heath on Ryan’s shoulders, Blade’s hand in Ryan’s. Heath was going to spend next summer with them; it was already arranged, a full six weeks. Blade had told Mary about Ryan, all about Ryan. His cheeks flamed at the thought of the discussion. Mary had been so beautiful in her yellow sundress as she had listened, her face compassionate and kind.

“I’d already guessed,” Mary had said gently. “I see Doug and Andrew every day, and I know Milton.” She smiled again and smoothed her dress. “I’m happy for you, Blade. We could never have been happy together. We both know that. We must move on and do what’s best for both of us and our son. You’re both good fathers, and the rest of your family...” Mary’s voice had broken, and she'd wiped a hand across her face. “You know my parents.”

Blade had caused pain, suffering that he could never entirely take away. All he could do was mitigate it with his feeble efforts. Mary had met a new man Ralph. He was a biologist at a nearby field station. He’d been at Andy and Doug’s house in jeans and work boots high up on a ladder fixing the gutter. He seemed OK, his handshake had been genuine, and Ryan and he swilled lemonade and yelled at the baseball game on the TV together. Blade didn’t think Mary had told Ralph the more gory details of his and Ryan’s relationship, and that was fine.

“Blade are you with me?” Ryan lifted Blade’s chin and studied his eyes.

“Thinking about Mary.”

“What is it?” Ryan kissed Blade’s forehead in that possessive kiss of absolute forgiveness that always made Blade melt inside. “All we can do is live the future the best we can.”

“Yes, Ryan.” How often had he heard this lecture, and in how many different forms? Milton harped on it; Tilden had talked about it over endless cups of tea; Doug had taken him fishing and chatted in a pretend aimless manner about it. Blade hated fishing, forever waiting for a fish to bite. That wasn’t sport; it was tedium.

“What happened today is over. We’ve dealt with it. I’ll remind you of your status as my cherished and obedient submissive, but the day flips on the calendar and we move on.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade heard master in his mind, but he made himself say Ryan. He wasn’t allowed to say master, and he was already in disgrace.

“My good boy.”

The food came. Blade peeked through his lashes as a green jacketed waiter set out the meal. The waiter paid no attention to Blade on the floor; here a kneeling sub wasn’t an unusual sight. 

“Shut your eyes.”

Ryan wasn’t going to let him see the food. Hopefully it wasn’t things Blade hated.

“Open.”

Chicken grilled with spices and maybe an orange glaze, not spinach or liver. Blade chewed his food and waited for another mouthful. Ryan and Ray were talking. Ryan was being his charming self, gently almost effortlessly prying information from Ray about school, home, boyfriends, favorite foods. Ray sounded nervous, but he was answering. Blade let the sounds of the conversation flow over him. It wasn’t his job to participate or to make witty comments. All he had to do was chew and swallow the food. Ryan got up at some point; the warm comfort of his leg vanished for a moment. The next bite of food was sweet--cake. Had Ryan found birthday cake?”

“Birthday cake?” Blade knew he shouldn’t question when on his knees, but he had to know.

“Cupcakes with a candle. The best I could do on such short notice. No talking.”

It was a good cupcake, chocolate with a whipped frosting. Blade had never savored the texture of frosting before, the creaminess combined with sweetness. It slid across the roof of his mouth.

“Open your eyes.” Ryan fingered Blade’s hair. “I have several hours of work to do for tomorrow. “You and Ray can talk. I’m sure he has many questions he’d like to ask without the scary dom present. Be honest with him; he deserves that.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade heard the warning loud and clear. Don’t joke and gloss over the hard parts. 

“Good. And don’t go anywhere.” Ryan kissed the top of Blade’s head and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Shit!” Ray said half under his breath. “Oh God. Shit!”

“Easy. Don’t hyperventilate. I’ll be in more trouble if you pass out here,” Blade said with a grin.

“You do this for real?”

“Yep. In all its painful glory.”

“You OK?” Ray shook his hair back from his face. “I heard earlier.”

“I’m sore. I’m not going to tell you otherwise.” Blade flopped on his belly on the carpet. “I’m not going to be sitting comfortably anytime soon, but I’m OK.”

“You were howling and crying.”

“I’m noisy and it hurt. You can look. I’m not all blistered or anything.”

“No thanks.” Ray held up his hands and gave Blade a tentative smile.

“Go on. You’re a submissive. You have to be curious.”

“I can’t.” Ray shook his head, a blush rising up his neck.

Blade scrambled to his feet, groaning as his battered muscles protested and lowered his pajama bottoms. “Red, hot, and burns like hell, but no real damage.”

“Shit!”

“You can touch it.” A single finger slid across Blade’s ass.

“It’s still hot,” Ray said with amazement. “He did that with his hand?”

“And his belt. Don’t remind me about the belt part, an implement that I don’t like.” Blade pulled his bottoms back up and flopped back down on the floor. “No chairs tonight,” he said with a wry grin.

“He was mad at you tonight.”

“Some. Disappointed. I’m a collared submissive; I shouldn’t have been here tonight without Ryan. I deserved it, and I knew what to expect. We’ve done the negotiations and all that stuff. It’s not like Ryan just grabbed me and started beating me. I trust him.”

“Wow! I had no idea you did this. How long?” Ray looked down at the table and squirmed. “You don’t have to answer. Sorry, I shouldn’t be prying.”

“Ray, you heard Ryan. I’m under orders to answer your questions, plus I want to. I got you into this; it’s only fair that I help you out now.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was Matt’s.”

Blade smiled. “I’m a big boy; I knew better. What happened to Matt anyway? I was kind of shell shocked when they were discussing it.”

“Gavin took him. I guess he was going to call his brother. I understand they look a lot alike.”

“Gavin’s something.”

“Yeah,” Ray said, ducking his head and hiding behind his hair.

“You like him?” The blush, the ducked head, Ray must like him.

“He’s more than twice my age,” Ray said with a snort.

“So. Do you like him?”

“Blade, don’t.” The flush rose up and covered Ray’s cheekbones. 

“You just heard me get my ass fried; you can tell me.”

Ray pushed the hair back from his face, his right hand tapping against the table. “When he was chewing out Matt. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. It made you shiver a bit. Maybe you got a little hard from it. Gavin’s masterful. I’ve got Ryan, and I heard it. You wanted him yelling at you?”

Ray chewed on his lip. “Let’s watch TV or something. I can’t talk about this.”

Blade hauled himself to his feet and dropped his arms around Ray’s shoulders, keeping him in his chair. “Hey, you’re talking to me, the well thrashed submissive. I signed up for the program. You can tell me.”

“I wanted his attention on me. When he asked me if I was OK, and I looked into those gray eyes. Shit!”

“You answered ‘yes, sir.’ He asked you if you knew what that meant.”

“I was answering as a submissive,” Ray whispered.

“Yep, and welcome to my world.”

Ray twisted around in his chair and looked at Blade, his pale blue eyes swimming in the chalky whiteness of his face. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“I’m never sure, but it’s a great ride,” Blade said with a grin. “And Ryan’s got you in his claws; he’s protective as all get out; he’ll keep you safe.”

“No offense, but I think I need protection from him. He scared the hell out of me when he grabbed you tonight and you went all limp when he was choking you.”

“Scarier than Gavin?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Blade grinned; he couldn’t help himself. “You’ve got it bad for Gavin.”

“Come off it. I hardly know him.” Ray half punched at Blade who dodged easily. “I should never have told you. Forget about it.”

“No,” Blade said softly, all teasing gone from his voice. “I’m a submissive, I’m your friend. It’s my duty to be your guide. Sorry I’m an ass sometimes. Ryan’s working on it, but it still shows up sometimes. Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Ray said softly and gave Blade a flash of a sweet and innocent smile. “I’m way over my head here.”

“Join the club; I can’t even see the surface.”

“Can we please watch TV or something? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Blade ran his hand down Ray’s back and kissed the top of his head. It seemed like such a natural thing that Blade didn’t think about the fact that he’d never touched Ray before. They’d been school buddies with all the pushing, shoving and high fiving that role entailed without really touching. “I’ll go ask.”

Blade knocked on the partially open bedroom door. Ryan was bent over a stack of papers, his reading glasses on as his pen skimmed across the paper leaving red marks.

“Blade?”

Blade entered and dropped to one knee in front of Ryan. He stayed still as the scratch of the pen indicated Ryan was continuing to work. Blade heard the rustle of paper.

“What do you need?”

“Ray asked if we could watch television.”

“An hour. Anything else?”

“Ray likes Gavin, really likes Gavin.” Blade could hear the pause as the words hit Ryan.

“Ray’s soft and Gavin’s a hard ass.”

“Ray knows.”

Ryan’s hand skimmed through Blade’s hair. “All right. I’ll talk to Gavin. I can’t promise it will go any further, but I’ll talk to him. Now go watch TV, so I can finish.”