Texas, Out Texas 11

Texas, Our Texas

Chapter 11

“Jonah, Blade, rebyata,” Tilden stood at the back gate, his hair as always slightly untidy in the late spring wind, the collar of his jacket turned up against the still chilled air. 

Jonah shifted from foot to foot, unable to draw his eyes from the crackling blaze. Blade was smiling maniacally and opened his arms wide as if to show off his near naked body. He was almost exploding with energy. This is how Jonah thought of Blade, not the more thoughtful person in the kitchen. This was Blade in all his regalia of a boy, proud of who he was and embracing the role in ways that Jonah knew would never be possible for him. All Jonah wanted to do was hide, even though Tilden didn’t appear angry, more amused if anything, before he drew the top mantle around himself and stepped forward, his blue eyes now stern.

“Where are your clothes?”

Thankfully Blade answered because Jonah didn’t think he could manage anything coherent. This had been an insane idea. Why had he let that boy talk him into this stupid idea?

“We burnt them. It’s the festival of the ninth moon,” Blade said with an absolutely straight face. “It requires naked dancing around an open fire.”

“Go inside and find a corner in the kitchen. I will be inside shortly,” Tilden ordered.

Jonah jogged inside behind Blade. The door slammed behind them as they made their way to the kitchen.

“I’ll take my corner; you take Sheldon’s,” Blade said. “I’m not sure if Tilden was pissed or if he thought it was funny. Ugh,” Blade muttered after a moment of restless silence filled with the sounds of Blade shuffling his feet and sighing. “Milton’s going to kill me, absolutely fucking kill me. I don’t even know where to begin listing all the rules I broke. He’ll probably use the damn cane. I hate the thing. It hurts like fucking fire, and it’s so impersonal. I like being tucked over his lap. I know he’s got me.”

“Blade, do you talk in the corner?”

Jonah tried to snatch a glance at Tilden. He could just see him in the kitchen doorway, standing slightly slouched, one hand shoved in a pocket. He motioned for Jonah to turn back around.

“Blade, I asked you a question.”

“No, sir,” Blade said with a sigh.

“Then quiet. Milton’s on his way home. He’ll deal with this.”

Jonah heard the sound of papers and books being dropped on the table and then the clink of glasses. Tilden’s footsteps were behind him. Jonah was standing beside the samovar; Tilden would have to pass right by him to get a glass of tea.

“Jonah, are you all right with this?” Tilden’s voice was pitched very soft, and he was standing extremely close, but not touching.

Jonah nodded. He’d known what he was getting into or at least he thought he had. He’d burnt his shirt and encouraged Blade to burn several other items.

“We don’t have to do this.” Tilden’s hand was resting lightly on the small of Jonah’s back, a tactile sense of reassurance than Jonah suddenly craved.

“I want to,” Jonah whispered. He wanted this. He had just said it aloud. He was one of those crazy things they called submissives, boys, and sometimes brats.. He was standing in the kitchen, chest bare, his shirt burned, and waiting to get in trouble. He’d intentionally thrown himself into trouble, and he wasn’t terrified. He was anxious, not terrified, not that mind numbing feeling when his father had sent him for the belt. He’d asked for this. That was all you could call that insanity outdoors.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Jonah turned around. He’d never been more sure in his life. He had to make Tilden understand; he didn’t want Tilden to mitigate this.

Tilden studied Jonah; his eyes seemed to be trying to find something inside of Jonah. They weren’t angry or demanding, but unwavering in their calm intensity. Tilden reached up, brushed the hair off Jonah’s forehead, and kissed it firmly. “Tak. Turn back around. Milton will take care of this with you. He understands you better than I do.”

“The glass,” Jonah found himself babbling. He wanted Tilden to understand; suddenly it was very important for Tilden to understand. “You didn’t hurt me. That wasn’t your fault. I’m not afraid of you.”

“I reacted when I was frightened, unsure, and maybe a little angry. You scared me, but it was wrong, and I’m sorry. I understand completely if you ask me not to take the role of a top with you. I violated your trust.”

Jonah couldn’t stay facing the wall. He had to look at the man who had just gently apologized to him. His father had beat him raw for imagined crimes, and this man, who had swatted him only enough to shake him out of his daze, was apologizing. He stared at Tilden. Those violet eyes were calm, edged with a hint of the pain this man thought he had caused.

“Thank you.” Jonah blinked hard, but he couldn’t stop the tears that were seeping from his eyes and dampening his cheeks.

“You’re crying.” Tilden’s long fingers brushed against Jonah’s cheeks.

“No one’s ever apologized to me.” Jonah wiped his hand across his cheek. “I’m getting good at this crying. At least it’s one side of this sub thing I seem to have down.”

“Jonah.” Tilden’s arms were around Jonah, pulling the larger Texan against his chest. “It’s not only subs who cry. My cheeks are wet right now. You’re safe with us.”

“I know.” Jonah let himself lean on the top’s shoulder for a minute. He’d seen Luke and Mike do this, and he hadn’t understood, but now he could feel the comfort seep through his bones. He was held; he was protected; it was OK to be this thing called a submissive. Blade had called it good, implied he was proud to be a submissive. Jonah didn’t think he could manage that, but right now leaning on Tilden felt good. It felt safe. He’d never felt safe.

“Do you want to sit with me or go back to the corner?”

“I did the crime; I need to pay the time,” Jonah said with a feeble attempt at humor. He wanted to go back in the corner. He couldn’t really explain, not to Tilden, not to himself, but he wanted to create some normalcy. Normal to stand in the corner. Normal to get spanked. He wasn’t crazy; they did this.

“Turn back and face the wall. Think about why you are here.”

The kitchen wall was a relentlessly cheerful yellow. Everything about this house was relentlessly cheerful if Jonah thought about it. The curtains were always thrown open, allowing as much light as possible into the rooms. Their bedroom had a white comforter, but the bed was always stacked with multi-colored blankets. From the corner, Jonah couldn’t see the rest of the kitchen, but he knew in the doorway there would be a jumble of coats, boots, and missing shoes. The winter boots were still down here, leaning and tumbling against each other, a casual and controlled messiness that spoke of many people in relaxed comfort. His mother had kept his family home with military precision, never a glass on a table nor a book on a chair. He’d hated it, but yet he’d kept his apartment with the same rigidness. Samuel had hated it. He came from a family that threw coats over chairs and kept year old magazines in the living room.

Jonah heard the scrape of a chair and the sound of papers being shifted on the table. Tilden must be settling in to do some work. When had this become a comforting idea and not the feeling he was being spied on because he was incapable of standing in the corner?

“Are you going to make us stay here forever?” Blade whined.

“Forever and ever. They’ll be a redheaded skeleton in the kitchen to warn all other wayfaring boys.”

“Not funny.”

“Quiet.”

Jonah shifted his weight. This was boring, but in some strange way relaxing too. All he had to do was stand in the corner. They had everything. He’d burnt his shirt in the flames. He’d burnt his wallet. He could still see the flames engulfing the leather, devouring all that had been. This was now: a wall, Tilden sitting at the table, and Blade restless near him. Blade was sighing and moaning like an old steam engine.

“Blade, put your hands on your head.”

“I hate this.” 

“I know you do, but you need to learn to be still both mentally and physically.”

Jonah almost turned at the buzzing noise before he realized it was Blade making some strange sound in his throat. The three swats sounded hard; Blade yipped loudly at each one.

“Still both mentally and physically.”

Jonah strained to see Blade, moving his shoulders as much as he dared. Blade was facing the wall, and Tilden was right behind the young man, his hand resting on Blade’s shoulder in a gesture that spoke of comfort and reassurance.

“Why is this worse than usual?” Tilden was speaking softly, but in the quiet of the kitchen Jonah could easily hear him.

“He’s going to use the cane, and I hate it.”

“He won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Blade laughed, a sound which Jonah thought contained a trace of hysteria. “Luke likes the damn thing. It hurts.”

“Luke enjoys certain fantasies with the cane. I don’t punish him with it.” Tilden rubbed Blade’s back in long, calm strokes. “I don’t think starting a fire in the backyard was an unplanned event. So what’s bothering you?”

“It’s not the fire; it’s college. Milton uses the cane when I screw up at school. It’s not because it hurts. It’s...it’s remote.” Blade spun around and grabbed hold of Tilden, burying his face in the taller man’s shirt.

Jonah watched, feeling both voyeuristic and envious of Blade’s open emotions. The absolute trust between these two men was clear in Blade’s quivering shoulders and the strength of Tilden’s grip around the boy’s back.

“I hate being over the desk,” Blade choked.

Tilden’s hand stroked the red hair, smoothing it into place. “Have you talked to Milton?”

“He thinks I’m incorrigible, that nothing makes an impression on me. I’m the wild baby brother, the burden he got fucking stuck with because I’m a maniac.”

“Blade.” 

Jonah turned. He hadn’t heard Milton come in. The dom was standing in the doorway, his big frame seeming to devour the space.

“You are neither a maniac nor a burden. You are my husband’s brother. You are a submissive, and you are part of my family. Don’t you ever forget that.” Milton’s eyes were almost black as he stared at the redhead within Tilden’s arms.

“Yes, sir.”

“I take it the charred sticks and ashes outside have something to do with this?” Milton asked with a wry grin. He moved into the kitchen and propped his hip on the counter. “It looks like the corner standing was an abject failure. Both of you sit down, and we’ll try to sort out this mess.”

Jonah scrambled for the chair closest to the wall, feeling a flush rise on his cheeks. He hadn’t been able to stand in the corner; he’d been watching everything. Tilden took a seat next to Blade, keeping his hand on Blade’s knee. Milton walked slowly to the table and pulled out the chair next to Jonah.

“Are you good with this, or do we need to do something else?”

Jonah looked up at Milton’s dark brown eyes, startled. He hadn’t expected to be asked. He was a submissive he had to face the consequences as a naughty sub. “I knew I was bratting,” he said softly, lowering his eyes to the table and feeling a deeper flush on his cheeks.

“OK.”

Milton’s hand was heavy, reassuring, and strange against his bare shoulder. Milton had touched Jonah often, a casual tousle of his hair or a fleeting hug. He touched everyone in the house, and Jonah had been bare over the top’s knee more than once, but somehow this hand on his naked shoulder was more intimate and more comforting.

“It’s not all about pain,” Milton said gently. “This is about letting us support you, letting us in. We have to do this together.”

“I know,” Jonah said with a faint smile. “And I’m trying.”

“I know you are, and I’m very proud.”

“Proud?”

“It takes courage to admit to one’s inner needs and fantasies and to see your true self, courage that many men never find. Society lauds dominant men as long as the dominance is displayed in an acceptable, civilized manner. Even here, I’m not always within that civilized manner. Society never rewards submissive men. It takes incredible courage to admit to a character trait that even today rains prejudice down on your head, and you and Samuel have seen more prejudice and hatred than anyone should experience in a single lifetime, in a dozen lifetimes.” Milton kissed Jonah’s forehead. “Now proper boy behavior, I see, is going to take some work.” Milton smiled, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “Standing in the corner usually means keeping your nose to the wall. Do we now have a new version of corner time?”

“No,” Jonah said softly, his eyes down on the table. 

“Blade?”

“I don’t want to be caned,” Blade spat.

“Blade,” Milton said in a tone of infinite patience. “Why do you think I’m going to cane you?”

“I failed my test. I lied to you about it. You get all freaky about school. I hate it. I fucking hate it!”

“Me? School? The cane?” Milton asked.

“You know what I mean,” Blade said, burying his head in his arms.

Milton stood and in one easy motion lifted Blade from his chair, placed him in his lap, and untangled the boy’s arms from his face. “I think I know what you mean, but this is too important for me to guess. I’m not upset about the small scale pyrotechnics, and you know that. That was bratting, behavior in which you both knowingly engaged, but that’s not what’s bothering you. What happened at school? Do you have the test?”

“I burnt it. I burnt my math book too.”

“Ah,” Milton said with a grimace. “That explains the fire. Jonah, what did you burn?”

Jonah sat silent for a moment, conversely unnerved and comforted by Milton’s dark gaze. “My shirt and my wallet. Stuff from Texas.”

“Good for you.”

“Good?” Jonah said, his voice full of the incredulity he felt. He’d built a bonfire in someone else’s backyard and burnt half his clothes, and all Milton could say was good.

“Fire has powerful symbolism. You’re an educated man; I’m sure you’re aware of that,” Milton said.

“I shouldn’t have,” Jonah said, folding his hands together to try to stop himself from tapping on the table. “I damaged your yard. I--”

“Stop,” Milton said firmly. “I could care less about the yard. I’ll get this little rascal to seed it, and it’ll be fine.”

“But...” Jonah started, unsure how to complete his thought. Milton was going to spank him; Blade had said he would.

“Yes, you’re in trouble with us,” Milton said and looked over at Tilden to include him in the conversation. “You were bratting, weren’t you, boy?”

Jonah looked at Milton. He didn’t look angry, more amused and long suffering. Was he teasing him after burning a hole in the yard? Jonah nodded. “I was.”

“It always seems like a better idea at the time than when you’re facing the consequences,” Milton said. “There’s a thrill to provoking the top. Blade, I’m sure, can tell you all about it.” Milton ruffled Blade’s hair and kissed the side of his face. “You two wanted a reaction, or have I read this all wrong?”

Jonah rubbed his knuckles. He’d understood there would be fallout for this. “No, I knew.” Jonah whispered, feeling his face heat up like a blast furnace. He wanted to be spanked, to be treated like a bratty boy.

“Jonah, Blade, I’m going to discipline both of you for this, not because you set a fire on the yard, but because you’re submissives and you were looking for trouble. Blade understands this arrangement. Jonah, this is all new for you and confusing. Corporal punishment separated from anger. You were taught through bitter experience that the two must always go together. This is about who you are and the release and comfort you will take from this relationship. I am going to take what you are giving me. I won’t go any further. Blade,” Milton said and tightened his arms around the redhead in his lap. “I use the cane for your schoolwork because I know you don’t like it. I don’t want you destroying your future because you want or need my attention. There are far better ways to get me to pull you over my knee than to fail tests or not hand in your work. Those grades will follow you through the rest of your career. I know you understand the difference.”

“Yes, sir,” Blade said softly and curled into Milton’s lap. “I hate the cane.”

“Are you truly afraid of it? Think carefully before answering.”

“No,” Blade said after a long pause. “I know you’re safe. Even when you’re being scary it’s a good scary.”

“All right, boy. Go upstairs and wait in the study. I’ll be up in a moment.”

“To my death.” Blade said and slid off Milton’s lap and ran up the stairs. 

Jonah’s eyes fell back to the two dominants. It was harder now, alone. It’d been easy with Blade. The kid was so goofy that nothing seemed real. Jonah could pretend it was all part of a great charade. That he wasn’t really a submissive boy, a boy who wanted his ass beat and fucked and all kinds of perverted things.

“Easier with Blade,” Milton said much too wisely.

Jonah nodded and licked his lips, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. He couldn’t do this alone. He’d been an idiot to even think this was a good idea.

“Oh no you don’t.” Milton grabbed Jonah’s hand and unceremoniously yanked him into his lap in a jumble of legs and skin and flailing arms. “No boy of mine needs to be frightened. This will work for you. Alone or with Blade?”

Milton was asking. Jonah was expected to answer, not sit here like a lump. “With Blade.”

“Upstairs.” Milton pushed Jonah to his feet. “Tilden, I’m going to need your help.”

The stairs seemed inexplicably long as Jonah climbed each step, tread by tread. He could feel a slight dampness on his hands. He was sweating and nervous, but strangely he didn’t feel afraid, not that gnawing fear he’d felt at the words get the belt. Milton was confident and overwhelmingly reassuring, and Tilden behind him projected a quiet calm.

Blade was standing in the corner of the study, his hands hanging down, fingering the edge of his boxers. He turned as they walked in.

“The whole entourage?”

“Yes, live with it, boy.” Milton said, the warmth of his tone in contrast to the sharpness of the words. “Go sit with Tilden.”

Tilden held his arms open and Blade dived into them. Milton didn’t let go of Jonah but tugged him across to the big chair by the desk. 

“Lower your pants.”

Jonah had done this before. He fumbled with the snap and zipper, but finally his jeans were bunched around his knees. He struggled to find a comfortable spot over Milton’s knees. He was too old and too big for this position, yet it was also strangely comforting. Milton’s arm was around his naked back, warm and heavy. 

“Why are we doing this?”

“Because I started a fire and burned my shirt and my wallet.”

“Partially,” Milton said, his hand still resting on Jonah’s rump. “Tell me more, and the wallet was a good thing.”

“I encouraged Blade.”

“Blade hardly needs encouragement, but you are not responsible for him, boy. Why else?”

“I don’t know,” Jonah said, squirming over Milton’s knee, exposed, vulnerable, and somehow unquestionably safe.

“What were you and Blade doing with the fire, and don’t answer, Blade. I know you know this answer.”

“Bratting,” Jonah said almost to himself. He’d been bratting. There was no other name for such idiotic behavior.

“Exactly. Bratting has certain consequences in this household.” 

Milton’s hand landed firmly on Jonah’s exposed rump. The swats fell steadily from crown to the top of his thighs. It stung; Jonah could feel his flesh turning warm even hot. Jonah hung his head down, losing himself in the heated skin and the rhythmic blows. He was crying; he knew he was, but he wasn’t fighting. He was letting it happen to him. It wasn’t his responsibility. It was Milton’s.

“Come back with me, boy.” The spanks had stopped, and Milton was rubbing Jonah’s back briskly.  “You’re a good boy. Come back with me now.”

“What happened?” Jonah said, still feeling almost woozy and strangely calm. 

“Subspace, boy,” Milton said with a smile in his voice. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes.” He was still lying mostly naked across another man’s knees, and he felt better. He felt better than he’d ever felt before. 

“Good then I did it right. Up you go. I still have to cope with our young friend.”

Tilden grabbed Jonah in what seemed to be a practiced hand off as Milton caught Blade’s hand.

“You don’t do that for me,” Blade said petulantly.

“You’re a trouble maker,” Milton said with a laugh. “You’d like it way too much.”

“Well, a boy can try.” Blade grinned and batted his eyes at Milton.

“You’re way too cheerful for a boy who’s going to get caned. What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re the dom. That’s you’re call.” Blade canted his head and gave Milton a smile that even smelt of sex.

“Brat.” Milton flipped Blade onto his lap, trapping the brat’s legs between his own. The spanks fell hard and quick. They sound of flesh against flesh reverberated in the room. Blade was yipping and wailing as if Milton was killing him. 

“Blade’s noisy,” Tilden said in Jonah’s ear. “Milton’s not torturing him.”

Jonah let Tilden draw him closer. Tilden’s gentle stoking was lulling, and well, it was like nothing could touch him. He felt oddly sleepy, hazy, and warm all at the same time. The sound of the spanking rose to a crescendo and then abruptly halted. The only sounds were Blade’s cries and Milton’s whispered words. Milton rose to his feet, lifting Blade with him. He pulled up Blade’s boxers.

“Get the cane.” Milton said firmly, but also gently.

“Please.” Blade’s face was splotched with tears, and he wiped his hands ineffectually across his eyes.

“No, you don’t play with your future.”

Blade seemed to understand those cryptic words and with a final pleading look moved to the cupboard where he delicately drew out the cane as if it were a deadly cobra. He handed it to Milton, keeping it as far from his own body as possible.

“Over the desk.” Milton followed the instruction with pressure on the young brat’s shoulders which propelled him to a prone position with his chest pressed to the smooth wood. The strokes were quick, a crack followed by Blade’s shriek.

“Blade’s not you,” Tilden said firmly, tightening his arms around Jonah. “This has been negotiated.”

It was over almost before it had started. It had been only three, and Milton had gathered a sobbing Blade into his arms, cradling the boy in the protection of his large arms and chest. Jonah couldn’t hear what Milton was saying, but the cadence was soothing, and Blade quickly settled to quiet sniveling and choked sobs.

“Jonah,” Milton said over the top of the red hair.

“Yes, sir.”

Milton raised his eyebrows at the sir, but continued, “Since your specialty is mathematics and you were a willing partner in crime, I want you to tutor our young Blade. I also think some outdoor cooking is in order. Maybe some real Texas barbecue. You and Blade will organize dinner on the grill for everyone for the next three days.”

Blade groaned, “I’m no good at cooking. Three days!?”

“I could make it five,” Milton responded.

“Three will be fine,” Blade muttered.

“Be good, boy. I could have you write an essay on fire safety.”

“No, cooking will be great. Can we ask for help?”

“Of course.” Milton smiled. “I’m a dominant, not a torturer. I wouldn’t want to subject the rest of the house to your cooking without knowing you were getting assistance. It’s almost as bad as Tilden’s.”

Tilden moaned and then laughed. “Someday we’re going to find someone who is a bigger culinary disaster than I, so I can escape this continual harassment.”

“It’s not possible, my friend,” Milton said with a laugh.

“One little fire,” Tilden said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “One little fire and I’m permanently banished from the pantheon of culinary masters.”

“You can’t even make toast,” Milton said with a snort.

 “I’ve mastered toast, and I can now boil water. Mace even let me frost some cupcakes last week. I’m a true expert,” Tilden said with a wide grin.

“Enough,” Milton roared, the smile evident in his voice despite the increased volume. “Blade and Jonah are cooking much to everybody’s great relief.”

******

Jonah turned the ribs on the grill and basted them with his special sauce. It wasn’t really his special sauce; it was Samuel’s recipe, a blend of zesty ingredients that had even won him a prize at the county fair one year. Jonah had also always used it at the tailgating parties, but Samuel could never come to those. They couldn’t allow people to know they were more than two guys controlling expenses by renting a place together; socializing in public together was out. 

Jonah actually preferred smoked ribs or brisket, but they took all day, and he couldn’t find a smoker in the collection of junk in the garage. Maybe Trent had one; Jonah would have to ask. At least they had a grill, a real grill that took charcoal and mesquite and not one of those horrible gas things. In Jonah’s mind, cooking on those gas behemoths was like cooking indoors.

“Barbecue. We’re having barbecue!” Samuel shouted, bursting through the gate. “I can smell it all the way down the street. Did you use the right amount of onions to jalapeños?”

“Of course. It will be perfect.”

Samuel dipped his finger in the sauce and brought it to his mouth. His pink tongue lapped the hot and sweet sauce. “Perfect,” he said with a shy smile.

“God, man,” Blade called from where he was burning vegetables. “Grab him and kiss him. Can’t you tell an invitation when you see one.”

“What?” Jonah asked, perplexed.

“Kiss him, you idiot boy.”

Jonah reached toward Samuel. Kissing him outside in the yard seemed impossible, but he could put his hand on his beautiful partner’s shoulder. That wasn’t outlandish.

“You’re not monks. Kiss him,” Blade goaded.

Samuel grabbed Jonah around the waist and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. At first it was a chaste kiss, but Samuel’s tongue pressed against Jonah’s teeth, and he opened his mouth, melting into Samuel’s embrace. 

“We’re in public,” Jonah said, coming to his senses and pulling away.

“It was the only way I could think of to get him to shut up,” Samuel said, pointing at Blade before breaking into a wide grin. “I also thought it was a good idea, one of his only good ideas.”

“I don’t know,” Blade said, casually flipping an eggplant slice. “I think the whole fire thing was a pretty good idea. Even Milton liked it since I can almost sit without screaming in agony which means he liked it after the whole math test debacle.”

Samuel looked from Jonah to Blade in confusion. Jonah could feel his face turning beet red as he ducked his head to turn the meat, hoping to camouflage his cheeks in the heat of the grill.

“Jonah?” Samuel asked softly. “What happened?”

Jonah studied the meat. It would be ready soon with a glistening almost crusty exterior and a moist interior. 

“Do you want me to tell him?” Blade asked, his voice no longer teasing, but sincere and gentle. “I think it would be better if he heard it from you. He is your lover.”

Jonah wiped his hand across his face, drying his sweaty palm. Blade could talk about anything to anyone, and he couldn’t even open his mouth to his lover, the person who was supposed to be his closest confidant. “I’m a submissive,” Jonah whispered, hoping he’d spoken loud enough to be heard yet also terrified of Samuel’s reaction and wishing it could remain unsaid. He stared at Samuel’s expressive face, looking for signs of revulsion or disgust. Instead there was nothing but a dazzling smile and an overwhelming look of relief.

“Jonah.” His name was a caress in Samuel’s slow Texas accent. Samuel’s arms wrapped around Jonah’s waist, and Jonah could feel his partner’s chest pressed against his back. “I love you. I thought you were going to tell me you were sick.”

Jonah turned and studied the wide blue eyes: honest, loving, and of warm depths that he never understood. They were like looking into an ocean that never met the horizon. “I’m a submissive,” Jonah repeated.

“I know,” Samuel said simply, reaching out for Jonah’s hand and stroking his knuckles. “You can’t live here and watch the others and not know.”

“But you’re not a dom.” Jonah stumbled over the words. 

“It doesn’t matter; we’ll figure something out.” Samuel reached for Jonah. This time Jonah didn’t resist. He allowed himself to press against Samuel’s lips, to lose himself in his lover’s embrace.

“I prefer my ribs not blackened.” Trent grabbed the tongs from Jonah’s slack hand. “Go. You two have some catching up to do. I’ll man the grill. I’m not from Texas, but I can do acceptable barbecue.”

Jonah let himself be led to the porch and the old-fashioned swing. He could see the grill in the distance and the shadows of the men turning the meat, but it was Samuel’s hand on his thigh and brushing down the nap of his sweater. It was Samuel’s lips against his ear and the sharp nip of his teeth on Jonah’s neck. Dinner didn’t seem important at the moment.