A Family Affair

A Family Affair

“Austin, how was school today?” Milton asked as he passed the potatoes to Luke.

“Fine,” Austin snarled, not raising his head or stopping his intense picking at the placemat.

Mike winced. He got where this kid came from, probably more than anyone else, but that voice with Milton was a death wish. Austin was technically Tilden’s ward, but it was Milton who seemed to bring out all the spit and snarl. Austin had been here three weeks, and Mike could only think of two dinners where Austin hadn’t ended up in the kitchen or even out on the porch. The first night the kid had been too shellshocked to fight and had silently sat through dinner, and one night Tilden and Milton were both out. Trent didn’t inspire the same volcanic reaction, and even with Tilden it was more muted. With Milton, everything was World War III.

“Go in the kitchen,” Milton said in that tone that made every submissive at the table hunker down. Sheldon looked angelic when Milton spoke in that voice; only it didn’t work with Austin.

“Fuck you! I’m not eating cold sandwiches again. Why don’t you just put me on bread and water and starve me into obedience? I don’t want carrot sticks and peanut butter and jelly.”

“Eating dinner at the table is a privilege that you have yet to earn. None of us should be subjected to your abuse.” Milton’s voice was chillingly calm.

“Fine. I’ll go get pizza.”

“You don’t have permission to go out,” Tilden said more softly than Milton’s orders, but no less definite. 

“You treat me like I’m three. Are you going to smack my hand and send me to bed with no supper?”

“None of us will ever make you go hungry,” Milton said, his eyes intense. Mike dropped his head fast if Milton looked at him like that, but Austin raced hellbent toward what would be instant flamethrower effect for anyone else. “Your behavior, however, is reminiscent of a toddler. Go in the kitchen.”

Austin did move as Milton started to rise. Milton had walked him into the kitchen several times, and Mike guessed for a sixteen-year-old being led to the kitchen with his feet hardly touching the ground was a deterrent to going any further, not that Austin hadn’t already reached nuclear level.

“Thank you,” Milton said with impeccable politeness as Austin pushed the swinging kitchen door open so it banged wildly on its hinges.

“I’ll get him some dinner,” Tilden said, starting to rise.

“No,” Milton said sharply enough that Tilden dropped back into his seat without another word. “It’s me who he has decided is his personal target. I’ll deal with him after dinner. He can be angry and sullen on his own for a few minutes and not ruin everyone else’s evening. Tilden,” Milton added more gently, “I understand why he’s angry, but he wants a fight, and I’m the best target. He’s picked me out as the badest of all of us.” Milton grimaced over the word badest. “He’s polluting my speech, listening to his non stop ranting. I won’t do anything awful to him.”

“He wants walls,” Mike said, putting his fork down on the plate. “It was hard enough for me, and my parents weren’t dead, just off gallivanting. He’s targeted Milton because he’s the obvious heavy. I did the same thing. I wanted someone to make it stop. Spank him. He asked me about it.”

Milton shook his head. “Austin is underaged. He might be a submissive, but this is not the time to find out.”

“I knew when I was fifteen. Austin knows.”

“It’s still not the right thing,” Milton said.

“So you’re going to make him suffer for two years.”

“Mike,” Tilden scolded.

“Well, it’s not fair.”

“And is life fair?” Milton asked with that horrible calm that drove Mike wild. The calm before the storm, and the storm would be on his ass.

“Fuck!”

“Join Austin in the kitchen.” Tilden and Milton said the words together, synchronized tops. They’d probably synchronize the spanking also.

Mike stood, banging his chair back far harder than necessary and stomped toward the kitchen. He didn’t make it past Milton who with a practiced grab anchored Mike in place and landed two hard swats.

“One stomping teenager is enough.”

Mike nodded. He should apologize, but damn he was angry. They were being obtuse about Austin. The kid was so obviously a submissive. They were tops; do their top thing.

“You here to cheer me up?” Austin asked, his face in a habitual scowl. “The good little boy to teach me how to behave?”

“No, I was exiled also. Swearing at Milton.” Mike cut his finger across the neck in mock execution style. “Not a smooth move.”

“He’ll spank you?”

“You have an unhealthy fascination with the skin color of my ass, but yes, Tilden probably will. Family members don’t behave like uncouth barbarians during dinner. Those are Milton’s words; Tilden will be nicer about it, but same message. ‘Don’t. It’s rude and ruins everyone else’s dinner.’” Mike raked his fingers through his hair. “No excuses for me. I know the drill.”

“I hate it here,” Austin said to the tabletop.

“Worse than the last two places? You’ve been to three places in two months.”

“Stray baggage to kick around. They might as well leave me in the lost and found. I can be on my own at seventeen.”

“Over Tilden’s dead body.”

“He doesn’t care. I’m not allowed to even eat dinner with you.” Austin bit his lip and stared sullenly at the table. “I don’t care anyway.”

“You do,” Mike said. “Kid, I lived around when I was your age. I wanted someplace permanent so bad I could taste it. This was my first place, and I almost fucked it up. They won’t let you screw up, or no more than I did tonight.” Mike wiped his eyes. “Fuck! You’re going to see a grown man cry if I’m not careful. Make your peace with Milton. He can be very decent.”

“Do you all kowtow to him?” Austin asked snidely. 

“It’s complicated, but there is a hierarchy. It’s a crowded house.”

“And I’m only one more.”

“No, you’re family now.” Mike tried to put conviction in his voice. It had taken him forever to learn that lesson. Family, he hadn’t understood that word, not the way Tilden meant it.

“Yeah, right another one of your fancy ideals. Whatever.”

“You’ll get it eventually,” Mike said softly. It didn’t happen overnight. He should know. He still blew it; he had tonight.

“Misha, come finish dinner” Tilden stood in the doorway, looking impossibly kind as always. 

“Sorry,” Mike murmured, feeling the heat on his face. 

“We’ll talk about it later. It’s not awful.” Tilden’s hand was warm and comforting on Mike’s shoulder. “Could you have been more provocative?” Tilden whispered in Mike’s ear. “The analogy of a red flag and a bull mean anything to you?”

“Znayu,” Mike answered, knowing Tilden would like the Russian. He looked over his shoulder at Austin. The kid was watching them with a look of longing that he hid behind a scowl when he saw Mike looking.

“Milton’s coming,” Tilden said.

****

“Austin?”

They hadn’t left him alone for long. Of course not. That was the way they operated. Wear him down. Austin grunted and continued to look at the wood of the table. Someone had left rings on it, not like the dining room table where they were fascists about coasters.

“Look at me.”

Austin had tried the avoiding eye contact thing. Milton and Tilden were both impossible about it. They’d wait fucking forever. He didn’t want to sit in the kitchen to fucking midnight.

“What?” 

Milton was leaning against the doorframe, doing his dominant thing, not that they called it that with baby Austin. They acted like he was totally naive. He wasn’t a baby; he had the internet; he’d been out and about. You didn’t have to be a braniac to figure out the score here. Milton was head daddy, and everybody walked around him pretty carefully.

“Did you have any dinner?”

“No, not hungry.”

Milton ignored that answer; he always did. He went to the fridge and pulled out the peanut butter, jelly, and horrible whole wheat bread. They’d had white bread at home and peanut butter that was smooth. Grape jelly, not strawberry. Mom would make them and cut them in triangles. Shit! He was going to cry.

“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t notice, or do you want a hug?”

Milton’s voice was right in Austin’s ear. He shook his head. He wasn’t crying.

“Kid.” The voice sounded exasperated, but not angry, and the arms were warm and solid. “Don’t fight it.”

“I’m fine.” He needed to get up. Oh, God! A sob broke through the dam. He was going to cry.

“Any better?”

How long had he been crying. Milton’s shirt was wet; Austin’s face felt chapped and wet.

“Wipe your face.” Milton handed Austin a damp cloth, and he followed the instructions on auto pilot. “Can you manage anything for dinner?”

Such normalcy in the words. The world wasn’t normal. 

“Too many suggestion. I should know better.” Milton’s voice sounded warm, somewhere to hide, someone to make it better. “Sit.” Austin was pushed into a chair. “Here.”  A huge piece of jam cake landed on his plate along with a glass of milk.

Austin couldn’t remember milk since getting off the bus in first grade. Mom stayed home Wednesdays, and there was always milk and cookies. The other days she worked, but Wednesdays were the best day of the week. He wiped his eyes.

“Don’t be ashamed of the tears.”

Austin sniffed and buried his head in his sleeve. “I miss them.”

“Of course you do.” Milton hooked an arm around Austin and pulled him close. “We’re terrible substitutes for your parents. We can’t be your parents, but we will do everything we can to give you family. It might not be the family you want. I’m an awful tyrant, but it’s the best we can do. Try to help us.”

Austin wasn’t going to cry again. “Fuck off! Just leave me the fuck alone. I liked you better when you’re being mean.” Couldn’t Milton at least get angry? He just stood behind Austin, a heavy hand on Austin’s shoulder. The last two places they got angry. They tried to be all sweet and sympathetic at first—the terrible loss and all—and then they got angry and called social services. He’d get moved again. No one wanted a delinquent. He was too much trouble for those sympathetic do-gooders. 

“I’ve heard all kinds of language. We don’t do it here, but you’re not going to shock me or scare me away.”

“You going to spank me?” Austin challenged. “I know you play those perverted games.”

“No, you’re sixteen.”

“You spank them.”

“Do you mean my husband?”

“What about Mike?”

“Tell me. You think you have it all figured out.” Milton straddled the chair next to Austin and folded his hands on the table. He was a big man when he was this close.

“You’re a dom.”

Milton nodded. “Go on.”

“Sheldon’s a submissive along with Mike and Luke.”

“Good. What else?”

“Tilden’s a dom, but milder than you. I can’t figure out Trent and Mace.”

“You’ll have to watch more closely, and what about yourself?”

Milton was calmly looking at Austin. Austin had started this conversation as a distraction. He hadn’t expected Milton to pick up on it. After all, they kept telling him he was only a kid. This was adult stuff. He wasn’t supposed to know about it. 

“You brought it up. So what about you?”

“Sub.” Shit! Austin couldn’t look at Milton and say that. It was the adults who were supposed to get all flustered in these conversations. The social worker had fled for the bathroom with a sudden urge to pee or sneeze or take a shit. Milton was calm; Mike had said ice in his veins.

“I think so.”

“So why don’t you treat me like one? So why am I different? I’m not a kid. I’ve buried my own parents.”

“Austin.” Milton reached out and caught Austin’s wrist, squeezing harder than was comfortable. “However you feel, by law you are a minor. You are not the average sixteen-year-old. You lived through something that many forty-year-olds have yet to face, but that doesn’t change my answer. I wouldn’t want a forty-year-old who had just lost a parent to start a new relationship as a submissive. You have to be able to concentrate on what you feel inside, not all the chaos around you. Find yourself first, and I know it hurts, and I can’t make it stop hurting. Being a sub will only confuse you.”

“How do you know? You’re not me. You can’t know what it feels like.”

“I can’t, but I do know what it means to be a dominant, and I know what it feels like to sub. I was a submissive to a family friend at seventeen, and it was hard and scary, and you don’t need that. You don’t need me on you like a ton of bricks. You don’t need the confusion of what is erotic and what is just plain petrifying. I was terrified of Gordon at times.” Milton leaned forward and took a bite of Austin’s cake. “Mace made this for you. He overheard you when you were looking at the recipe.”

Austin bit his lip. Jam cake had been his mother’s favorite. “You’re changing the subject.”

“You are listening. Good. You don’t need bombarded with the feelings and sensations of submission. I won’t lie to you. It probably would dull the pain of the loss at least for a short time. Our bodies and minds can only handle so much, and yours would be fixated on dealing with me, but you need to handle the loss. You need time and support, and we’ll give you both. And you are not a tiny child. I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if I thought you were a child, but you’re also not an adult yet. You’re in that horrible and miserable gap period.”

“You treat me like a child?”

“Do you think I talk about submission with a child?” 

Austin shook his head. No one had ever sat down with him and had this conversation. He’d told his parents two years ago that he was gay. It had been a horrible conversation over the noise of the television and had ended with him running to his room.

“No, I don’t, but I send you to the kitchen, and I feed you peanut butter and jelly. Confusing?”

Austin nodded again. “I hate crunchy peanut butter.”

“Ask Trent; he does the shopping.”

“I want to eat your food.”

“Then act civilized in the dining room. It’s easy with me. I won’t reward bad behavior. Swear at me, and you will be in the kitchen. Talk to me, and we can talk about ideas that would make your teachers’ hair stand on end. I won’t do them with you, not yet, maybe not ever, but I also won’t lie about our lifestyle or your role in that lifestyle as you get older.”

“What happens now?”

“You eat dinner, do your homework, and go to bed. We’re pretty ordinary around here. I live in a power exchange, but it doesn’t change the basic rules of life. Now eat. Each day will get easier. I promise.”

Austin should make a snarky comment. It wasn’t that easy. It was never like the old fogies said. Those assholes at the funeral with all their pasty smiles, but it was hard to categorize Milton with the assholes. He hadn’t made stupid and useless sounds of sympathy. He’d spelled it out with brutal honesty. This is the way it is. Suck it up and like it because we’re the best place you got. 

“It’s hell right now. I know.” Milton kissed the top of Austin’s head, a gesture that should have felt idiotic but was unexplainably comforting from Milton. “None of us have experience with this. We’re not usually considered the parental type. You’ll have to bear with us.”

“You’re tons better than the last one. They thought I was three.”

“We’ve made it to six,” Milton said with a smile that surprised Austin. It was a real smile, not those fake things all the social worker types wore plastered to their lips.

“Maybe seven. You gave me a real knife.”

“Ah, I’ll have to find the plastic cutlery.”

“You wouldn’t?” Austin wasn’t sure, but he thought Milton was half teasing and Austin was teasing back, but he wasn’t sure. 

“Push me and I will.” Milton’s expression increased in intensity and then softened. “You can tease this way. I’ll tell you if it’s out of hand.”

“Would you let me as a sub?”

Milton shook his head. “That is not a question for now.”

“But—”

“No, you’re all impatience.”

“And that’s not allowed?”

“It’s not.”

“Shit!”

“Austin.” 

Austin rolled his eyes. “God, what do you allow?” 

Milton stood and opened a drawer, moving something aside and pulling out a composition book. “Write ten things that you think we’ll allow and ten you think we’ll forbid. Tilden and I will talk to you about it tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, and this isn’t only for kids, I do this with young submissives, so consider it life practice.”

“Fuck!”

“Twenty.” Milton said it so flatly that he had to be serious. “Any more protests?”

Austin stared at those dark eyes for a second. He didn’t get this. There were rules everywhere; he didn’t do rules. What teenager did?

“We have rules, and despite my ancient age, I remember being a teenager and hating the rules. My grandfather raised me. He expected a degree of politeness that was more than out of fashion. I survived, and you will also.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“No, and being sullen won’t make any of us happy either.”

“Chipper, bullshit obedience. Boy scout reporting for duty.”

“Thirty.”

“I can’t do thirty. It’s impossible.”

“It’s more work than ten, but not impossible.” Milton tapped the edge of the table with the composition book. “Now you’ve found yourself in deep, so I’d take a deep breath and do a strategic retreat. You can fight with me about something else tomorrow.”

“You’re not mad?” 

“Why should I be angry?”

“Do you always ask these kinds of questions. Are you trying to distract me?” For five minutes, he hadn’t thought of his parents. He’d only thought of this strange man in front of him.

“Yes, and yes, even though distract might not be the best word. I want you to reflect: both on what was, but also what lies ahead.”

“You confuse me.”

“And when you’re confused you do teenage belligerence, a terrible response with me.”

“Your students must hate you.”

“I taught high school for several summers. That was interesting. Now eat.”

Austin took a bite of cake. He was surprised there wasn’t a rule about dessert without dinner. Maybe this was a special treat. 

“Is Tilden the same way?”

“Not now. This was more than enough of this for today.”

****

“Is he still alive?”

“Sheldon, I didn’t kill him. Austin is confused, upset, and justifiably angry at the world. He needs a target for a while. I won’t kill him for that and you know it.”

“He’s a submissive.”

“Sheldon, he’s sixteen,” Milton said with a groan.

“That doesn’t change anything. You’ve heard Ryan talk—how it’s hypocritical not to be honest with our young people.”

“That’s in a hypothetical world. This is the real world where we are all answerable to social services. They are still trying to fit our family onto one of their forms. Austin wouldn’t be here at all if they hadn’t been desperate, and if Tilden’s mother hadn’t personally intervened. I’m not going to risk them putting him in a group home by being too up front with the submission, but we did talk about it. I won’t touch him as a submissive until he’s older, but I will be honest.”

Sheldon gave Milton a long look. “No one was honest with me.”

“Sheldon.” Milton opened his arms and pulled Sheldon into a tight hug. “You didn’t run into the right people.”

“I didn’t know where to find them; I didn’t know what to call myself. I thought I was a freak.”

Milton kissed the top of Sheldon’s head. “Gordon taught me, and I still thought I was a freak. Being young is hard. I’ll do my best to make sure before Austin goes out into the world that he understands his submission, but he’s not ready for that world yet.”

“He’s more ready than you think. You know he’s slept around and he got kicked out of his last place for trying to get into a leather bar. He freaked out the Good Samaritan foster parents. They could handle gay; they couldn’t handle leather.”

“How do you know this?”

“Austin talks to Mike.”

Milton pushed Sheldon to arm’s length. “And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Tilden or me?”

“I wasn’t ratting out another submissive.”

“He’s a teenager. You’re an adult; you have a responsibility toward him, not as a submissive, but as an adult. You know as well as I do what can happen to vulnerable kids.”

“He drinks too. Mike caught him with the vodka. He did take it away.”

“But he didn’t lock the liquor cabinet.”

“He needs to trust someone.”

“There’s a difference between trust and keeping unsafe secrets and you know it, or you wouldn’t be telling me this now and looking all guilty.”

“Yes, sir.”

 Milton focused on the word sir. His submissive was looking for trouble, and he would oblige. “Corner in our bedroom. Hands behind your back. I’ll be up in a minute.” Having a kid in the house did make this complicated. They’d been trying to keep Austin out of earshot, and Milton still wasn’t comfortable with a full throttle stereo rendition. He’d have Tilden take Austin into his study and shut the door. The kid wasn’t stupid; he’d know what was going on, but abstract knowledge was to Milton’s mind a better choice than a front row seat. This was life in a power exchange. Better to learn from them than on the street.