Texas, Our Texas 8

Chapter 8

Texas, Our Texas

“All right?” Sheldon whispered. He was standing in the connecting doorway between the rooms, holding a wet washcloth and a glass of water. “I thought...”

Milton smiled gently, his arms still tight around Samuel who showed no inclination to lift his head from where it was tightly pressed against Milton’s shoulders. The tears had finally dwindled to a few stray splashes and choked breaths. Sheldon must have heard the racking sobs, and now he stood in the doorway with uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you finish your lines?” Milton asked. That was an easy question that would put Sheldon back on safe and familiar territory, not worrying about Samuel’s obvious distress.

Sheldon’s only reply was a quiet nod, totally uncharacteristic for Milton’s firecracker partner. Of course listening to a man cry like that would drive anyone to uncharacteristic behavior. Sheldon would have heard the light spanking and know the wracking sobs were totally out of proportion. 

“Do you want to go swimming?” Milton asked, still trying to normalize the conversation. He would talk to Sheldon later about Samuel, but not in the young Texan’s presence. Sheldon needed to understand the hurt and the tears were years building up; it wasn’t one incident, but a lifetime of needless hurt, and it wouldn’t be washed away by one spanking or a hundred spankings if Samuel were so inclined.

Sheldon sent a darting look at Milton, further sign that he was uncomfortable. For all Sheldon’s wildness and penchant for dragging other boys into trouble, he damn well cared.

“Swim trunks. No nude swimming.” Milton smiled again and beckoned Sheldon toward him.

“I have a red butt.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Yours.”

“Really.” Milton crooked his finger, beckoning again, and Sheldon slowly approached, keeping a wary eye on Samuel and walking nearly on tiptoe as if there were a baby in the room. Samuel hadn’t moved, to a casual observer oblivious to Sheldon, but Milton had felt the stiffening in the back and the quickening of the breaths when Sheldon had first spoken.

“Here,” Sheldon said stiffly, handing Milton the washcloth and the glass of water.

“Thank you. Go play, boy. We’re OK.” Milton couldn’t say more, not with Samuel’s ears perked. He hoped Sheldon read his facial expression; yes, it had been bad, but now at least there was a glimmer of light on the horizon. Sheldon leaned in and Milton bushed his cheek with his lips. “Go. We’re fine.”

Sheldon’s eyes said everything. He knew they weren’t fine, but he went anyway with a last concerned look over his shoulder. Milton heard Sheldon rummaging through the drawers, and then he was back in swim trunks decorated with snapping sharks and frantic swimmers with artful trails of red representing blood from terrible wounds. A giant beach towel complements of The Forest was draped over his shoulder.

“Trunks stay on,” Milton said in a forced light tone. He needed to normalize the situation for Samuel. He had to show the example of normal and right, a small spanking and back out to play.

“See you later.” Normally Sheldon would have made a snappy retort or even have stripped his shorts in front of Milton as a tease.

“Have fun.” Milton waited for the click of the door before hoisting a limp Samuel more upright and wiping his face with the wet cloth. “Drink this. All of it,” Milton ordered, placing the glass at Samuel’s lips.

Samuel swallowed the water obediently; his eyes on the floor, his shoulders slumped in a passive acceptance of whatever was to come.

“How bad do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Samuel said flatly, his eyes still on the thick beige carpet.

“I’ve cried before. Your throat hurts; your eyes feel like they have lids of sandpaper, and your cheeks feel like you have the worst case of windburn since the discovery of the North Pole. I don’t call that fine.”

A very tentative smile, almost invisible, flashed across Samuel’s face before the bland passiveness snapped back into place. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You should go swimming with Sheldon. He’s your partner. I’ve taken up a lot of your time already.”

“You haven’t been swimming with Sheldon. He collects as many boys as possible and tries to drown me. It’s not swimming; it’s a modern form of the Roman circuses with the top as the hapless victim against the wild beasts. I’m more than happy to sit here dry and safe. And kid, you’ve been living with me. I don’t begrudge you the time. I don’t expect my houseguests to be invisible or to be unfailingly polite.”

“I...I...”

“You cried. You were upset. You let me hold you for more than an instant. Cruel and ignorant people might even call your little tears a breakdown. You escaped a terrible place. You won’t find your equilibrium in a new society instantly. It’s not like flipping a page in an anthology of short stories and going from Chekov to Conan Doyle. Be patient with yourself. Jonah crashes around like the proverbial bull in the china shop, and you fade into the woodwork, a pale and insipid version of what I expect is your true self.”

“I don’t usually shout and throw things.”

“Probably not. That’s a Zath specialty.” Milton tousled Samuel’s hair in a rough affectionate gesture, something men might have been able to get away with in Texas while a gentle kiss might make Samuel recoil. “You probably didn’t cry either. That was for girls and the fag boys, wasn’t it?” Milton asked, intentionally using the pejorative term. He had to break those terms hold on Samuel, break the distorted and perverted images that had been forced into Samuel’s brain.

Samuel nodded.

“How long have you been in this country?”

“Eight weeks,” Samuel mumbled.

“And six of those with me. Who have you seen cry?”

“Blade, Sheldon. Mike that night when you made me go out.”

“Luke was at dinner at least twice with red eyes, and he doesn’t have allergies or wear contacts. I’ve seen every man in the house cry. I’ve cried. We are all men, and none of us is broken. We are human beings with strong emotions, everything from glorious passion to gut wrenching sorrow; we are not automatons to soldier on no matter the odds.”

“I don’t do this,” Samuel said almost to himself, hunching his shoulders and trying to draw away from Milton.

“You do now,” Milton said with a calculated briskness and tugged Samuel back against his chest. “Now that I’ve ferreted you out of your hidey-hole, you are not going to ground again.”

“I’m not one of your boys,” Samuel muttered, but he didn’t pull away from Milton’s incessant pressure and collapsed back against the broad chest.

“You might not be one of my boys,” Milton said gently, “but you are a young man in distress. You can take the comfort and security without taking the other side. Talking to me doesn’t make you a submissive.”

“You spanked me,” Samuel whispered in a strained voice.

“Yes, I did, and I spank the submissives in the household. I see where you’re going with this. Because I spanked you, you’re a sub scenario. That’s not how it works, kiddo. I know it looks like that, but being a submissive in a relationship is something you must choose, and you are in no way prepared to choose. What you and Jonah were doing isn’t even remotely related to what I do with Sheldon or what Tilden does with Luke and Mike.” Milton didn’t add that Tilden would chase a man out of town who laid one of his boys over a table and strapped him with a belt.

“I don’t want to be spanked.” Samuel spoke so softly that Milton almost didn’t hear, and he could have pretended that he hadn’t heard.

“You can ask for that,” Milton said very gently, tucking the fair head tighter against his chest. “I don’t spank my colleagues at work no matter how many times they are late for a departmental meeting or how many times they manage to spill coffee on my papers or worse on me, but they also don’t throw things at me or curse me without far worse consequences than a spanking. Samuel, this goes both ways. I won’t spank you, but you can’t brat to this degree. Do you understand what I’m saying Samuel?”

“I have to be good,” Samuel said faintly.

“You’re always good, Samuel. You’re allowed to disagree with me; you’re allowed to be angry with me, but you can’t brat. Do you understand what bratting is?”

“It’s doing something wrong.”

“No, it’s not,” Milton said with enough force that Samuel’s head shot up his blue eyes round and damp with unshed tears. “Do you remember what we talk about earlier, about you being late?”

Samuel nodded, his hair dropping into his eyes, making him look younger and even more vulnerable. This kid certainly looked the role of the submissive. An artist couldn’t capture a more fitting image of a boy being scolded by a dom, and this kid might not even be a boy.

“I punished Sheldon because he chooses to live as my boy. In our arrangement, he will be disciplined if he disobeys. This is an arrangement; it’s a choice we both made, hopefully with a full understanding of what was involved.” Milton didn’t bother to add that he wasn’t sure any couple had a full understanding until they hashed through a few disasters. Sheldon had said yes that first night with only a vague understanding of what it would be like to hang upside down and vulnerable over Milton’s knee. Milton was sure Sheldon at that time had no understanding of the comprehensive nature of their future arrangement. It had been, as many of Sheldon’s decisions were, a choice of quick, impulsive thought. Would Sheldon have said yes understanding all the ramifications? Would any boy agree the first time, truly knowing what would happen later? Submission for a tumble in bed or for a few hours at a club was a far different animal than full time submission. There were sacrifices for both parties; sacrifices that weren’t understood or believed until two people set off on the bumpy and winding path of a power exchange. 

All these things that Samuel couldn’t possibly know. Milton had studied Texas; he understood the culture as well as any foreigner could. In general family structure was still on strict patriarchal lines. Samuel’s mother would have deferred to his father. It wouldn’t have been negotiated or debated; it would have been expected. Samuel as the younger, smaller, and less educated partner would naturally take the submissive role with Jonah; it was the only model he had. It didn’t mean he wanted to be a submissive, no more than a hundred years ago the dearth of women in the professional fields meant that they didn’t want to be lawyers, doctors, or accountants. Society wouldn’t let women make those choices; just as the culture of Texas took those choices from Samuel.

Milton stroked Samuel’s cheek with two fingers and kissed the tangled hair. Would Samuel ever understand this was a choice now? Or would Milton be better to steer Samuel hard to the submissive side, to teach him to be a good and safe submissive. With the right dominant he could probably be happy and maybe happier sooner than trying to sort through the confusing and frightening choices. Did Milton have a right to play God that way? They were pushing Jonah hard to the submissive side. Why not do that with Samuel? But Jonah gave out very strong signals, and unless they had all temporarily lost their mind; Jonah was a world class boy, most likely a boy in the Sheldon and Blade tradition which was going to be eye opening for Samuel. Jonah was an easy man to push to boydom; he practically had submissive flashing over his head in neon lights. A dominant pushed, and he grabbed onto him like a man in the desert who had found the oasis that he’d thought was a mirage was actually real.

“You haven’t made any choices, Samuel. You hid, and you modeled your life on the only relationships you and your partner had ever seen, not healthy relationships, especially in Jonah’s case. Maybe none of this stuff works for you. You might long for a quiet house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and a husband who wouldn’t know a paddle from a bread board. That’s not a wrong choice. It’s not who we are, but it’s a legitimate choice. Just as there are men who choose to live as slaves, who enjoy being chained to the bed and randomly beaten. Blade actually might like that type of arrangement, but I’m not up for it,” Milton said with a wry grin. “Kink, no kink, what kind of kink should all be your choice. I can’t make that choice for you; Jonah can’t make that choice for you. You alone must make that choice. We will all help you. We’re a safe bunch to take different lifestyles for a test drive.”

“I tried bratting today,” Samuel said very softly, his cheeks flushing red.

“And you didn’t like it much?”

Samuel blushed again, this time all the way up to his hairline. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t that good either,” Milton said with a slight smile. “I have plenty of beautiful boys who I regularly put over my knee. There’s no shame to tell me you never want to go there again.”

Samuel gave Milton an odd half smile, almost a look of longing or maybe it was a look of relief, or maybe of embarrassment talking about the whole thing. It had taken years to force Sheldon to a halfway intelligible talking stage, and he wasn’t carrying the burden of either Samuel or Jonah.

“I can’t read minds. You are going to have to tell me what you want. I know that’s hard.”

“I can’t,” Samuel mumbled.

You can’t talk about it? You can’t be a submissive? This young man was a thicket of unanswered questions. “You will learn.” Positive and simple if only it were as easy as those three words. “I think we’ve had enough of this for the day. Let’s go swimming.”

*****

Samuel was in a pair of Sheldon’s swim trunks; as least they weren’t the ridiculous Speedos, he’d seen in the calendar in Blade’s room. They were long, almost to his knees, and a nice inconspicuous beige. Something he’s seen men in Texas wear, nothing flashy.

Samuel didn’t want to go swimming. He hurt; he was embarrassed; he’d rather curl up on the bed and wish they would all go away for the day. It was like living in a hive; people were always everywhere, and he had to respond to them. Milton hadn’t insisted; he’d only asked. Or Samuel thought he was asking; maybe he was insisting. It was so damn hard to tell. Milton was nice. What a useless way to describe someone, but Samuel didn’t have all that education. Four syllable words rolled off Milton’s tongue as if everyone talked like that. Samuel wasn’t a college boy. He wasn’t any of these things all these guys were. They were happy and confident. They knew who in the hell they were. They weren’t a loser from Texas who’d let his partner hit him, who couldn’t even understand what Milton was talking about.

Samuel caught the towel that Milton tossed at him and trailed the big man out of the room. He’d been promised that this swimming thing was something special. Samuel had been in indoor pools before. They were always steamy, sort of like a greenhouse with the misters turned on, and stank of chlorine. He liked the river where he grew up when there was enough rain for more than mud and rocks. Texas was hot. Anything with water in the summer was good.

Samuel almost tripped over his own feet, staring at the pool. It looked like they were outdoors in a lush tropical paradise, but Samuel knew they were on the third floor of a New York high-rise. Only the first six floors were The Forest. The rest was an office tower with a law firm with long important sounding names in the title and a banking firm of some sort. Jonah had found a pamphlet in the table drawer this morning.

“I told you it was nice.” Milton said in Samuel’s ear. “Sheldon’s over there. Let’s go join him.”

Sheldon was racing through a mixture of trees, elaborate fountains, and booby traps of falling water. He was chasing a young man whom Samuel didn’t know and who was clothed in nothing but a gold collar, a pair of jeweled nipple rings, and an impossibly tiny swimsuit of nearly translucent material. He had a water pistol and was firing random shots at Sheldon who was trying to douse him with a bucket of water.

“A little wild for you? The quiet side is on the right,” Milton said.

Samuel looked to the right through the foliage and bright blooms of a row of potted bushes to a quiet pool surrounded by large presumably fake rocks and interesting and revealing sculptures. Sculptures that would have had the police and the news media at your doorstep in less than five minutes in Texas. Beside the sculpture were two men, oiled and glistening in the artificial sun, sprawled against each other in a languid pose of satisfaction without a stitch of clothing between them.

“Clothing’s optional,” Milton said in a tone that made it sound like he was discussing a train timetable. “The only real rule in this area is no bodily fluids and therefore no sex.”

“Oh.” Samuel knew his voice was high, squeaky, and shocked. Milton was a professor. He held a respectable job, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with this public debauchery. “Has Jonah been here?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure Gordon will bring him. Gordon and Landon both swim laps for exercise.”

Swimming seemed to be the last thing on anyone’s mind. This was too public. Last night he’d been dressed. Here Samuel felt naked with only the swim trunks covering his still hot rump. He was freshly spanked, surrounded by men who knew what the hell they were doing, who thought this was normal.

“No one will touch you here,” Milton whispered in Samuel’s ear, wrapping his arm around Samuel’s shoulder. “Have fun. Ogle some of the guys. I won’t make you stay here, but I think we should at least get Sheldon for getting you in trouble. He hasn’t seen us yet. Milton pulled Samuel around a lattice fence covered in climbing vines and filled four buckets from a trough full of water. “They refrigerate this water. It’s just above freezing.”

They slipped around a narrow back path and were soon concealed in the shrubbery where Sheldon was still chasing and tossing water in a lopsided battle with the young man with the jewelry. Sheldon ran past their hiding spot, eyes on his quarry, when Milton sprang up and in a quick motion dumped a bucket of icy water over Sheldon’s head.

The screech was deafening. “Milton!”

“Samuel, quick the other buckets.”

Samuel had always been a good boy. He’d never even dumped a cup of ice down someone’s shirt in high school. Sheldon spluttering and shaking the cold water from his hair was an irresistible target. Samuel heaved the bucket. His aim wasn’t as good as Milton’s, but he still hit the redhead’s chest. The second bucket splashed on the dancing legs.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Sheldon yelled and lunged at Samuel.

“To the pool. It’s warm.” Milton grabbed Samuel’s arms, vaulted over some decorative railing and flower pots and leapt in the pool, dragging Samuel with him. Samuel surfaced, coughing water out of his lungs to see a man in green shorts and shirt, blowing a whistle at Milton, one hand on his hip and irate expression on his face.

“I couldn’t resist. I haven’t done that since I was nineteen,” Milton said apologetically. “I’ll be more careful of the indoor landscaping next time.”

“The top's in trouble,” Sheldon said gleefully, sitting on the pool edge, his feet dangling in the water. “You should give him a timeout or a couple whacks across his butt.”

“Your boy’s right. I should give you a time out, but I’m feeling lenient. I’m only issuing you a warning.” The lifeguard, or Samuel assumed he was a lifeguard, pulled a yellow stretchy thing that looked like a hair band from his pocket. “Put this around your wrist. It lets the others know I’ve spoken with you. I’ll take it off in thirty minutes if you behave.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton slid the bracelet over his wrist and the lifeguard walked off satisfied.

“In trouble again,” Sheldon said with a click of his tongue. “What’s a boy to do with a top who can’t even keep himself from being chastised by a hunk that’s a decade or more younger?”

“Boy,” Milton roared, pulled Sheldon into the water, and leaped on his shoulders, sending them both under in a mini tidal wave of water.

Samuel watched; he knew he probably had a stupefied expression on his face and his mouth agape just waiting to catch a fly, but here were too entirely adult men leaping and plunging like overgrown children. Samuel had seen Milton in his jacket and tie, every bit the stern but kind professor, and now he was acting like a maniacal porpoise. Sheldon was different; he always had an underlying sense of fun or craziness. Childish some might call it. Samuel had seen Sheldon throw temper tantrums worthy of a two-year-old, but it wasn’t a lack of maturity. Sheldon moved easily in these circles in a relationship that Samuel was only now beginning to realize how little he understood. Sheldon had tried to explain it when they’d been out today, but Sheldon could easily have been speaking Japanese for as much sense as it had made. 

Samuel had tried it today. He swirled the water around with his hand. He’d been ashamed, upended over Milton’s knee. Milton had been kind, generous beyond belief. Samuel had almost thrown Milton’s computer. He’d been the reckless child.

“Help me. I’m getting killed here.” Sheldon grabbed Samuel’s wrist and pulled him into Milton’s wake. “You’re a fellow boy. Save me from the big bad top.”

Was he a fellow boy? He’d let Milton spank him; he’d been late intentionally when he at least sort of understood the consequences. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Sheldon shouted. “Jump on him. He’s already dunked me a dozen times; payback is only fair.”

“Samuel, it’s OK.” Milton’s arm was around Samuel’s shoulder, his touch and voice gentle. “Don’t, Sheldon.”

Sheldon caught the edge of the pool, his slick chest rising out of the shallow water. He had stopped immediately, but even Samuel could see the unasked question in his eyes.

“We were playing, Samuel,” Milton said gently. “Drown the dominant. It doesn’t mean you’re a boy to join in on Sheldon’s side.”

Samuel looked down at the water. The sharp waves from them horsing around had settled to quiet eddies lapping at the pool edges. Milton had known. Was he a boy? He didn’t want to get spanked again. Sheldon had said it reset everything, made him feel better. Samuel had seen Sheldon last night. It was...It had been beautiful, the enchanted smile on Sheldon’s face and the moans and yips, not colored with regret but filled with joy. It hadn’t been like that over Milton’s knee, and it had never been that way with Jonah.

Samuel loved Jonah. He knew that; it was one of the few things he knew. But were they a couple like Milton and Sheldon or even Mace and Trent? Samuel had never seen Mace and Trent do anything, but there was something, the way Mace looked at Trent sometimes or Trent’s quiet steadiness when any one of the men called boys was on edge. It hadn’t been that way with Jonah. Samuel knew that now, but it hadn’t been the way they insinuated either. Insinuated--he’d been around these men too much using words like that. Jonah had always said he was bright enough for college, but they’d never had the money. It wasn’t like here where Sheldon was Milton’s spouse and entitled to all the privileges. They couldn’t hold hands in public or say I love you on the phone. To be found out... Samuel didn’t want to think about it. These men with all their easy confidence. They didn’t understand; they’d never understand.

Samuel felt a hot tear slide down his face. He wiped it away. He wasn’t crying again; he’d done enough of that today.

“Sweetheart.” The kiss on Samuel’s forehead was warm, possessive, and inappropriate for a public place. Samuel blinked and tried to stop the scorch of hot tears down his face. They were in public; he was a man.

“Cry. He has the best shoulder east of the Mississippi. I should know.” Sheldon’s smile was real, not pitying, not trying to hide his distaste at the wreck of a man in front of him. He thought this was normal, fucking normal to be an emotional wreck in public.

“I want to go back to my room,” Samuel croaked out in a voice he knew was far from normal.

“No.” Milton’s denial was flat, absolute, the sound that Samuel had heard him use with Sheldon more than once. “This is bratting, boy. Quiet, introverted, no noisy turmoil, but bratting never the less, and brating boys don’t get to hide.”

“No.” It was a useless response. Samuel couldn’t muster any force. It was sickly and pathetic. Samuel braced himself. He was arguing with Milton, pathetically like a teddy-bear caught in a rain storm, but arguing never the less.

“Samuel, you are bratting right now. It doesn’t mean you are a boy.” Milton’s voice was so quiet, so calm. It was impossible to ignore that big man in front of him, his dark eyes warm and serious even as he squinted to see without his glasses. “I can brat occasionally. Tilden copes with me with his quiet lectures and endless cups of tea, or Gordon grabs me and finds his cane. It doesn’t mean I’m a boy. It means I need something at that moment. I am a top, and right now I think you desperately need a top. Give me a chance to share your burden. Give me that right, but you must give it to me. I won’t take it from you, and I’ll give it back when you’re ready.”

Samuel found his head nodding. He didn’t consciously move his chin up and down; it just seemed to be happening. Milton’s arms were around him, and he was folded hard into the wet and lightly furred chest.

“It’s my problem now. Come swim with me.”

Samuel couldn’t resist the steady tug on his arm. He didn’t want to resist. What had he just done? What had he given Milton? Did it matter as the warm water lapped against his belly, as Milton gently pulled him along? Samuel shut his eyes and let himself float. He was here now; this was his world now, all of it from the men with the scary jewelry to the boy with the red hot ass over someone’s knee. Oh my God! That was him. He’d said yes.

“Don’t think too hard.” The hand that ruffled Samuel’s hair was gentle, but the quick toss over the broad shoulder and the dunk into the deeper water wasn’t. “Hang on, boy.” Milton laughed as he tossed Samuel into the air and let him drop with a resounding splash.

Samuel spluttered and splashed. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Really, boy.” Milton laughed. “Come get me and make it more fair.”

Suddenly that was all that mattered, dunking Milton, dunking that teasing top. Samuel scrambled for him, hanging on to those broad shoulders and trying to tip Milton backward. He crashed into the water; Milton was still resolutely upright.

“Top one, boy zero.”

The whoop was deafening as Sheldon slammed into Milton’s chest. Milton came up coughing and wiping water from his eyes. “You’re in for it now, boys.” Water was everywhere; anyone with any sense beat a retreat, but Samuel grabbed for Milton’s arms and Sheldon tried to scale the top’s neck. 

This was fun, Samuel thought as he was tossed into the water. Fun. Had he ever known what that meant? Fun, he repeated to himself.

Texas, Our Texas 7

Texas, Our Texas

Chapter 7

Milton flipped the page, marking the essay with sweeping red marks. This student had a unique view of European history, unfortunately none of it remotely accurate. It was entertaining fiction, but fiction wasn’t worth a passing grade. Milton tossed the bluebook on the graded stack and pulled out the last one. Sheldon and Samuel had not arrived back at the one o’clock deadline. It was now two and still no sign of the boys, not that Milton was surprised. Sheldon would have calculated how to force Samuel into brat behavior, and this was a relatively benign incident. He didn’t expect Sheldon to press it much longer, beyond an hour to an hour and a half would ratchet this up to a more serious incident. Sheldon wouldn’t mind risking a spanking, but severe lateness had penalties that even Sheldon considered with at least a slight modicum of trepidation and they would terrify Samuel.

Milton had read through the first essay when he heard the faint click and whir of a keycard in the lock. Sheldon charged in the room, dragging an apprehensive Samuel behind him. 

“Sorry, we’re late,” Sheldon said breezily. “The sightseeing took a little longer than we thought.”

“Sit down, boys,” Milton said, nodding toward the sofa. He finished grading the exam, letting the two boys stew. Sheldon assumed an air of excess nonchalance, sprawling across the sofa, his small body taking as much room as possible. Samuel sat stiffly, his back straight, knees together, and his hands clenched in his lap. Milton put the final marks in the last bluebook and added it to the graded stack. “Sit up, Sheldon,” he rapped out. Sheldon made a lazy half effort to straighten his posture, but he still looked like one of Milton’s students sprawled across the broken down dorm furniture. All he needed was a beer in his hand. Milton rose and stood directly in front of his boy, watching Sheldon’s eyes dart toward him in a silent plea. Yes, Milton knew the nonchalance was a pose, an act for the benefit of a terrified Samuel, but Samuel needed to see Sheldon model correct boy in trouble behavior, not pretend disinterest. “Respect, boy.” Milton landed three hard slaps on Sheldon’s thigh. The strength was muted by Sheldon’s pants, but Milton still heard a sharp hiss. Sheldon jerked his legs together and sat up.

“Yes, sir,” Sheldon muttered still with an edge of defiance in his voice that Milton chose to ignore.

“Thank you.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s forehead and watched the surprise flicker across Sheldon’s eyes. Usually for an offense this trivial and this straightforward Milton would merely ask Sheldon for his expected time of arrival, scold him lightly for being late, and take his partner over his knee. It wasn’t a high crime and hardly needed a lengthy discussion or reassurance. They both knew their parts. Milton let his eyes track slowly toward Samuel, hoping Sheldon would catch his concern.

Samuel was white. His eyes darted around the room in the jerky motions of a trapped animal looking for an escape. His breathing was shallow, and Milton could almost imagine he could hear the boy’s heart pounding in his chest, driving blood to the trembling muscles that were straining to eject the boy from the sofa and hurl his body into headlong flight.

“Being late is not a hanging offense,” Milton said lightly. “Sheldon, what happens when you’re late?”

“If it was an unavoidable emergency, nothing.”

“Was this an unavoidable emergency?” Milton asked, knowing full well the answer. Sheldon wouldn’t have gone two steps in the room without telling Milton if they’d been caught in a traffic snarl or a subway malfunction. This was deliberate lateness.

“No.”

“What happens when you choose to be late?”

Milton saw the flush rise on Sheldon’s cheeks. For all Sheldon’s understanding of their relationship and his ease with his identity as a bratty boy, he still stumbled over this simple question and squirmed with embarrassment. “I get spanked,” Sheldon mumbled, ducking his head, his cheeks aflame.

“Yes, you do. Go wait in the corner in the other room while I talk to Samuel.” Milton hated to send an in trouble Sheldon out of the room. Sheldon, despite his experience, was vulnerable at this juncture, but Milton had no choice; Samuel needed his full attention. Milton pulled Sheldon up from the sofa, wrapped his arm around his boy’s hip, and gave a light squeeze. “You’ll be fine. You know how to do this, and you knew what to expect, didn’t you, my boy?”

“Yes,” Sheldon said softly and leaned into Milton’s broad frame. “Hurry.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Milton freed his arm, ruffled Sheldon’s hair, and pushed him toward the other room. He watched until he saw Sheldon settle himself in the corner next to the nightstand. Milton shut the connecting door and turned back toward Samuel. “You look so white you’re scaring me, kid?”

“I deserve to be punished. I was late.”

“You were late. You didn’t steal money from a grandmother or murder your neighbor. What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Milton sat down on the sofa and reached to brush the stray hair off Samuel’s forehead. Samuel flinched, jerking his head back as if he expected to be slapped. “I don’t do that.” Milton dropped his hand to Samuel’s knee and let it rest, a warm comfort he hoped. “Did Jonah slap you?”

“No, never.” Samuel shook his head vigorously, his thick hair draping over his eyes.

“Why did you think I would?”

“I...I didn’t,” Samuel stuttered.

“Samuel, you flinched when I reached for you. Am I that frightening?”

Samuel bit his lip and ducked his head lower. “I was late.”

Milton bit back his sigh of exasperation. “Yes, you were late. What do you think I am going to do to you?”

“You’ll whip me,” Samuel whispered, a tear tracking down his cheek.

“Why would I do that?” Milton asked softly, keeping his hand heavy and reassuring on Samuel’s knee.

“I was late; it’s dangerous to be out in a strange city. I was bad. I deserve to be whipped.”

“You were late,” Milton said slowly, “but that is the only thing I agree with in your statement. For you, New York is a strange city, but you were with Sheldon who knows the city, and it’s broad daylight. I would hardly call that dangerous for two grown men. Secondly, you were not bad. You disobeyed a random deadline I set within the framework of my relationship with my partner as his dominant. We have discussed your place in this household, but I don’t believe we have come to a final conclusion. I requested that you respect my rules, but we have not discussed consequences beyond the lecture you’re getting now. My students tell me I’m amply frightening when I corner them in my office for a chat, but few drive their nails through the palm of their hands.”

Samuel’s fingers flew open, and he pressed his hands hard against his pants as if to make it physically impossible to clench them into fist.

“That wasn’t a rebuke; that was a statement of fact. Turn your hands over and let me see.” Milton traced his finger over Samuel’s palms; they were red, but not bloody. “Good boy. Keep your hands palm up on your thighs.” Milton watched closely as Samuel placed his hands on his thighs. This was a posture of submission, not the equivalent of kneeling, but the start of Samuel letting someone control his body through offered submission. “Good boy,” Milton repeated. Samuel seemed to blink at the praise, surprised at the warmth in the voice, but he didn’t flinch from the term boy, and he’d been with Milton long enough to understand the context. “Where were we?” Milton asked. He knew they had been talking about disobedience, but he wanted to see if Samuel could bring a voice to this discussion.

“Disobedience, sir,” Samuel whispered, a fresh tear, escaping his blue eyes. 

Milton touched his thumb on Samuel’s cheek, inordinately pleased that the boy didn’t spook from his touch. “Did you understand the consequences when you chose to be late?”

Samuel dropped his eyes and licked his lips.

“No, silence doesn’t work with me.” Milton placed his hand under Samuel’s chin and forced the boy to look at him, to hopefully see eyes that were questioning and concerned, not angry.

“Sheldon told me,” Samuel whispered, his throat obviously dry as he swallowed convulsively after he forced the words out. 

“What did he tell you?” Milton asked, not letting go of Samuel’s chin.

“That you’d spank us.”

“Spank, not whip or beat you, and only if you agree. Is that what you want me to do?”

Samuel sat frozen, his expression a silent plea. 

“It’s OK to want to try it.”

“Sheldon said it was a given,” Samuel said in a hoarse whisper.

“He would,” Milton smiled and tousled Samuel’s hair, letting go of his chin. “How hard did he have to work to talk you into it?” 

Samuel shrugged and looked down.

Milton clicked his tongue. “You still have to talk to me. This is the way it works with me. So you wanted to try this and a little acting out seemed easier than asking me?”

Samuel nodded, still not making eye contact, but a flush colored his previously pale face.

“What time did I ask you to come home?” Milton hoped the factual questions would be easier for Samuel. He’d walk the boy through the disobedience, take him over his knee, and hope he’d talk afterward.

 “1:00.”

“What time did you come home?”

“2:10.”

Definitely not an accident, not that Milton had ever thought it was. “You remembered my instructions. Why didn’t you come home on time? Did you get lost, get on the wrong subway train, or fail to find a taxi?”

“No. I saw the note too.” Milton had scrawled a note and set it on the bureau as he’d left for breakfast, a little reminder for Sheldon in case he’d been too sleepy to remember the instructions.

More damning evidence, Milton thought, hiding a smile.  His boy would teach Samuel soon enough not to offer more evidence. “Did my instructions not seem important?”

“You wrote them down.”

In other words you knew that I meant it, kid. “So you were just late.”

“Yes,” Samuel said, grabbing onto Milton’s statement as if it were a life raft.

“You understood my directions and you had no valid reason for ignoring them. You simply disobeyed me. Is that right?”

Samuel nodded, his eyes wide as he looked at Milton from under long pale lashes. This was a beautiful boy: pale cheeks, round eyes shiny with unshed tears, mouth slightly open as he silently panted. Maybe he hadn’t always been a boy or even considered wanting to be a boy, but at this moment he looked every fiber a boy.

“I spank disobedient boys. Are you a disobedient boy?” This was Samuel’s final chance to change his mind; Milton hoped he heard and understood that in the question.

Samuel swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his pale neck. “Yes.”

“Come stand on my right. I am going to lower your pants and underwear, put you over my knee, and spank you with my hand for disobedience. Come now.” Milton found a certain briskness settled a frightened and naive boy. This was no longer the time for discussion and negotiations and any hesitation made the process only more frightening. All boys were frightened the first time going over a strange top’s knees, and Samuel had more reason than most to be frightened.

Milton had done this long enough to have a smooth and practiced efficiency. Holding Samuel’s hand, he guided him to his right side and with a matter of fact bluntness unfastened his trousers and pulled them along with his underwear to mid thigh. A quick, sharp tug had Samuel tumbling over Milton’s lap.

“Breathe now. I got you. Hang on to my leg for balance.”

Samuel was frozen over Milton’s thighs, unmoving, too unmoving. Even his chest hardly seemed to rise and fall with his breaths as if he were constricting those muscles in frozen stillness. Milton wrapped his left arm around Samuel’s hip and laid his right palm on the unblemished white flesh. He let his hand rest heavy and solid, hoping to reassure and ground Samuel through the contact. With slow deliberate strokes he rubbed across the white cheeks, trying to shift the boy, settle him into place across his knees. He heard a faint grunt as he pushed harder than was totally comfortable, but still the body was board rigid across his knees.

“We’re not doing this.” Milton lifted Samuel to his feet and drew up his clothes in one swift motion. “I have some lines for you to write.” He gripped Samuel’s arm and guided him to the table, trying not to give the boy time to think. “Two hundred times, I will come back at the prearranged time. Number each one and legible.”

“What did I do? I’ll try harder.”

“No, kiddo. You were terrified. I don’t spank terrified boys. We’ll do it sometime when you know me better. Now do your lines,” Milton said with a calculated sharpness. He didn’t want to answer any questions right now. He had badly miscalculated. Everything pointed to a deliberate provocation to force a spanking, and Samuel had been terrified. Where had he misread him? He still had Sheldon to deal with. Sheldon would have been straining to hear and know something went badly wrong. “Do your lines, boy. It will be OK.” Milton kissed the soft, golden hair.

Sheldon was in the corner, his fingers tapping on the smooth wall. “This isn’t our wall. Don’t peal the paint off, boy.”

Sheldon’s head whipped around to look at Milton. “You didn’t spank him?”

“No, but I’m going to spank you, boy.” Milton sat down on the bed and patted his thigh encouragingly. “Come on, boy.”

“I’m still sore from last night,” Sheldon pleaded even as he started to move slowly toward Milton, his head down and shoulders slumped, the perfect picture of an abject boy.

“Sheldon, you knew exactly what to expect. Don’t even try looking pitiful.”

“It was worth a try.”

“You would try.” Milton snagged Sheldon’s wrist and pulled him closer, reaching for Sheldon’s belt buckle. Sheldon would undress himself at a snail’s pace. Milton pulled Sheldon’s pants and boxers down with a sharp tug.

“Ug again,” Sheldon grumbled even as he arranged himself on Milton’s lap. “I am still sore,” he moaned as Milton’s hand snaked around his waist, anchoring him in that familiar spot.

“You don’t look red.” Milton rested his hand on the exposed butt, watching with a faint smile as Sheldon squirmed under his hand, that beautiful butt flexing in anticipation.

“It feels red. Are you sure you’re not color blind?”

“Brat.” Milton landed a slap on Sheldon’s thigh and was rewarded with a sharp yip and a reflexive twisting. “I can do it there. I know that territory is quite unblemished.”

“Don’t you dare. It wasn’t a major crime,” Sheldon said, now squirming in earnest, trying to pull his thighs out of the firing line.

“Who decides on punishment in this family?” Milton asked as his hand landed sharply on the back of the other thigh.

“You do.” Sheldon sighed and went limp over Milton’s lap.

“My perfect boy. So trusting.” Milton’s hand landed on the rounded cheek. He spanked the standard pattern: high, middle, and then low before switching sides. It wasn’t a hard spanking by any means, but Sheldon was quietly crying, and the skin was a petty shade of red before Milton stopped. “What was that for?”Milton asked as he caressed Sheldon’s back.

“For coming home late when you asked us not to.” Sheldon wiggled, trying to turn himself upright.

“Not yet, boy. I want to know whose idea this was, and Samuel’s none too communicative.”

“No fair,” Sheldon whined. Milton could still hear the tears, but also the hint of humor and resignation. “I’m the good boy and I get interrogated.”

“That’s right, brat.” Milton landed an affectionate swat just out of range of the reddest area. He didn’t want to hurt Sheldon; he wanted to tease. This was his boy, his perfect boy, teasing and griping while still vulnerable over his top’s knees.

“Samuel asked me about last night.”

“He asked?” Milton didn’t hide the surprise in his voice. Samuel never asked about anything. He walked around the house, silently avoiding everyone. He might talk to Luke a little bit. Samuel enjoyed painting, soft sweet scenes of rivers and trees in the sunlight, families picnicking on the bank, a dog chasing a ball. 

“You know Samuel.”

“You brought it up and poor Samuel tried to fade into the sidewalk.”

“No, he hinted. He never says anything directly. You have to figure it out through the dropped words and silences. I didn’t lead him on. I get that he’s afraid.”

“I’m not angry.” Milton rubbed the small of Sheldon’s back, waiting for his boy to relax under his hand. “Samuel can’t avoid it forever. He has to make a decision.”

“You didn’t spank him. I would have heard.”

“He was terrified. I couldn’t do it.”

“You should have.”

Milton paused at the firmness of Sheldon’s words. There was no hesitation, no quibble, just a flat statement. “Why?”

“He needs to know, and he’s not going to know until you do it. If it’s out there looming on the horizon, it becomes this beast of mythical proportions. And you’re the best at it. He’ll feel safe with you. I should know; it’s not like I don’t get a lot of practice.”

“You are an impossible brat,” Milton said fondly.

“This impossible brat would like to get up now.”

“I don’t know.” Milton chuckled and stroked the red skin in front of him. “It’s an awfully nice view.”

“Milton!”

“Up, boy.” Milton landed a hard swat before releasing Sheldon and drawing him to his feet.

“Ow! That wasn’t fair!” Sheldon rubbed his butt as he jerked his pants up.

“All’s fair when you’re in that position.” Milton hooked an arm around Sheldon’s neck, pulled him close, and kissed the pouting mouth. “Behave, boy. I need to go check on Samuel and his lines.”

“It’s much more fun in here.”

“And I have responsibilities, and you’re much too cheeky. I think a few lines will do you some good also.”

Sheldon groaned, “I hate lines.”

“I know, but they’re good for you sometimes, and it will keep you out of trouble for a few hours.”

“A few hours! How many thousands are you going to make me do?”

“Have I ever made you do thousands, boy?” Milton teased.

“It seems like it,” Sheldon groused, but he was unsuccessfully hiding a smile. “I’m so abused, worked to the bone, spanked till I’m blistered--”

“And the other boys are as jealous as hell,” Milton said, interrupting Sheldon’s tirade.

“Yep,” Sheldon said with a wide grin. 

“Boy.” Milton tousled Sheldon’s hair and headed into the other room, Sheldon firmly in tow.

Samuel was seated at the table, a page full of lines in his neat script in front of him. He raised his eyes as they entered, but kept his head down. 

“He didn’t kill me,” Sheldon said, throwing himself down in the other chair. “Shit!” He popped back up and rubbed the seat of his pants. “Don’t sit on a freshly spanked butt. I should know better. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

“Can you try to behave for five minutes,” Milton said with enough of a smile that he knew Sheldon would know immediately he was teasing, and he hoped Samuel would pick up on the lightness of the exchange. Samuel was much too pale and much too still. He looked like a wax figure, not a live, breathing, and hopefully lively boy.

“Two minutes is my limit.”

“Sit, boy.” Milton pointed at the chair. Milton rifled through the table drawer, looking for something for Sheldon to copy. He didn’t think the Bible was an appropriate choice, and he momentarily wondered if The Gideons had any real idea about what went on in this establishment. They would probably never grace the door again. Milton could use the phonebook, but even he wasn’t usually that cruel. Copying names out of the phonebook would be agonizing, and it wasn’t that he was irritated with Sheldon. He just wanted some quiet and a chance for Samuel to hopefully find the confidence to talk to him. The Forest handbook--that would be perfect. He flipped through to a relatively innocent page on mealtime and proper attire and set in on the table. “Copy this.”

Sheldon scanned the page. “Did you miss lunch waiting on us? This is all about the food service. After 6:00 gentlemen must wear a jacket and tie,” Sheldon parroted. “Leather is not appropriate in the dining area, and the boy, as per New York Health Department regulations, must wear a shirt. Exciting.”

“Would you prefer the phonebook?”

“God no! Don’t threaten me with the phonebook. I’ll be good.” Sheldon slid into the seat, careful to drop softly on his tenderized rear end. “At least he didn’t get out the wooden chairs. Lines on those are slow torture after a spanking.”

“Can you be quiet,” Samuel snapped, looking up from his lines. “Do you and your crazy brother ever shut-up? You two are insane. All of you are insane. He whips your ass, and you like it. I’m not doing these stupid lines! I’m not a child!” Samuel flew up from the chair, and with a flurry snatched up his papers and tore them into tiny shreds, hurling the confetti at Milton.

“Shit! What got up your ass?” Sheldon muttered, watching Samuel with excited eyes. “Even I don’t throw bits of paper at Milton. He tends to get mad.”

“Sheldon go in the other room,” Milton said in a soft, demanding tone that he knew would be obeyed. “Take the lines with you.”

Sheldon stood up.

“No, stay here. I’m leaving. I’m not playing these games anymore.”

“Sheldon, other room. Samuel, sit down.”

“No. I’m going.”

“Young man, sit down,” Milton said, his voice still quiet, but it was an unmistakable order. “You’re going nowhere while I’m responsible for you until you calm down. Sheldon, out,” Milton ordered, not taking his eyes from Samuel. From wax mannequin to spitting mad, Samuel had skipped a few steps, but this at least was something that Milton could work with once he had calm and wasn’t tripping over his own boy. He knew Sheldon was curious, and Milton didn’t begrudge him the curiosity, but Samuel needed at least the illusion of privacy. Sheldon would be able to hear plenty through the walls.

Milton heard the door shut as Samuel moved toward him, the stack of Milton’s graded exams clutched in his hand.

“You scatter those, you will be sorting them, boy.”

“Fuck off! I’m not your boy. I don’t want to do this.”

“Sit down and tell me what you do want to do.” Milton kept his voice level; he might still diffuse this, even though he wasn’t sure if that was the best strategy. Samuel had clearly been holding everything back for weeks. Maybe Milton should encourage him to blow like a volcano.

“What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.” Samuel hurled the bluebooks at Milton. They floated through the air, coming to rest harmlessly on the carpet. Samuel reached for Milton’s laptop and Milton moved.

“No.” The word was short, sharp, and of startling ferocity. Samuel froze and Milton caught the young Texan’s wrist and with a sharp tug pulled the boy against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the struggling body.

“Get off me!” Samuel kicked at Milton’s legs. “I don’t want to do this.”

Milton steered them both toward the sofa, and with the experience of a long time top he sat down and pulled Samuel over his knee trapping the boy’s flailing legs and pinning his arm on his back. “Settle down,” Milton growled.

“Let me up. You fucker, let me up!”

“So you can throw more things. I don’t think so, little boy. You just sit tight until you’re a little calmer.” 

The flurry of abuse that Samuel shouted at Milton was surprising for its intensity and for the ugliness of its language. He called Milton every possible foul thing that could be hurled at a gay man, and some that Milton was even sure he’d never heard. As suddenly as the shouting had started, it burnt out, and Samuel lay frozen over Milton’s knees, only his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.

“Are you done?” Milton asked, sliding his hand under Samuel’s shirt and rubbing the skin beneath.

“Yes, sir.”

“I made a mistake letting you up earlier without a spanking. We’re going to rectify that now. Lift your hips, so I can pull down your pants.”

Samuel complied docilely and silently, only the occasional shiver showed how difficult this was for him. He grabbed for the sofa cushion, burying his head in his arms. Milton’s palm landed smartly on the upturned flesh. This wasn’t his lover or even a well loved housemate, more a half invisible ghost hiding in the walls. The spanking would be workmanlike and sharp enough to sting for a few hours, but Samuel in many ways was a stranger, not a man Milton could touch sexually and not even a man that Milton thought would accept platonic affection.

Samuel’s butt was an even red when Milton stopped and lifted the Texan to his feet, pulling his underwear and pants up before he could become more embarrassed. Samuel wasn’t in tears, but Milton could hear the hitched breath of a man trying to swallow back sobs.

“You’re very safe here.” Milton pulled Samuel down against him, tucking the boy onto his hip with a substantial portion of his weight against Milton’s chest. “Don’t struggle, or I’ll put you back over my knee.” It was a threat that Milton hoped he truly wouldn’t have to carry out. This boy needed cuddling far more than spanking.

Samuel stopped trying to pull away, but he didn’t relax against Milton either. After a few minutes of strained silence where Milton listened to the hum of the heating system and the gurgle of the pipes, Samuel slumped against him as if a balloon had been pricked and the air let out.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel murmured, his blond hair fanned out against Milton’s chest. “I don’t like this.”

At least it wasn’t the verb hate or studded with horrible profanities, words that Milton feared both Samuel and Jonah had heard turned against them in far less safe settings than a hotel room in the finest erotic private club in New York. 

“If you throw things at me or curse me, I will spank you every time. That is not negotiable. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Milton raked his fingers through the blond hair that was now touching the back of Samuel’s collar and not in the severe almost military cut with which he’d arrived. “I don’t think throwing things and cursing is usually a problem for you, but it is a guaranteed way to get a spanking, and I’m OK with that. I’m not angry about it. Only don’t throw breakable items. I will be angry then.”

“I made a mess.”

“You did, and you will be cleaning it up. There’s no harm in that.” Milton rubbed the tense neck and shoulders and bent down and kissed that tempting fair hair. “Did it help?”

“I don’t know.” Samuel looked up at Milton, his eyes searching and with more life in them than Milton had ever seen except for the furtive glances at Jonah last night. “Sheldon likes this.”

“Very much. Not your thing, kid, huh?” Milton asked, intentionally keeping the question as informal as possible. He’d spanked Samuel; he’d felt his body language and now had  a far stronger feel for where this boy lay on the emotional scale of submissive to dominant, but now it was Samuel’s turn to find his voice.

“I’m not crazy about doing it again,” Samuel said with an almost invisible smile.

“Fair enough. I think you’re smart enough to avoid this fate if you don’t want it, but it’s OK to want it.”

“I don’t like it.”

There was that phrase again, but still no elaboration. “You don’t have to do any of this. We won’t throw you out on the street because you’re not one of us.”

“Jonah...” 

“Do you love Jonah?”

“Of course,” Samuel answered promptly, maybe too promptly.

“This isn’t Texas; there are many men to choose from.”

“No.” Samuel said, trying to pull from Milton’s grasp. “You’re not taking him away from me.”

“Not if you want to be together,” Milton said soothingly.

“It wasn’t always like what you saw. It was different in Texas. We had a lot of good times together.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“We used to go walking on the paths by the river. We couldn’t hold hands, but we could be close enough our shoulders touched. We’d rent a movie and sit at home on the sofa and, well...”

“You’d neck like teenagers,” Milton said with a laugh.

“Yeah.” Samuel blushed, the color slowly climbing up his neck to his cheeks. “We’d have a quiet dinner with a linen tablecloth and a candle flickering in an old wine bottle. It’s not like here; we couldn’t go out.”

“I know,” Milton said gently and brushed the scattered and tangled hair off Samuel’s forehead. “Because of a line drawn on a map, you were forced to live in hell. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t make me this way.”

“What is this way?” Milton tucked Samuel against his chest, hiding the beautiful and anguished face against his shirt. Come on, kid, talk, he thought. Samuel had to have been told all this was wrong. In Jonah, the oceans of hate and disgust had turned inward. He attacked himself and his partner. It had made him create tall barriers around himself and Samuel. Barriers that might have protected them from the outside, but let the demon from inside nearly destroy them.

“I’m a fucking queer,” Samuel spat.

“You’re a gay man. Listen to me,” Milton said directly into Samuel’s ear. “You’re a gay man. You’re not broken, perverted, a devil loving criminal, nor a pedophile waiting for a victim. You are a man who is gay. I’m gay; Sheldon’s gay; Blade is an insane bisexual, and the guy in the blue house across the street from us is straight. None of us is broken.”

“I had to leave my family, my home, my country.”

Milton felt the sobs before he heard them, choked gulps and shaking shoulders. “Cry, kid. You need to. Mourn for all you left behind, and then we’ll build something better here.”

Texas, Our Texas 6

Texas, Our Texas

Chapter 6

“What time is it?” Sheldon’s voice was sleepy, and he pulled his pillow over his head in the way he did when he wished the day hadn’t started yet.

“Stay in bed. I’ll have breakfast sent up later. After last night...” Milton trailed off. They’d been like crazy teenagers last night; maybe they put something in the water here. He bent down and kissed the back of Sheldon’s neck, running his tongue over the visible bite mark.

“If you’re going to make breakfast, you better quit,” Sheldon said with a laugh, pulling the pillow from over his head and taking a wild swing at Milton. “Gordon will disapprove if you look all rumpled.”

“No rumpling. My old body will stage a general strike.” Milton sat on the edge of the bed and gently carded his fingers through Sheldon’s red hair, the strands silky soft against his fingers.

“I thought I was going to get to sleep, and you’re sitting here looking all worried. There’s never any rest for the wicked.” Sheldon propped himself up on his elbow, a mock pout on his lips. 

“Brat.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s cheek, his eyes still on his partner. Sheldon looked happy; he was still sprawled in the bed in guileless relaxation, not guarded nor reserved.

“I’m not a bug under a magnifying glass,” Sheldon said in exasperation. “You’re worried about last night. It was hot, and I had a great time. I know we didn’t negotiate it and all that, and you’re going to freak out about that and make me sit down and spell out how far I’m willing to go, and I’m going to hate it, curse at you, and probably break something. Jesus! I’m a big boy. I would have told you to stop if I’d hated it.” Sheldon’s voice lost its exasperation, dropping to a soft husky tone, his expression open and sincere. “I would have told you if it was too much, and you would have stopped immediately. I know that about you; I love that about you. Fuck!” Sheldon swiped at a tear that slid down his cheek. “I wasn’t going to get all schmaltzy. Go eat your breakfast with the ogre, and let me enjoy my luxurious lie in, or I’m getting up too.”

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s forehead, knowing if he kissed those lips neither of them were going to make breakfast.

Have breakfast with me.” Sheldon entwined his fingers around Milton’s. “You can feed me pieces of fruit one at the time.” His tongue snuck out and licked around the edge of his lips.

“Don’t tempt me, boy.” Milton swatted Sheldon’s thigh that was still under the covers.”You’re familiar with Gordon. I must attend.”

“You’re not making me go; that’s like a first. Or are you having a dominants’ only powwow about Jonah and Samuel. That’s a disaster.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re not blind. You’ve got to see it. Jonah’s no more a dominant than I am. The poor guy, he’s terrified to be what he most needs to be.”

“I thought you wanted to shoot him at dawn.”

“That was before I realized he was a submissive. Now I just feel sorry for the poor guy. Who are you going to find to top him? He can’t stay with Gordon forever, and Landon can’t stand him. That’s pretty obvious.”

“It’s a mess, and there’s the added complication of Samuel. What do you think of Samuel?”

“Shy, sweet, damn hot to look at.”

“Behave,” Milton growled, not angry but knowing that response would be expected and appreciated.

“Well, he is.” Sheldon grinned unrepentantly. “One of his attractions is that he’s gorgeous and totally unaware of it. If he’d let himself enjoy life a little bit, half the men on the East coast would be chasing him.”

“Is he a boy?”

“God if I know. You’re the expert, mister head of the Green Mountain Boys.”

“On submissive matters, I defer to you.”

Sheldon snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. I'm a bratty boy, not a submissive expert. You get us; you sometimes get me better than I get myself. Scary.” 

“Sheldon.” This time the tone was a warning, and the slight stiffening of Sheldon’s shoulders and the tightening of his lips showed clearly that he’d understood.

“I don’t know,” Sheldon said after a moment. He doesn’t feel like a dom, and he doesn’t get all freaky about us like most vanilla types do after a day. He doesn’t participate, but he seems to take it as natural enough. I think he must be attracted to it at some level.”

Milton nodded. He ruffled Sheldon’s hair and stood up. “Enjoy your morning. Be back at 1:00 if you go out.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you think of Samuel?”

“I’m going to be late. I already am late, and you know Gordon.”

“You’d call that dodging the subject if I did that.”

“Sheldon, I’m late,” Milton said with a jaunty wave as he made a dignified scramble for the door. Sheldon was right; Milton was dodging the question. He didn’t know how to categorize Samuel. He, like Sheldon, had considered the possibility that Samuel didn’t belong in the power dynamic in any role and rejected the idea. The young man was shy and retreating, but he wasn’t repulsed. Was he an elusive submissive who turned everything inward and whose submission manifested as quiet good manners, or was he an equally private and polite dominant who hadn’t even imagined that role and completely suppressed that side of his nature? If he were a dominant, he wasn’t the noisy and assertive type, and Jonah was going to need a feel of unleashed power more than Samuel was ever going to manage. That role reversal was going to be impossible; even an experienced dominant was going to have trouble with it. Gordon was having trouble with it. Jonah wouldn’t freely admit to his submissive side with someone as dominant as Gordon; it was going to be impossible with Samuel.

Milton cursed under his breath, words that he never let Sheldon hear and words that anyone with even a dose of mental competence didn’t even think in Gordon’s presence. Gordon was death on bad manners, and he considered swearing the ultimate in bad manners. There was no easy solution. Jonah couldn’t top Samuel. Samuel couldn’t top Jonah. What did that leave them except to break them apart? Interfering bastards all of them, Milton thought, smacking his own palm with his fist. Maybe Gordon could pull a rabbit out of a hat. This would take more than rabbits; it would take fantasy all around.

Gordon was seated at a far table behind a folded Times and a cup of hot coffee. He pretended to be engrossed in his reading, but Milton had seen the glance at him and then to the clock on the wall. Milton was going to have to endure a few words about punctuality. Milton braced himself as he threaded through the tables of immaculate linen and beautifully presented fruit bowls. Only a few people were eating as most chose room service after a hard night. The few diners were all conservatively dressed, several with briefcases, smart phones, or laptops intent on a few minutes of work before blending back into the outside world.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you as I assumed you were unavoidably detained.” Gordon rose with perfect manners and pulled out the chair on his right. “Are either you or Sheldon ill?”

“There is no excuse for my tardiness, sir.” Milton said, recognizing only rapid acknowledgment of his fault might lessen Gordon’s sharp tongue, and Gordon didn’t need to elaborate. Milton knew it was rude to be late and that Gordon was impeccably careful at always arriving at the correct time.

“Very well,” Gordon said with a stare that would turn lesser men into blathering wrecks.

Milton took his seat and unfolded the pristine, white napkin. Almost at the same instant, a waiter poured him a piping hot cup of very black coffee. Milton blew on the hot liquid and took a small sip. “I assume you want to talk about Jonah and Samuel.”

“I do,” Gordon agreed, “but first are you and Sheldon in good sorts this morning?”

“You were actually concerned when I was late,” Milton said, not hiding his smile. “You aren’t the rigid ogre that you pretend to be.”

“Boy,” Gordon growled, “and you have everyone fooled. I should put you over my knee on principal.”

“Spank the head of the Green Mountain Boys. It will cause a scandal.”

“Don’t consider yourself immune, boy.”

“I don’t,” Milton said with another smile.

“As my time is limited,” Gordon said smoothly, “I will grant you a pardon today. I wish to use our limited time to discuss Jonah and Samuel.”

“At your service.” Milton could think of many different responses to Gordon, some that would make Gordon laugh and some that would get Milton turned over Gordon’s knee no matter Milton’s current status, but Milton had been able to tell from Gordon’s intensity last night that he had true concerns about their two visitors from Texas. This was not a time to rattle Gordon’s cage as Sheldon would put it, not that it would stop a boy like Sheldon, but that was also one of Sheldon’s charms, the openness and unshielded aspect of many of his responses.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I was thinking about Sheldon and how he would have responded to you this morning.”

“He’s a dear boy,” Gordon said with a fond smile, “but he’s not renowned for his subtlety or tact.”

Milton snorted into his coffee, nearly sending it spewing out onto the tablecloth. 

“My dear boy.”

“Stop, and you’re right as always. Sheldon would have ended up over your knee in a split second. He is and always will be an impulsive boy.”

“And that suits you, or you would have changed it. Do not underestimate the force of your personality, Milton. You can bend a boy to your will as easily as a sapling bows in the wind. I have Landon to keep my darker urges in check. You have yourself and a love for a boy; a boy that you perhaps should push harder. He was beautiful last night and not in distress. There is no need to deny that side of your personality. You are attuned to your boy; you will know if it is too far.”

“I thought this meeting was to discuss Jonah and Samuel.”

“It is, but your own house must be in order if you are going to assist them.”

“Jonah’s not a dominant,” Milton snapped out.

“Do not change the subject, my lad.” Gordon reached across and took Milton’s coffee cup.

“I was drinking that,” Milton protested.

“You were fiddling with it and avoiding eye contact. Hands flat on the table eyes on me.”

Milton obeyed. Gordon might technically have no authority over Milton now that the presidency has passed to him, but the older top had been Milton’s mentor, and he had lost none of his severe and natural authority. In that tone, he was a man to be obeyed.

“Good.” Gordon took a slow sip of coffee, seeming to savor the rich aroma. “You, boy, enjoyed last night.” 

Milton thought it was a statement, but it might be a question or a request for an affirmation. “Yes.” Milton swallowed a private smile. After Sheldon’s initial apprehension, he had more than enjoyed it.

“Your boy needs regular physical contact. Now that you have this tool, do not make him act out to get want he wants. You can both enjoy this, and even though Sheldon will never be the force Landon is in controlling play, he has been with you a long time and knows how to make his wishes known, and you have always respected those boundaries and no doubt always will.” Gordon pushed the coffee cup back to Milton. “Enjoy yourself. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton repressed a smile. How often had he given similar lectures to Tilden?

Gordon smiled gently. It was an expression that few saw. Most saw him as a stern master or a ruthless business man; very few saw him as a kind friend. “I’ll always watch out for you. Now eat your breakfast.”

The service in the breakfast room was as impeccable as Milton remembered. The waiters glided between the tables, invisible to the patrons unless they made a concerted effort to track the magical appearance of fresh coffee and hot toast, none of the ill-timed interruptions of even some of the finer restaurants. The food matched the service, breads and rolls fresh from the oven and Milton’s scrambled eggs a perfect consistency, lightly studded with true country ham.

“What about Samuel?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t know.” Milton buttered a second scone, watching the butter soak into the light crumb.

“That is hardly an answer.”

“You saw him last night. Landon saw him. Does he strike you as a submissive? What does Landon say? He has a good read on these sorts of things.”

“What does Sheldon say?”

“I asked first.”

“Milton.” The growl was friendly, but it still held a touch of warning.

“He doesn’t consider him a top.” Milton had watched their pack of boys closely. They didn’t respond to Samuel as a dominant. Sheldon had picked up from the first or second sentence that Jason had been a dom, and Luke and Mike had noticed almost as quickly. Blade, of course, had caused as much ruckus as possible but that was Blade and also indicative of Jason’s top status. Blade had to be noticed by the dominants. Milton controlled those mad impulses the best he could, but many weren’t going to fade until Blade had his own top around the clock. Mace was never overt with either tops or submissives. He chose to label himself a submissive, but in general he kept that side well in check and never exposed it except with Trent and to a lesser degree with his immediate housemates. He paled at Blade’s obvious attention seeking behavior.

“Does Sheldon consider Samuel a submissive?”

Milton took another bite of scrambled egg, chewing slowly. “Is this a yes or no question, or is maybe an acceptable answer?”

“Maybe has never been an acceptable answer.”

Milton wished he had more jam to spread on his scone or had just taken a large bite of food; that would have given him time to stall. It was more complicated than a yes or no answer.

“I’m beginning to regret that I didn’t have this conversation in my room with you hanging over my knee, my lad.” Gordon’s voice still had a warm rumble which meant he wasn’t truly serious, but merely prodding for Milton to get on with it.

“Sheldon believes that Samuel is a boy.”

“Sheldon believes,” Gordon repeated. “You are not convinced?”

“He might be an introverted and polite boy, but...” Milton took another sip of coffee.

“Trust your judgment, Milton. You are experienced and savvy.”

“He might be a dominant that has repressed his true nature to the point that he is incapable of identifying that side of himself. I’m not sure he will ever be able to reclaim it.”

“Jonah made many terrible choices, but I don’t believe he was a strong enough force to beat the top out of a true dominant.”

“Samuel would never have been a dominant in our model, but more of an analyzer and a guide, someone to lead his partner, not knock him over the head with a frying pan.”

“I know Blade is a difficult boy, but I hope that is not a new technique. It sounds barbaric and more suitable for dispatching a robber.”

Milton smiled tightly. “Tempting as it is, I leave the frying pans in the kitchen.”  

“Would he be better in a relationship without a power exchange?”

Milton ran his hand over his beard, stroking the short, bristly hair. “He is drawn to it in some fundamental way. Both Sheldon and I see that. He’s not appalled when Tilden or I top one of the boys in the house. He takes it as perfectly natural and understands it. A part of him needs it, even if it’s from the bottom side now and not the top.”

“Have you disciplined him?”

“Only in the most general way by laying out a few rules. He’s polite, well behaved, and keeps out of the way--too well behaved.”

“Sheldon is usually quite good at bringing the brat side out in people,” Gordon said dryly. “Are you sure Samuel will fit on that side of the equation?”

“He needs the comfort and the security.”

“That can be found without the power exchange.”

“I know.” Milton took another bite of eggs. 

“Milton,” Gordon said, capturing Milton in an intense gaze. “There must be more reasons than comfort and security to enter a power exchange. We ask our submissives to willingly cede power to us, and we, the dominants, must enjoy wielding the power. This is not about rescue or finding a home for every stray and lost young man. They are not all submissives. In fact, most of them are not subs and will rebel once they find some stability.”

“If he’s not either?”

“He stays with us until he says he’s had enough. You’re a good dominant, my boy. You will know.”

“What would you do?” Milton pushed his plate away. He’d had enough eggs, and while he hid it well, he knew that Samuel and Jonah were a strain, the constant observation, the fear of doing it wrong. Samuel was vulnerable and tentative; Milton didn’t want to overwhelm him. 

“What haven’t you been doing?” Gordon asked, sidestepping the question and forcing Milton to look inward.

“I haven’t used any discipline.” Milton ran his finger around the cup. “He doesn’t talk, and I haven’t forced him.”

“Have you had Adam talk to him?”

“I’ve tried.” Adam was a dominant, but he was genial and soft spoken, and more importantly he had professional training in dealing with abuse victims. He was a doctor, technically a general practitioner, but his practice catered to gay men in all kinds of relationships, and he was a more than capable counselor, and Milton knew that at least one of the set of initials after Adam’s name was some qualification in social work or psychiatric care.  He was a member of the Green Mountain Boys, mostly Milton thought to provide a safe social group for his boy and not because he was drawn to the more overt display of power often seen in the Green Mountain Boys. Adam didn’t frown on spanking, but Milton wasn’t sure he used it with his partner Joe, at least not as anything more than the lightest foreplay. 

“Texas psychiatric services are rife with abuse,” Gordon said, not hiding the disdain in his voice. “They still practice reparative therapy as a recognized psychiatric field. Jonah refused to talk to Adam also. The boy became downright hysterical. I had to spank him.”

“I’m sure Adam had a few words to say about that response.”

“I consulted him,” Gordon said. “I am a dominant; I am not trained in the mental health fields, but it doesn’t require an expert to realize that Jonah is an abuse victim. I am not entirely comfortable treating an abuse victim as a submissive. Corporal punishment can have a tangle of confused connections in the brain for a man such as Jonah.”

“You have personal experience,” Milton said softly. He knew Gordon preferred not to discuss his childhood or his relationship with his late father. 

“I was exiled at fifteen, a punishment that was a blessing, and I wasn’t surrounded by a society that reinforced my father’s hateful message. I was lucky. Jonah has internalized that hatred, and at least at some level even believes some of the messages of failure, strangeness, sinfulness, and whatever other hateful category they wrap around us.”

“Why do you spank him?”

“He responds to it. Every one of his responses indicates that he is a submissive, and he wants to hand me or another dominant, who is either bold enough or foolish enough to try, the power. The only time he talks to me is when he is over my lap.”

“Does he know he’s a submissive?” Milton looked around the room; most of the diners had left, leaving them alone with their coffee. The servers had noticed the intensity of the conversation and had left a silver coffee service at the table, allowing the men to pour their own coffee without interruption.

“At some level he must, but, no he hasn’t identified himself as a sub to either Landon or me. He fights when we hint at it.”

“A submissive must self-identify as such and not be forced into the role,” Milton quoted the Green Mountain Boy’s handbook.

“I am well aware of that passage,” Gordon said sharply. “I am not addled in my old age.” Gordon’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup, and Milton could imagine him grinding his back teeth together. Gordon controlled his body language; he’d taught Milton the same tricks. “My apologies, Milton. I spoke too sharply.”

“Don’t go all formal dominant with me. We know each other too well. I know you are aware of the dangers where you tread, and you are doing exactly what we preach, bringing the potential problems to the attention of the community.”

“You are good,” Gordon said with a flash of amusement in his eyes.

“I learned from a master.”

“Your skills exceed mine and have for several years. I think my relationship with your friend Tilden more than proves that point.”

“Tilden is being inflexible.”

“He was the wronged party. It is his right, and I scared him badly. What’s done is done. We all must live with our mistakes.”

“Are you concerned you’re making an error with Jonah?” Milton asked, searching for a connection in the conversation. Gordon didn’t randomly go down side trails. He’d stop a submissive before the poor boy even realized that he’d started to divert the conversation down a long and irrelevant path.

“I have some unease.” Gordon said after several minutes of silence. “We are trapped in a pattern of resistance, punishment, and capitulation.”

“Let me take him.”

“He’ll be with Samuel.”

“We can’t keep them apart forever, and privacy is a rare commodity in our house,” Milton said with a wry smile. “Jonah will not have a chance to lift a finger to that boy without the cavalry showing up in an instant. I’m physically bigger and stronger than Jonah. He’ll respect that. It may allow him to more freely explore his natural submission with a more subtle use of force.”

“He’ll find it very hard to allow his submissive side to show with Samuel present.”

“The carrot and the stick. Being with Samuel is the carrot, and accepting he’s only allowed in my house as a submissive is the stick. He’ll take the deal,” Milton said with more confidence than he felt. This was dangerous ground, far too close to forcing Jonah into seeing himself as a boy, rather than allowing him to come to that identity naturally.

“I’ll tell him,” Gordon said, plucking his napkin from his lap.

“We should both tell him.” Milton rose from the table. “He needs to see me immediately as an authority figure.”

Together they walked up the wide staircase and Gordon rapped sharply on Jonah’s door. Milton heard the fumble of the lock and the chain sliding back before the door swung open. Jonah was fully dressed except his shoes; he wordlessly stepped back to let the two tops in the room. An open book was propped on the bed.

“Where’s Samuel?” Gordon asked.

“He and that Sheldon went out somewhere.” The way Jonah said that Sheldon made his opinion of the redhead very clear. Living in close quarters with Blade was going to be eye opening for him.

“You didn’t want to go?” Gordon prodded.

“I don’t like cities,” Jonah said, his shoulders rigid and his eyes focused on the wall to the right of Gordon’s head.

“It’s all right to admit that you didn’t want to go out with Sheldon,” Milton said, propping his hip against the bureau. “He’s a bit much for a lot of people. I’m surprised Samuel went with him.”

“Samuel wanted to see the city. He can’t resist anything new,” Jonah said, turning back toward the bed. “Since you’ve obviously come to interrogate me, you might as well make yourself comfortable.” Jonah sat on the bed, his hands tightly pressed together, one socked foot tapping on the thick carpet. This was a man unsuccessfully trying to hide his anxiety.

“I do want to talk with you,” Milton said, intentionally softening and slowing the cadence of his voice. This was a frightened man, stripped of all his defenses. Push too hard and he would bolt. “I want to offer you a chance to come back with Samuel and me. You two have been away from each other too long. It’s not fair, is it? You escape one repressive regime, and then we, your rescuers, separate you.”

“You’ll let us be together?” Jonah’s face softened for a moment before the haunted look came back in his eyes and his jaw tightened.

“It’s not a ruse, Jonah,” Gordon said, sitting down on the bed and ruffling Jonah’s hair. “You should know me well enough to know that I don’t play those kinds of games, my lad.”

Jonah nodded, instinctively moving to the offered comfort of Gordon’s hand.

“Milton and I do have a few rules to discuss,” Gordon said, continuing to stroke through Jonah’s hair.

“You come as Samuel’s partner, but not as his dominant,” Milton said, his gaze never wavering from Jonah’s face. He hoped this would go over without a battle, but he didn’t know Jonah that well, and the Texan’s defensiveness wasn’t boding well. Milton didn’t want to start their relationship by pulling Jonah over his knee. Milton wanted the Texan to know there was more to this relationship than force; Jonah had already seen too much force in his thirty odd years.

Jonah nodded slowly before he jerked from Gordon’s soothing hand. He must have just realized the implications of not coming as a dominant. “I’m not a submissive; I’m not a maniac like that partner of yours.”

“No, you are not like Sheldon. I should be thankful for some small favors in this world,” Milton said with a small smile, not responding to the provocation in Jonah’s words. “Landon isn’t like Sheldon. Submissives come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I’m not a sub,” Jonah spat, standing up and taking a step toward Milton.

“That’s not a good idea,” Milton said in a near whisper. “Sit back down and think.” Milton didn’t move. He wanted Jonah to find the right choice. Milton was confident he could easily physically overwhelm Jonah. The Texan wasn’t a small man, but Milton was both broad and tall with muscles he never lost from a childhood of hard farm labor.

“Oh, God!” Jonah flung himself back down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. “I almost did it again.”

“You didn’t; that is the important thing.” Milton had covered the ground to the bed in two long strides and pulled Jonah tight against him, kissing the closely cropped, dark hair. “You made the right choice. That is what you remember and focus on.”

“What is the matter with me?” Jonah keened his face still buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Don’t fight it. I’ve got you.” Milton tightened his arms, trying to project safety and comfort. “Everything is my problem now, and I’m good at this. You’ll come and live with me. You will be accountable to me.”

“I can’t be. I’m not a sub.”

“Shh. Let it happen. We’ll put a name on it later. All you need to know and accept is that you will come and live with me, and you will follow my rules. Can you do that for me, for Samuel?”

Jonah wiped his eyes furiously and looked up before nodding. “I don’t want to be a sub.”

“We’ll talk about that later. All you have to do right now is agree to accept my rules. Jonah, will you follow my rules and our house rules?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Milton rubbed the tense shoulders under his hands. “It won’t be bad; I promise. I’m not the ogre Gordon is.”

“Behave, boy,” Gordon growled. “You’re never too old for a little discipline.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton kept his voice light, hoping Jonah would hear and understand the tease and start to recognize and learn about the genuine affection between all these men, affection he’d been denied all those years in Texas, first by his parents and then by society in general. Milton kissed the top of Jonah’s head again. “I know this is hard, and you’re being very brave. Try to trust me. It will be OK.”

“I’m trying,” Jonah said, his voice thick with tears, his eyes still buried against Milton’s chest. 

“I know,” Milton said softly and with a good deal of sympathy. “You’re trying and that’s all I can ask. Now go wash your face. You should at least see some of the city. Gordon will take you, and he’s far less hair-raising than my maniac partner.” Milton looked over at Gordon, watching for the small nod. “Go on now. It will be fun.” Milton guided Jonah to his feet and pushed him toward the bathroom, waiting for the door to shut and the fan to come on before turning toward Gordon. “I hope I can do this.”

“Milton, if you can’t, it can’t be done. I have every confidence in your compassion and your ability as a top. Now keeping all the other boys from killing him will be the real show stopper.”

“Don’t remind me,” Milton groaned. “How did you keep Landon off of him?”

“Threats. I have a cane.” Gordon smiled. “Actually Landon understands. He may never like Jonah, but he does understand.”

“I hope Sheldon will understand.”

“He has a sharp tongue, and he sometimes fails to acknowledge the possible ramifications of his actions, but he has a kind heart.”

“Speaking of failing to acknowledge ramifications, I wonder in what he has managed to entangle poor Samuel. I expect I will need my afternoon free to untangle their mess.”

“Sheldon won’t do anything unsafe.”

“No, but he’ll guarantee the two of them find trouble,” Milton said grimly, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles out of his khakis. “I told Sheldon to be back at 1:00. I am going to go do some work and fortify my defenses. I’ll see you later.” 

“I’ll keep Jonah occupied. Good luck with your boys.”

“I’ll need it.” Milton said over his shoulder as he shut the door.