Mike's Saga 4

Mike’s Saga 4

Mike shifted his backpack on his shoulder and inserted his keycard into the front door lock. It was a safe building; he’d have to give Josh that. The doors were always securely locked, the halls were well lit, and the closed circuit cameras were visible in all the corners. Hell, it was a nice apartment also, fully furnished in a bland but comfortable way. 

Friday night and he was going to be home alone again. Friday night had always been formal dinner. He’d groused about it then, the insistence on a jacket and tie, all the silver and china to hand wash, one of the boys drafted into servant mode, but he missed it now. He missed the easy companionship without having to really try; he even missed Sheldon and his incessant needling. Mike could go out, but it seemed like so much effort to go troll the bars and for what? He could pick up a man for the night. Maybe he could even pick up a dominant, but could he submit. Milton wouldn't even play with Mike because he failed to submit. Did he still want to submit?

Josh had made Mike submit. God, Mike had felt his ass for nearly a week, and he never wanted to think about his precious orbs again. The Epsom salts had helped, but they'd still turned an ugly purple. Josh could be vicious, and Mike had thanked that man after the worst thrashing he'd ever felt. He'd kissed Josh's boots and then been delighted by the crumbs of comfort. He was one fucked up boy.

Mike opened his apartment door and tossed his bag onto the small kitchen table. The apartment hadn't miraculously changed; it was still the same sterile environment as this morning. Cold coffee sat in the coffee maker, and the damn print of some blue bird looked down a him with an eye that looked bored and jaundiced. Mike flopped down on the sofa and flipped on the TV. He'd watched more TV in two weeks than he did in the average year. The noise of some inane game show filled the room. Mike should get up; he should make dinner. It wouldn't be hard; he could nuke something. Mace had brought him weeks worth of prepared meals, all frozen in tidy individual servings and ready for the microwave. They sold them at the cafe for five bucks each, and his freezer was overflowing with them. He could go out. Miles, one in the parade of people checking on Mike, had invited him to stop by The Whispering Horsemen. Miles had looked good, his long braid nearly touching his hip, his smile bright, natural, and without a doubt genuine. Miles had added a new set of holes in his ears, and the dream catcher earrings that swirled as he moved had seemed somehow appropriate.

Something was buzzing. Oh, yeah, the outside door. Mike went into the kitchen and banged on the intercom button; he wasn't expecting anyone.

"It's Gabe. I live next door. We met in the hall. I can’t find my key, and it’s raining."

"Come on up." Mike buzzed him inside. He heard the footsteps in the hall a moment later and the sound of something being dropped and frantic scurrying as if a family of mice had just found a Christmas feast.

"Shit!" 

There was banging now and something being tossed.

"No keycard?" Mike asked, peeking his head out the door.

"I know I put it in here. I tried the building manager. Her message says she's out for the weekend. There was another number for a true emergency. Is a lost key a true emergency?"

"Inconvenient for sure.” Mike opened his door the rest of the way and grabbed Gabe’s wrist. “Quit freaking out. I’ll call someone.”

“Fuck it! I can’t believe I lost it. I’m such an idiot.”

Mike was inclined to agree on the idiot part, but kept his mouth shut. This was the third time since he’d lived here that Gabe had lost or forgotten his key, and from the detritus strewn all over the hall from his futile key search, the boy needed a keeper. 

“Ugh!” Gabe raked his hands through his disheveled sandy hair.

“You’re not fit to be out on your own,” Mike said with a half grin. “Don’t worry. I was that bad once. It’s not terminal; you will grow up.”

“Asshole!” Gabe snarled and turned away.

“Kid,” Mike tried to pitch his voice to a more soothing level. “I’m not doing this very well. I was trying to make a joke. Trust me here when I say my life takes the cake for unmitigated disasters. I had it all given to me, and I threw it back in their faces.” Mike swallowed hard and jerked himself back to the current problem. Keys were easy; love life, well, he wasn’t opening an advice shop or writing a self-help column: How to fuck your life over in three easy minutes. “I’ll call Josh. I think he’ll have a key.”

At least he had a key to the front door. He’d been over a couple of times, and Mike had never needed to buzz him up. He’d been looming in the hall, looking forbidding and reassuring all at once. Mike missed it. He missed someone ordering him to put his laundry away and not just leave it in the basket; he missed the reliability of some heat in his ass when he got snarky or snappish or just plain withdrawn. Mike had watched Josh’s welts fade off his ass, and, God, he missed them. He’d jacked off, one hand on his cock, one hand searching for the sorest spot.

Fuck it! Eight years and he still couldn’t wrap his mind totally around what had happened. Yeah, he was sexually submissive. He got off with a sore ass and stern orders in bed. That was easy; that was common; that was the part Tilden had been so damn awful at. Tilden didn’t even strongly prefer to top. He’d ask. Mike was a bottom; he wanted bruises and bites as trophies the next morning. He could play the top; it was fun with Austin. God, he’d fucked it up with Austin. He loved Austin with his thick hair way beyond Milton’s approved length, the splash of color that so readily rose to his cheeks, the lips that begged for a kiss. Mike had made Milton clean up his disaster; he’d hardly been able to raise his eyes to Austin. Austin had stood next to Sheldon, trying so hard to be brave and kind and understanding. He should have ripped Mike a new one. Instead, he was calm and concerned. Austin had been the steady one as Mike had stumbled through an apology.

“Josh?” Mike hadn’t realized his fingers had been punching the keys until he heard Josh’s voice, deep and uncompromising.

“Boy, what do you need?”

Mike took a deep breath as the dominance penetrated his skin and destroyed his fortifications of toothpicks and tissue paper. Mike should hiss and spit that he wasn’t Josh’s boy, but all he wanted to do was sink to his knees and be back inside his family circle. He’d even kiss Josh’s boots. He’d kiss Josh’s boots everyday.

“Boy, I asked you a question.”

“My neighbor locked himself out, and the building manager’s away.”

“I can let him in, boy. Jer and I were on the way to dinner. Be ready. You can have dinner with us. Decent clothes.” Josh was blunt and demanding with no chance for Mike to interrupt or object. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Mike answered, “Yes, sir,” swallowing the words into a mumble as he realized Gabe was within hearing distant.

“Enunciate. Be proud, boy!” Josh growled, loud enough that Gabe had to hear the voice.

“I’ll see you shortly,” Mike clicked off the phone before Josh had a chance to even more pointedly advertise Mike’s submissive status. “He’s going to let you in,” Mike said, turning toward Gabe and trying to act casual.

“Who was that?” Gabe’s eyes were wide and glittering with surprise or maybe a touch of arousal. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine that Gabe was gay and leaned submissive. The political button on his backpack was a giveaway, and he just felt submissive. It wasn’t the disorganization or the blasted lost keys; that was being young and on his own for the first time. Back in the dark ages when Mike had been stumbling through college with his on again off again study habits, Milton had tried to explain it. It hadn’t been understandable then; all Mike had wanted was for someone more in charge to kick his ass in line, and Tilden had obliged with a strict schedule. Mike had thought he’d forgotten Milton’s mystifying advice, but now it came back to him.

“Being the world’s most disorganized student is not a symptom of submissiveness. It’s a symptom of being young and lazy and knowing you have someone to get your back. Tilden will punish you, and he will get your studies back in order, and this will work for today, but it won’t work forever. Someday you won’t be a young college student; you’ll be in the adult world with adult responsibilities. Your submission will have to take on its true form, and you’ll have to learn to manage the divide between being a fully capable and independent adult outside of our home and a submissive and obedient boy inside your relationship. Playing at kneeling is not going to be enough nor is pretending to be a distracted little brat. I know being taken care of has its appeals, and I won’t begrudge you that comfort, but you are not Luke. Someday you will chafe at the care taking and demand responsibility for your own life in the outside world. You need to begin to lay the groundwork in your relationship now, or you will have misery later.”

Mike hadn’t listened. He’d blown the whole talk off as one of Milton’s interminable lectures. Tilden had organized Mike’s schoolwork and punished his ass, and Mike had thought it was enough. Now he didn’t have schoolwork, and he didn’t need reminded when to go to bed or when to get up in the morning. He’d never managed the divide—capable adult yet willing submissive. He’d bristled at regulations at home; he wasn’t an idiot kid after all, but without obedience to rules, sometimes arbitrary rules, there was no submission. Tilden had backed away, given Mike his freedom as he grew older and wiser, and Mike had hung himself with the rope.

“Mike?” Gabe’s voice was tentative and sounded impossibly young and unsure.

“Sorry, I was thinking of something else. That was Joshua Martin, an old friend of mine. He did the renovations on this building and owns a piece of it.”

“OK.”

It wasn’t OK, not really. Gabe had obviously heard most of both sides of the conversation. He’d heard the reference to boy, and Mike was dodging and denying. Mike was a Green Mountain Boy; he was supposed to help young submissives, not deny his own identity.

“His bark is worse than his bite,” Mike said with a pasted on smile.

Gabe nodded, licked his lips, and lowered his eyes to the carpet.

God, did that boy know he screamed submissive? Josh would know instantly. He was an overwhelming dominant, and he wouldn’t be camouflaging it in front of Mike, not when he came on that strong on the phone.

“Do you want a Coke or something while we wait?” Small talk, that was safe.

“Yeah, please.”

Mike opened two cans, handing one to Gabe. The soda was the perfect prop, an icon of American normalcy. Neither of them spoke; they swilled soda and waited for the man with the key.  

Mike's Saga 3

Mike’s Saga 3

Josh and Jer's cottage looked like it always did. Josh opened the white picket gate and guided Mike up the short path toward the front door. The flower beds were trimmed back for winter, and an autumn themed doormat stood ready for muddy boots. It looked ordinary and homey, a house where Grandma or Aunt Millie or a retired second grade teacher might live. It didn't look like a palace of horrors.

Josh removed his hand from Mike's wrists to get the door. His key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open to the bare scrubbed floors and bright white walls. Mike kept his hands behind his back and stepped across the threshold. He suppressed a shudder. It wasn't the house. The house was as bright and airy and comfortable as it always was; it was Josh's earlier promise. He was going to belt Mike. 

"Kitchen." Josh kept his hand on Mike's neck as they entered the small kitchen with its sunny yellow walls and wooden table. "Take your shoes and pants off and lean over the table."

Mike's fingers shook as he snarled the laces of his running shoes. He finally heeled them off, laces still knotted. The button on his khakis was no less stubborn. 

"Breathe, boy." Josh's hand was on Mike's hip. "You're an experienced submissive. You know how this works. Why are you so afraid?"

Mike gulped in air and glanced at Josh's face. The horrible hardness was gone. Instead the gray eyes were kind and appraising. "I can't kiss your boots."

"You can and you will. Submit, boy."

Mike stared down at Josh's boots. They were work boots, well worn but clean. The laces were tied neatly and tucked into the top. Mike didn't have a boot fetish. He couldn't do this.

"Mike, I won't ask you to worship my boots, but I will insist you close this punishment by thanking me and kissing my boots." Josh's voice hardened. "This is not about your likes and desires. This is about punishment. Now get over the table, boy."

The table was slick and hard and smelled faintly of wood polish. Mike hooked his fingers around the edges and hung on. He heard the faint tinkle of the belt buckle and the sound of the leather being pulled through the loops. Mike wanted to look over his shoulder, to see what Josh was doing, to know when the preparations were finished. He couldn't wait, quiet and passive. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and feel his ass muscles tense. How hard would it be? Would Josh warn him? Would he put his hand on Mike's back the way Tilden and Milton did? Would there be any warm up? The first blow came crashing down. Mike screamed. The wail reverberated around the kitchen and came racing back to him.

"Stay down, boy. If you move I'll put you over my knee and spank you crimson and then put you back over the table for another round with the belt."

Mike believed the threat; his fingers tightened in desperation around the table edges. The slight understanding and sympathy that had been in Josh's voice was gone. The second blow fell, the belt scorching a line of fire that burned with such intensity that it consumed all thought. Mike howled: raw, pain filled, and animalistic. His fingers slid across the table’s surface; it was almost impossible to stay down. The belt was falling rapidly now. Mike couldn't distinguish the individual blows. All he knew was that he was in hell. His screams and sobs ripped through the kitchen, and the belt kept scorching his flesh. This wasn't erotic or care taking or anything else Mike had ever felt during a spanking. This was brutal and burning and cleansing with fire everything Mike thought he was. Mike collapsed onto the table. He deserved this; he needed this. He spread his legs farther, letting the belt strike the most tender flesh. 

A hand touched Mike's shoulder. The blows had stopped. "You did that well. Good boy. Now thank me."

Mike flopped to his knees, his body a disjointed marionette under Josh's control. His head was against the boots. He could smell the leather, oil, and the wet leaves of fall. His lips touched the surface, and he kissed his punisher's boots. "Thank you for punishing me." The words were garbled with Mike's sobs, but Josh must have understood them. He pulled Mike's head into his lap and held him. 

Josh was murmuring something. Mike didn't care. He just wanted to be held, petted, and kept safe. Mike knew he was crying; he'd been crying since the second strike of the belt: tears of pain and loss and a sadness he couldn't name. He let the tears flow, not trying to be manly or tough or in control. Time passed. Mike didn’t care. There was only Josh’s stroking hand and gentle mumbles.

"Up, Mike. Even at your age, your knees will be killing you if you stay on them much longer."

Mike stumbled to his feet, mostly supported by Josh's unwavering grip. The tears had slowed to a trickle a while ago, but Mike hadn't wanted to move. On his knees with his face buried in Josh's lap, he didn't need to think; he only had to be.

Josh guided Mike toward the sink, wet a dish towel, and carefully wiped Mike's face. "Better. You're a pretty boy with tears, but you're a prettier boy without them." Josh held a glass of juice to Mike's lips. "Drink. You need it."

Orange mango. Mike swallowed the sweet liquid. He didn't like mango, but he wasn't arguing with Josh. He'd never argue with that man again.

"Come on. You're worn to the bone." Josh guided Mike into the living room and onto the large sofa. He pulled a soft throw over Mike's legs and sat down, taking Mike's head into his lap. "Sleep, boy."

Mike shut his eyes and enjoyed the gentle play of Josh's fingers on his neck and back. He was tired; sleep would be fine.

****

Milton stared down at the sleeping figure. Mike was curled onto his side, the plaid blanket pulled to his neck, one arm wrapped around a pillow.

"He looks angelic," Josh said softly.

"I brought his clothes." Milton set the duffel bag down behind the sofa. "I better go before he wakes."

"Come into the kitchen and have some coffee. He'll be down for the count."

"What did you do to him?" Milton pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down heavily. “I've certainly had no success with that boy."

"You're too nice," Josh said, setting the coffee mug down on the table.

Milton wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the dark brew. "He's leaving."

"Give him time. He'll be back. He's fighting himself, and he's too stubborn to let you and Tilden help."

"I've done him no favors."

"No, you haven't," Josh said bluntly, taking a small sip of coffee. "He's not the young man without family you took in eight years ago. He's a fully adult submissive who needs challenged. Stop protecting him. Let him find what he needs."

"His body language--"

"Push him through it. Make him safeword if he really doesn't want it."

"Will he? He has so much pride."

"You've had this boy for eight years, and you're not sure he would safeword. What the hell have you been doing?" Josh banged his coffee mug down, his gray eyes settling grimly on Milton. "You know better than that."

Milton glared at Josh before he lowered his eyes and mumbled, "Yes, sir."

"That might get Gordon off your back, but it does nothing for me. I don't want your ritual submission, nor do I expect it. You're my superior in the Green Mountain Boys, and you’re my superior as a dominant when you put your heart in it. Your boy needed you."

"He's Tilden's boy. I'm just the bonus dominant."

"Milton!" Josh slammed his palm down in the table. "You're not naive, and you're not stupid. Mike is your boy. Yes, he is Tilden’s and Luke's lover. Tilden’s even dominated him, but you were always the heavy. He needed Tilden's unconditional love, Tilden's kindness. He still does, but he also needs to crawl across the floor and lick your boots. He needs you on top of him, holding him down, and taking everything. He needs you to grab his ears and fuck his face so hard that his throat is sore for a week."

"I don't abuse my boys."

"It's not abuse when the boy wants it, and he wants it. Let him be the boy he is. Don't try to convert him to the kinder, gentler side of dominance. He has Tilden when he wants to be held, reassured, and loved with little or no demands. He needs you to grind him into the floor."

"Tilden would kill me."

"Not when his boy--and he is his boy also--is smiling and laughing with fire in his eyes. Mike is a schizophrenic submissive as you described. He needs harshness and barely controlled brutality, but he also needs to be petted and reassured. You're lucky you don't have to be a schizophrenic dominant. You can tag team him, and he'll be in tall clover."

Milton ran his finger around the coffee mug. "Can I do this? You're suggesting something very close to the line."

"You know where that line is. I've seen you pull back with Sheldon, and he's your slave. He has no right to resist; his pleasure is your pleasure."

"Consensual slavery can be withdrawn as easily as it's given."

"I know that," Josh said with a grimace, "and you're meticulous about keeping your consensual slave very happy.  Sheldon is punished far less than when he supposedly had more freedom. You read your boys well. Trust yourself with Mike. Push him."

"I don't read him well." Milton raked his fingers through his hair. "He's an enigma."

"You read him fine. You're not arguing with me about what he needs. You've only been wishing you were seeing something else. Dominance just this side of raw brutality scares you. I expect you are afraid you might like it. I like it with a boy who relishes it. I would never do it with Jer; it would be wrong, but it's not wrong with Mike, and it's far better for you to do it than some stranger he picks up in a bar. You won't harm him, but you have to trust yourself before he trusts you." 

"It will be hard," Milton said after a long pause. "I've already put my family through hell, and this will be another level in the Devil's paradise."

"Having Mike never return will destroy everything you have built. This will work, Milton. Believe in yourself. Now I'm going to put your errant boy up in one of the apartments I just built. We'll give him time to stew, and you time to convince yourself of your new role. Now go on home before he wakes. It's best that he doesn't know we're plotting together."

Mike's Saga 2

Mike’s Saga 2

Mike had been in Milton's study many times. There was no reason to be this nervous. Milton wouldn't do anything, a little spanking with a silly paddle and that was considered hard done. Milton was supposed to be such a fierce dom. Supposedly, Mike made mental air quotes around the word, Milton had damn near beaten Sheldon to a pulp. It was most likely a myth like everything else around here. Milton didn't have it in him to really do it. He was good at this sophisticated, nice guy dominance, but it didn't go further. He'd played with Mike a few times since the great change. He always aborted it so early that it wasn't even fun.

Mike wiped his hands on his pants. He shouldn't be sweating. This was silly. He'd get a little dressing down and go on about his day. Mike flopped down on the sofa and tried to look casual. He'd usually stand in the corner, but Milton hadn't told him to, and Mike sure as hell wasn't going there on his own accord. The corner was for toddlers and silly schoolboy games. 

Mike raked his fingers through his short hair. He kept it brutally short, almost a buzz cut. Maybe he should be in the corner. He'd upset Austin. That was clear from their little conversation this morning. Austin was putting a brave face on it, but he'd been damn near in Sheldon's lap. Sheldon had looked like he wanted to kill Mike, tight lipped with his green eyes blazing. Sheldon had kept his trap shut, too cowed by Master Milton.

"Mike?"

How long had Milton been standing in the doorway? He looked thoughtful, maybe stern. He was staring down at Mike through his glasses, the disappointed professor. Shit! Mike was in no mood for disappointed. All his life he'd been the awkward disappointment. God, how had he'd been so stupid not to see it here? Luke had Tilden. Mike had only been added out of pity--the boy without a home, the boy with rocks for brains. He wasn't going to be their charity case any longer.

"I thought I might find you in the corner."

"You didn't tell me to stand there." Mike instantly hated himself for sounding defensive.

"No, I didn't. I wanted to see what you'd choose." Milton walked to the armchair and sat down. He crossed his long legs. He didn't speak; he just sat.

"Is this some silent torture?" Mike spat, soaking his voice in derision like a Christmas cake in rum. "I'm so scared. Should I drop to my knees and beg and plead?"

"I'm not looking for fear; I'm looking for honesty. Fear is easy to create. I choose not to terrify you because it's not a productive strategy. I more than have the skill and the temperament to terrify you. I choose to show you the controlled side of my personality, not the sadistic side. You do not wish to meet the sadistic side."

Mike rolled his eyes and laughed at Milton's little drama. "You act the part. I'll give you that, but there's more to this than having the perfect voice for Mystery Theater."

"Boy, you play with fire. Your words speak of bravado, but I see the pulse bounding in your neck and the beads of sweat on your forehead. You're scared, boy, and you should be. You build Potemkin villages around yourself. One day the scaffolding is going to collapse, and you better hope and pray that one of the good guys is around to pick up the pieces."

"Fuck you!"

"Cursing me doesn't change the truth." Milton leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand. "All we want is for you to be happy and satisfied. You're not happy; a happy boy would never have gone that far. I have no objection to you playing at topping; I am furious that you didn't get someone when it went wrong, not that I'm surprised. You can't manage your own emotions; you aren't capable of supporting a distressed submissive. Play requires trust and honesty; you failed at both. I will not let Austin be alone with you until you are honest."

Mike jerked his head back as if he'd been slapped. He hadn't expected this verbal tirade. He'd expected a spanking, maybe even the taste of the belt, but not words that sank into his chest like a dozen knives.

"What do you want, Mike?"

"I want out." The words were out of his mouth almost before the meaning had registered in his head. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of here, to not always be the third boy, the afterthought.

"Have you thought about it, or is this merely a dramatic reaction to my words?” Milton asked in an impossibly calm voice.

“I want out,” Mike repeated, staring across at Milton. He’d fucking tried. He couldn’t be what they wanted. He wasn’t sweet and submissive.

“Have you talked to Tilden or Luke?”

Mike shook his head. Tilden he could manage, not that it didn’t send his stomach into spasms. Tilden was sweet and kind, and he had beautifully expressive eyes. He’d stroke Mike’s hair and look pained, but he’d let go. He always gave way. That was the problem. Mike wanted a dom who could wear that word proudly, not a Russian teacher with beautiful eyes. Luke--Mike couldn’t manage to tell Luke. He knew that was cowardly, but Luke had been his best friend, his lover, his confidant. Mike couldn’t speak the words, looking at that gentle smile and blond curls that always tumbled onto his forehead.

“You need to do the right thing.”

“I can’t,” Mike mumbled, cursing himself for his weakness.

“Go meet Tilden in his office. At least talk to him. Life is hard; you need to rise to the occasion.”

Fucking lecturer. Life is hard from the man who fucks and bosses everyone else. He should try it from the bottom sometime.

“Mike.” Milton was standing over Mike; gently he cupped Mike’s chin and kissed the top of his head. “This is not your failure, and this is not all on your head. I want you to make the choice that works for you, the choice that makes you happy. You’re not happy.”

“Happiness is overrated.”

“Probably,” Milton said with a shrug. “Life is not the proverbial bowl of cherries, but it shouldn’t be a grim hail storm either. Mike, we don’t always fit together. You want me to be a strong dominant, but you wall me off. The stronger I am as a dominant the more responsible I am for your emotional health. I won’t do it any other way.”

“Is this an ultimatum?” Mike snarled and jerked away from Milton’s hand.

“No, I will neither force you to leave nor force you to stay. Your destiny has and always will be your choice.”

“The choice you give Sheldon.”

“Sheldon made his choice to be my slave, and I accepted it. Yes, he has no choice now. I will not argue that with you, but you are not ignorant of a power exchange. You understand the choice Sheldon made.”

“I can’t do this.”

“I know you can’t. Go talk to Tilden. He loves you. That is not something to throw away like the autumn leaves swept to the curb.”

Mike sat with his back against Tilden’s desk. Back in his college days, he’d hung here a lot. After classes he’d slip into Tilden’s office and hope he’d find a few minutes with the esteemed Tikhon Ivanovich. The desk was big and solid and from this side, Mike was never visible to the parade of students with questions. Tilden would stroke Mike’s hair and prattle on about fleeting vowels or verbal aspect. 

Mike had walked across campus and let himself into Tilden’s office after Milton had swept out of the room as if he were royal born. Mike didn’t have a key, but he’d never needed a key; a credit card and a little jimmying and the office door had swung open like it always had. Tilden never threw anything away, and the office looked just like Mike remembered it. The smell was even the same, the slight sweetness of Soviet paper combined with chalk and dust.. Mike didn’t know why the books with cheap paper, smudged ink, and poorly glued binding had such a distinct smell, the aroma of the Volga and the Metro and the Red Star on the Kremlin if he wanted to wax poetically about nonsense. It was the scent of Tilden, the romanticism of the great Russian hero combined with chalk and this morning’s breakfast and Milton’s cologne.

“Privet.”

“Tilden, I didn’t see you come in.”

Tilden sat down in his chair; his long fingers traced Mike’s neck. Mike leaned into the khaki clad knees. He had sat here often, absorbing the comfort and letting life go on around him.

“Misha, I assume you spoke to Milton.”

Mike nodded and mumbled something that with imagination could be considered a yes.

“Have you decided?” Tilden knew. His voice was soft and calm and somehow full of pain and longing. 

“I can’t stay.” Mike forced the words out and with more stubbornness than real courage forced himself to his feet. “I’m moving out. It’s not right for me.” It was all he could say. He stumbled out of the office and past the poster extolling literacy as the path to Communism. Fortunately his feet knew the stairs, or he would have tumbled the two flights.

The air was cold and wet; New England winter was arriving on schedule. He jerked his zipper on his jacket and buried his hands in his pocket. He knew these paths; they had been his home for four years. He’s been young and stupid and full of youthful optimism. It had all been such a lark. Now what did he have?

“Mike.” 

The arm around his shoulder was heavy and demanding. It would be difficult to move away. “Josh! Milton moves fast.”

“He cares, boy, even if you don’t.”

“I don’t need lectured by another Green Mountain dominant. I’ve been there, done that, and am mentally black and blue from it. Just go fuck yourself and fuck everyone else while you’re at it.”

“Why Milton didn’t beat that foul mouth and bad temper out of you long ago is a mystery.  I’ll have to assume he had a plan.”

“Why are you here?” Mike asked, trying to pull out from under Josh’s arm. Josh, despite his age and gray hair, was strong.

“Take what’s being given to you, you ungrateful boy.”

“How dare you! I stayed because of Luke. I never fit in.” Mike swiped at his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry, not in front of this bastard.”

“That’s real. That’s better.”

“Better?” Mike heard the tone of voice he wanted in his head; it wasn’t the one assaulting his ears. In his head, he sounded decisive, assertive, weary of these games. In his ears he sounded weak, pathetic, and useless.

“You just walked away from eight years of your life. Polite chitchat isn’t a priority. Mike, I’m here to help you, not make you more miserable or belt your disobedient and rude tail.”

“I can take care of myself. Submissive doesn’t mean helpless, or did you forget a maxim of the Green Mountain Boys?”

Josh grimaced and his gray eyes hardened to the color of sleet. “I would help a dominant in the same situation.”

“I don’t see you knocking on Milton and Tilden’s door.”

“They are not the ones who will be without a roof. They own the home. You do not, and as a Green Mountain Boy I will not have you forced to live in a home you wish to leave because you are without means. If the situation were reversed, I would be assisting the dominant.”

“I don’t want assisted,” Mike snarled.

“You want dominated, and it would be tempting to lay a line of fire on you ass that you’d feel to next week, but that’s not my role here. I am going to get you some lunch and help find you that vaunted space and time to get your head in order.” Josh paused and grabbed both of Mike’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t have done it this way. You need whipped, forced to accept what’s been in front of your face now for years. You’re spoiled and selfish, and Milton’s let you get away with it.”

“Milton fucks my partner, and now somehow it’s about him not beating my ass hard enough. You guys are crazy!”

“Little boy,” Josh snapped. “You’re relationship with Milton changed only by an incremental fraction. He was always the head dominant of your household, and he might not have had you in his bed, but only the naive would think there was no sexual undertone to the relationship. I know he spanked you, and I know what sort of man Milton is. He could not have had his hand on a beautiful boy like you and been oblivious. Dominance as sexual power is not merely defined by the biological ways to have sex. Despite the cover of being Tilden's, you have always been Milton's submissive. Boy, why on earth do you think Sheldon was always at your throat, besides Sheldon's general insanity. You were Milton's boy, and Sheldon knew it."

"Bullshit! He never treated me like Sheldon."

"And you would have liked that treatment. You want someone to tell you what to do every minute. You love Tilden, but Tilden loses interest in choosing your wardrobe or ordering your meals. The fire doesn't burn that intensely in Tilden; it does in Milton."

"I'm not begging for my lunch money every day."

"Sheldon is a slave. Intense dominance doesn't have to involve a master/slave relationship. Jer and I are not involved in a master/slave relationship, but I'm an intense dominant. I only step into a few areas of his life, but in those areas there is no questioning of my authority. It is not permitted."

"Whatever. I'm done with that shit."

"Mike, you're a submissive. That is never going to change. You can change partners, but you can't change your spots. Know yourself, boy. You want to be on your knees, kissing my boots; instead you're spitting in my face and making everyone miserable."

"You're insane! I'm not groveling at a self-described master's feet. You can save your analysis for someone who might be impressed. I'm out of here. Will you kindly take your hands off me?" Mike asked with a detached sneer.

"No." Josh's voice was cold, harsh, absolutely determined, and gut wrenchingly terrifying. "I'm not Milton. I don't have his modern day, politically correct kinder and gentler impulses. Forget the lunch and a chat. I'm a dominant, an angry dominant at the moment. You try to pull away from me, and I'll frog march you home, throw you over the table, and thrash you with my belt. When I'm finished you'll kiss my boots and thank me for taking the time to correct your disrespectful and sorry self. Am I clear, boy?"

Mike stared at the determined set of the jaw and uncompromising fire in those gray eyes. There was no kindness in Josh's expression. Mike twisted sideways and planted his elbow into Josh's stomach. There was a grunt, and Mike's arm was wrenched behind him as a knee was planted in his groin.

Mike panted, doubled over, desperately fighting the urge to wretch. Josh's hand was heavy and warm under Mike's shirt.

"You're almost as tall as I am and several decades younger, but I'm still a lot broader, and I know how to fight. I've chased thugs off construction sites all my live, and I grew up the only gay boy in the entire neighborhood. The world was different then, and I didn't always play by the rules to survive."

"It hurts." Mike could hardly recognize his voice. It was wheezy and whiny and somehow desperate.

"I want you to stand up for me and put your hands behind your back. Hold your left wrist with your right hand."

Mike struggled upright. He looked around as he tried to catch his breath, noticing their location on the familiar path for the first time. Josh had picked a good location for his demonstration of kicking someone in the balls. They were on the least traveled path in a dense grove of trees. At this time of day and in the now misting drizzle, it was abandoned. The pain was diminishing from white hot to a steady throb, or maybe his body was adjusting to smashed testicles. He was going to ache for several days, and he didn't want to imagine what color they were going to be.

Josh grabbed Mike's wrists. "We're going to finish our nice, polite walk to my house. No more dramatics."

"Yes, sir." Where had that come from? Mike wasn't a novice at this. Those were the words of consent, the words decreeing that he knew his place in this relationship. He stumbled forward. He wasn't used to walking with his hands trapped behind his back.

"Easy. I won't let you fall." Josh's voice was soft, almost a caress. "I won't do more than you need and want."

Oh, shit! Josh had to be talking of belting Mike; he'd promised it. He'd promised to thrash Mike and make him kiss Josh's boots. Mike couldn't do that. He couldn't beg and degrade himself. He couldn't fight either. Josh had already casually demonstrated that having gray hair and being semiretired hadn't softened his muscles or his thirst for vengeance. Josh didn't play by Milton and Tilden's rules. He'd beat it into Mike; he'd already made that clear.

"Boy, now what? You're shoulders went as stiff as a board."

"I can't do this." Mike stopped and tried to twist around to look at Josh.

"Boy, you just blatantly asked for me to do it. I see why Milton in unguarded moments calls you his schizophrenic submissive. One moment you're begging for more, and the next moment you're throwing up stop signs. Tough, boy. You've earned every lick I'm going to give you. I'm going to enjoy seeing that ass turn red and hearing you sob. Now march."

Mike knew his legs were moving. He could hear his feet crunching on the fallen leaves. Wetness seeped down his cheek, and he couldn't wipe it. Josh's grip was relentless. Shit! Why was his stomach fluttering? Why was he half hard despite his battered balls?He wasn't attracted to Josh, the old and cranky coot. He didn’t want this to happen.

Josh's other hand was on the back of Mike's neck: warm, heavy, and surprisingly comforting. His fingers kneaded Mike's tense muscles. "Milton told me your safeword."

Josh didn't say any more. He didn't have to. Mike understood the implications. He was consenting; he hadn't safeworded. He was Milton's schizophrenic submissive.

Mike's Saga 1

Mike’s Saga 1

“Austin?” Milton went down on one knee and stroked the huddled figure on the floor. Austin didn’t lift his head. He curled into a tighter ball and half choked back a sob. “What happened, kid?” Milton pulled Austin into his arms, settling the tear soaked face against his chest. “What happened?”

Austin clung to Milton’s back, his fingers digging into Milton’s skin through the light pajamas. “I’m OK. Stupid.”

“If you weren’t so upset, I’d take you to task for lying to me. Finding you on the floor, crying in the middle of the night is obviously not OK.” Milton stroked his fingers down Austin’s back and traced the tail of the winged horse. The tattoo had been a good choice for the boy. Shirtless, it added mystery and a touch of wildness to Austin’s sweet beauty.

“What’s the matter?” Sheldon looked sleepy, his green eyes heavy lidded and his red hair askew.

“Austin’s having a bad night,” Milton said, tightening his arms around his distraught cub.

“He was with Mike when I came up,” Sheldon said, propping himself up on one elbow and scanning the boy in Milton’s arms. “Do you want me to go?”

“No, boy, I expect my bedwarmer to stay right where he belongs.” Milton scooped Austin up into his arms and carried him the few feet to the bed. Thank goodness Austin wasn’t a big man. He’d never be able to carry him, and this boy needed carried. “Austin, we’ve got you. Lie back. Deep breath.” Milton stroked Austin’s hair. “Come on, boy, nice deep breath. Do this for me.” 

Austin took a long, choking breath and blinked up at Milton as if surprised to see him. “Sorry.” Austin scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Breathe. Don’t talk,” Milton ordered. “I’m going to get a wet cloth and wipe your face; you’re then going to turn onto your side and go to sleep. All I expect tonight is for you to follow my orders. No arguing. No waffling.”

Milton kissed the damp cheek and left for the bathroom. Out of sight, he rolled his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t need to be psychic to know what had happened. Milton knew that Mike and Austin often ended up together. They both liked sex, lots of it. Austin never topped; he wouldn’t even top when Sheldon had invited him with beautiful pleas. Mike had been running the show, and he’d obviously blindly run over several stop signs. 

“Damn!” Milton turned the tap off savagely. Austin didn’t need this. He was a sweet and gentle submissive who gave trust easily and completely into the dominant’s hands. Trust was easy to break and difficult to resurrect.

“I’m here.” Milton knelt on the bed and wiped the sticky residue of tears from Austin’s flushed face. “Sleep, kid.” Milton spooned against Austin, pulling the comforter over all of them. “Sleep. That’s an order.”

****

“Hey, beautiful.” Sheldon kissed the slowly opening eyes. “You sleep OK?”

Austin blinked, a range of emotions flowing across his face: disorientation, surprise, embarrassment. “I woke you two last night. Oh, shit!”

“Stop, Austin.” Sheldon laid his hand against Austin’s thigh. Sheldon wouldn’t smack, but Austin would respond to the pretend threat; he always did. “If you’re upset enough to be crying on the floor, you need to be waking us, not waiting for Milton to stumble over you on the way to the bathroom. Cub, you belong to him. He takes his responsibilities seriously. Sometimes too seriously for my ass, but you have to take the good with the bad.” Sheldon grinned and kissed Austin’s sleep mussed hair. “Not that sometimes the bad can’t be good in its own way.”

“I’m such a stupid baby.” Austin bit his lip and ducked his head against his chest.

“Let Milton catch you degrading yourself like that and you’re going to be a baby with a hot ass. What happened?”

“I was with Mike last night,” Austin whispered, still nibbling on his lip.

“We knew that. You and Mike together isn’t a secret, and it isn’t wrong. Mike’s closer to your own age, and he’s definitely inventive and tireless on the sexual side. You’re allowed to have fun.”

“I let Mike top sometimes.”

“You’re always a bottom in bed.”

“No, not like that. I mean--” Austin broke off and looked away. 

“What do you let Mike do?” Sheldon already knew from the body language, but Austin needed to form the words and practice with the sentences. Milton didn’t tolerate the look away and swallowed words.

“Spank me a little. Tie me up sometimes,” Austin said with a gulp. 

“It got a little out of hand last night?” Sheldon asked gently. “Did you safeword?” God, help both of them if they were playing without safewords. Milton would kill Mike and then swallow Austin for dessert. 

Austin shook his head, his eyes wide and misted with fresh tears. “Wasn’t that bad.”

“My foot,” Sheldon muttered in exasperation. “You got the crap scared out of you, and it wasn’t by a dom doing it intentionally. Master can make me damn near lose my lunch, but he’s doing it on purpose with a plan, and he cleans up his mess afterwards. You were on our floor crying.”

“Mike wasn’t trying to…”

Not trying to scare Austin. Not pretending to be a dominant with no training. Fucking idiot! He was always such a self-centered, distant bastard, and Milton would kill Sheldon for that thought. Sheldon and Mike didn’t have the most perfect history. They got on each other’s nerves, and they were both explosive enough that the results were often properly classified as not pretty. 

“It was a little much?” Sheldon asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. His behavior reflected on his master’s training. Hard, very hard not to say what burned in his throat.

“I was cuffed to the bed.”

“Do you play that way with Milton?” Sheldon had never seen Milton do more than tell Austin not to move his hands. Austin could get a little flipped if it got too intense, and Milton watched out for him.

Austin shook his head, his teeth gnawing into his lip. “He won’t let me.”

“He’s careful with you. You’re his precious cub.”

“He thinks I’m too young, that I’m not ready.”

Sheldon sighed and ran a finger over Austin’s ear and down the vulnerable neck. “It’s not a failing to be not ready. You may never be ready.”

“You--you give him so much more.”

 Austin’s eyes were longing and desperate, and Sheldon wanted nothing more than to kiss that beautiful mouth, but he needed to be the mature one here. This was their cub to be cherished and protected and loved. “Austin, I’m Milton’s slave. I have to ask him if I want four quarters to buy a soda. I’m given away as property in his will. I must trust Milton absolutely. It’s no longer some abstract concept or some easy glib words. He owns me, and I trust him, but that sometimes doesn’t mean I don’t hate him also. Sometimes he does things to my body and mind that terrify me, that make bile rise in my throat and make every nerve fire an urgent message of run, hide, fight. I have to trust that he’ll make it good for me or at least that he’ll be careful if it’s something I must endure and not do it often.”

“You hate him for Tilden.”

“Austin, that is done. We don’t speak of it.”

“I couldn’t do that. I’m young; it’s just a great adventure for me, but for you--”

“And you’ve been eavesdropping,” Sheldon interrupted. 

“Well, it’s my family too. It’s not like I’m a little kid.”

“No, but there’s history in this family. I may have wanted to will away the mutual attraction between Milton and Tilden, but I knew it was there. I love Tilden. He’s funny, sweet, and incredibly generous. It’s not a perfect arrangement, but, shit, there wasn’t one. Milton needs to be dominant; he loves a man who’s not a submissive--a shitty recipe for monogamy.”

“It’s not just a threesome.”

“Yeah, I know, and you, my precious cub, have no worries. We adore you.” Sheldon kissed Austin on the lips, letting his tongue tease for a moment before withdrawing. “You’re such a good boy.” Sheldon weaved his fingers into Austin’s hair. “It’s stupid to ponder over has-beens. We’re six, not three, and Tilden is a lousy dominant for me. In a threesome, we couldn’t have escaped our incompatibility. I need uncompromising and sometimes harsh. I love Tilden, but he’s a consensus builder.”

“Sleeping beauties, up.” Milton was in the bathroom doorway, dressed only in a towel wrapped around his waist. His thick, charcoal chest hair narrowed into a thin path, just peaking out above the towel. He was as handsome and enticing as he’d been when he’d first towered over Sheldon, demanding an explanation for a plagiarized paper. This was and would always be Master.

“Yes, Master,” Sheldon rolled out of bed, shivering as the cold air caught his naked skin. Milton let him have clothes during the day, but in bed he was to be naked. 

“Anything important today?” Milton asked.

“The meeting with the guy from California.”

“You don’t like him?”

Sheldon shook his head. He hated the guy, all slickness and bluster.

“Hands on the bureau, legs spread.”

Milton wasn’t playing today. He spanked hard in all the areas Sheldon didn’t much like. “What did I do?” Sheldon muttered as a spank tattooed his thigh.

“Slave.” Milton spun Sheldon around, painfully bashing his back into the bureau. “Do I need a reason?” Milton growled.

“No, Master,” Sheldon dropped his eyes to the ground. He couldn’t look at the fierceness and the intensity in Milton’s deep brown eyes. “I am yours to do as you please.”

“Yes, you are, and it pleases me to spank you today because it reminds my sometimes impertinent slave of his place. Your choice of words today reflects on your Master and on your family, not just on yourself.”

Fuck! Would he ever get this? Milton was hammering Sheldon to keep him out of trouble. “Sorry, Master.”

“Back around. Now you’ve bought yourself punishment and not just a reminder.” 

Milton peppered Sheldon’s thighs with a shower of hard swats. Sheldon danced and felt the sheen of tears in his eyes as the pain increased. He heard the top drawer slide and creak. Sheldon didn’t actually know it was the top drawer, but he could guess. It made that sound, and they kept implements in that drawer.

“Stay down. This is for punishment.”

Sheldon wanted to turn around; he wanted to see what was in Milton’s hand. “Ah!” he shouted. It was the strap, well oiled leather against heated flesh. “Please. Hurts.”

“No.” Uncompromising. One word. Two more stinging swipes with the strap. Sheldon screamed and sobbed. “Sheldon, I didn’t kill you. Come here.” Milton sounded both fond and exasperated. Sheldon clung to the broad back and leaned into the powerful chest. “Sheldon, trust me to know why I’m spanking you,” Milton whispered in Sheldon’s ear. “Now go stand in the corner, so I can enjoy the pretty color.”

Sheldon hated the corner; he especially hated the corner when he wanted to be cuddled against Milton.

“Don’t fidget, slave.”

Sheldon clasped his hands behind his back and forced himself into stillness. He could hear Milton dressing behind him. He was probably laying out Sheldon’s clothes also. Milton did that often, especially if the day started with Sheldon hot, crying, and in the corner.

“Come on, cub, you need to get up. I want a look at you this morning.”

Sheldon heard the bed squeak and the sound of Austin’s light feet against the floor.

“Drop your boxers.”

There was silence, too long of silence. Sheldon peeked over his shoulder; punishment be damned. Milton was crouched behind Austin tracing a red welt across Austin’s butt.

“What did he hit you with?”

“His belt.” Austin scrunched his hands into fists. “I’m OK. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy.” Milton scraped his nail over the reddened skin, and Austin hissed and almost broke position. “Did you think about safewording?”

Austin shook his head.

“I thought between the two of you there might be a speck of commonsense. Boy, there’s a reason I don’t do this; I understand your limits even if you don’t. You were scared yesterday, truly scared, not the thrill you should get when playing. The dominant needs to look out for you, but you also have a responsibility for your own safety. You both failed.” Milton stood and hooked an arm around Austin’s neck. “I’m not going to punish you because the fear you felt last night was enough, but don’t do it again.”

“What are you going to do to Mike? He wasn’t trying to scare me.”

“Austin, if I thought for one moment that Mike had tried to deliberately harm you, he’d already be on the street. You both showed colossally bad judgment last night. He worse than you as he’s more experienced and was in the role of the dominant. I won’t pretend it didn’t happen. You both have to figure this out and willful blindness is foolhardy. Now into the shower. Sheldon will take you to school today and meet you for lunch. And, Sheldon, standing in the corner means facing the wall. You will do thirty minutes of corner time tonight for that transgression.”

“Yes, Master.”

Sheldon heard the shower water before he felt Milton’s lips on his neck. “You are an impossible brat, not standing in the corner at your age. What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me more.”

“Sheldon.” Milton turned Sheldon around and studied Sheldon silently. “I adore you. There isn’t an amount for how much I love you. Are you not getting enough of me?”

“I was being flippant. Stop it, Master.”

“I’m responsible for your emotional health. I take that seriously. You misread me earlier. Are you all right? I was spanking you to make your day easier, hoping to remind you to think before words tumbled out of your mouth. I wasn’t doing it to make your life miserable.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“And you weren’t thinking here also? What do I need to do?”

“I’m worried about Austin and Mike. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing more than I already did to Austin, my nosy one.”

“Mike’s not happy.”

“I know,” Milton said and combed his fingers through his hair. “I’ll try my best for him; it’s all I can do.”

“He’s going to leave.”

“Probably. It might be for the best.”

“Tilden--”

“Tilden will feel guilty. He feels guilty if someone two continents away doesn’t have enough fresh vegetables. I can’t change that, but I’ll get Tilden through this. Enough brooding,” Milton said briskly. “Take Austin somewhere nice to lunch and bring him home this evening. I don’t want him wandering about by himself; he’s still unsettled. Fifty should do it.”

“Change and receipt. I know,” Sheldon said with a smile. “I do know how to count money.”

“You’re my slave.”

“I get why you do it. It’s a reminder of my place in the household without beating me back and blue.”

“Would you rather have me give you a monthly allowance?”

“No.” Sheldon felt a hot blush rising on his cheeks. “I like to ask; I like feeling dependent on you.”

“I like it too, boy, but this is one master who believes in having a happy slave. I’m ordering you to tell me if you change your mind. Now hurry, boy, and you’ll catch Austin in the shower. That always makes the morning worthwhile.”

******

Mike was already downstairs in the kitchen; he left the earliest of all of them for work. He jerked his head up at Milton’s arrival, and his hand tightened around the coffee cup. A flash of fear followed by anger showed in his dark eyes before an all too familiar wall slammed down on his emotions. 

“Mike, have you told Tilden?”

“No.” Mike’s eyes were firmly on his coffee.

“Two dominants live here who would have gladly helped you last night. You know at least a half dozen others who would have walked you through it over the phone.”

“Is Austin all right?”

“Shaken and he’ll be glued to Sheldon, but he’ll be all right. We cleaned up after you.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not the one who needs to be told that. Make the best of it that you can with Austin this morning and then join me in my study.”

“I have work.”

“Cancel it.”

“But--”

“No. Cancel it. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Milton had hoped Mike might stop him, might lose his fake calm, but he sat silently at the table while Milton poured himself coffee and took a cranberry muffin from the plate. Come on, boy. Don’t let this end this way. Reach out to me. Nothing. Milton left the kitchen without looking back.

Tilden was still in his bedroom. He smiled as Milton walked in. “Hey.”

Milton kissed Tilden’s lips, a small chaste peck and set his coffee and muffin on the end table. “Let me get that.” He deftly tied Tilden’s signature polka dot bow tie. “Handsome as always.”

“Same to you.”

Milton smiled, enjoying the faint flush that always rose on Tilden’s cheeks when he was praised. “Do you have an eight o’clock class?” Milton knew the answer.Tilden taught first year Russian at eight, but it was an easy way to start the conversation.

“I’ve had one all semester.” Tilden stared at Milton, his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Mike hasn’t said anything to you?’

“You know he doesn’t talk. I’ve tried; you know that.”

“We’ve all tried.” Milton ran his hand down his beard. “He roughed up Austin last night playing at being a dominant.”

Tilden audibly swallowed; his fingers stroked his perfectly ironed khakis. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Tilden,” Milton said, his voice a mixture of reproach and regret. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” There was a long pause, a silence filled only by the distant noise of other people in the house. “Your intensity.”

Milton wrapped his arms around Tilden and pulled him close. “Maybe you’re right to fear me; Sometimes I fear myself.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I love you, Milton, with all your flaws, with all your intensity. I’m not your style of dominant. I never will be; I don’t even fully understand it. But listen closely. I understands its power and attraction, and I absolutely trust you with all that is me. If you find it best to flay the skin off Mike’s back, I’ll lend my support and I’ll be there to offer comfort--to both of you.” Tilden pulled out of Milton’s embrace and started shoving spare change and keys into his pockets. “I’ve certainly been a failure with that boy.”

“Don’t blame yourself. We’ve all done our best. Sometimes it just doesn’t work.” Milton reached forward and squeezed Tilden’s arm. “I’m not going to touch him today. I can’t read him, and I’m supposed to know how to read a submissive. I’ll try to talk to him, but I’m not optimistic.”

Tilden reached for Milton, pulling them both together. “I know you’ll do your best. I trust you, and I love you.”