Mike's Saga 7

Mike’s Saga 7

“Gabe,” I’ve never seen you up this early.”

“Jack had a total flip out about my laundry. It was like watching a nuclear reactor in a disaster movie. I kept expecting an announcement about a core meltdown.” Gabe shoved an oversized load into the washer.

“You might want to sort. That purple shirt looks toxic.”

“It’s laundry.”

“If you turn his boxer shorts lavender, he might whip your ass.”

“Shit!” Gabe turned red, his cheeks bright spots of color, his neck flaming inside his shirt collar. “I can’t do this.” He kicked at the washing machine, all skinny legs and frustrated movement. “I’m not kinky.”

“Really?” Mike said, letting his disbelief show in his voice. “You weren’t exactly fleeing in abject horror when Josh was toasting my ass.”

“What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have a key.”

“Jack screams dominant, and he’s your boyfriend. I’m sure you noticed.”

Gabe swallowed and raked his fingers through his unbrushed hair. 

“He gave you an ultimatum last night, didn’t he?”

Gabe nodded. “Either explore the submissive role, or we break up. He said I was hanging out with doms and subs, and it was time to stop pretending.” Gabe slopped some detergent over the clothes.

“Sort.” Mike blocked the washing machine lid with his elbow. 

“Get out of the way.”

“No. Sort your damn laundry.”

Gabe grabbed at the purple shirt. “I find a man who goes out with me more than once, and—” Gabe gulped several times. “He wants to spank me.”

“You want him to. That’s the scary part. If you had no interest you’d shove him out the door and thank your lucky stars that you got rid of the asshole. You want to feel a hand on your ass. You want to feel your skin warm. You want a stern voice telling you to behave. You can see yourself pinned over his knee, bare and vulnerable.”

“Shut up!”

“Why? You heard me with Josh. It’s not a perversion. Jack seems very decent. Let yourself try it.” Mike looked at Gabe, studying the blush that wouldn’t fade. “Did Jack threaten to spank you about the laundry?”

“He called me a mess.”

“Well, you are. You lock yourself out once a week; you try to turn your clothes lavender.”

“I hate household chores.”

“Service, boy,” Mike said with a grin. “I bet you can’t iron or polish the woodwork.”

“We could hire someone?” Gabe’s voice sounded wistful and lost, and he looked at Mike with pleading eyes. “He wouldn’t make me?”

“Depends.” Mike looped an arm over Gabe’s shoulders, a gesture he’d seem Milton do thousands of times with insecure submissives. “You’ll negotiate. Some boys like service. I’ve been in your apartment; it hardly seems to be your strength.”

“He told me I had to clean it up.”

“Is that awful? It was a mess.”

Gabe grimaced and flushed. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes it’s about not wanting. God!” Mike pushed himself away and grabbed the edge of the folding table, only just stopping himself from smashing his fist down on the wooden surface. “Who am I giving you advice? I walked out on it. I gave it up. I’m a crappy submissive.”

“Boy, you don’t punish yourself.” Jack was standing in the doorway, his hands full of coffee cups and white bags from the bakery across the street. 

“Oh, great. More free advice.” Mike did allow himself to whack the table this time. His palm struck the surface with a sharp sting.

“Boy, I don’t know you well enough to smack your ass for that, but I am bold enough or maybe just a big enough dreamer to tell you to go home. Someone loves you. They sent Josh to look after you.”

“It’s not that simple. It’s not one. It’s five, and I’m the fucking broken cog!”

Jack’s eyes never broke from Mike’s face, and only the slight hesitation before he spoke suggested any shock from Mike’s comments. “Polyamory—tricky. You want to go home?”

“Yes,” Mike said softly and blinked back an unwanted tear.

“I’ll call a cab.”

“I live in Banner. It’s far away.”

“I don’t care.” Jack pulled out his phone and dialed.

It had been a long time since Mike had been so comprehensively and gently bullied. His dirty laundry was stuff back into his duffle and Gabe’s was organized into correct loads. Mike was escorted upstairs to get his wallet and jacket and bundled into the cab. On the weekend the ride was shorter than Mike remember, and it was all too soon that Mike was giving the cabby the final directions. They pulled into the driveway, and the cab rolled to a halt.

“Go on, Mike,” Jack said gently.

“Aren’t you coming in? They’ll want to meet you.”

“This is your family; we’ll only be in the way. Call me later.” Jack shoved a card into Mike’s hand.

“The cab ride was expensive.”

“I can afford it. Now go. No more excuses.”

The driveway felt the same as it always had in early winter: hard, solid, and slippery with a touch of frost on the surface. The porch was bare. It was too cold for the boxes of geraniums and petunias and too early for the garland and Christmas lights. Mike pushed the doorbell, listening to the chimes as they echoed behind the door.

It had to be Sheldon. He was in jeans and an oversized Banner sweatshirt. His collar lay flush against his neck, proudly declaring he belonged inside. 

“Get in here, you ass.” Sheldon caught Mike’s wrist and jerked. “Milton. Milton get down here,” Sheldon shouted.

Milton appeared at the head of the stairs, a frown on his lips from Sheldon’s shouting. Whatever words of reprimand he had planned were lost as he spotted Mike. His strides were long, and he caught Mike in a crushing hug,

Mike buried his head in the familiar wool sweater and gave up trying to stop the tears. He clung to Milton like a child with a much loved but fierce teddy bear. “Sorry. Sorry,” he managed to gurgle or babble or something totally undignified.

“Shh. You're home. We’ll work it out. Sheldon, go get Tilden. He’s in his campus office. Quickly.”

Mike heard the door. He didn’t look; he didn’t want to let go of Milton. Shit! He was being an idiot. He forced himself away and swiped at his sodden face with his sleeve. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.” Mike hoped that’s what he said. He was having trouble thinking; he couldn’t seem to stop the silly tears. Why had he come back? He couldn’t manage this.

“No, boy. You stay right where I can touch you.” Milton wrapped his arms around Mike again. The hug was all encompassing and inescapable. “You don’t get away from me that easily a second time.” The words were directly in Mike’s ears, harsh and reassuring at the same time. “Boy, you’ll do what I want and right now I just want to hug you and reassure myself that you’re back.”