Mike's Saga 8

Mike’s Saga 8

Yesterday had gone far better than Mike could have imagined. Milton had handed Mike to Tilden and disappeared. Mike had heard footsteps on the stairs and Austin’s irrepressible giggle late in the evening. They must have gone out, leaving Mike with the less complicated side of the family.

There had been no reproach from Tilden, only the cautious expression in his eyes that he couldn’t hide and hands that were almost too gentle showed the depth of his hurt. Luke had been more blunt or at least blunt for him. 

“Are you staying this time?” The words had been soft, almost whispered, but Luke had stood rigid as if every muscle was working overtime to control his emotions. Mike had only managed a nod, and they had fallen together into a heap of tears and hugs and quick sex. 

The sex was easy. Mike could do sex with his brain shut off. The physical pleasures were easy. It was the other side that was so damn broken. They hadn’t talked, not really. Well, Mike had rattled on about his apartment, his work, Gabe and Jack, anything that he could keep at a distance. Tilden hadn’t pushed. They’d eaten, curled up on the sofa and watched movies, eaten again, and tumbled into bed for another round of sex.

Mike was in bed alone now. Tilden and Luke had risen early, and Mike had pretended to be asleep as they had both dressed in running clothes and headed out. Most likely Tilden would have taken Austin with him, so only Milton and Sheldon would be in the house. Mike stretched, his arms not reaching across the vast expanse of the empty bed.  The sheets still smelled of all of them: Luke’s shampoo, Tilden’s toothpaste, and the smell of library stacks that always clung to Luke and Tilden. The sheets were the crisp linen so favored by the persnickety head of the Green Mountain Boys. From the feel, someone had ironed them and maybe even aired them in the backyard under the pale winter sun.

Mike needed to get up. He couldn’t lie in bed all day. Someone would come get him eventually, and the questions he didn’t want to answer would be asked more sharply and more persistently. The floor was cold underfoot; he’d forgotten how cold these wood floors could be. He didn’t bother to dress: boxers, T-shirt, and a borrowed sweatshirt was fine. How long did he expect to stay dressed anyway? Milton wasn’t going to refrain from handing out deserved retribution forever. How hard would he do it? Supposedly he had truly beaten Sheldon. No one talked about it; no one really knew. Correction, none of the submissives really knew. Milton and Tilden talked; Tilden would have been told, and at least according to rumor Ryan had seen the aftereffects. He wasn’t saying, and Sheldon only shrugged and said he’d asked for it. 

Milton had spanked Mike more than a few times, but it had never been scary or terrifying or close to any limits. The worst part had always been the damn lectures. Mike didn’t want to be lectured, and he didn’t want stood in the corner like a naughty child. He was a submissive, not some Kewpie doll to punish and fuss over. He’d get lectured for this; there was no way around it. Milton had an overblown ideal about family, and Mike had trod all over the appropriate family myths. Yeah, a lecture was coming.

Sheldon was in the kitchen, his elbows on the table, his eyes on a tablet computer. “Killed again,” he moaned.

“I bet Milton doesn’t like you playing computer games. Shouldn’t you be scrubbing the kitchen floor or something?” Mike knew he was being obnoxious, but he couldn’t stop himself. The words just tumbled out of his mouth. 

“Mike, you’re supposed to take your breakfast and go upstairs and talk to Milton.”

“Great,” Mike said sarcastically. “So how bad is he going to kick my ass?”

“That’s between you and him.” Sheldon dropped his head back to the tablet.

“So when did you become the little slave robot? Is this my future? Yes, sir. No, sir. Two bags full.”

“Mike, go talk to him.”

“Fuck it!” Mike slammed the coffee cup onto the counter and watched it shatter into a cascade of tiny pieces. “Shit!”

“You’re barefoot. I’ll get the glass. Get upstairs.”

Mike backed toward the door, but didn’t leave. “Sheldon?”

Sheldon looked up, his green eyes resting on Mike. They were calm and clear and completely contained. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Sheldon set the dustpan down and walked across the kitchen. He kissed Mike’s cheek and ran his hand over the short stubble of Mike’s brown hair. “We love you. Milton won’t kill you; he’s never killed me.”

“Shit!”

“I would suggest a more expanded vocabulary.”

Mike cracked a small smile. “Why aren’t you yelling at me?” Mike wasn’t sure he’d meant to ask the question, but the words had already come out. Sheldon cocked his head and smiled. It was an expression of such kindness and sympathy that Mike felt a sudden wetness in his eyes.

“Kiddo, if I lash out at you, Milton would kill me, and I don’t want to anyway. You’re scared and lost and hurt. You don’t need me piling it on. It would be easy to rage at you. You hurt us, but I do understand, and I’m Milton’s slave. My behavior reflects on his mastery, and he doesn’t approve of outbursts of temper.”

“You can just turn it off? Don’t you feel anymore?”

“Yes, I feel. It’s not about on or off. It’s about control. I gave Milton my rights. He wants restraint, and I am duty bound to honor it. I feel, I hurt, I love, I am every bit the emotional human I always was. Sometimes I think I feel more now that I’m not exploding right, left, and center.”

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” Sheldon’s smile was enigmatic. “I know it was what I was looking for, but I don’t always like it. Slavery is not a condition to always be liked. My pleasure is his. That’s a hard lesson, and a lesson I must repeat often.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Milton won’t ask it of you; he couldn’t even ask it of me. I had to demand it from him. It’s right for us, but it would crush you. Milton’s many things: my master, my lover, my friend, Austin’s dominant and anchor, Tilden’s lover and dearest friend, Luke’s dominant for the ten-seconds he wants it, and the head of the household for all of is. What is he for you? You want a dominant who can take you away from the demons inside your own head. He can do that. He can make your entire world revolve around where his next touch will be: the flick of the lash, the brush of his lips, the caress of his voice, the heat of his palm. He can do that for you, but you must give him your loyalty, your love, your honesty, and your absolute trust. He can’t dominate without all those things; his heart requires it. He’s not an unkind man; he won’t just beat you and walk away. I see him huddled with Gordon and Landon and Tilden and Ryan, trying to figure us out. His need to dominate is as important as his need to breathe, but he must also love and cherish and care to the point that he tears himself up inside. Don’t ask him to dominate without also letting him love and care. It’s not fair to him.”

“You’ll share him?”

“It’s not my choice. I’m his slave.” 

Mike could only stare. Sheldon had said it naturally and easily and with an acceptance that Mike couldn’t even imagine. “I’m not that perfect,” Mike finally said.

Sheldon laughed: brightly, happily, and openly. “I’m about the most non perfect human that ever walked the planet. You’ll do OK. Let yourself go. We’ll catch you.”

We. Sheldon had said we. Mike was jealous and spiteful and needy, and this man was saying we. This man who had swallowed an explosion in his relationship was saying we.

“I’m not that good.”

“You are,” Sheldon said firmly. “You belong here. You’re one of the six, and without all we fail. We all love you, even me, and I was the tough one of the group. We won’t fail. Go talk to Milton.”