Mike's Saga—Luke

Mike’s Saga--Luke

“Luke, you’ve been hovering. There is no possible way that you’ve needed to visit the bathroom three times or left the same book down the hall an equal number of times. You don’t suffer from memory loss, and unless you developed sudden irritable bowel syndrome, there is not a need for multiple trips to the toilet.” Milton looked through the partially open door and beckoned to Luke with his hand. “Come on in. I need a break anyway.”

“You’re working. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“Luke, you live here. You have every right to bother me within reason. I don’t expect you to be invisible.” 

Luke continued to hover in the hallway, his eyes everywhere but on Milton. With Austin or Sheldon this would be easy, Milton would just order them to talk. They responded to the barking general; Luke tended to freeze. He was better if he was coaxed, but that was Tilden’s specialty, and he was at a faculty meeting.

“I think I smelled baking earlier. Let’s check it out before the less civilized among us devour every last crumb. I can even manage tea. Tilden has with infinite patience trained me in the art of proper tea.”

“I’d rather have soda.” Luke ran his foot down his leg in a nervous gesture that made him look like the boy of eight years ago with the blond curls and the blue eyes who had clung to Tilden with the desperation of a lost puppy.

“I’m not the soda police,” Milton said mildly. He rose from his chair, walked into the hallway, and dropped his arm over Luke’s shoulders. “Let’s see what we can find in the kitchen.”

“I’m OK. I don’t need this.”

But you want it, and there’s nothing wrong with that, kid. 

“It’s my therapy after reading the third bad essay in a row.” Luke might accept that for an answer. He always wanted to give of himself. In this crowded menage, he needed to learn to take sometimes also. “Humor me. I shouldn’t eat a dozen cookies on my own.”

Milton’s nose had been right; there were several dozen freshly baked cookies, some still warm on the racks. Mace baked when he was stressed, and the entire household was stressed. Even for the non cooks, the kitchen was a place of safety and comfort. It always smelled of food, and while tidy, it felt lived in, a place of tangible comforts. Tonight the hum of the dishwasher hid awkward silences and the casually hung colorful dishtowels spread warmth and cheer. A new used cookbook was on the table, proof that either Mace or Trent had been raiding their store’s stock.

Milton almost startled at the sharp sound of a can being opened. Luke took a long drink of soda and reached for a cookies. Milton smiled inwardly, remembering the blond-haired freshman who would have waited for Milton to put the soda can in his hand. Luke was never going to be assertive or demanding, but he had learned within his own limits to take what he wanted. He’d verbally defer, especially to Milton, but he wasn’t a wallflower or a wimp no matter popular culture’s preference for overblown action hero masculinity. Luke was gentle, quiet, and very mildly submissive. Mike, the action hero type, was far more submissive. Luke disliked conflict and noise and fighting. None of those characteristics had any bearing on submissiveness. Gentle didn’t equal submissive.

“Luke, do you want to talk about Mike?” Milton pulled out two kitchen chairs, sat in one, and patted the other. “Bring the plate and come sit down.”

“I miss him.” Luke sat but inched the seat away from Milton. “I love him. I love him even when he’s being an asshole, which is often. I want him home.” Luke swiped his hand across his face and looked away.

“Crying is entirely appropriate.” Milton reached over and wrapped his hand around Luke’s wrist. With Sheldon or Austin, Milton would yank the boy into his lap. With Luke he hesitated a second, waiting for any indication of resistance. “Come here,” Milton growled when Luke had offered no objection. He tugged the boy onto his lap and kissed his forehead. Milton traced a finger across Luke’s cheek and wiped away a stray tear. “My sweet and beautiful boy. I know you’re more comfortable with Tilden’s arms around you, but will I do?”

Luke nodded and swallowed hard. “I want Mike home. It’s not fair.”

Luke didn’t say any more, but Milton understood. It wasn’t fair that Milton had what he wanted, and he’d left the rest adrift. It wasn’t fair that they bore the pain of Milton’s infidelity. 

“I know,” Milton said softly, his lips resting against Luke’s ear. “I broke it; I take that responsibility.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did, and from your perspective you are right. Certainly in the short run, you are right in any sane person’s eyes.” Did Luke believe that Milton didn’t think of this everyday? He’d put enormous strain on a relationship that was already cracking at the seams. At first the novelty had pasted over the cavernous cracks, but eventually they opened like a great fault line.

“You love Tilden very much.”

“Yes, but I love you too. You’re mine now also.”

“I’m not your sort of submissive,” Luke said very quietly, the words almost disappearing into an unintelligible mumble.

“Luke, you’re my sort of person, and that is far more important than what sort of submissive you are. I could find dozens of barstool sitters willing to be flogged or bound or humiliated in unspeakable fashion by a dominant. I can only find one of you in this world. You are generous beyond my ability to quantify.” Milton smiled and ruffled Luke’s hair, trying to lighten the mood. “You tolerate me, and I’m not your sort of dominant. Half the time I scare you witless, and you still sit in the same kitchen with me. You are brave and loyal and wonderful beyond words.”

“You hold back with me. You protect me.” Luke lifted his head and stared at Milton, no deference in his eyes now. “You make allowances for me. What sort of relationship is that?”

“Luke.” Milton sighed and ran his hand over his beard. “Luke,” Milton repeated. “I’m a dominant; I have a strong streak of sadism. I have never denied that, but you are not a masochist, nor do you long to be terrorized. Your pleasure is a gentle submission, a sharing of fantasy with a man whom you very much love. I do as you describe; I check my dominance with you. I’m a dominant and a controlled sadist; I’m not a sociopath. I take no pleasure in hurting the unwilling. Whom I choose for my family is very different from whom my lustful mind would pick up in a bar full of bottom boys. The majority of the time, our relationship like any other, must exist in reality, not in the fantasy of handcuffs and red asses. I love you very much in reality, in this kitchen with a warm cookie, in the here and now. In any full time relationship tied into a power exchange, the very heart of the relationship is the complexity of balancing the very real with the dream. Technically we live in a full time power exchange, but I don’t keep anyone chained to the bed on a subsistence diet of bread and sperm.” Milton kissed Luke’s lips, a brief almost chaste peck. “Any better?”

“Can I sit back over there?”

“Yes.” Milton opened his arms, and Luke slid off. He grabbed another cookie before sitting back down in his own chair.

“Would you have let Austin or Sheldon out of your lap?”

“Luke, you’re not Austin nor Sheldon. They both desire a tighter weave of fantasy with reality. If you imagine our relationship as two separate strands of rope the world outside and our little cocoon inside, on Sheldon they would be woven together until they are almost inseparable. On you they intersect in only a few places.” Milton took a cookie from the plate, but didn’t eat it. When you and Mike first entered this family, the intermeshing of fantasy and reality wasn’t clearly explained. You were on one of those reality shows that have nothing to do with reality despite the name.”

“I knew that.”

“I know, but I bled over my dominance into the real sphere without clearly explaining it, and I never explained it to Tilden. I thought he understood.”

“He knows no one is tied to the bed,” Luke said, the first note or irritation creeping into his voice. 

“Luke, I’m aware of that, and you and Tilden have found your balance. He’s the dominant in your fantasies and otherwise it doesn’t intersect with your life. As far as I know neither of you ever articulated this as a plan. By blind luck you found your way. Mike isn’t wired your way.”

“This isn’t Tilden’s fault!”

“Raising your voice won’t make it any better.”

Luke flushed and fell silent. 

“Luke, I never said it was Tilden’s fault. It’s my fault. I failed as Tilden’s friend; I failed as the senior dominant. I failed as Tilden’s lover. I encouraged him to use the trappings of dominance when you and Mike landed on our doorstep, knowing by nature he was dominant, but failing to understand that he had no idea how to weave an innate dominance into a 24/7 lifestyle. Somehow I thought since Tilden was my friend and my housemate that he understood the continual dance that was needed to live with one foot in fantasy, that he understood the degree my relationship with Sheldon revolves around our fantasies. He didn’t; you didn’t; Mike didn’t. Somehow we ended up with a confusion between submission and the discipline associated with submission and real life discipline, and you both needed real life discipline. We built all those rules that were only acceptable because you were submissives and anchored them in your needs in real life. Mike no longer needs rules for real life, but he’s a very strong submissive. He needs discipline and punishment as a submissive, and he doesn’t know how to ask for it because I screwed up. I didn’t make it clear that it wasn’t about immaturity or youthful hell raising. I’m sorry, Luke. You found your way because you rarely need submission; Mike is lost, and I’m responsible.”

“Milton, I live here, and I’m not an idiot. Maybe I didn’t totally understand at the beginning, or maybe I needed to live in the fantasy because it was all happening too fast and was too damn scary, but I know this all revolves around my sexuality as a submissive. You and Tilden don’t hit for real discipline. I saw you with Austin, and if any child begged to get spanked as real discipline it was him. You wouldn’t touch him. Mike’s not confused that this is about some strange immaturity and bad judgment complex. He gets this submissive stuff far more than I do. He needs you to demand it of him. He’s too proud of his independence to ask you himself. Can’t you see that? You see everything else. He gets his reality from Tilden; he needs the fantasy from you.” Luke crumbled the last bit of cookie. “I don’t understand it, but for him pain and hurt needs to proceed the comfort. He needs to fight and rage and know everyone will be safe as he battles. I find you hard and unbending and sometimes I really hate you when you shove Sheldon to his knees or leave scratch marks on Tilden’s back, but, God, I know you’re safe, and I know you can manage all that Mike throws at you and even enjoy it.” Luke paused and stared at Milton. “I’ll go out when you do it because I want my Mike back, but I don’t want to watch or hear. I want him back in bed; I want him kneeling at Tilden’s feet. I want him home.”

“We all need Mike back. I can dominate Mike, but I must know him in reality as well as fantasy. If I can’t reach him in reality, I’ll harm him in the fantasy. I know and understand Sheldon, and I’m coming to know and understand Austin. Mike won’t let me in, and I can’t force that. He must give that to me.”

“He’ll never be back with that stipulation.”

“Luke, I want him back. I love him, but I cannot live with a man who is my boy and not know all of him. Mike is not a trick I picked up at a bar. He is part of my family. I have to be more than the person who can hit hard enough to give bruises.” 

“You want everything.”

“I do. I play with fire, and I don’t want to incinerate my boys; I want only to singe the edges.” Milton stood and drew Luke up from the chair. He wrapped his hand around Luke’s neck and slowly brought their lips together. He waited until Luke relaxed and with gentle pressure deepened the kiss until Luke fell exposed in front of Milton. Luke’s lips remained parted, and his eyes were unfocused. “Thank you. You are very beautiful and very responsive, and despite your hesitancy with me, you are very trusting. I don’t have that with Mike. He makes me battle for that trust.”

“Try harder. Win that battle,” Luke said, still not entirely focused, his hand clutching the back of the chair as if to drive himself back to reality by the pain of an overly tight grip. “You must win it for all of us.”

“Do I have your blessing, your absolute blessing because it will not be a clean or pretty struggle? I’ll have to stomp all over this line between fantasy and reality that I have tried so hard to erect.”

“You just slid between the two roles with me, and I’m the boy you described as keeping the two worlds separate. You kissed me, and I melted into a submissive puddle.”

“No,” Milton said firmly, “you shown as a beacon of exquisite and gentle submission. Take pride in that side of yourself. You are a brilliant linguist, a faithful lover, and an exquisitely responsive submissive, and I tool advantage of your responsiveness.”

“You could take advantage again.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable; I’m too old for the kitchen table.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Should I get chains and whips, boy?”

“Prisoner? Pirate captive? Victim of an alien abduction?”

“You have an evil mind. Dominant and submissive will do just fine. Come, boy.”