Mike's Saga 19

Mike’s Saga 19

“Landon,” Milton mumbled, looking up from his cup of tea. 

“Another round with Mike,” Landon said with an expression that spoke of sympathy and deep knowledge. He smiled kindly and gently; his blue eyes filled with warmth. “Hiding in your study as the serious scholar won’t make it go away.”

“I do work.”

“Don’t try that with me,” Landon said, his tone picking up an edge. 

Milton grimaced and stopped pretending to grade the papers in front of him. Landon knew him too well for any sort of deception, and Landon deserved better. Besides Tilden, Landon had always been the voice of reason. Landon had an explosive quality, a willingness to fight and not just reason, but without a doubt he understood the power dynamic better than anyone Milton knew. Many people could play on both sides, but Landon truly lived on both sides. He was Gordon's submissive always, but he functioned within the hierarchy of the Green Mountain Boys as a dominant. Landon submitted to Milton, but it had been hard earned. 

"Better." Landon smiled and inclined his head slightly, signifying a request to continue. He'd approached as a dominant, but now he was stepping back into his submissive role, allowing Milton to lead, subtly reminding Milton of his duties and position.

Milton ran his fingers through his hair and didn’t check his sigh. “Am I doing right by that boy? Or should I have just let him go? This feels like coercion.” Milton crumpled a sheet of paper on his desk and tossed it into the trash.

“I hope that wasn’t important.”

“No. God!” Milton groaned. “I feel about two.”

Landon smiled; this time an enigmatic expression that told little of what was going on inside a mind that was just as sharp as ever. He sat in the armchair, taking the space in the chair, occupying it as his property, so unlike most submissives who perched on the furniture and glanced up at Milton with trepidation in their eyes. There was no trepidation in Landon’s eyes, but there was also no challenge. His blue eyes were soft, calm, and way too knowing. 

“I don’t know if I like it when you look that kindly at me. It usually means you’re going to tell me something awful.”

“Nothing awful.” Landon crossed his ankles, a totally calm position without the posturing seen in many. “Mike came back for you. He didn’t come back for Tilden; he came back for you. He needs you and you need him. You are a control freak, and you are a sadist.” Landon held up his hand and made a chiding sound as Milton moved to interrupt. “Patience and there is no use denying the facts. You’re a dominant; control freak and sadist are usually part of the package in at least some portion. You have many other wonderful features: handsome, caring, intelligent beyond reason, stubborn, generous.”

“I’m not the latest model that you’re trying to sell,” Milton snorted.

“No one would buy you,” Landon said with a laugh. “You come with too many required accessories and a complicated and indecipherable manual.”

“Landon!”

“No use denying the reality.” Landon grinned, his eyes sparkling and suddenly boyish. “You’re a special production model–one of a kind.”

“Boy, this is getting out of hand,” Milton growled. Other submissives would have dropped their eyes for at least a second and most would have flinched. Landon sat and calmly smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“No, only stubborn.” Landon’s expression shifted from teasing to serious and tinged with the gentleness that maybe only Milton and a terrified submissive ever saw. “Mike needs you and you need Mike. You’re a sadist. You cannot deny it despite trying to bury it under hundreds of meters of concrete. Austin and Sheldon inflame and feed your need to protect and your need to control, and neither is naive enough to believe that pain is never part of the equation, but neither is a masochist in the true sense. Mike is that masochist. As you have taught your other boys to tolerate and even embrace pain, you must teach Mike to tolerate your need for control and your need to care. You’ll never beat him satisfactorily without the others, and while at times Mike might prefer only beatings, he craves the other. He would never have lived here for eight years if he didn’t crave the other.”

“He was a lost little boy when he first came to us.”

“He was and so was Luke, but they didn’t run when they found out it wasn’t the perfect fantasy and that you and Tilden weren’t on this earth only to solve their problems. They stayed; they took the good with the bad. Mike holds a deep affection for Tilden, but Tilden isn’t his dominant and hasn’t been for a long time if he ever was. Tilden was calm and gentle and maybe something that boy badly needed as a very young man, but Tilden doesn’t send a man to his knees.”

“Tilden’s not your type.”

“I know what Tilden means to you. I’m not an idiot.” Landon held Milton’s eye for a long, uncomfortable minute. “I also strongly suspect who is in charge of that relationship, even though both of you are still fighting with the evidence in front of you. Tilden is your lover. We’ll leave it at that, as he is not the focus of this conversation. You are.” Landon uncrossed his ankles and stood up in his slow, languid way that spoke of dignity and control and power. He walked over to Milton’s desk and deliberately tapped Milton on the head, a sharp and fleeting blow. “You, boy, need to wrap it around your thick and stubborn New England skull that you have all these boys and that you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to them and the best damn thing that ever will happen to them.”

“I always thought you considered me insufferably arrogant,” Milton said, looking up into Landon’s blue eyes which had not faded with age.

“I like insufferable arrogance. I am Gordon’s submissive and husband.” Landon smiled, a fleeting and charming grin. “You’re not half as arrogant as he is.”

“My boys aren’t half as tough as you are.”

Landon reached forward and gently stroked Milton’s cheek, a gesture he hadn’t used with Milton since their relationship had returned to the platonic. His lips brushed Milton’s forehead in a chaste kiss. “You’re also not half the bastard that Gordon is. Your boys are all safe with you, even ghost boy Luke who tries to hide in the woodwork.”

“Luke is not demonstrative.”

“See, there you go. You’re defending a boy who I’m sure baffles and befuddles you as much as he does me.” Landon grinned and almost danced a mini jig in front of Milton’s desk. “Defender of all submissives, even hopelessly awful ones.”

“Luke isn’t a hopelessly awful submissive; he merely prefers fantasy to reality. Real submission is frightening and involves an acceptance of risk taking that isn’t in that boy’s soul. He wants family, he wants a reliable place in that family, and he wants a little fun occasionally. Tilden’s good for him.”

“And you’re head of this household. Where is his place with you? His cohort will get noisy and demanding and make you see his place. What will Luke do–turn into cream paint and slap himself onto the wall, invisible to all? That’s a solution destined to failure. Enjoy yourself with Mike; he’ll be a beautiful boy for you. Tilden seems happy enough with whatever bizarre arrangement you have, but you better figured out what to do with your retreating one. I can’t help you there; I just want to slap the boy silly and tell him to face the facts.”

“That won’t work with Luke.”

“That’s why I don’t.” Landon leaned across the desk, his body language all determined dominance. “You know your boys. Now do what you do best. Love your boys, beat your boys, take care of your boys. You have good judgment; trust yourself.”

“Are you finished lecturing?” Milton asked, trying to hide the tiredness and frustration from his voice. He was trying. Damn it! It wasn’t as if he’d leapt without looking, or maybe he had, but it was too late now. 

“Yes, sir” Landon sank to his knees and lowered his head to the floor.

“Stop it! I’m not riding your insane roller coaster of dominant to submissive and back again with the added bonus of several loops and corkscrews. Get up.”

“Sir?” Landon’s eyes were still fixed firmly on the ground, but he had knelt up. “I trust you with my submission.”

“Landon, I know.” Milton fingered Landon’s short, gray hair. This was such a familiar motion, an instinctual gesture that brought Milton as much comfort as the boy at his feet. “I need you right now as another dominant at my side, not a submissive at my feet. Please.”

Landon reached forward, gripped Milton’s knee, and slid from his kneeling position to a more comfortable sitting position. “You always have me as your friend and confident whether I’m standing over you or crouched at your feet. I am a true switch, but I am always your friend. I kneel for few dominants, but I am honored to kneel for you. Your boys are truly blessed.”

“I think they often feel more cursed than blessed.”

“I think not. I checked on your most troublesome boy before coming here. He is fast asleep on your bed, one hand around a sleeping Austin pillowed on his shoulder, his other hand around a large stuffed pink unicorn. Pink unicorn?” Landon repeated, a smile on his lips.

“Austin’s—he won it at ring toss.”

“I see,” Landon said dryly. “Most unmanly.”

“And most like Austin.”

“Yes,” Landon said with an easy smile. “The stuffed yellow duck was more appealing to me, but pink is more Austin’s color.”

“And not Mike’s?”

“No, Mike is not pink, fluffy, or cuddly, even though he sometimes needs all three. Dominate Mike, beat Mike until he’s begging and crying, but then smother him in care and affection. He needs both, but he only knows how to ask for one. I know you’ll give him both because that’s who you are. He knows you’ll give him both, or he wouldn’t be back.” Landon bent forward and kissed Milton’s knee. “You know how to do this. Trust yourself, sir.” 

Milton watched as Landon slowly rose to his feet and walked from the room. Trust himself. He ran his fingers through his hair. He had to trust himself, trust himself to hurt, trust himself to love, trust himself not to be an abusive asshole. Mike was hard, his needs intense and calling to the darkest side of Milton’s personality, a side that Milton could shunt off to be only touched at a distance with his other boys. Now he needed to wallow in that side, and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the power, the edges of brutality, the flash of real fear in a boy’s eye. Trust himself not to go too far, not to be overwhelmed by his own darkness. Could he? Could he unleash it, but still control it? He’d have to try and pray it didn’t go down in flames.