A Moment with Tilden

A Moment with Tilden

Tilden leaned back against the corner of the desk and craned his neck upward to see Milton. He was leaning over a yellow pad, a stack of books in front of him. Milton had retained the habits he’d learned years ago in college: paper, pen, and physical books. He wasn’t Austin who had suggested that a pencil was soon to be relegated to a dusty drawer in a historical museum. Milton’s finger stroked down the page, underlining a word as he read a passage again.

Tilden sighed. He could watch Milton all day. He’d never admit it; he’d never kneel with the obvious reverence and adoration of Sheldon, not that he didn’t understand those feelings. Tilden kept a tight rein on his emotions; he’d been the quiet and studious academic since he was old enough to understand those words. He didn’t create ostentatious displays. He’d been in love with Milton since he’d first caught sight of him across the table at the cafeteria. Tilden had told himself that instant love was ridiculous. One didn’t just fall in love with a man because of his profile and dark eyes on the other side of tasteless food. Milton hadn’t noticed Tilden that day. He’d been in an animated conversation with a fellow graduate student in the history department. Tilden had listened to every word, suppressing his wince at the mispronounced names as they argued the merits of the Decembrists’ ideas.

Tilden had never told Milton, but he’d registered for two advanced history classes the next semester, hoping their paths would cross. It had been pure chance that Professor Drake was uncreative and had paired people by last names. Blake and Brown were kissing twins alphabetically in a small class. Milton had been gorgeous with glimpses of a contained youthful enthusiasm. Tilden had spent hours in Milton’s cramped room under the eaves in a massive tumbling down house with the remnants of formal gardens snaking out in all directions. As the weather had warmed, they’d moved out to the gardens, Milton perched on a crumbling stone bench and Tilden sprawled out at his feet.

Tilden had thought he’d hinted hard enough, but Milton had remained the strictly platonic friend. Tilden had known Milton was gay. He’d actually disturbed him once with a blushing, naked boy in the room. Tilden had been shoved out the door with orders to wait while several bangs and thunks escaped through the walls. Tilden had a good idea now that Milton had been hiding the evidence away, but back then he’d thought it was just the noise of quick dressing. 

Milton and the unknown man had come out of the room. Tilden remembered watching Milton’s arm around the man’s waist and wanting desperately for the small kiss to be on his lips. 

“Tilden, my apologies. I’d forgotten our meeting. I must make arrangements. Come.”

Tilden had followed Milton through the rambling house. He’d never explored the lower level with its large windows looking out into the unkempt garden. They passed through a sunlit room full of easels and colorful paintings until Milton had finally knocked on a door with a brass plate worn beyond legibility. 

Again Tilden had been left in the hall behind closed doors. Milton had come out alone.

“We were going to review the source material,” Milton had said. “Let’s get started.”

Nothing more had been said of the naked man, and Milton wasn’t someone who Tilden asked idle questions.

“You’ve been staring at the same page of your book for five minutes.” Milton leaned down and peered at the text. “I know you don’t have problems with the verbs of motion. Talk to me, Tilden. We’ve known each other too long for secrets.”

“I was thinking about when we first met.” Tilden felt a faint heat rising on his cheeks.

Milton raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the hair back from his face. “You were so beautiful and untouchable.”

“I wanted you. I enrolled in those history classes to be with you.”

“Tilden!”

“I hated that class with Drake.”

Milton smiled gently. “Thank God you took it. I’d never have managed all those sources in Russian, especially the pre-Revolutionary text.”

“I wanted you, not to be your translator.”

Milton shifted and dropped and arm around Tilden’s chest and pulled Tilden against his legs. “I wanted you also.”

“You never said.” Tilden swallowed hard and let himself lean against Milton, allowing the heaviness of Milton’s arm to anchor him.

“I was young and afraid. I’m a very powerful dominant; I wasn’t who I am now. Sheldon took many of the sharpest edges off my personality.”

“I wanted you to notice me.”

“I did.” Milton bent down and kissed Tilden’s hair. 

“Who was the boy in your room?”

“You mean when you walked in when I had a flogger and handcuffs on the bed. I about fainted.”

Tilden nodded and looked up and caught Milton’s eyes. “I missed those. All the bare skin was more interesting.”

“The boy was Aaron. Nice enough kid in an uninteresting sort of way. We played a few times. Nothing serious.”

“Did you push him off on your landlord?”

Milton laughed, deep and soft. “My landlord was a friend of Gordon’s. I handed him Aaron, and he told me to go have a good time with my real boyfriend I should have listened to him, but I was too busy hiding a part of myself from you.”

Tilden flipped a page in the textbook, but wasn’t reading it. “I was a submissive back then. I was always following you around.”

Milton was silent for a long minute. “Yes, but I didn’t recognize it, or I refused to recognize it. I was in love with you as a man. I was afraid of breaking you. I was taught to be a dominant; I wasn’t taught how to be a lover. Sheldon wears his emotions for all to see; it was easier for me.”

“You told Gordon I was a dominant. I didn’t even know what you meant.”

“I believed it then or at least I thought I did.” Milton stroked his fingers through Tilden’s hair. “I needed your steadiness and sensibility as a friend. I didn’t know how to balance these relationships. I probably saw what I wanted and needed to see. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t like I told you otherwise.” Tilden ran his finger down the seam of his pants. “I’m a submissive, but I’m not what I thought it meant to be a submissive. I’m not a leather boy. I don’t like humiliation or exhibitionism. I still have trouble calling myself a submissive, but I’m not blind. I know I follow your orders; I know I want you in charge. I know…” Tilden paused and moistened his throat with a forced swallow. “I’m your boy. I want to be all your boy, not part of me out in a foreign land with a language I can’t grasp. I can’t hit. It never felt right to me. I never enjoyed it; I didn’t even understand it could be enjoyed until you did it to me. All I wanted was more. It was no longer a babble of consonants and misplaced vowels, but the poetry of language. All those years…”

“Hush. You’re mine now, and that’s all you have to worry about. My boy to love, to cherish, to protect, and to hurt because you want to feel my strength and my dominance. You want to bask in a few of its fierce rays. You want to suffer, and you want to obey.”

“I don’t like pain.”

Milton’s hand reached under Tilden’s shirt and traced a fresh bite mark. “You like this.”

Tilden nodded, not able to meet Milton’s eyes. It wasn’t the pain; it was the feeling of ownership. It was a tiny act of suffering for a feeling of warmth and possession. 

“That’s painful.” Tilden’s breath hitched as Milton probed the bite mark. “You aren’t pulling away.”

“It’s not the pain. I don’t like you pushing at it.”

“Tell me to stop.”

“I suffer for you. I want to belong to you.”

Milton’s fingers soothed the bruise he’d just raised. “You belong to me. Never question that.” Milton’s lips ghosted over Tilden’s ear. “Tilden, you don’t have to suffer to belong. I have others who satisfy my need to hurt. I can love you without physical pain. There are other rituals of submission.”

“I like the ones you’ve chosen. I can’t explain it. I know I don’t want beaten, but I need a little. Your hand on my flesh, the warmth and the reddening...I can’t explain it. Don’t make me try. Please.” Tilden caught Milton’s fingers. “I need time. I’ve admitted to the world that I’m your submissive. Isn’t that enough?”

“For now.” Milton kissed Tilden’s hair. “For now.”