Luke's Journey 4

Luke’s Journey 4

Milton heard the door and the semi-muted sound of voices before he saw his boys come into the kitchen. They were hardly boys in numeric age or at least not for someone younger than eighty. Sheldon was in his late thirties and Luke a decade younger. They weren’t boys in maturity or accomplishments either. Luke was only months away from completing his doctorate, and Sheldon had abandoned a flourishing career that had been the envy of many. Sheldon, the boy of flying salt shakers and volcanic tempers, had found a serene comfort in his declared role as slave and hidden hand behind the Green Mountain Boys. 

It was Sheldon who managed the day-to-day operations of the Green Mountain Boys, and it was Sheldon who did most of the people management also He wasn’t Landon, but perhaps being a slave gave him an equal insight, only different, and Sheldon was beyond acute at spotting a bad apple among either the submissives or the dominants. Unlike with Landon, dominants weren’t cautious around Sheldon, the worst type assumed a slave was a limp rag to be trodden on and tossed away. That type seemed oblivious that Sheldon had no trouble holding his own and calling for reinforcements. His master didn’t take to those types, Milton thought, with a wry smile. Submissives were terrified of Milton. Sheldon was Milton’s shield with submissives, but God help a submissive who was manipulative and petty. Sheldon’s tolerance was zero for unkindness and hardly more generous for those who never left the needy little boy state. Milton never totally understood Sheldon’s antipathy toward certain submissives; his boy had been a colossal brat himself, driving many experienced dominants and submissives to the breaking point in his younger years, but he made some sort of distinction in his mind.

“Being afraid is one thing, being self-centered and greedy is another. A submissive serves; he can’t be self-centered,” Sheldon had said one night as they sat by the fire and watched snow fall in the illumination of the outside lights. “I know I was horrid when I was younger, but I wanted to give it up. I just didn’t know how. I wanted you in control, Master.”

Milton had stroked his fingers through that soft red hair that was so familiar by sight, sound and touch. “And Collin doesn’t want to?” Milton asked. Collin was a new member’s partner, thirty-years-old with styled hair, a pretty smile and a prettier pout, and a hint of something Milton couldn’t quite name. The boy was needy; there was no question about that. He’d wander around the house in a daze if not directed. He also cried and shivered and did a maiden in distress act that even had Austin threatening to deck him.

“He’s a leach. It’s about him. He never gives of himself. His poor dom. Greg’s a good guy, and for some crazy reason he seems to love that wretched Collin.”

“Careful, Sheldon,” Milton had chided.

“Manners, I know, Master.” Sheldon had lowered his eyes before looking back at Milton with his blazing greens. “The limits are all Collin’s. Greg never gets anything he wants.”

“Some of that is on Greg. The submissive shouldn’t have to read the dominant’s mind. He has to spell out what he wants. I wasn’t always clear with you at first.”

“You were stupidly afraid of your own darkness. You’re such a pussycat it’s not even funny,” Sheldon had said with a wide grin. “You’d never hurt anyone.”

“I’m capable of it,” Milton had said softly and wrapped his arm around Sheldon’s neck, pulling him closer. “I did with Tilden.”

“I’m so over that,” Sheldon said and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Don’t lie, boy.” Milton’s lips had brushed Sheldon’s neck. 

Sheldon had leaned into the contact, unconsciously exposing his throat as his head fell back on Milton’s shoulder. “I serve, Master, and Tilden was your need. I must accept your needs as you accept mine. It isn’t always easy, but it can’t be easy for you either. I’m a needy and demanding boy; only I know that about myself. I know I take from you. I can give back by accepting that you love Tilden. I must give that back. It’s not all about me. That’s what Collin doesn’t know. He’s a selfish beast. It’s more than being young and foolish.”

“And you don’t think he’ll grow?”

“Greg would have to break his neck, and he won’t. Collin would bail anyway. He’s not submissive, not really. He’s needy and lazy and mixed up. He needs a jailor and a nursemaid, not a dominant.”

“We’ll see,” Milton had said and tighten his arms around his boy.

Sheldon had been right. Collin had left in a flouncing huff not two weeks later. He wouldn’t give anything and damn near broke sweet Greg’s heart. Sheldon, his people reader, had known. 

Milton had sent Sheldon with Luke for that very reason. Milton needed a read on Luke. He was an enigma for Milton, quiet, easy to push aside for the noisier ones, bending and swaying to other’s wills. Luke had never been comfortable with Milton; all these years and he still looked at Milton with trepidation. Milton had occasionally gently dominated Luke, tried to let Luke know it was on offer if he asked. The boy, despite a fling at vanilla, was a submissive. It was clearer now that Luke had matured into the academic and confident doctoral candidate. He knew how to manage his life. He took what he wanted in the scholarly world and had his eyes set on a prized teaching position which Milton was pretty sure Luke would get. It was impossible to be absolutely sure, not with the complexity and whims of faculty hiring, but Slavic languages were a small world and Tilden heard the gossip. As of now, it looked like there might even be a bidding war over Luke, something unheard of for a new hire, not being poached from another university, especially in the humanities. Luke was never going to win a university a coveted science prize or massive research dollars, but he was going to be a teacher who would be the pride of those who cared about such things. 

Luke’s career was easy. Milton and Tilden were comfortable giving advice, and Luke listened, took what he wanted, and discarded the rest which was fine. These were his choices, and he needed to make them. It was the home front that made Milton long for simpler days. Milton didn’t need to be clairvoyant or a superhero to realize the boy wanted dominated. Luke was shy at home, less with Mike and Tilden, but Mike had always been the pushy one of that duo. Mike’s need terrified Luke. He could no longer just follow Mike as he had when he was younger. Being beaten to the point of welts and bruises wouldn’t be domination with Luke, but abuse. Luke wanted something else, something that made Milton uneasy. Maybe he gave a bit of it to Austin, but Austin was still so young. The boy needed guided; he needed Milton to be more adult. Luke was an adult, a capable man; Milton didn’t want to break that. He didn’t want to push Luke with those liquid blue-eyes and soft blond curls into a world where he believed he was incapable and needed a guardian or a minder.

“Hey,” Sheldon said in greeting and dropped the pizza box onto the table.

“Hey?” Milton repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Put that away.”

Sheldon knew. He gave Milton a slightly sheepish glance and ducked his head for an instant. “Master.”

“Something you want to tell me, boys,” Milton said and stretched his legs out in front of him. Luke was behind Sheldon, staying in his shadow, his head down, a bright pink flaming on his cheeks. “I take it there is something.”

“Me or you?” Sheldon asked Luke, his eyes dancing in his face. Sheldon was relaxed. Whatever had happened, Sheldon thought they were all right.

“I threw the red pepper at Sheldon,” Luke mumbled in a rapid pace, running the words together.

“Slower, boy,” Milton growled. He tried not to stare too hard at Luke. He needed to see the boy’s face, try to read his eyes, try to catch the hidden meaning in the rhythm of his words, but he didn’t want to intimidate Luke into silent terror with excess scrutiny.

“I tossed the red pepper at Sheldon’s head.”

“Hit the wall and everything,” Sheldon said brightly. “Would’ve given me a whopping bruise.”

Sheldon was leading. He was practically holding a great big sign with giant letters announcing that Luke was bratting. 

“That was very dangerous,” Milton said, searching for his scolding professor tone. “You could have hurt Sheldon. What were you thinking?”

“Don’t know,” Luke shrugged.

“Hmm, I think you need to know.” Milton stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go to my study and think about it. Come.” He grasped Luke’s hand.

The walk wasn’t nearly long enough. Milton only had precious seconds to confirm that he’d read Luke right and make a plan. This degree of bratting wasn’t Luke’s style, and he wasn’t demonstrative in public. Holding hands could make him uneasy, and he’d tossed a pepper shaker in a restaurant. The spanking was easy enough. Luke was a pretty boy, and he’d go over Milton’s lap. It was the other that was going to be hard. Luke wasn’t this sort of attention seeking brat. Milton had a good idea what the boy wanted, and it made Milton’s stomach clench. It was such a fine line, and Luke wasn’t a vocal boy. He’d be a boy who would be so easy to overwhelm, so easy to make feel inadequate and helpless. Milton wouldn’t go there; he wouldn’t risk shattering the boy’s confidence and belief in his own adulthood. He wasn’t the same boy who had come home clinging to Tilden after that crazy reality show. Milton couldn’t skate through all the ramifications of his actions and push it aside for later. If Luke wanted this, he would have to negotiate and take responsibility. His understanding would have to be absolute.

Milton guided Luke into the study and pointed at the corner by the fireplace. Milton had always considered this his study, but as his relationship had changed with Tilden, it had started to become their study. Two Russian textbooks were stacked on the sofa, one stuffed with the mismatched slips of paper that Tilden used to mark his place. On Milton’s desk was a jumble of first year Russian papers. The essays Milton had been grading were pushed aside, some spilling onto a chair. Milton straightened the papers automatically. Tilden called Milton obsessively tidy, and the scattered papers were often a nudge at Milton’s authoritarian ways. Tilden was submissive, powerfully submissive, but he was also deeply individualistic and maybe at heart an anarchist. He rebelled at arbitrary power and rules, and Milton bent to his rebel.

Luke was Tilden’s, or at least had been Tilden’s. The love was still deep between the two of them, but the shift of Tilden from the team jersey of a dominant to the team jersey of a submissive had hit Luke the hardest. He’d never fully acclimatized to Milton, especially to Milton as the only dominant. Luke was reserved to the point of shyness, and of all the boys the least comfortable with his sexuality.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Milton asked, laying his hand on the back of Luke’s neck.

“Not really,” Luke grumbled, not turning from the wall, his voice not hiding his disdain.

Milton let his eyebrow rise into his hairline. Austin would call that cruisin’ for a bruisin’. “Luke, you threw a dangerous object at a member of this family’s head,” Milton scolded. He was playing this by ear, but this was his best guess. Luke had seen plenty of naughty and belligerent in his younger days, especially from Sheldon, and Sheldon had never died from it. 

“He deserved it.”

“Really?” Milton let his voice rise in mock surprise. “He deserved to be injured?”

“It was the red pepper flakes, not a Molotov cocktail.”

“We don’t throw things at each other.”

That worked. A blush rose up Luke’s face. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned his head into the wall. “I know,” he mumbled.

“You do know, but you need a reminder,” Milton said, keeping the scold prominent in his voice. “You’re going to come over my knee, and I’m going to remind you why we don’t throw condiments in restaurants.”

Luke came easily. His face was red, but he reached for Milton’s hand and let himself be guided to stand at Milton’s right as Milton sat in the large armless chair. Milton reached for Luke’s pants, unbuttoning and slipping them down with a practiced hand. Milton guided Luke over his knee, resting his hand on skin just north of the pale blue boxers.

“These come off now.”

Milton shucked Luke’s boxers and studied the pale flesh laid out for his pleasure. Sheldon was pale, but freckled; Luke was creamy white. Luke shivered as Milton rested his hand on the upturned ass.

“Boy, you don’t throw things in restaurants. Never, ever. It’s dangerous and foolish, and in the wrong place it might get you arrested.”

Milton landed the first blow. He couldn’t do anymore over done speeches without losing his seriousness. Luke knew all that Milton was saying, and he didn’t need reminded of it. This boy wasn’t an overgrown child. 

Luke mewled as Milton’s hand laid a pattern across the white skin that was changing to a light pink. His hands fisted in Milton’s pants, and his legs kicked as Milton increased the blows. The boy was crying now, quiet sobs, easy tears. These weren’t the wracking sobs that Milton wrenched out of Mike with brutality. These were relieved tears.

Milton shifted his knee, raising Luke into a more vulnerable position. He colored the top of the thighs with several swift smacks. These hurt more, and Luke gave a muffled yelp and bucked away, his ass clenching at the real pain.

“No throwing dangerous objects in restaurants. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Luke hiccuped the words.

“Good boy. My good boy.” Milton slid the boxers back up and took Luke into his arms. This boy didn’t cuddle often with Milton, but he burrowed against Milton’s sweater and wrapped his arms around Milton’s neck. 

“Sorry,” Luke mumbled as he brought his tears under control. He wiped his hand across his eyes, ineffectively clearing the tears from his face.

Milton pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Luke’s face. The boy was beautiful with his eyes full and his cheeks glistening with fresh tears, but this was a care taking ritual. Luke wanted cared for and spoiled, and a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt. Milton stroked his fingers through Luke’s hair, comfort without overt sex or power. Luke wanted to submit. Milton was holding a compliant and limp boy, but lay the power out in the fresh breeze and sunshine and Luke dove for the shadows. 

“Take your time,” Milton reassured. “You’ve been punished. We’re all settled up.”

“I threw the pepper,” Luke said, the disbelief coloring his voice.

“You did.” Milton kissed Luke’s forehead and smiled into the soft blue eyes. “Yes, you did. Can you tell me why now?”

“I was mad at Sheldon,” Luke said tentatively.

Milton unwound himself from Luke and went to the pitcher of water on the desk. He poured a glass and returned to Luke. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Luke.” Milton pushed Luke’s curls back and kissed his forehead again. “I want you to come up. I need to talk to you for real, not as the naughty little boy. It’s important.”

Luke swallowed the water. He looked up at Milton, his eyes too wide, too unfocussed. “Sir, I’m sorry I was bad.”

Milton suppressed a real growl. This boy wasn’t ready; being impatient would get him nowhere. “I know, sweetie.” Milton coaxed Luke onto his side and pulled a blanket over him. “Sleep. I’ll be right here, grading papers.”

Milton heard the rustle of the blanket and saw Luke sit up, wrapped in the dark red throw from the sofa. The boy’s hand reached out for his pants, but they were just out of reach across the back of the armchair.

“Do you want your pants?” Milton asked, pushing his chair back from his desk.

The blush was exquisite, a pink tinge painting Luke’s neck and face. Luke caught his lower lip in his teeth and looked down, hiding his blues eyes behind lowered lids. His hand tightened on the blanket.

“Luke, you were ass up over my lap, and it’s not like I haven’t fucked you. I’ve seen what you have to offer, and it’s all quite lovely.” Milton was being deliberately coarse. They’d just scened, no matter how the boy was trying to compartmentalize it in his brain. It was and never would be about throwing red pepper flakes. It was about Luke being a submissive.

Milton saw Luke flinch. He saw the muscles tense, and he saw the flash of something in his eyes: anger, embarrassment, self-loathing, desperation to hide.

“Up, boy.” Milton pulled Luke from the sofa. “Strip.”

“No.” The challenge was unmistakable, the horror and terror and desire all at war with each other.

“Luka.” Milton softened his voice and used Tilden’s familiar nickname for a boy. “Do you need more punishment?”

The head shake was swift.

“Then I need you naked.”

“Please, please don’t.” A tear dripped down Luke’s cheek.

Milton stepped closer. He caught the single tear with his thumb. He traced down the cheekbones and swirled around the pink lips. “Open for me.” Luke’s mouth opened only a fraction. Milton slipped his thumb inside, cradling Luke’s head with his other hand to keep it still. “Suck, boy. Don’t panic. I’ve got you.” Keeping Luke trapped with his mouth occupied, Milton gentled his voice further. “You have a safeword. Do you need it?”

This was going to be unmitigated disaster if the boy answered yes, but Luke must always remember he had an out. Milton also needed to know how far he could push. He needed to know the boy would safeword. He had to trust the boy would safeword.

Luke shook his head no, but his eyes searched Milton’s face, unsure, hesitant, way too inexperienced for a boy who had lived in this household for this many years.

“Strip for me.” Milton pulled his hands away, taking the blanket with a quick jerk.

“Please,” Luke shivered.

“Everything, pretty boy.”

Luke’s fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt. His hand hesitated on the rim of his boxer shorts. 

“I already saw it once today.”

Luke’s ass was red, not bruised but a blushing crimson. He was a slender man, similar in build to Tilden only smaller and a touch lighter haired. He wasn’t erect, equipment limp and mostly hidden in the golden curls. Milton ran his hand down Luke’s back, carefully fingering the redden flesh of the boy’s ass.

“Thank you. Get dressed.”

Luke about ran for his clothes, shouldering into his shirt and pulling on his boxers and pants. He kept his face away from Milton, hiding the embarrassment that Milton knew was there. Milton propped his hip on the desk and gave Luke a small smile.

“We talk now. Man to man. Adult to adult. If we’re playing, there’s no more hiding.”

“Don’t want to,” Luke said, hovering between the door and the oversized chair by the window.

“Luke, you want to be a submissive occasionally. Submission and dominance requires negotiations. You are not incapable, you’re not helpless, and you’re not totally inexperienced. We negotiate. I don’t mind read.”

“I don’t want this,” Luke mumbled, hunching his shoulders and looking out the window.

“Yes, you do. You threw a red pepper shaker at Sheldon. I know you too well to believe that was some sort of spontaneous outburst. You don’t have temper tantrums, and you don’t have poor impulse control. You wanted a little spanking, and I obliged. Mutual desires fulfilled for both of us.”

“No, no not like this,” Luke burst out then fell silent, ducking his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I want...I want… Never mind you won’t do it anyway. You’ve already told me.”

“What do you want?” Milton said, searching for his quietest voice that didn’t hide his demands as a dominant. “Tell me.”

“I want you to know. You know for them. I just want you to know.” Luke turned away again, hiding the distress that was so evident on his face. He was close to tears again, his blue eyes filled with shimmering liquid.

“We do this, Luke. I make them tell me. I tell them what I want also.”

“But it’s not this,” Luke shouted in frustration. “I don’t want this sort of play. I want what I had. Why?” Luke’s voice rose into a whine.

“Luke, you are an articulate and intelligent man. Do not whine and yell at me. Sit down and talk to me”

Luke ran his hand through his blond curls and threw himself into the chair. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head against his knees. “I can’t. You won’t understand. You already told me no. I want to be cared for. You used to.”

“Kid,” Milton said tiredly, shifting from his perch on the desk to stand over Luke. He thumbed the back of Luke’s neck. “I do care for you. I won’t make you dependent or pretend that I know better. I don’t, not now. You aren’t the same boy who came home with Tilden. You’re strong and capable and submissive.”

“I sometimes don’t want to be.”

“Don’t want to be what?”

“Strong and capable.” Luke pressed his head further into his knees. “I don’t want to stand naked in front of you, but…”

“Go on, Luke.”

“I want rules. I want to be punished and protected.” Luke glanced up, his face stained with tears. “I know I’m a wimp, but I’m tired of doing it all alone.”

Milton kept his hand around Luke’s neck. “So what are we having rules about?”

“Not like that. I don’t want a scene. I want...I want.”

“You want it to be real. You want to feel that I’m controlling real aspects of your behavior. I know, and I keep saying no. I don’t want to destroy you. I won’t teach you to be helpless. I won’t teach you that I know better. I don’t anymore. Yes, all those years ago I did know better. I know better with Austin. You aren’t young, and you are anything but incompetent. I won’t play games that suggest you are. I can choose to control when you get up and what you wear and when you leave for work. I’m your dominant; I have that right. I can’t choose to tell you that you’re a lesser being, that I’m superior because I’m a dominant. Tilden and I are both academics. We’ll help and guide you in those aspects as desired, but that isn’t about this. I won’t hit you because you don’t choose the job we think is best. I’ll sit down with you and have a damn uncomfortable conversation if I think you’re making foolish life choices, but that’s all the further it goes.”

Luke tipped his head back and looked at Milton. “I’m exhausted. I can’t keep doing this.” Luke’s voice broke.

“My stressed out scholar.” Milton wrapped his arm around Luke’s neck. “We can make this work, but you don’t get to hide your head in the sand. OK?”

Luke nodded and mumbled something that Milton didn’t catch.

“You have to talk to me.” Milton caught Luke’s chin and looked directly into those liquid blue eyes. He wished he read this boy better. Luke always felt partially hidden as if he were projecting for an audience, not in a loud way, but in a fade to black. 

“I get it,” Luke said. “It’s not real. I do understand that. I’m not a total idiot.”

Milton nodded. He would have called Austin or Sheldon or Mike on that attitude, but this was Luke. He was unfailingly polite and agreeable; a little temper was almost desirable. “Go on then. Be good.”

“I will,” Luke mumbled as he hurried for the door.

Milton stared for several minutes at the door. Alone, he let himself sigh and rake his fingers through his hair. He wanted a boy whom he understood. Luke had always been Tilden’s, and now Milton didn’t have that buffer. He was the only dominant in the family, not that Tilden had ever been one in any true sense. He was a caretaker and responsible, that a dominant didn't make. Submissives weren't all Sheldon, and Milton had known that years ago. He was Gordon and Landon trained. He’d known better, and he knew better now. 

Milton raked his fingers through his hair again. Gordon would slap him for such an obvious display of disquiet. The dominant projected calm, even if mentally he was searching for a toilet to lose his lunch. Luke was a sweet boy, a gentle boy, who was walking into a thicket of thorns. Milton couldn't be that saint dominant who only protected and defended, who only unfurled his dominance to teach or to guide. Milton liked a pretty boy over his lap. He liked the reddening flesh and the hitched breath and the eyes wet with tears. He was insanely protective; he knew that. He was a teacher by trade and that side of his personality crept into his dominance. But there was the other side of himself: the sadist, the control freak, the dominant who demanded to roar and beat his chest. Luke couldn't have one without the other. Could he make the boy see that? He and Tilden could caretake all day, but Luke was pushing for more. He wanted it overlaid with a thin veneer of dominance. The warm fuzzy side with pink unicorns, Austin had called it one day when he'd about provoked Milton out of his mind.

"I just wanted a little spanking and a kiss on the forehead. I didn't want the dominant who hurls thunderbolts." The boy had clutched his stuffed teddy bear, one of the many furry creatures that had taken up residence in their room as a bit of a joke, but were also a comfort to a boy who was still so young. Austin had smiled, the tears dripping from his eyes. "I'm not allowed to manipulate you. I didn't mean it that way. I was just..." Austin had trailed off.

"Feeling insecure and young," Milton had said gently and kissed the youngest boy's forehead. "I will handle your insecurity, but I won't coddle it, and you are young, no matter how often you protest. You're educated about your kink, having spent all your adult life in the nest of the Green Mountain Boys, but only time and experience will educate you about life. You're safe, secure, and protected with us, but I won't pet you and coo gently at you when you try open defiance looking for reassurance. Your reassurance is the absolute knowledge you don't defy your dominant. If you want a cuddle and some time alone with me, you ask. I'll always make time for you. There is nothing better for the middle aged ego than a beautiful young boy in his lap."

Austin was easy. He was young and occasionally he forgot himself which resulted in sad Austin for a few days, but he was comfortable with Milton. He'd always wanted Milton. Maybe at first he hadn't understood what came with Milton, but he'd wanted the master of the house. Luke was different. Milton had been the strange creature who he wished wasn't attached to Tilden. Milton was everything that Luke still resisted, that Luke still insisted he wasn't. The only problem was that denial didn't make fact. Luke was submissive, and he was more submissive than an occasional gentle scene that was more dress up than the feel of surrender. The boy had been so easy to turn to their will because he was a submissive, on the deep side at that. Far deeper than Mike who was all about masochism and play and only showed the other to appease Milton, but not as much as Sheldon who was on the extreme for anybody. Luke was somewhere in the fuzzy middle. Someplace in that vast space that contained Austin and Tilden also, and Milton had done such a bang up job with Tilden--not. Milton grimaced, not only was he brooding, but he was starting to sound like Austin. Maybe that was better than sounding like Gordon, at least as far as his students not thinking he was due for retirement, but it was hardly productive. 

He missed his grandfather, with his quiet New England Yankee determination and know how. He would have been good with Luke, the right amount of paternalism combined with a dominance that was light on the erotic side. Grandfather had always been discreet about his sexuality; Puritan blood ran somewhere in his veins, but Milton had asked Landon later, wondering if it had been truly only well hidden or if Grandfather and Doug were as abstinent as they seemed.

"Milton, they are private men," Landon had said carefully. "They are not monastic, but they are products of their culture, and they were raising a child. Doug is similar to your Sheldon, just quieter. Sheldon hides behind a mural of primary colors, cloaking himself in the robe of a prankster. Doug prefers a more discreet camouflage, the finch blending into the thicket. Doug knows who he is, and your grandfather is most definitely the dominant. There is a reason he manages Sheldon; he has years of experience."

How would Grandfather have managed Luke? Milton wished he'd asked, but he hadn't realized Luke would be his. Ryan was no help here. Luke wasn't his sort of submissive, and Ryan was cautious of dominance outside of the playroom. Landon found Luke exasperating, and Gordon just said get it done.

"Give the boy a place, and he'll be fine," Gordon had said the last time Milton had asked.