Luke's Journey 5

Luke’s Journey 5

Milton glanced at his watch again. It was already after seven. Luke should be up; he knew which train he needed to catch for the city. He knew how long it took to get to the station, even if Milton drove him which seemed to be happening all too frequently recently. 

"Tilden, does Luke have something he absolutely can't miss this morning?" Milton asked, looking over at his most serene partner. Tilden was eating the last of his oatmeal, some book propped in front of him. Unless Milton prohibited it, Tilden was behind a book. On a weekday breakfast Milton had never flexed his muscles; maybe it was habit. Gordon and Landon had always worked at breakfast, the business newspapers spread out in front of them, work documents scattered over the table. Gordon was draconian about such habits on the weekend and at the evening meal, but breakfast was different.

Tilden mumbled something, his eyes not leaving his book.

"Tilden!" Milton tapped the book with his finger. "I'm not Gordon."

"That's a good thing. I wouldn't be eating breakfast with Gordon, moy drug."

"Tilden!" Milton didn't try to hide his exasperation. "I asked you a question about Luke. Put the book away and answer the question."

"Bossy." Tilden's gentle smile took the sting out of his words. "Yes, sir," Tilden said with an arch of his delicate eyebrows. "How can I be of service?"

"Are you mocking me, boy?" Milton growled.

"Someone needs to know his limits. A man with a harem can get too big for his britches." Tilden let his eyes sweep over the other boys. Mike was at the counter pouring himself a giant mug of coffee in a travel mug and making a bacon sandwich with two slices of rye toast and a handful of bacon. Sheldon and Austin were sitting next to each other, sharing quiet grins and not very discreet elbow nudges. It all looked ordinary, no naked boys or rich scents of Arabia wafting from a brazier.

"Mocking for sure," Milton said, confiscating the book from Tilden and putting it out of reach on the counter behind him. "Not for a week."

Milton didn't have to say more; Tilden had lived in his family too long not to recognize Milton's little show of dominance. Tilden ducked his head, the faintest blush rising on his cheeks. "Yes, sir." This time the tone was deference, a yielding to authority in a ritualized way that had so long been denied to Tilden. Tilden wasn't a noisy or flashy submissive, but he was very much a submissive in his quiet way. The man yielded in a beautiful and almost delicate way. Milton would never click his fingers and send Tilden to the floor like he might do with the other boys, or he'd never do it beyond the absolute privacy between the two of them. In Vermont with the house that held enough rooms to house an entire village, Milton had found Tilden at his feet one quiet evening when he'd retreated to a distant and unused room. Tilden hadn't spoken the entire evening; he'd just folded his long legs into a small space and leant against Milton's wool slacks. Milton had threaded his fingers through Tilden's soft, fine hair and sat hardly daring to breathe himself. His beautiful friend exposed and bared to his core just for him. It was an intoxicating feeling, and Milton knew despite the easy banter around the breakfast table that he mustn't get drunk on power. He had five boys; it was an obscene number. 

“Tilden, Luke can he miss today?” Milton asked again, capturing Tilden’s near violet eyes in his own brown. Tilden’s eyes were always so expressive, truly a window to his soul. Worry, love, and maybe a hint of fear flashed through those eyes before Tilden acquiesced with the grace he’d always shown, a grace so easy that Milton had damn near ignored it for his noisy and difficult ones.

“I’m sure I could get him a personal day. We slavophiles are a small group. I could get a favor. It’s not like Luke misses often.”

“More never,” Milton said. “Luke is very reliable.” Milton dropped his hand over Tilden’s. “I won’t hurt him, not for real, but you know as well as I do that this isn’t normal for Luke. Being late, throwing objects at Sheldon’s head. Luke’s never good at asking for anything, and I’m going to force him. I will make him unhappy, but hopefully it’s a temporary condition.”

“He’s gentle,” Tilden said very softly.

“I know,” Milton kissed the top of Tilden’s head. “I won’t take a baseball bat or a horsewhip to him, I promise.”

“Znayu,” Tilden said in a shift to Russian that always spoke of uncertainty and a tendency to conceal his most inner thoughts.

Milton flicked Tilden across the back of his neck with his finger. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was a reminder that Tilden answered to Milton now, that he owed Milton his thoughts. 

“You don’t with me,” Tilden said, wrapping his fingers into Milton’s.

“You acknowledge your submission, not everyone’s submission is like Mike’s who needs to be hit by a freight train, but submission is not about being told how to live life, not for real. I can’t put myself in that place. It’s too dangerous.”

“You tell me,” Tilden said.

“The same way I tell any adult I love. The same way you tell me, like two rational adults. That’s not what Luke wants, and I won’t go there. He’s not the man child who first came into this house, desperate for a lifeline. I won’t put him back in that place. I’d never do it that way again,” Milton said, moving his eyes to rest on Mike who was listening instead of eating his bacon sandwich. “Mike can tell you all about that story.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, sir,” Mike added after a second. “You never hurt us. I know you’re terrified of using your power that way, and I understand now that I’m older. I wouldn’t want it like that again, but I was a little shit. I needed it that simple. It felt obvious and safe and not so damn complicated.” Mike gave Milton a half grin, all cocky and all seductive at the same time. “You do like to make things complicated, sir. What does it take to get a little whipping and then a good fucking?”

“Boy,” Milton growled. “We’re at breakfast, not at a raunchy bar.”

“My manners are shocking,” Mike smirked. “I’m sure you can do something about that.”

“Get, you brat.” Milton waved his hand at the door. “You’ll be late. Scram.”

Mike picked up his sandwich and headed for the door. He grinned at Sheldon. “You get beat for such words, and all I could get is chased out the door. No fair. No fair at all.”

“Shoo.” Milton waved his hand at Mike. 

“I’m going, oh scary master,” Mike said with another grin and scampered for the door. He slammed it as always, rattling the glass and making Austin grin wildly.

“Don’t you start, Austin.” Milton stood and pulled Austin to his feet, shaking him lightly in a mock display of discipline. “You have places to be, boy. Go.”

“Yes, my captain,” Austin saluted and ran for the door, grabbing his book bag that had stood in the corner.

“Master,” Sheldon said too wisely, “you might be busy tonight. Austin and Mike have that look.”

“Don’t I know.” Milton reached for another piece of toast. “No one to rescue this poor overworked dominant.”

Sheldon kissed Milton’s cheek. “Think of all the rewards. You have five beautiful boys to play with. What other man could be that lucky, Master?”

“True.” Milton automatically stroked his fingers through Sheldon’s red hair, the color still as vibrant as the day he’d first met his boy. “I am blessed, not that Luke might not think I’m the cursed one for the next few hours.”

“Get me if you need me,” Sheldon said with the ease of a man who understood exactly what Milton was going to do. They hadn’t talked about it specifically, but Sheldon had more than once prodded Milton to do something about Luke. Sheldon noticed when a submissive wasn’t happy. He was all too familiar with trying to decipher his own confusion of wants and needs.

“I’m late.” Luke burst into the kitchen, grabbing a muffin from the counter without looking at it and charging for the door.

“Sit down. Eat a real breakfast,” Milton said in a tone of flat demand.

“Can’t. Late.”

“It doesn’t matter. You will eat. That comes first.”

Luke shot around, his blue eyes blazing with an anger Milton rarely saw. “You can’t do this. It’s not right. I have responsibilities.”

“You do, and you’ve been harassing me to take them, so I am. Sit down. Eat a real breakfast with fruit and grains and protein. I won’t have one of my boys living on blueberry muffins,” Milton said, checking the flavor of the muffin in Luke’s hand. 

“You can’t do this,” Luke protested, not moving from his spot on the floor. He was objecting, but this was a boy who wanted to give in, who wanted the world lifted from his shoulders.

“Oh, but I can.” Milton stood, wrapped his hand around the back of Luke’s neck, and pushed him toward the table. He grabbed a spare plate and placed the muffin on it along with cut melon and two sausage links. He went to the samovar and filled a glass for tea. “Eat.”

“I’ll be late,” Luke said, half rising from his place.

“You’re already late. You’re taking a personal day today. My choice. Tilden will arrange it.” Milton looked at Sheldon and Tilden. Sheldon had already stood and stacked his plate in the sink, and Tilden had understood the same request and had picked up his satchel to head for the college.

“Love you,” Tilden said quietly as he headed toward the door.

Milton nodded. He wanted to hug his quiet friend. Tilden hated the more overt displays of force, the flexing of dominant muscle, but he was gently disappearing, lending his support the only way he knew how.

"Eat your breakfast, Luke." Milton rested his hand on Luke's shoulder, overpowering the smaller man, letting the not insignificant size differential sink into Luke's bone, the inevitable physical dominance if it came to that. Dominance was a cloak, an aura, an inescapable scent in the air. It could be all enveloping, both constricting and liberating at the same time.

"Not hungry," Luke mumbled, pushing the melon from one side of his plate to the other.

"You’ve barely eaten the last week."

Luke glanced up, his blues eyes wide and tinged with apprehension but not fear.

"I notice. You haven't been eating well. You've lost weight. I'm putting this on my plate now. You eat or I feed you."

Luke flushed brick red, the color rising from his neck to his forehead. His mouth opened a few times, but no sound came out.

"You interested in that? Do you have a bit of kink about getting fed, the beautiful boy on my lap or maybe on your knees, opening your mouth each time the spoon presses against your lips?"

"No," Luke whispered.

Milton threaded his fingers through Luke's hair and jerked roughly. "I'm finished with the denial, boy. You are kinked right, left, and center, and we’re going to find out exactly how."

"I'm not." Luke swiped his hand over his face. He'd always cried easily, tears a sign of frustration and exasperation. "I just want...I want guided."

"By me hitting you?" Milton snorted, jerking harder on Luke's hair. "You get plenty of guidance from Tilden and me. We don't abandon you. I know you talk with Tilden. I know I've discussed your job offers several times. That's not what you're wanting, boy. Let's stop pretending. You want bossed; you want dominated. You live in this house. You're a Green Mountain Boy. Dominance and submission are not dirty words; they aren't something to hide behind Potemkin villages. And you understand that reference. I don't have to explain it to you. So what is it going to be, boy? Am I feeding you or are you eating?"

"Eating."

"Good boy." Milton kissed the back of Luke's neck, gently resting his hand in the golden curls. "My good, sweet boy. Ah," Milton scolded. "Don't you pull away. You like praise. You haven't lived here all these years without me noticing. You sit right here." Milton kneaded Luke's shoulders, enjoying the slight shiver and the almost silent catch of breath.

“I’m not this,” Luke said his voice almost a whine or maybe a plea.

“You’re not what? A man who has been half eating for the last week, the last month? A man who has been intentionally late, even though I’ve reminded you well above my share of that duty? A man who is the center of attention of a scary dominant right now?”

“I’m not like the others,” Luke said as he cut his fruit into tiny pieces.

“If you start arranging that fruit around your plate in decorative mosaic patterns, I’m not going to be pleased,” Milton said, letting the words rumble deep in his throat. 

“How can I eat with you standing over me?” Luke burst out. “You’ll give me an ulcer.”

“I doubt it, and I think you want to eat with me standing over you. It’s security that you’re under my will. Isn’t that what all this is about?” Milton asked relentlessly. “You want my protection, my care, the parts you like, but you want to avoid all the hard and dirty parts.” Milton dropped into the chair next to Luke. “You know it doesn’t look the same for each of you. My dominance leans a certain direction, I won’t deny that, but I modify it for my submissives. I would never treat Tilden the way I treat Mike, not only should I be arrested if I tried, but I’d be violating about every rule of dominance that Gordon painstakingly drilled into me. I’m considered flexible as a dominant. You can believe that as you will,” Milton said with a small smile, knowing Luke would consider such a comment insane, “but I won’t play at dominance to change your behavior. You can’t ask me to hit in that situation. I’m a sadist; I take pleasure in reddening the flesh. For me to deny that fundamental part of the equation is dangerous. Just as it is dangerous for you to deny that you’re submissive and that a streak of masochism tinges your submission.”

“I don’t like being hurt,” Luke snapped, dropping the fork on his plate.

“You seem to be trying very hard to get me to hurt you for someone who denies such feelings. Mike’s in the deep end, the very deep end. Set aside his craziness and think of Sheldon. Sheldon is sensitive about pain. He doesn’t court it, but he courts being spanked, or at least he used to. We’ve found an outlet that works better for him now, but if I don’t take him over my knee once a week life becomes more interesting than I desire to court. Maybe Sheldon’s not a traditional masochist, but he wants lightly warmed flesh. He wants to cry over my lap, and he wants to surrender to me. He also has always been more than capable of not spilling lemonade on our guests’ heads. I know you can get to work on time. I know you don’t throw condiments in restaurants, so where are we going here?”

Luke looked down at his plate and pushed his breakfast around. He’d eaten a little, but more he’d minced it into a fine shred. Even Mace would be growling at him for this mess, and Mace was hard to rile, but he didn’t like his food messed with, and he’d baked the muffins.”

“Are you putting this on my shoulders, boy?”

Luke was silent, his eyes darting toward Milton and back to his plate. This was an able and intelligent man. This wasn’t the lost young man who had followed Tilden home like a stray puppy. Luke could make it on his own. He had excellent credentials, was well liked by his colleagues, and had a strong future career ahead of him. He wasn’t naive about power exchanges; he might play innocent and naive, but he lived in this house. He knew where Milton would go.

“Upstairs. Strip and wait for me.”

Luke’s eyes went wide. They were a beautiful shade of blue, far paler than Tilden’s, but equally vivid and expressive. 

“Go,” Milton roared.

Luke jerked back in his chair. Milton could see the quick rise of Luke’s chest as he panted. The boy darted upstairs. Milton gathered the dishes, scraping the food into the trash and setting them into the sink. He watched the second hand swing around the old-fashioned clock. Five minutes. Milton shut the dishwasher and headed upstairs.

Luke was on the sofa, the old and often washed throw rug wrapped around his body. His clothes were on the chair, not exactly folded, but not thrown either. Milton clicked his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of him.

“Now. Without the blanket.”

Luke blushed, his coloring hid nothing. He slid in front of Milton, his chest as well as his face and neck a cherry red. He kept his head down, letting his hair tumble over his eyes.

Milton took off his belt, slowly letting the leather slip through the loops, prolonging the anticipation. He grasped the buckle and wrapped the leather around his fist. “You openly defied me, boy.” Milton grasped Luke’s chin and pulled his head up, forcing their eyes to meet. “This isn’t about being late or not eating. I’d never hit anyone for being tardy or not eating breakfast. It would be barbaric and medieval and entirely ineffective. There are reams of researched scientific data on the dangers and futility of corporal punishment. This is simple. This is about defying your dominant. This is about accepting your submission to me. This is nothing else. Now over my lap.”

This wasn’t a good position for using the belt, but Milton had no intention of hitting hard. The belt was symbolic. Hand spankings and even light paddlings were too easy to categorize into some category of acceptable corporal punishment. Belts and whips were harder to imagine in the ridiculous facade of just punishment. Whipping a child fortunately went out of fashion and now was more likely to encounter a police officer banging at the door than an earnest parent claiming it was an appropriate corrective measure. There was going to be nothing just about this, nothing about loving discipline, or training for real life. Luke didn’t need trained, and no one needed hit for discipline.

Milton wrapped his arm around Luke, pulling him close, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the tremble of his muscles. He ran the belt over the skin, studying the gorgeous globes offered up to the leather. The first blow landed lightly, skipping across the flesh, leaving a pink trail in its wake. Luke had never felt the belt. He yipped and jerked forward.

“Settle down. We’ve just started.” 

Milton was practiced. He laid the belt down the presented skin and back up. He wasn’t bruising Luke; he’d be red, fair skin marked easily, but this wasn’t about pain. Luke wasn’t an intense masochist. He was undoubtedly a submissive. This was about proving that point.

Luke was crying. The tears soaked his cheek and matted his eyelashes. He was clinging to Milton, his body splayed in a confusion of surrender and embarrassment. 

“Get me off, boy.” Milton dumped Luke onto the floor. “Suck me,” he growled at the confused Luke.

Luke’s hand shook as he reached for Milton’s zipper. He was half-blinded by tears, and Milton was forced to help him. Milton braced his hand behind Luke’s head and sunk into the warm mouth. Luke didn’t like this. Milton heard the spluttering and felt the jerking. 

“Take it, boy.”

Milton wasn’t as young as he used to be. He knew Luke’s jaw was tired and he was sticky with spilled saliva before Milton finally managed to come. He buried himself in the hot mouth and spilled his semen down Luke’s throat.

Luke half gagged, sputtering and wiping tears and snot from his face. He was still on his knees, crumpled over and curled into a ball. 

“Up.”

Milton hoisted Luke onto the desk and went to his knees. Landon had taught him this years ago, He swallowed Luke in one easy motion, burying his nose in the golden pubic hair. Gently he circled the twin orbs with his fingers, massaging the delicate tissue. Luke was young and sensitive, his body confused by the assault on his senses. He came quickly and Milton swallowed easily. Milton rose with a popping of his knees and kissed Luke gently, letting Luke taste himself as Milton’s tongue swept into his mouth.

Luke lolled against Milton, his body and mind confused. Milton gathered him into his arms, taking the blanket from the floor and tucking it around him as they moved to the sofa. 

“God!” Luke muttered.

“Don’t. We’ll talk about it later. I overloaded your circuits. Enjoy it.”

“I…”

“Shh. You think you should hate it, but you came so hard that you’re still shaking. You’re submissive. Just accept it. You have all morning to lie here playing hooky and thinking how cool that was.”

“You’re so good at that,” Luke said in a near drunk voice.

“You mean giving head? Landon and Gordon taught me and they have exacting standard. At the tender age of nineteen I had nothing but sex on the brain; I was willing to practice a lot. Sometimes Landon would even reciprocate.”

“I’m--”

“You don’t like to do it. I know that.” Milton ruffled Luke’s hair. “You’re an intelligent and articulate man. We’ll discuss all of this after I’ve had a lovely cuddle. I want to enjoy you all loose limbed and and unshielded. It’s a delicious feeling, and I’m greedy. So be quiet and let me enjoy. I’ll be nicer later if you give me this part.”

***

Luke didn’t want to open his eyes. Milton had tucked him into the snuggly and soft throw he kept on the back of the sofa. It wasn’t wool, but of those soft synthetic fibers. Luke vaguely remembered that Austin had given it to Milton with its silly snowflake pattern. Austin liked to wander around in winter, barefoot and with nothing but shorts and a T-shirt. Milton was always tossing sweaters or blankets at him and Austin complained noisily about them being scratchy. This wasn’t scratchy; this was soft, warm, fluffy, and a very safe place to hide and pretend.

Pretend to be sweet. Pretend to be innocent. Pretend to be normal and have his shit together. Luke should have kept his head down; he never should have listened to Tilden who had gently battered Luke into approaching Milton with those beseeching looks from eyes that made Luke melt. It had all been so easy when he’d first dropped on their doorstep like a swaddled baby dropped by a stork. He’d been so naive and innocent. He’d been a college freshman, some wouldn’t call that innocent. He and Mike hadn’t been living in some sort of monastic harmony, and he’d read plenty of scary and pitiful stories by the light of the computer screen. He’d taken those little surveys that were so popular in women’s magazines. He’d always come out as submissive. He liked being petted and guided, and he was very much a bottom sexually. He liked to pretend a gentle and perfect master would put the world right.

Tilden had been so perfect. He was gentle; he didn’t push Luke places he didn’t want to go. He’d understood Luke perfectly, and he hadn’t been a dominant. Luke saw that now. Tilden had fretted and worried about spanking. He’d always seemed guilty afterward; the same way Luke had felt for wanting it, perversely making it easier for Luke. He could pretend with Tilden; he could hide the arousal that rose in his belly as he imagined a hand on his ass. It could be about things that were safe and sane. Only Tilden had never been a dominant. He was a submissive. Luke had seen Tilden with Milton, in the denial of their early relationship, in the heated passion of their sex when they still clung to the fiction of Tilden as a dominant, and now when Tilden gracefully and openly deferred. He was so beautiful, so shimmering in his openness. He was like a beautiful rose in an exotic and unforgettable color, almost too perfect to behold when he submitted. Every centimeter and gram of his body glowed with an ethereal light.

Luke had seen Tilden lying across the summer white comforter, his ass and thighs a warm shade of pink, Milton kneeling between the wantonly spread thighs. Milton’s kisses had traced down Tilden’s shoulder and back as his fingers had been deep inside Tilden. Milton still had his pants on, but his back had been bare. It had been a weekend, so his pants were faded jeans, worn and soft, the thin cloth cupping Milton’s ass as he played Tilden’s body. Tilden had been moaning softly, almost silently, his body covered with the faintest sheen of sweat. 

Luke had fled at that point, diving into the bathroom and taking a brutally cold shower. He’d punished himself for his arousal, for his voyeurism. Luke shivered at the thought. Milton would have whipped his ass if he’d known. His eyes got all hard, dark brown almost black spheres with inescapable arrows that pierced the flesh and soul if a submissive hid that sort of thing or punished himself. Luke had never heard the lecture directed at him; he did the scared and perfect rabbit too well: freezing, hiding, and running at the first sign of trouble, but he’d overheard it a few times.

“Austin, if you need something, you don’t try to manipulate me into it. You’re an adult in a ferociously complicated relationship, you come ask for it. It doesn’t matter if it’s punishment or praise or just a warm body to watch a late night movie because you drank too much Coke and can’t sleep.”

Austin’s shoulders had pressed into the wall, and he’d looked up with that boyish desperation, his teeth playing on the edge of his lower lip. “Not coping well.”

“School, friends, us?”

“Everything,” Austin had mumbled and looked down.

Milton had been so calm. He’d put his knuckle under Austin’s chin and studied his youngest for several long seconds. “Austin, you’re still very young, and don’t make a face when I say that. You’re still growing, and this relationship has to change with you. You might not always be our little cub.”

“I wanna be,” Austin had whined, his voice sounding fifteen and not twenty.

“Do you want more from me?”

Austin had nodded vigorously. 

“”Right then,” Milton had said with a small smile. “That’s what Gordon used to say when he was going to do something he might regret later but seemed like a good idea at the time. Let’s find out how much you want me to tell you when to sleep, eat, and study. Of course, you might be the one to regret this with the hours you’ve been keeping. Nine o’clock is very early.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Milton traced his finger around Austin’s eye. “I would. I like the power of tucking you into bed before the adult television shows are on, and you need the sleep.”

“Not that much,” Austin had protested.

“You give that to me and it’s not just about your needs, but my needs also. I respect your boundaries and wants, and you respect mine. Remember?”

Austin had groaned openly and dramatically. “I’m not suffering from old folks’ dementia like some here. I remember. And it wasn’t only you talking about it; you let loose the hordes on me. Ryan, Gordon, Landon, people I can’t even name. I’ve learned all the proper catechism of a submissive, I promise, I‘ll cross my heart and light candles, I’ll dance naked around the fire, I promise I get it.”

“Watch yourself.” The good humor had been evident in the rumble of Milton’s voice and the light swat he’d landed on Austin’s thigh. “Let’s go talk about it. I have that old folks’ senile dementia and you have to remind me. I seem to have forgotten.”

“No fair.” Austin had launched at Milton, pummeling his chest in a light hearted game. “You’re not allowed to do that?”

“Do what?” Milton had asked all innocent.

“Brat.”

“With all my wonderful teachers I can’t help myself. It’s catching.” Milton had looped his arm around Austin’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I know this part is hard. It’s still hard for me, and I have far more practice, but we must do it, or I will turn into that awful ogre you and Sheldon joke about. Humor me, kid.”

Austin had nodded and kissed Milton’s cheek. “You’ll always be the good ogre. I don’t care what you say and what you worry about. I just know.”

Milton had turned and grabbed both Austin’s shoulders. “Don’t just know. Guarantee it. Don’t you ever put yourself at risk. Do you hear me? You negotiate this. You know where you’re giving a dominant control. You’re way too wonderful and beautiful and worthy to be hurt.”

“I’m never going anywhere else. This cub trusts you absolutely and with everything. I know you. I know your friends. I’m not leaving this perfect nest. I’m not that stupid, and I don’t care that you’re old enough to be my father, but I do know that scares you. I know you think you can unduly put your will on me, that I’m young and impressionable. Maybe I am, but not about you, not about my submission.” Austin had looped his arm around Milton’s waist. “I know I’ve got it good here, and I know these damn negotiations are important, but can’t I still complain a little bit? They’re hard.”

Milton had kissed the top of Austin’s head. “You can, but we’re doing it anyway”

“Yep, same as always.” Austin had smiled and leaned into Milton’s chest with happy abandon.

Luke scrunched his head into the pillow and shut his eyes again. It was easy if he stayed under this blanket. He wasn’t like the others; he was no good at this. Under the blanket was safe, warm, and protected.

“Someone’s faking?” 

Milton’s voice was too close and too warm. His hand was heavy on Luke’s head, possessive and frightening at the same time. He was big and familiar, yet strange all at once. Luke had always kept Milton at a distance, and now he was lying on the sofa as Milton stood over him.

“Resting,” Luke tried feebly.

“Thinking. I can see the gears spinning in your head.” Milton handed Luke a pile of casual clothes, jeans and a well worn sweatshirt with a faded logo. “Dress and we’ll talk.”

“I’m allowed to dress.” It was a smart comment. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, but it spilled out uncontrolled.

“Some fantasy I don’t know about?” Milton squatted in front of Luke and pushed his hair back off his forehead. “I’ll take you up on that sometime, but not yet. We have to talk. The dreaded negotiations,” Milton said with his gentlest smile. 

Luke swept his arm over his face and hid behind the crook of his elbow. He’d lived with Milton too long; he knew he’d have to talk. Milton was horribly stubborn. He could out stubborn Sheldon who really should win the most stubborn contest.

“Luke, dress and sit up. We are going to talk. You have no choice in the matter. You wanted someone in control for real, and this is where I insist for real. It’s not fun, is it? Can you imagine if I did it about other things? You’d be ready to kill me in a week.”

Luke struggled upright and reached for his shirt, suddenly embarrassed to be only behind a blanket. Stupid, Luke knew; Milton had whipped Luke naked over his knee. He’d had plenty of sex with Luke. Luke looked away; the window was safer than Milton’s deep brown eyes, which were inescapable once they locked on a face. Luke hated the intensity of those eyes. They were eyes he could never escape; they haunted his dreams. Tilden’s eyes were soft and vibrant, like the first splashes of summer colors; Milton’s were bold and demanding. They were the lion as he watched the innocent antelope graze.

“Stay with me. You’re drifting.”

Luke didn’t hide his flinch at those words. He’d been drifting, and Milton had known; Milton had always known. He could remember being that idiot college freshman and staring down at his notebooks in confused dismay. Milton had known. He and Tilden had fixed that. They’d shown him how to study, how to be good at academics. They’d even stood by him when he’d been so stupid and cheated right in front of Milton. Why couldn’t he fix this? It had been so easy then. He hadn’t been made to admit to all these things that lurked unbidden in his mind.

“Luke.” Milton tapped the top of Luke’s head with two fingers. “Pants.”

Luke jerked on his boxers and pants. Milton had picked a comfortable pair. They weren’t his dress khakis he’d been wearing earlier. The ancient jean material was soft and comfortable, the seams frayed with a fringe of tiny threads dangling here and there.

“Luke,” Milton started as Luke sat back down on the sofa, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring off into the spring starting outside the windows. “I showed you two ways: yesterday the brat as I’ll play it with you, today the more traditional submissive. Does either of them work for you?”

Milton was talking to him. Luke couldn’t seem to focus on the words. They flowed over him as if they were in an unfamiliar foreign language, a language which shared no cognates and Luke didn’t know even the simplest of greetings.

“I guess,” Luke said with a shrug.

Milton’s eyes burned into him. Luke grabbed the throw pillow and clutched it. It wasn’t a shield, but it was all that was in reach.

“Luke, you know where I stand about not being absolutely honest about this. Either we talk about it as two adults, or I don’t touch you again in any manner that couldn’t be construed as absolutely vanilla. I will never withdraw my love and affection for you, but I won’t be a dominant. I can’t be a dominant. I’ll still help you with decisions. I’ll still support you. That’s what adults do who love each other, but I won’t dominate you, not in the way you see as safe or simple with a few rules, not in the way you find frightening but also alluring as we did today. This is a hard limit for me. I respect your limits; you must respect mine.”

“I was crying and you made me suck your cock. I didn’t like it.”

“Not liking it is different than a limit. You have a safeword, Luke. The dominant doesn’t have that. My safety is here. I’m supposed to control the scene, give you what you want, never hurt you. I have to protect myself also. I’m not a sweet and gentle disciplinarian. I don’t even much enjoy playing that role in a scene if it’s not played to the absurd, but I will for a boy who really enjoys it. I played the disciplinarian enough with Sheldon and occasionally it wasn’t tinged with the improbable and impossible brat. I know it’s a common enough fantasy, but I’m a gay man and a teacher. Imagining putting a student over the desk and caning him is not my fantasy. It’s more my nightmare. It feels like predation. I know it’s not real in a scene, but it’s close to home for me. Austin’s very young. Do not think that I don’t realize how close that could be to predation and an imposition of my will with no understanding? When you were first here, I left too much unsaid. You weren’t mine and you should have been. You didn’t understand my role; it was undoubtedly wrong. I can only offer my apologies, and my eternal thanks that you and Mike weren’t damaged. I certainly did nothing to keep you safe.”

“No!”  Luke fell silent, looking at the deep furrows between Milton’s eyes, looking at the sadness and sincerity in every crag and line of the face. “I knew I was safe. You made me who I am. You fixed me.”

“You fixed yourself, and you were never broken. You only needed people around you who weren’t priming you for failure.”

“Tilden loved me. You loved me.”

“Yes, we did and we do, but love can come without hitting, without dominance. I didn’t give you the choice. You have that choice. You don’t have to be hit to be loved.”

“I’m a submissive. You didn’t hurt me.” Luke grabbed the pillow tighter and forced his thoughts into words. “I’m not Austin, especially when I was that young. I couldn’t have asked you that way. I could barely admit it to myself in the dead of night and under all the covers. I liked it. I wanted it.”

“I can’t do that again.”

“I know that. I don’t want to understand, but I do. I know you better. I know you have needs, and you’re not the just disciplinarian. I know Tilden hated that role with a passion, yet he gave it to me. I was selfish and desperate and couldn’t see around my own needs.”

“You’re not selfish.”

“I am. I want you to manage my life when I want it, at my beck and call and then disappear in some far off cave when I don’t want it. I don’t want to go on my knees and take your cock into my mouth. I don’t want to swallow semen; I think it’s gross. I want you to deal with everything hard. That’s hardly fair.”

“Luke, look at me. Listen to me. We’re family. We deal with the hard stuff together. That has nothing to do with dominance and submission, not in this family, not on my watch. We will always do it together. It is our pleasure to guide you through the bumps of academia and career. Both Tilden and I take that role, the dominant and the submissive. It’s not about who likes to hold the whip and who likes warm flesh. It’s about us as fellow humans and lovers and family. Don’t confuse the two.”

“I like...I like the feeling of being made, of being forced,” Luke said, swallowing on a throat that didn’t want to let sound escape.

“I know, and there are places I can force you. I can make you wear a green shirt every Tuesday and a blue shirt every Friday. It’s an arbitrary exercise of my will. As a dominant, I punish disobedience to my will. I don’t punish you to make you a better person; I can’t judge that. My better person might be someone else’s lunatic. I like a man to stand in front of me naked to the world. I’m sure most would consider that a somewhat insane desire and an undesirable quality, not something to cultivate. I can train your submission to a certain degree with your permission, but I can’t train you as a human. That’s my line in the sand, my hard limit, the line that cascades the infamous domino theory. I’m afraid of those dominos. I can’t touch the first one for fear of the entire stack. I’m not the saint of those types of fantasies. I like being a dominant. I liked you on your knees, worshipping my cock with suffering in your eyes. I am a dominant, not a perfect human with never a temper or a want, and in my opinion any dominant who touches such an arrangement is dangerous. I could tell Mike that he might find someone more suited to his needs. All I can tell you is don’t go there. All I can do is beg you not to go there. Maybe I can’t be your dominant, but I beg and plead for you not to try to find that fantasy.”

“It would be so nice,” Luke said softly. “I know, not really,” he added quickly. “I can think about all those sides; I just don’t like to. I want to pretend and you won’t let me, not anymore. This is hard. I don’t want it this hard.”

“It gets easier.” Milton stood and walked behind Luke, wrapping a heavy arm around his neck. “At least I keep telling Sheldon that, and he did get thorough a slave contract negotiation, so it must get easier.”

“It can’t get worse. I don’t want--not the giving head again.”

“Hard limit?”

“For now,” Luke whispered, remembering the feel of his throat being stuffed, the strength of Milton’s hand behind his head. 

“Three months and we’ll review it. What else?”

“The shirts. Can we do that? I know I shouldn’t be late, can’t be late.”

“But you’d like a warmed ass to start off the day. We can do that.”

“What if I am late?”

“That’s your responsibility not mine. I’d expect you to get up earlier. I don’t play with career damage. I chose consciously to damage mine. I have a harem; Austin is the age of my students. That was more important to me than being head of the history department or a dean. I’m tenured faculty. Gordon and Landon give this college a boatload of money. I’m happy with what I have. I chose family over career; I’m home today. Someday you might want or need to make such a decision. It will be yours, but you don’t mess with your future when I’ve given you better ways on a silver platter.” Milton paused and looked at Luke. “You’re not a boy who needs real punishment, but so you understand the ultimate punishment is withdrawal of my dominance. You’re a good boy, but that is your answer.”

“OK.” Luke knew he wasn’t saying much, but what was there to say. He understood; he might not want to understand but he did. He understood the complicated dance of reality and fantasy. He could only pretend so far. “Can I get another blow job from you?”

“Brat.” Milton smiled and batted at the top of Luke’s head. “I’m inundated with the damn things. They’re breeding like rabbits. Be a good boy, and I’ll think about rewards.”

“I’m very good,” Luke said shyly. He’d never been good at seduction, but suddenly he wanted to try.

“You are.” Milton nibbled at Luke’s neck, “but I think I have something better in mind.” He cupped Luke’s ass, rubbing the sting back to life. “A pretty boy like you should offer something in exchange for such a favor.”

Luke craned his head up and looked at Milton. “Fuck me. Please.”

“My pleasure.”