Green Pastures 5

Green Pastures 5

“Ryan, the phone’s ringing.”

“Answer it.”

“I’m ironing at your command. Should I desist with my duties and answer the phone? I fear I might burn the sheets.”

The growl from behind the bathroom door was loud and fierce. Blade had been pushing it all morning, more than this morning if he were honest. It had started with a mild pissing match about Blade leaving half eaten pizza crusts in the bedroom for two days, a snapped comment that he wasn’t exactly as young as the kids they taught and that they didn’t need to live in a pigsty. Blade hadn’t managed a sweet smile, a “yes, dear,” and a promise of a delicious roast in the evening. His response had been more along the lines that it would be quicker for Ryan to pick up the offending crusts. Ryan didn’t go all dom around the house, but he did go all school disciplinarian and Blade’s ears had been burnt to a crisp by words such as disrespect and obstinate. He hadn’t been punished; Ryan didn’t do that. Bratting was well out, and attempts were met with rigid and unyielding demands that he wasn’t living with a child.

Blade got that. He truly did, and he respected that side of Ryan. They were teachers. They worked with children. Ryan needed those hard lines demarcating different sides of his life, and Blade understood. Only sometimes he wished he didn’t have to be so proper and so adult.

The phone blared again, the bells pealing through their rooms. They were back living in the dorms. They both had enough seniority to live in one of the detached houses for faculty, but these kids did better with Ryan only across the hall. They had a motley crew here, bright enough or at least mostly but not the prized sons of the all too wealthy. This wasn’t the best prep school in the East, not by a long shot. They were the dumping ground, kids who just weren’t making it, not terrible failures, but not surviving the pressure cookers of their families. 

They could have taught somewhere more prestigious. They’d been offered a few times, but it has always come with the requirement that their extracurricular activities cease. Those schools had piles of applicants salivating to join their teaching ranks; they didn’t want to calm a hysterical parent who ran into Ryan or Blade at the Forest or a BDSM demo. Here the head of the school shrugged and muttered something about having once belonged to an anarchist party and that as long as it was legal she didn’t care. Blade had trouble imagining the short, gray-haired women, in her severe skirts and blazers ever being an anarchist or anything else fun, but maybe his imagination was weak. 

“Hello.” One more ring and the thing would have gone to voice mail and then there would have been real hell to play.

“Ryan?”

“No it’s Blade. Ryan’s in the bathroom.” It was Tilden. The man never called. He didn’t like Ryan, not that he would ever say that. He was too overstuffed with genetic sweetness and overdone morality to ever admit that he thought Ryan was a patronizing pain in the ass. No, that was too harsh. Blade actually liked the guy or was at least fond of him. He was just too uptight by half, and the late in life disclosures of his real dynamic had left him permanently skittish. 

“Could you have him call me?”

“Tilden, what’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing. I just need to talk to him.”

“Nothing will shock me. You can tell me.”

“It’s just a formality. You know Milton.”

Blade’s mind raced ahead. A formality. Something to do with Milton. Certain things needed to be reported or at least were strongly urged to be discussed. Ryan had played the intermediary with Mike. Tilden couldn’t be going down the same path. That couldn’t be happening. “Tilden, you’re—“

Tilden must have recognized the waver in Blade’s voice. “No, not that. It’s…” Tilden broke off and cleared his throat. “I used my safeword.”

Blade made a noncommittal noise. He’d safeworded a few times, once at a demo when one of the participants became inappropriate, once when he’d melted down about sensory deprivation, and once when he’d freaked when he thought he heard teenage voices around him. He’d been wrong about the last one, and they’d both laughed heartedly when Ryan had done his search for spying monsters.

“He was beating me.”

“Milton?” Milton beating Tilden, beating him until he had to safeword was inconceivable. Milton had impeccable timing and empathy with a submissive. He always knew how hard to push.

“Blade.”

Blade heard the weary exasperation loud and clear. Tilden was still too close to the edge. “I’ll get him. He’ll be right here.”

“I’m not a two year old who lost his mother in the mall. I’m not going to blow apart. Milton’s being obstinate about this.”

“I’m sure he is,” Blade said, trying to make his voice sound upbeat when his stomach had dropped though the floor. What had happened? Tilden was a peculiar submissive, but he wasn’t one who needed beat bloody, and Milton damn well knew it. Blade burst into the bathroom “Ry, it’s Tilden.”

Ryan was shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist, another draped over his neck. He grabbed the phone, no questions, no look of shock. He was good that way. He covered the phone with one hand and pointed toward the door. “Ironing now, boy.”

That was his dominant voice, his don’t mess with me voice because I’m in this headspace now and actions have consequences. 

Ironing. Damn service, and to think if asked Blade would say he enjoyed doing service. He hated ironing, the hiss of steam, the repetitive strokes. They sent their shirts and ties to the cleaners. This was the damn sheets. This was a dominant expressing his will. Blade had been asking for it, restless in that way that Ryan saw as a need to take him down. A beating might have worked. This was just dull. Better than the corner. Milton had used that a lot with Blade. Ryan did occasionally, but usually with a red ass and some toy stuffed in it. The anal beads might be nice. What had happened with Tilden? He was a calm submissive. He’d smile if asked to do the ironing.

“Blade, we need to go. Unplug the iron.”

“Iron. Don’t iron.”

“Don’t start with me.” Ryan’s grip on Blade’s bicep was tight enough to bruise. “Go let Thomas know he’s on his own this weekend.”

“He’ll love that.”

“Smile sweetly and promise that we’ll be back as soon as we can. Go. I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Tilden?”

“As far as I can tell he’s ok. Very sore. Milton did a doozy on him, but I can’t read him on the phone. We’ll talk more in the car, but I think Milton was trying to get him to safeword. He didn’t suddenly lose his mind. It will work out.” Ryan softened his grip on Blade’s arm and kissed the back of his head. “Go tell Thomas. He’ll have a heart attack if it’s me at his door. He has enough trouble with you.”

“I hate leaving him.”

“He has to manage it some time. He just has no confidence.”

“He’s not very good at this.”

“Blade, you’re stalling and wandering. Take the damn man under your wing if you feel that sorry for him. You are a good teacher, and you could probably help him, but this is not the time.”

“He broke up with Colette.”

The French teacher was new also. She’d tried about every available male on the faculty. Thomas had been her latest conquest, a two week whirlwind.

“We do not play matchmaker outside of the Green Mountain Boys. He will find someone. If you don’t hurry, he’s going to have me at the door, dragging you by the ear. That will really give him something to worry about.”

Blade woke up at the last tollbooth. They didn’t drive this way enough to have a fancy device on their windshield that would be automatically scanned at the tollbooth, so they were stuck in the single line to the booth with an actual person and change. 

Ryan had let him sleep after the serious warning not to give Tilden a hard time. As if he would. Yes, he found Tilden to be an overly straight laced submissive, seriously lacking on the fun score, but he knew how hard it had been for him to call Ryan. Tilden was serious and quiet and guarded his privacy with the prim properness of a Pilgrim on Plymouth Rock. Talking to Ryan was going to be torture.

“Twice with Milton.” Ryan fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

“What do you mean?” Blade said with a yawn.

“Major life change and he gets all heavy handed. He goes very close to the edge; one day he’s going to go over.”

“Milton? Come on he’s a saint. He reads a submissive like a damn book.”

“It’s the Gordon in him.”

“Gordon’s the same way. He’s the safest guy that I know with a submissive.”

“Now. His history isn’t so pristine. You know why I’m here. Why I do this job?”

“To ease Milton’s conscience.”

Ryan shook his head. “To protect everyone. The Green Mountain Boys built all the regulations, and hierarchies that I sometimes find maddening in an era where we were still considered freaks or suffering from pathology. Gordon and Landon gave an entire generation a sense of belonging and a structure when the rest of the world was trying to throw them out with the trash. Milton is the last of them. He learned to dominate from his knees. He knows what it feels like to be sprawled out in front of someone, swallowing tears and knowing he can’t take anymore. He can take Tilden to the edge and step over. The kids today just don’t get it. They want everything right away. They don’t have the patience to learn it. I worry what they are learning from this. He brutally beats his partner, and I grant a pardon.”

“He doesn’t need a pardon for what isn’t wrong.”

“The youngsters don’t know the difference. They won’t see this as any different from some yahoo who doesn’t have a clue and doesn’t know you’re supposed to distribute the blows. They haven’t come of age under the rigors of the Green Mountain Boys.”

“Teach them. We are teachers.”

Ryan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll make Tilden squirm with embarrassment and Milton get all New England stoic, write a report, and shove it in a drawer. The rumor mill will churn out a far more luscious story and everyone will believe that.” Ryan groaned again and slapped his hand on the dashboard. “It will roll off Milton. He can be hard headed when he needs to be, but Tilden is a different story. I’m still wrong footed with him, and this won’t help.”

“He thinks you’re patronizing.”

“How do you know?”

“Brothers talk.”

“Am I?”

“Patronizing?”

Ryan nodded, his eyes cutting toward Blade before focusing back on the road.

“Maybe. He has a lot more life experience than most young submissives. He’s terminally shy and reserved, but he does know what’s going on. The man faked being a dominant for years. He does understand the dynamic.”

“Understand, but does he accept? He made an art form out of hiding his submission.”

“Sort of,” Blade said with a shrug. “He was always submissive with Milton. I lived with Milton for years.” Blade peered out the window. He could see the chapel’s tower now, and a few students were jogging along the road. Saturday most wouldn’t drag themselves out of bed before late afternoon. “He did most of what my brother does now: organized, cajoled, offered a shoulder to cry on. No one would ever mistake my brother for a dominant. Milton was always the heavy with Tilden his faithful lieutenant. I don’t know why we ever thought of him as dominant. He didn’t do anything that was dominant.”

“You saw what Milton wanted you to see.”

“You weren’t there, Ryan. It was just natural. They were both older, both professors with good careers. Tilden had his act together.”

“And nothing you listed makes him one iota dominant, and Milton had to know. Maybe not when he was twenty. Tilden never looked like Sheldon, but later Milton knew. He was too damn experienced for Landon to have to wave it in his face.”

“You’re pissed at Milton.”

“I’m pissed that he put a friend through years of hell. Someone should kick his ass for Tilden. He’s still screwing it up. Tilden’s not going to forgive him forever.”

“Does Milton know you see it that way?”

“I’m not crazy. I’ve seen him with Gordon when they don’t agree.”

“He’ll listen to you.” Blade paused, his eyes taking in the familiar village of Banner. “You know he told me once that it’s much harder with the ones you really love. ‘Sometimes you and Ryan will get on each other’s nerves, sometimes your passions will run too hot. You’ll make mistakes, stupid mistakes because love makes you blind to the obvious. Be patient with yourselves,’” Blade quoted from memory. “He knows he’s been stupid and made mistakes. He was speaking from his own experience. Tell him what you see.”

“What I do for you,” Ryan said softly.

“And for yourself,” Blade said, a smile on his lips. “It keeps my brother dearest safely at home, and your sanity intact. Even you don’t want the dynamic duo.”

“Don’t even tease about that,” Ryan said with a friendly punch to Blade’s arm. “We’re here, chez Milton. Game faces on.”

“Yes, my captain,” Blade said with a mock salute before jumping out of the car and slamming the door with hurricane force. He gave a thumbs up and bolted for the house.

****

Oh God they were here. The sound of the car on the driveway was unmistakable and the noise of the front door manhandled open and shut reverberated in the house. Blade did that. He’d be in the kitchen any second. Tilden gripped his glass of tea and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Get it together. To run, to walk, to push a wheelbarrow, to fly a plane. The verbs of motion, comfort in the prefixes that sent his students screaming or wishing they’d chosen Spanish instead. He’d taught them for years, knew them inside and out without a thought. His mind drifted to the textbook chapter. He and Luke were going to do a new text. Luke already had some great line drawings that he used with his own classes for illustration.

“Hey. You all right?” Blade’s voice was too loud, his arms wrapped around Tilden’s neck too familiar. Family and expecting a family response.

“Fine.”

“In a pig’s eyes,” Blade said bluntly, using one of the expressions he must have learned from Milton. He was too young for such an old-fashioned expression to naturally come from his lips. “Ryan will call you on it, and then this morning will be far more unpleasant than it already is. He’s not cool with avoidance.”

“Blade, go find your brother. Let Milton know we’re here,” Ryan said, the order obvious even as his voice stayed conversational.

“I’m sure he knows we’re here.”

“It’s polite to greet him.”

“And get out of Tilden’s hair while I’m at it.”

“That too,” Ryan said in an easy voice, walking into the kitchen, wrapping his hand around Tilden’s tea glass, discovering it was cold, and freshening it without being asked.

“Yes, Ryan,” Blade said with a mock bow as Ryan’s blue eyes stayed on his redheaded partner.

Ryan was such a big man, tall and broad and filling the kitchen with his personality, making it feel crowded when it was only the two of them. “Hard drive?” That was the proper small talk. Tilden knew how to do that. He was socially normal.

“Not on a Saturday morning.”

Ryan was making himself at home. He sliced the dark grain bread that was on the counter and searched the refrigerator for jam and butter. Tilden waited in the unnerving silence as Ryan made toast, spread it with butter and jam, and set it in front of Tilden.

“Settle your stomach.”

Tilden pushed the toast away. “No thank you.”

Ryan shook his head and settled down in the chair next to Tilden. The chair groaned as if assaulted by his great bulk. “Eat anyway. Milton gave you space this morning, and he should have been on your back.” He slid the plate closer. “This is the part you like. This is where it’s all going wrong. It’s toast. You like toast.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“I’m not negotiating.”

Tilden turned his head away from the toast. He wasn’t eating at this gorilla’s demand. He took another swallow of tea.

“Are we going to have a battle of wills over this piece of toast. I can do stubborn and unreasonable. I teach teenagers. I’m used to emotional upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You lie terribly. What language are you counting in now?”

“I’m not counting.” No, he was planning a new method of explaining conjugation patterns to his overwrought Russian students.

Ryan rose from the table and placed his hands on Tilden’s shoulders. “I’m not blind to how Milton handles you, and your escape strategies. You become polite beyond all rational extremes, you delve off into esoteric academic topics, or you switch languages either aloud or in your head. I won’t take a belt to you. Just the thought turns my stomach, but I’m pushing you. I’m being a dominant right now, and you’re not very happy with it. I’m not Milton, and you don’t much like me. Blade says I come off as patronizing with you at times. I trust his judgment, and I apologize if that’s sometimes how I sound. I’m younger, and I’m way more casual with some of these things that give you heartburn. The way I look at it is that you finally admitted to be a submissive, so now it’s time to be one. Milton’s a public figure in our world, so you’re going to have to suck it up that you’re a submissive in public. I’m not pretending I don’t know what you are. I’m not pretending that I can’t smell your stress from across the room. You can get me off your back, but this coy, silent bratting is going to stop. I’m not doing this with you. Now eat your toast.”

“Joburg.”

“Hallelujah and praise the lord.” Ryan smiled, grabbed the toast, popped it into his mouth, and skipped to the other side of the table. “I’m not wasting homemade blackberry jam. I guess Milton made his point, not that I’m super happy with the way he did it,” Ryan said through a mouthful of toast. 

Tilden blinked. He hadn’t hit his head, but this conversation was making him dizzy. He lifted his glass of tea. At least that was something normal and ordinary.

“How much do you hurt?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Ryan shrugged. “I can’t make you. Just like I can’t make you eat unless you give me that permission. I think on both counts you’d feel better, and I can be a decent listener. We can do it this way, or we can do it with me being a dominant. I think you’d actually like the second better, but you just told me no, and I respect that, but isn’t that the impasse with Milton? You want his care taking with all the control it implies, and he’s uneasy because he rather likes people more at his mercy than is maybe civilized.”

“He’s not that way.”

“Come on, Tilden. I’ve seen what he can do.”

“You and Blade…”

“Go on.”

Tilden shook his head. He wasn’t discussing this. Ryan paraded Blade half naked with marks on his ass any chance they got.

“Are your thoughts running along the line to you’ve seen Blade pretty battered?”

“That’s your business.”

“Along as it stays safe, sane, and consensual. I’m the dungeon master here. I’m checking to make sure all the boxes are still ticked.”

“I’m not in a dungeon.”

“He laid you across the table and took the skin off your ass. That sounds pretty dungeony to me, not that dungeony is a word,” Ryan said with another one of his face splitting grins. “And I’m an English teacher. Webster is spinning in his grave.”

“He stopped.”

“I should hope so.” Ryan leaned forward, propping his chin on one of his large hands. “Do you understand that it’s your right to make him stop? You offer Milton control. You can take it back, even if he’s only irritating you about eating toast. What Blade and I do is easy. The parameters about when I’m being a dominant and when I’m being a husband are distinct. Your relationship with Milton is a totally different animal. I don’t know where the lines are. I can’t see how either of the two of you know. It scares the shit out of me, but you’ve done it in some fashion for years, and at least now you can safeword out if he’s being an ass. I know you’ll do it when he’s beating you, but will you do it about toast?”

“He’s not that way.”

Ryan grinned. “I guess I don’t have the magic touch. He’s that way. He’s that way with everybody. He’s that way with me, and I usually give in. Typically whatever he’s bugging me about he’s in the right, and I swallow my pride and let him boss me. But, Tilden, I make a choice to give in. I know I can push back. Make sure you understand that you can also. Tell him no occasionally. It’s good for him.”

“I’ve known him a lot longer than you have,” Tilden said with icy politeness.

“Yes, but he sure wasn’t going to hit you then.”

“I’m not worried about it. I’m not afraid of him. Suddenly everyone’s freaked out because he has a few more tools. I’ve always done what he wanted. I like doing what he wants. I like being looked after. I’m not repressed or afraid. I wish everyone would just get over themselves,” Tilden said with a rush. “I get this. I know what I want.” Tilden sat panting, his heart beating wildly. 

“OK. I need to see the marks on you and then I’ll go talk to Milton.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s pretty important. I won’t touch.”

“Fine.” Tilden stood up and jerked down his pants with shaking fingers. “Look damn you.”

“I’ve see,” Ryan said and turned away. “That hurts.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Tilden, really are you all right?”

“You don’t need to get all soft spoken and careful. I’m not going to break into a thousand pieces. I deserved some of that. I’m not at his mercy, and that’s what he was brutally pointing out. I hate being put into one submissive box or another, but I don’t stop it, so I got beat on to remind me that I can stop it. I get it. You don’t have to pummel me over the head with it. I like when he care takes, but there is an exchange I make to get it, and I know it. I’m not an imbecile.”

“OK.” Ryan paused. “I really do think you’d feel better if you ate something. I could make you a sandwich. I don’t mind.”

“Ryan, I’ll eat. You can stop fussing. I know where the refrigerator is, and I’ve even learned to use the oven without starting a fire.”

“Thank you for calling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

Tilden made a face. “I wasn’t given much choice. Go talk to Milton. He’ll want to talk to you.”

****

Ryan kept his step steady as he headed up the backstairs. He knew he was angry, he knew the wall was inviting him to smash his fist into the plaster, and he knew Milton would rub his nose in childish, outbursts of temper. “Fuck!” he muttered under his breath and balled his fists into his pockets. He wished he knew how to curse in a dozen languages or whatever Tilden did to keep his equanimity. 

Tilden, they weren’t really friends, never had been. Too different. Blade would call Tilden a friend, but he’d lived here for years, and Blade mixed easily with all types. Blade could drink beer with someone whose idea of fun was drinking piss and sticking pins in delicate parts of his body and one hour later be charming the white-haired grandmother at the local library. Tilden was kind and generous. Ryan had been around enough to see that. He’d seen him spend time tutoring Blade when Blade wasn’t always the kindest to his tutor. He’d help Blade set up his mini-course of Russian culture and language, providing the materials, and coaching Blade through the presentations on the Cyrillic alphabet and the giants of Russian literature. He’d known what films to show and what pop music to introduce that had made the class one of the most popular electives. 

Milton had beaten that man raw physically and mentally, a submissive who melted when pressed about eating toast and he’d bloodied him. Blade trusted Milton, loved Milton, called him his savior when he was a little drunk, and Milton did this. It wasn’t the first time. He’d seen Sheldon, striped from his shoulders to his knees and drugged with codeine and who knows what else. Milton had done it once to him. Ryan could still remember the trembling devastation and the ease with which Milton had manipulated him to accepting such a punishment. He’d felt grateful to the man for teaching him a lesson and the kindness of his aftercare. Gavin had warned him, called it a mind altering drug, but Gavin had trusted Milton with his precious Ray. 

“Ryan.” 

Milton was at the top of the stairs. He looked like he always did, tall and broad, and familiarly rumpled. He wore the professorial khakis like they were his second skin. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, displaying his still powerful forearms. His collar was unbuttoned, no need for a tie on a weekend.

“Let’s not do this out here.” Milton turned and headed toward his study.

Ryan didn’t take a seat, didn’t wait for Milton to take a seat. “What the hell were you doing? This is the second time I’ve dealt with this. Family stress and one of your submissives ends up bloodied. That was no game that got a little rough. You deliberately set out to hurt Tilden. He wasn’t in subspace when you did that. He was screaming in pain. He doesn’t get high by being beaten. The man wants petted a little. I can get him to safeword by offering toast, and you take the skin off his ass.”

“I’m a sadist, Ryan,” Milton said in a calm voice. He’d taken a seat in the green armchair by the broad windows as Ryan had raged. His hands were folded in his lap, his face calm. 

“So am I,” Ryan shouted. “I teach people how to use the damn whip. I’ve marked Blade plenty of times. I’ve enjoyed his tears and his screams, but this was different. What you did to Sheldon was different.”

“What I did to you also when you went after that guy,” Milton said in a whisper soft voice. “Yes, it is. Different, dangerous, and a powerful drug to the darkest parts of my ego. I know that, Ryan. I depend on you and Gordon and Landon to keep me safe. I enjoy that power, not just the sexual fun, not just the role play, but the real power. I know what I am. I think it was good for Tilden, not good as in fun, but good as in where is his place, but I need eyes that aren’t blinded by my own desires. I need your honesty.”

“I don’t like this.” It was impossible to shout and rage at a man who sat so calmly in a green armchair, surrounded by books and tall windows. This wasn’t the noir lighting of clubs or the shiny metallic of the nouveau chic restaurants. This was comfortable, grounding, natural. And the worst animals hid in plain sight tickled in the back of Ryan’s brain. But no one around Milton had that pinched defensive look or the overly bright smile and made up face to cover a bruised cheek. His submissives adored him. Their body language content and unafraid. They worshipped him, and he couldn’t get them all to drink the Kool-Aid. The cult of Milton. No, he pushed them out into the world. He practically forced integration with their peers down their throats.

“You shouldn’t. I’m a different sort of dominant than you. You enjoy it. You enjoy Blade’s beauty. You enjoy him shivering under your whip, but you stop there. I move people around like chess pieces on a board.”

“That’s Gordon and Landon.”

“So you noticed,” Milton said with an elusive smile.

“I’m not blind. The liege lords to the peasants. They’re decent people with their power, but they enjoy it. You enjoy it.”

“Tilden safeworded because he realized that’s what I wanted, not to protect himself,” Milton said in a steady voice.

“Probably.” Ryan moved forward. Looming over Milton felt wrong. He crouched and placed a reassuring hand on Milton’s knee, wondering for a fleeting second if Milton had picked this chair to encourage that. There was no chair facing it in a cozy cluster. “But he knows the difference. Isn’t that what you wanted to know?”

“He’s turned into what I made him.”

“Yes. He could have done far worse. Milton,” Ryan said, rising back to his feet and moving to lean on the desk, “Tilden loves you. Maybe it’s too blind; maybe it’s too much like worship, but it is what you have. He’s not a submissive who makes me comfortable. I’m not even sure his sort of submission should be encouraged, but we’re way beyond that point. He is without a doubt a submissive. You love him, so you better figure out how to deal. You own him, Milton.” Ryan turned his head away, letting his eyes fall to the rows of books. “Ask me in the right mood and I want to smash your face in for it. Ask me in a different mood and I want to give you a medal. You have to walk that line. You have to know when you’re stepping off. What I do with Blade is harmless. No matter how much you roughed up Mike, it was child’s play, covered by clear rules and defined desires. This is far different. I know what it feeds in you and it’s not altruism, but it’s not blind cruelty either.”

“I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me.”

Ryan smiled, knowing it wasn’t reaching his eyes. “I did too.” Ryan pushed off from the desk. “Next time could you not do something that’s going to mislead all the babies? Gordon and Landon may have honed these skills in you, but I’m not planning on teaching the next generation. I don’t trust myself.”

“Blade was in my household.”

“We play.”

“And he enjoys it.”

Ryan ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it into something that film studios would call artful. “There is an unsaid but.”

“I see the other. He is Sheldon’s brother.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Ryan, don’t worry,” Milton said with a genuine smile. “He’d brain you if you did half of what I do to Sheldon, but sometimes he does look to you to steady him. That is the slippery slope. Just be aware when you do it.”

“This morning,” Ryan said with a wry face. “He was bouncing around in a Blade frenzy and I set him to ironing the sheets.”

“That’s service, Ryan. He knew exactly what you were doing and what you were offering.”

“He did.”

“Hard as a rock in those little shorts he wears to bed.”

“Milton,” Ryan sputtered.

“I dealt with that boy for four years when I couldn’t touch him sexually. I know how he’s wired. You were both playing.”

“How did you ever stand it all those years?”

“Cold showers and baggy trousers. He’s a beautiful boy.”

“He loves you.”

“When I wasn’t fighting with him. You’re good for him. He’s much more grown up now.”

“Age.”

“More that age.”

“He’s not difficult. I’ve seen Sheldon.”

“You know Sheldon adores you.”

“When he’s not torturing me. He’s hard work.”

Milton shrugged. “We’re used to each other. We know which way we’ll both jump.”

“Maybe.” 

Milton cocked his head, his expression serious again. “Are we OK now? With Tilden?”

“Milton, I can’t look at your submissives and say you’re an abusive bastard. I can’t stand here and let you charm the socks off me and say it either. Let’s just hope I’m not wrong.”

“Fair enough.”

“I will be watching you.”

“I hope so.”