Blade's Tree

Blade’s Tree

“Blade, tell me again why I just collected you from the local constabulary?”

“It was the police, not the constabulary. You’ve been spending too much time with Gordon.” Blade tried his most winning smile. Milton was going to fry him for this. Soft sarcasm was never a good sign, and Milton was propped against the desk, arms folded, looking every inch a formidable dominant, and Milton didn’t need to loom and pose to look formidable. He was friggin’ scary every time he made eye contact.

“Young man, would you like to do this over my knee?”

“No, sir.” Blade swallowed hard and dropped his eyes in his contrite boy pose. Milton was usually too sharp to fall for it, but there was always the first time. Blade was a perpetual optimist; he had to be as a Zath. Otherwise, he’d wake up every day to the depressing thought that he was getting a spanking, writing lines, or standing in a boring corner.

“Go on,” Milton said dryly.

“It was the tree. I was lying in front of it to save it from the bulldozers. It’s a tragedy to let them tear it down. You said so yourself.”

“I didn’t lie on the ground and get myself arrested.”

“Well, you didn’t stop it either. They can’t chop it down. Think of all the history its seen. It probably saw the ragtag Colonial army fire their muskets at the Redcoats.”

“When did you become an expert on the American Revolution?” Milton asked, his eyebrows rising into his hairline. 

“I know about Paul Revere and his lanterns and Washington rowing across the Potomac.”

“Hardly an accurate representation of the period. Let me recap. If I understand you correctly, you were prone in front of the tree, creating a disturbance of the peace, to save it from the bulldozers because it was a living witness of the American Revolution. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Blade tried his most pleading look. He knew he could do the angelic, innocent look. Unfortunately, Milton seemed to have some kind of immunity spell.

“Very well. I expect a ten thousand word research paper on this area’s involvement in the Revolution on my desk two weeks from today.”

“What?” Blade already had schoolwork; this wasn’t fair. “I can’t.”

“You are quite capable, and the reference material is readily available at the college’s library.”

“I hate this.” This wasn’t what he’d wanted; he wasn’t a historian.

“Blade.”

When had Milton moved? His arm was hooked around Blade’s neck, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

“I know you thought I’d spank you for this, but you like that a little too much. No boy of mine gets himself arrested. Real disobedience--real consequences, and this for you is a real punishment.”

Blade twisted in Milton’s arms, wanting to search his face. “You knew.” It was all he could manage to say; he hadn’t even told his brother. He really hardly admitted it to himself, only in the dark in that haze between wake and sleep when he could pretend it was a dream and not reality.

“No boy gets himself in as many scrapes and outlandish situations as you if he doesn’t like it. By definition, true punishment decreases the frequency of the behavior. You brat at a high level, and I have no intention of changing that. That is who you are, a 24/7 submissive with some very hands on needs.”

“You don’t mind?” Blade asked almost shyly, feeling exposed and vulnerable despite Milton’s heavy arm draped over his back.

“If I minded, I would have stopped the behavior, but being arrested I mind. Do you understand the difference?”

Blade nodded. “Yes,” he said very softly, now wishing he hadn’t turned around where he could see those dark eyes that were much too steady and much too kind.

Milton’s hand slid through Blade’s hair in a rough caress. “It wasn’t horrible, just not again. I’ll teach you better ways to ask me for what you need that don’t involve the police. Now get to work.” The pat on the rump was just hard enough to be considered a light swat, a promise of better times.