Alone

Alone

“Luke,” Mace said, standing in the doorway and looking over the kitchen. “I know you love Tilden, but emulating his cooking wasn’t necessary.”

“Fuck!” Luke said loudly and explosively.

“Luke, you OK?” Mace asked and entered the kitchen, trying not to shake his head at the debris: powdered sugar on all surfaces, pink icing dripping down the counter, and the remains of a cake on the floor. “What happened?” Luke wasn’t usually the volatile one. Mike had a temper, and in the right mood he’d send a cake to the floor, but not Luke. Mike and Sheldon together could definitely send a cake to the floor, but they both knew it and didn’t usually try to set each other off. Mike didn’t engage in bratting for the hell of it, or at least not often, and Sheldon, well, he would have dumped the sugar, but not the cake. No use losing a perfectly good cake.

“I knocked it off the counter by accident,” Luke said, raking his fingers through his blond curls and leaving bits of pink and red sugar. “The phone rang,” Luke continued as if that should be explanation enough.

“You were running to get the phone and knocked off the cake?”

Luke nodded. “I guess I should clean it up. Sorry.” The tone was petulant and angry, not apologetic.

“If you don’t want Milton or Tilden to have a cow.” But maybe that was the intention. Mace dodged the broken eggs and made his way to the sink. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“It’s my mess.” Luke looked despondently at the floor, only a few tiles peeking through the flour, sugar, egg yolks, and pink icing. “I’ll deal with it.”

“It’s easier with two,” Mace said and started sweeping the dry goods into the dustpan. 

Luke wasn’t really helping; he pushed mixing bowl around the counter and threw the empty egg carton in the trash, but his eyes were cloudy, and he’d run his hand across his face several times, obviously trying to hide tears.

“Hey, don’t step in my swept pile,” Mace protested in a tone he hoped would come across as light and jovial.

“Sorry. I know I’m an incompetent ass,” Luke said, turning sharply from Mace, his shoulders hunched in a way that indicated he was battling tears. “Fuck! I can’t even do angry right. I just start crying.”

“Whoa, cowboy.” Mace left his floor sweepings and draped an arm over Luke’s shoulder.  Mace wasn’t naturally demonstrative with other men. He didn’t have that easy ability to hug even his closest friends. It taken him years to stop flinching and ducking when Milton or Josh laid a hand on his shoulder.  Trent joked that the strong, silent type might make a great romantic movie hero, but was hell as a partner. Luke thrived on being touched. He was usually in Tilden’s back pocket, especially is he was upset. This wasn’t the week for Tilden to be away at a conference of Russian teachers.

“I’m all right,” Luke mumbled, sliding out from Mace’s embrace.

“Yep, and the moon’s made out of green cheese. If you can’t convince me, you’ll never convince them.” ‘Them’ were the tops of course. Tilden might be out of town, but Milton was here, and even Trent might abandon his live and let live policy for a moment to deal with this. Trent couldn’t do a Milton and have every submissive in a three state area on their knees, but he could be unshakable in his quiet, understated way. Yep, he could, Mace thought. They’d had their moments, and Trent had won every single one of them.

“I was just angry I’d knocked the cake off.”

“You’re not Sheldon; you don’t throw food in the kitchen.” Mace kept his gaze steady; he might be the sensible type, but he didn’t do this top thing, and Luke needed a top. Milton could do a look that made Mace’s stomach drop faster than climbing on the rankest horse ever had.

“I did today,” Luke snapped. “Can you just leave me alone?”

“No,” Mace snapped back and then steadied his own temper and slowed his voice to the easy western drawl that always steadied his own nerves. “You don’t need to be alone.” Mace propped his hip against the counter and looked out the windows to the gray sky of New England. Back in his riding days, he would have grabbed a piece of hay and chewed on the end while studying the mountains or the horse flesh in the coral. He couldn’t do that in the kitchen, but he could think of Trent standing over the stove, a spoon in one hand a hot mitt in the other.

“Shit!” Luke kicked at the pile of flour on the floor.

“Luke, we’re all in this together.” Mace swallowed hard; he didn’t do this easily or naturally. He sat on a horse naturally; he didn’t have to explain himself to the horse, not in words; people weren’t so easy. It was Milton who had insisted that Mace not nod and turn away and dream of a life he could no longer have. Milton, who on the outside looked like a stereotypical New Englander, had grabbed Mace’s wrists, pinned them over his head, and growled at him.

“You’re a submissive. You live in my house. I’m a dominant, and I won’t pretend we’re strangers.”

Mace had stood, shoulders frozen against the wall, half-afraid, half-aroused, and half he didn’t know what. His heart had been pounding like it did before he wrapped the rope around his fist and nodded for the gate to be opened on the chute.

“I won’t touch you sexually, boy. You aren’t mine, but I won’t ignore the signals you’re throwing off. Submission isn’t only about Josh and don’t kill yourself at work being an idiot or whatever you and Trent do in bed, but it’s about everything, and right now, boy, you want someone to put you into a submissive head space.”

Mace had stilled under Milton’s powerful grip and steady, dark gaze. He’d felt his body go limp, surrender. He would’ve given Milton anything at that moment, but Milton hadn’t taken it, He’d whispered a word of praise, kissed Mace’s forehead, and let him go. 

Trent didn’t do that. Both Trent and Mace knew they played at it compared to Milton and Sheldon. Mace didn’t want to go down that far; he wouldn’t give himself up that much. Trent had touched the edges a few times, but Trent didn’t need that much either. Trent was fine to pretend they were vanilla with a touch of games in bed and with only a hint of the  other side like the first rays of the morning sun in the mountains. 

Luke needed it all right now. He needed to go in deep. Where was Milton? Tilden would be better, but he was halfway across the country. Milton could do it. His relationship with Luke was closer than his relationship with Mace, and he could do it with Mace. He’d proved is easily in the hall that day.

“Luke, here now.”

The deep rumble of Milton’s voice broke Mace’s thoughts from Luke. He hadn’t heard the door; he hadn’t heard the footsteps.

Milton snapped his fingers and Luke moved, falling into the open arms. Milton looked over Luke’s head, silent but his eyes expressive. Mace nodded; he understood the silent message. He’d deal with the mess in the kitchen; it wasn’t his, but Luke needed something right now, something they couldn’t quite name but Milton would do his best to give to Luke. Mace might never know what set this off, and that was OK. He wasn’t a dominant; he didn’t run this house. Milton would know and Milton would deal with it. Sheldon would know. It was Sheldon who guarded Milton’s secrets just as Mace guarded Trent’s secrets. 

Mace dropped his eyes to the mess on the floor. He didn’t even watch Milton guide Luke from the room. It was about trust and surrender, and Mace trusted Milton. Luke would be able to do both. Milton would hold those precious pieces in his hands. He might wish fervently that Tilden was here. He might bend and even crack a little under the strain, but he’d turn to Sheldon and find the spot they both enjoyed. They knew how to do this.