Austin's Diary - Sheldon's Away

Day: Sheldon's Away

I hate winter. It wasn't winter, yet, only the start of November, but it was dark when good cubs were supposed to get up. I hate getting up in the dark; it ought to be a national crime or something--cold and dark and having to crawl out of bed. It was dark, dark this morning. The bedroom was illuminated only by the faint glow of the light from the adjoining bathroom. I studied the numerals on the clock through sleep dazed eyes--five fucking AM. I draw the line; five in the morning is an obscene time to get up. I'm not a rooster; Milton can shove his early start. Yeah, I'm a tough guy. Even our dearest Milton wouldn't pry me from the sheets. Liar, liar, pants on fire. His hand on my ass, and I'd be up like a shot. He doesn't get that my ass isn't as hard as his. If they had spanking in the Olympics, he'd certainly bring home the gold.

Milton ignored me; one small favor for this non bright eyed and bushy tailed rooster. His hand was on Sheldon's shoulder, and he was pointing at the piles of clothes scattered all over the floor. Laundry on the floor was one of those non permitted things. Dear reader you don't want to know the vastness of the non permitted list. It makes the collected works of Shakespeare look like a weekend read. I'm currently at war with Shakespeare; a battle yours truly is losing. The firepower deployed by the opposition is overwhelming, and I'd thought Tilden was the pushover and gentle academic. He ratted me out to Milton for not doing my reading, and I had a miserable evening of memorizing an incomprehensible soliloquy. The cane sitting on his desk did speed my memorization. Keep it on the desk and off my ass.

Back to Sheldon and the clothes. He was kicking them across the floor and snarling at Milton. "I'm not going. I've told you I won't."

"Sheldon, you have a responsibility to yourself and to your colleagues," Milton whispered.

"I'll tell them I'm sick. My throat's scratchy."

"My boy doesn't lie."

"You don't interfere with my work," Sheldon spat. "I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving Austin alone." Sheldon flopped down on a pile of clothes.

Milton moved forward, his body frighteningly predatory in the dim light of predawn. He jerked Sheldon to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "If you insist on behaving like a petulant child, I will interfere in your work. Trust me, boy."

"Make me," Sheldon snarled in a half whisper.

Fortunately Milton's eyes were on Sheldon, or he would have seen me stiffen and then make a dive to bury myself in the covers. I'd be puking and pissing myself in fear if I'd said those words to Milton.

Milton didn't reply in words. In a quick, harsh motion, he pinned both Sheldon's arms behind his back and shoved him out the door. I heard socked feet on the stairs and then nothing. I could usually hear voices in the kitchen; they must have gone to the basement or the garage. I watched the numbers on the clock. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and still gone. Twenty minutes and I promised myself I'd go look for them if they weren't back in another five, not that I had any real plan.

I missed the creak of feet on the stairs, lost in my imagined horrors of Milton torturing Sheldon. Silly, I know, but in the early hour melodrama ran off with my brain. I almost shot out of bed as the door opened. No blood dripped from Sheldon. I didn't see any blackening bruises. Milton pointed at the worn and oversized armchair. Sheldon sat, his arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting on his knees.

"I can do that," Sheldon whispered as Milton folded the strewn clothes and replaced them in the suitcase.

"I'm doing it. Obedience."

"Yes, sir."

Milton folded the last pair of pants into the small suitcase. "I'll be downstairs. Wash your face and brush your hair."

"I love you."

Milton opened his arms, and Sheldon stumbled into a hug. Milton's fingers traced through Sheldon's hair as he held his partner close. No big tough guy emotions here. I had to blink back tears to keep from crying.

"Wash your face. Go on." Milton patted Sheldon's hip, picked up the suitcase, and left the room.

The water splashed and Sheldon reappeared with his face still dripping as he wiped it with a towel. Sheldon sat on the edge of the bed and dropped a whisper of a kiss on my forehead. "Be good, cub."

"Sheldon." I opened my eyes. "You OK?"

"How much did you hear?" Sheldon ran a finger down my cheek.

"All of it."

"Me being an idiot," Sheldon groaned and flashed me a smile. "Milton didn't kill me, not that I didn't give him plenty of reasons. We talked, cub, and he swatted me. Gently, I might add."

"He...He...."

Sheldon stroked his fingers through my hair. "Shh. We talked." Sheldon kissed my forehead again. "Sometimes the talking is harder than the other stuff. Milton will take care of you. Be good to him. I was a pain in the ass this morning. I have to go."

"Sheldon." I reached up for his hand as he stood.

"Austin, I can't. I'm OK. I swear."

"He was mad."

"Trust him." Sheldon ruffled my hair. " Now go back to sleep. It's way too early."

I dropped back onto the pillows, suddenly feeling stupidly close to tears. I stared at the ceiling, listening for the sound of the front door and a car on the driveway. I couldn't sleep, but I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to face Milton.

"I understand you're awake." Milton's voice was quiet from the doorway.

I looked away, not making eye contact, staring into the darkened windows.

"Get up."

I lay unmoving. My hand clutched the pillow. It smelled of all of us.

"I punish disobedience," Milton said softly. "Do we need to go there?"

"Don't touch me. I don't want this."

"What's your safeword?" Milton asked, not moving from his spot by the door.

"Cosmos." I should probably spell it with a k. It was some character in a movie I watched with Luke, a Russian punk kid. I, of course, wasn't thinking of spelling. I was too busy staring at Milton.

"Do you need it?"

I couldn't manage the magic safeword. It was the tiny hours of the morning after all. "Go away."

"Up."

I'm not the world's fastest man, but Milton might have won the title this morning. A large hand lifted me from the bed like a cosmic crane and dropped me on my feet.

"Strip."

It wasn't like I was heavily dressed--boxers and T-shirt. I fumbled with the hem of the T-shirt and pulled it over my head.

"Boxers."

Milton can talk in long and elegant sentences. What was with the one word sentences?

"Now."

I jumped at the sharpness of his tone, and my hands obeyed his words despite my brain screaming no.

"Link your hand behind your head. Elbows out. Feet shoulder width apart."

Milton moved me into position, his hands heavy and hot. I could hear my panting breath rattling in and out of my chest.

"Scared?"

I shook my head. I was fucking terrified: naked, exposed, and without Sheldon. But, I'm seventeen. It's not macho to be scared shitless. Oh, God, too much introspection for me. Milton does that with his constant barrage of questions.

"Liar." Milton's hand ran up the inside of my thigh. "Spread your legs more. He slapped my thigh when I didn't move quickly enough.

"Ah!" I tried to shut my thighs.

"If you don't like my hand, you will not like the nasty toys I keep in the bottom drawer. Spread your legs."

"Please." I could feel a cold sweat on my upper lip, and my hands felt clammy.

"Scared?"

I managed a tiny nod.

"Good boy." Milton kissed my forehead before dropping lower. His lips just grazed my erect nipples. "Scared and aroused." His palm skimmed across my half hard cock. "Confusing?"

I managed another tiny nod,

"Lie on the bed face down."

I hesitated and looked into his dark brown eyes. I was searching for reassurance, and all I could find was his steady and demanding stare.

"Obey."

I scrambled, fearing the hand that had moved against my vulnerable ass. I threw myself on the bed, clutched the pillow, and waited. I felt nothing, no thump of Milton's massive hand or sting of his horrible belt. I shivered. Milton's hands were warm and slick with oil. They slid down my shoulders and kneaded the small of my back.

"Submission isn't only about punishment. It's about trusting me to know when, what, and how much. It's about honesty. Without honesty I can't know when, what, and how much. You will know if I'm going to punish you. I am not a trickster. I don't punish fear and confusion."

"I disobeyed."

"Fear and confusion. I will educate this time." Milton's hands rubbed the back of my thighs. "You are not privy to my dealings with Sheldon, but his description of talking was accurate."

"Why didn't he want to go?"

"That's for him to answer," Milton said. "Turn over."

"I'm not dressed." I know stupid comment, but you try it sometime. Butt naked when the other guy is fully dressed. Duh, it's called submission, and I was being handed a comprehensive lesson.

"Submission, Austin. This was your choice. Nothing is free from my scrutiny: your mind, your body, your dreams. The teenage mantra of sullen silence and disobedience is not acceptable, and I will punish. You desired adulthood; you will accept adult consequences. Turn over."

I turned over; my body horribly exposed. I could feel the redness in my face. Let's be honest here. I blushed to the tip of my dick.

"Arms out to the side. Legs spread. Make an x."

Exposed.

Warm oiled fingers on my balls and my shaft.

"Come for me."

Agh! No secret trysts in the library. I'm noisy and messy.

"No secrets. No privacy. Everything in my control Get dressed." Milton walked away, tossing my skimpy sleep wear over his shoulder without looking.