In Harm's Way

In Harm’s Way

“Ryan!”

“Blade, don’t whine.” Ryan wiped his face with the towel he had around his neck. “I’ve had a dozen boys whining at me about the heat; it’s not becoming in my husband, and it’s not allowed in my submissive.”

“The power company said a week. It was a little summer storm, and we’re supposed to be without power for a week. Are we supposed to survive on nonperishables and lukewarm water?”

“We grilled out tonight,” Ryan said mildly.

“No refrigeration. We were trying to use up all the meat. It’s not like we can call the ice man. I think ice delivery disappeared at the same time as the milkman. I’m not living on peanut butter and crackers.”

“Blade,” Ryan growled. “I haven’t the patience for this.”

“Well, either do I. I’m hot and sticky and in a crappy mood. Fix it.”

Ryan ran his hand through his sweat dampened hair, teasing the short strands upright. “I’m not a weather god, and I don’t work for the utilities. We have to wait and be patient.”

“Fuck you!” 

“Boy.” Ryan jerked Blade off the sofa and slammed him into the wall. Blade’s head banged against the plaster. “Stop this right now. I haven’t the patience to do it.” Ryan dropped Blade’s wrists as if they were suddenly electrified. “Shit! I can’t do this.” Ryan turned away from Blade.

“Ry.” Blade grabbed for Ryan’s hand. “That was my fault; you didn’t do anything. I wanted it. You didn’t harm me.”

“Blade,” Ryan said softly, “I almost hit you because I’m tired and frustrated and because it’s as hot as Hades.”

“You didn’t, you stupid fool. I knew what I was provoking.”

“Never in anger.” Ryan flopped down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. “I was so close.”

“Quit.” Blade pried the fingers from Ryan’s face. “You didn’t touch me. You were the good dominant. I don’t expect a saint.”

“Blade, leave me alone, please.”

“Ry—”

“No, please.” Ryan gave Blade a weak smile. “I’ll be OK; just give me a minute.”

“Bullshit!”

“Please.”

Blade nodded, his eyes studying Ryan’s hunched frame, Ryan’s massive arms hugging his own legs with the strength he usually gave his partner. Blade shifted forward and dropped to his knees in a perfect submissive pose. He slowed his breathing and tried to find the still and quiet mindset that so often eluded him. His shirt stuck to his torso; moisture dripped from his forehead. Blade held his position and waited. The salt stung his eyes from the sweat, but he kept his hands clasped behind his back.

In the distance, the bells rang in the village church tower, marking the start of another hour. Usually they weren’t audible over the hum of multiple electrical devices. A fly buzzed against the screen, the noise loud in the hot, fetid room.

“Blade, get up.” Ryan’s hand carded through Blade’s hair. He lifted Blade’s chin and kissed Blade’s lips, a gentle caress almost as if Ryan were asking for permission. “Come on.” Ryan weaved his fingers through Blade’s smaller hand and lifted Blade to his feet. “I can’t do it right now; I’m just too hot.” He brushed back Blade’s limp hair and kissed his forehead. “All I can offer is a cold shower; even all the ice is melted.”

“Yes, Ryan,” Blade said, carefully choosing his most formal response. He would have clasped his hands behind his back again, but Ryan still held one in a grip that was overpowering and conversely reassuring. 

“You are too good to me,” Ryan said, his voice no more than a whisper. “You give me everything without reservation despite my own failures.”

“You are a dominant and a man, no matter how much I wish you were a god. Judge yourself by human standards, not some mythical perfection. You remind me often that my submission, imperfect as it often is, is judge not on an unattainable ideal, but on always trying my best. I am yours, Ryan, and I trust you with all of me: my body, my soul, and my freewill.”

“I almost hurt you.”

“Almost. I shout; I lose my temper; I’ve even been known to behave like a complete lunatic. I was intentionally baiting you. It was as much my fault as it was yours. And nothing happened. Nothing happened, you big galoot. How many times do I need to repeat nothing happened?”

“I’m the dominant.”

“And?” Blade asked, cocking his head sideways and grinning at Ryan. “I don’t think you want to go there. You’re the one who argues about the strength and power of the submissive and goes ballistic if anyone suggests that the dominant is some sort of life coach or has a monopoly on good judgment.”

“I do not go ballistic.”

“Let me rephrase that. You go calmly ballistic, and only scare half the life out of the poor, mistaken dom instead of all the life.”

“Boy,” Ryan snorted.

“Ah, that’s better.” Blade stood on tiptoes and kissed Ryan’s cheek. “That’s my man—getting bossy again.”

“Blade.” Ryan shook his head and smiled, a brief glimpse of his usual dazzling smile. “All right, I give in. Do you know you’re impossible, boy?”

“Yes,” Blade said. “You’d be bored otherwise.”

“Get out of here, boy, before I decide bad tempered or not that I’m going to thrash you.” Ryan swatted Blade’s ass. “Go on.”

“You could, you know?”

“Blade, I know, but I’m too close right now. Leave it at that.”

“Yes, Ryan,” Blade said, dipping his head in submission, a gesture they rarely used, but Ryan would understand. Blade moved toward their small bathroom and the relief of a cold shower. “I’m taking a raincheck,” he called over his shoulder.

“Noted, boy. Now get.”