Milestones

Milestones

“Can I talk to you?” Luke hovered at the edge of the doorframe, only half in view of Milton’s large bulk. Graduation had been two days ago, but Milton was still at his desk, bent over some sort of work. He was more casually dressed in jeans and an almost tattered polo, the collar faded to some odd color from many washes by men who didn’t always master the washing machine.

“Always.” Milton’s smile was genuine. It wasn’t broad. He didn’t have the grin of Sheldon, his maniac partner, but there was something all encompassing about Milton’s understated smile, a gentleness that only the people who knew him well ever saw.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“Luke, stop fading into the woodwork. Come here.” Milton stood and pointed at the ground by his feet. Milton’s voice had changed. It wasn’t the New Englander who was reserved and private and very correct, but the dominant who demanded everything and wouldn’t be denied.

Luke took a deep breath, fighting the urge to run away. Four years in this house, four years with Milton and that look still made Luke’s heart pound inside his chest, threatening to crack the nearest rib with its wild hammering.

Milton grabbed Luke’s wrist and pulled him into the room with a sharp tug. He slung his heavy arm around Luke’s shoulders, and they both tumbled onto the sofa. “Breathe, boy. Have I ever done anything you really didn’t like?” Milton’s voice rumbled in Luke’s ear: warm, reassuring, and ever so familiar. It wasn’t Tilden’s lilt and light flipping of his tongue across the English consonant, but a solidness and familiarity that was as reassuring as it was demanding.

Milton hadn’t ever been awful to Luke, not if full dominant mode marked awful. Milton had been many things if Luke was entirely honest with himself. He’d been the friend, the teacher, the extra scaffolding when Luke threatened to fly apart, the guy who could find Luke’s books in a panic and knew how to change a tire. He was also the acknowledged heavy, the head of the Green Mountains Boys, and the head of this household. Tilden was Luke’s dominant, if he could even use that word to describe Tilden’s sweet prodding, but ultimately Tilden acquiesced to all and any of Milton’s demands. This house wasn’t a democracy, not even a democracy among the dominants. Trent reclused himself with a a shrug, and Tilden bent to Milton’s will. They negotiated and debated, but it was Tilden who yielded, not that either of them would describe it that way. They would call it consensus building, but Milton could muscle, and Tilden trusted his judgment. It was quiet and polite and always courteous, but sometimes no less an order than Milton’s sharp demands to Sheldon or to Blade.

“Luke, what do you need?”

Milton didn’t do small talk with submissives. The words weren’t unkind, but they were every bit an order. Luke was supposed to promptly and coherently address himself to the master of the house.

“Luke, do you need me to push you?” 

Milton’s hand was heavy on Luke’s thigh, a reminder of what it could do elsewhere, not that Milton had ever truly spanked Luke. Even in the beginning when Luke had been crashing from one disaster to the next, Milton had deposited Luke on Tilden. It had been different with Mike; Milton would hammer Mike and still would. Mike was also easier with Milton. He wasn’t insane like Sheldon, but Mike would poke at Milton, pushing him toward a rough paw on a submissive’s backside. Mike knelt for Milton, and it was Milton who had taught him the formal protocol as Tilden hadn’t known it and avoided the leather and chains set. They all knew how to do formal dinner service, a requirement of the household of the head of the Green Mountain Boys, but Mike was into it. He’d volunteer if they needed an extra boy for something. Luke was more with Mace, hide in the kitchen and hope they’d forget about him. Mace had a few choice words about the kneeling dinner servant along the lines of ridiculous hoo-ha, He’d play along in a pinch because, as he put it, Milton did him plenty of favors and several hours of feeling like an idiot wasn’t fatal.

Milton grasped Luke’s chin and studied the blue eyes that were desperate to look away from Milton’s dark and penetrating stare. “This isn’t a social call. You graduated two days ago. Should we start there?”

Luke, along with Mike, had graduated with all the pomp and ceremony a small college could muster and more guests than Luke had ever imagined. His father had even shown up for the official part, but the party had been a mob scene—Tilden’s family, Milton’s family, Green Mountain Boys from God only knows where, and Luke could have sworn the woman at the grocery checkout. Luke had tried vanishing upstairs, but Landon had stumbled across him in the hall and provided a personal escort for the rest of the party. Landon was good with people, and Luke had traipsed along drinking soda and nodding at appropriate places.

“We’re all very proud of you. You had a fabulous undergraduate career, and I know you’ll do stellar in graduate school. Two Russian scholars will drive us all mad, but it could be worse. You could be a physicist. When Jer talks about his work, it’s incomprehensible.”

Luke was off to Harvard in the fall. He’d wanted to stay near to home, and, well, even his father was impressed with the thought of a Harvard man in the family. He wasn’t impressed by the subject matter, but his father was never entirely satisfied. Luke wasn’t interested in Wall Street or investment banking. 

“Luke, this isn’t a monologue. You understand how this works.” Milton was being patient. His voice was steady, not even a tiny bit threatening. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been a full blown dominant with you. Pulling you into the room is typically your tolerance point. Are you looking for something from me today?” Milton brushed Luke’s hair back from his face and kissed his forehead. “Life has changed for you—no longer an undergraduate, very much no longer the lost little boy clutching Tilden’s hand. I can be the dominating bastard, but that is a side of me I don’t think you much like or want.”

“I don’t think I’m a submissive,” Luke said in a rush. He’d waited until Tilden and Mike had both gone out because he’d wanted to talk to Milton alone, but now trapped against Milton, Luke was questioning his own sanity. 

“If you mean behaving like Sheldon or Blade or Mike you are not.” Milton smiled and patted Luke’s knee. “You are also not the near child who won his dream man on that idiotic television program.”

Luke felt his face redden at Milton’s words and silently cursed his fair coloring. He’d wanted to have an honest conversation, not blush and stutter and feel inadequate.

“Hey, I didn’t say that to humiliate you.” Milton lifted Luke’s chin. “If we’re going to have this conversation, we need to do it honestly.”

Luke swallowed, moistening his dry throat. “I know. I’m not that kid anymore.”

“You’re not, and we don’t treat you that way. When’s the last time I’ve been on you for something? And right now doesn’t count.”

Luke shrugged. He couldn’t remember. The first two years had been a blur of corners and Tilden’s hand frequently adding incentive. Luke had never been a Blade; that boy lived in the corner or over a top’s knee, but Luke had seen plenty of his own trouble. 

“I can’t remember either. You’re not that sort of boy.” Milton settled back into the sofa, his voice shifting to his familiar teacher mode. “When you first came to us, you were very young, sexually and emotionally naive, and entirely unprepared for the realities of a power exchange, however you were in desperate need of support and structure and love.” Milton paused and smiled, ruffling Luke’s hair a gesture of quick affection that was common for him. “You hit the jackpot with Tilden, or more correctly you both hit the jackpot. His dominance is heavily tied into his need to cherish and to shelter and to guide. He’s not Ryan. Only the very fringes of Tilden’s personality brush the sadism necessary for the more forceful side of dominance, and Tilden represses that side ruthlessly.”

“Ryan likes to hit.”

“Not exactly. Ryan fully embraces his desire to inflict pain as part of his sexuality with a willing partner. Ryan despises using corporal punishment outside of that paradigm, and fortunately Blade responds poorly to all the things you most like. For you it is, or as we’re having this conversation, maybe it was about security and love and guidance. For Blade, dominance in the form of life guidance is repressive and suffocating and childlike. He’s more than happy to be chained to Ryan’s wrist, but don’t demand he drink water instead of caffeinated soda after 9:00 P.M. no matter how many nights he’s bouncing off the wall.” Milton smiled ruefully. “I’ve been there; it’s all out war.” Milton stood up and moved to the armchair. He crossed his long legs and leaned against one arm of the chair; his gaze trained on Luke. “You want to cease to be a submissive?”

Luke tried to process the words. His brain kept going to Milton over in the chair. “Why did you move?”

“I react to you as a submissive. If we’re going to have this conversation, we should do it properly without me overly influencing your responses.”

“Oh.”

“Luke, you’ve been Tilden’s for four years, but in many ways you are still a novice about the power exchange. Tilden and I have both sheltered you from the rougher edges. You’ve graduated from college; you’re more mature; you have a steady married life. You don’t want someone organizing your homework and telling you to eat your broccoli.”

“Tilden would never tell me to eat broccoli,” Luke protested.

“You detest broccoli. I forgot, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir.” Luke swallowed and licked his lips; his fingers played on the sofa cushion. He traced a loose gold thread until it disappeared under his pants. “I love Tilden. I love being cared for.”

“But you don’t want to be quizzed every time you’re out late or change your schedule.”

“Tilden’s nice about it. He usually allows it, and he doesn’t spank if I’m late.”

“Unlike me who takes the skin off Sheldon for tardiness. It’s a part of the game for us. It’s not for you. It’s real for you, and you’re old enough and mature enough to decide if you want to be tired the next day. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Luke chewed on his lip; a slight saltiness filled his mouth as his teeth gnawed against the tender flesh. “Sometimes.”

“But not all the time or you wouldn’t be chewing holes in your lip and wishing I’d tell you to stop.”

Luke strung several nasty Russian swear words together in his mind. Milton was supposed to help him. Instead Luke was on the sofa alone being interrogated. He should have stuck out this conversation with Tilden. They’d started it a few times, but it always ended with the samovar dry and neither of them speaking their mind; the traditional bottle of vodka might have worked better.

“I’m not the kid I was,” Luke mumbled.

“Hm.”

Could Milton be any more noncommittal? 

“I know how to do my homework.”

“You are an excellent student.”

“Tilden doesn’t make me.”

“He couldn’t have anyway. The power exchange works because the submissive grants the power to the dominant. Making someone do something is an illusion, a well hidden illusion with certain players, but still an illusion. If it is beyond that, it’s an abuse of power.”

“I know that now.” Luke rubbed his hand down his pants. He should have left well enough alone; this conversation was torture.

“You didn’t understand in the beginning?” Milton seemed to be asking for confirmation on something he already knew. 

“Not in the way I do now.” Luke tasted fresh blood as his teeth skimmed over his lip. “I needed it to be real. I was lost. But now…”

“This isn’t a static relationship. When’s the last time Tilden enforced a rule about bedtime or homework?”

“Months ago.”

“Luke I know you haven’t directly challenged Tilden, and I don’t think you will, but Tilden noticed as did I.”

“Tilden’s not enforcing them.”

“No, he’s not. My question when you came in here was did you want more or did you want less.This is a time of change.”

“I can handle it,” Luke said and lifted his chin.

“Your first step is to talk with Tilden. He’s your lover and your dominant until you say otherwise.” Milton stood, his bulk imposing even as he kept his shoulders loose and facial muscles relaxed. “Luke, I’m protective of those whom I love, and you fit in that group. When I’m protective, I’m bossy. You’ll have to tolerate that from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Luke, if you don’t want the dominant, I’m not sir. I’m Milton. If you want the dominant, I’m sir. We’ll leave it there until you figure it out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Luke bit back the automatic sir. “Thank you.”

Milton pulled Luke into a hug. “You’re still my housemate and a young men whom I’m proud to call one of my closest friends.”

“Should I?” Luke asked burrowed into the safety of Milton’s arms.

“Should you stop being a submissive? Only you can answer that. The reality of submission is harder and messier and far more painful than the fantasy. You knew nothing of the reality four years ago. Submission is not only the parts that you like and is more than me or anyone else reminding you that reading at one in the morning makes getting up for class difficult.”

“What should I do?”

“You should talk to Tilden and to Mike, and otherwise I won’t answer that question. Even if you choose to remain a boy in this household, I wouldn’t answer that question. The boy must choose submission without coercion or desperation.”

“I hate making decisions.” Luke cringed at the whine in his voice.

“That doesn’t make you submissive. Don’t try to get out of it that way. Now go on, and Luke, you are a smart young man, Trust you instincts. Tilden and Mike will love you no matter the choice.”