Ryan's Submission

Ryan’s Submission

“Ryan!” Blade ran down the stairs, dodging the other students streaming out of class after finals and threw himself into Ryan’s arms, innocent students be damned. “You’re here.”

“Did you think I would let my boy take his last exam as an undergraduate without showing up?”

“No,” Blade said, his hands sliding down Ryan’s chest in ways that weren’t totally desirable in public. “How’d you get off work?”

“Personal day. Gavin brought me down. Behave, boy.” Ryan plucked Blade’s hands from his shirt.

Blade leaned against Ryan, and they both watched Gavin and Ray talk. Their greeting had been more discreet, a kiss on Ray’s hair and a possessive hold on Ray’s belt that only someone in the know would have seen. Ray was never going to be an exhibitionist. Gavin suddenly moved from Ray and grabbed at a shirt as a student clung to the metal stair railing. 

“That’s Matt, you know the infamous Matt,” Blade said. “He’s in my history class.”

Ryan stepped forward. There was something wrong. Gavin had his arm around the boy’s shoulders and was holding him up. They didn’t know each other beyond the single encounter that night, and Ryan knew enough of the story to know that Gavin had neither been kind nor forgiving.

“His back, look,” Gavin ordered, not releasing his hold on Matt.

Matt looked worse close up. He was white with a bruise changing from green to yellow on one cheek. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing long sleeves and long pants, hiding bruises that Ryan was sure decorated Matt’s arms and legs. Ryan lifted up the tail of Matt’s shirt and couldn’t stop the horrified, “shit” that escaped his lips. He’d seen rough play; he’d seen play that as far as he was concerned bordered on sadistic. What was on Matt’s back was sadistic; no other qualifiers were suitable.

Ryan lifted his head and met Gavin’s eyes. “Beaten badly.”

“Don’t touch me!” Matt tried to jerk back, swaying as he lost his grip on the metal railing.

“Don’t move.” Gavin’s voice was quiet, but infused with the same authority that had made Ryan kneel for him. “We’re not the enemy, and God, boy, why didn’t you ask if you needed this.”

“You hate me.” Matt’s voice was thick with tears and broken in a way that Ryan had hoped never to hear. 

“Kid,” Gavin said in a whisper, “I met you only once and then you were behaving like a little boy spoiling for a fight you weren’t ready to have. From Ryan’s expression and the lines of pain that are consuming your body, you found that fight at the hands of an abuser. I know what play and consent looks like, and let me tell you, little boy, this is neither. I hurt my submissive, but I would never leave him bruised, beaten, and on the verge of passing out."

Matt was silently crying, the tears running down the livid bruise and glistening in the sun of a day that seemed too bright for such pain. “Please.”

It was probably more of a plea to be left alone than for help, but leaving Matt would be cruelty that Ryan couldn’t bear. This boy was too young and too innocent to suffer alone. Ryan did what came naturally to him. He picked Matt up. Matt was taller than Blade, but not much heavier. “Don’t fight. I either carry you, or I call an ambulance. You’re not walking.”

Matt let himself be carried, his head resting against Ryan’s chest, his eyes shut as if pretending that he became invisible by blocking out the sight of the world around him.

“I’ll get the car.” Gavin was jogging, already moving to the far lot where they’d park the car. 

Ryan eased Matt onto a bench and rolled him over to one hip. “I’m sure this hurts.”

Matt nodded and wiped at the tears on his face. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Find you someplace safe. Who did this?” Ryan looked up, trying to spot Blade and Ray. They had moved to the other side of a big tree and were sprawled out on the grass, pretending not to see. Blade would know to make space. He was a Green Mountain Boy; he lived with Milton; he would have seen Milton with boys in trouble. Blade might come off to a stranger as if his brain was mush, but the boy was quick and in someways wise beyond his years. Blade had probably seen more of this than Ryan. Ryan was protected at The Forest. They screened their customers well.

“I was a fucking moron.” Matt licked his lips, wincing as his tongue probed against a sore spot.

“Being hurt doesn’t make you a fool or an idiot,” Ryan said with a calm he didn’t feel. He didn’t know this kid, but he wanted to beat the asshole who did this half to death. Submission was about trust. There was pain, but the pain should be worth it the next day. It should be uplifting, not defeating.

“I wanted to get hurt. You hurt Blade. Gavin hurts Ray. I’ve seen Blade look at the chair as if it were the enemy.”

“Matt, there’s a world of difference between the controlled application of pain and being beaten half to death. I’ve only peeked at your back and looked at your face. You were assaulted; that is a crime.”

“I’m not going to the police. I was asking for it. I went there on my own.”

Ryan ignored the comments about the police. He wanted to report it, but even in this new and enlightened world—or at least the politicians thought it was enlightened—Matt was right. The police would respond with a sophisticated form of I told you so. Play with fire and you will get burnt would be the judicial answer.

“Where did you go?”

“Crossroads.”

Ryan didn’t recognize the name, not that he knew many places in Boston. 

“It’s not nice, not like The Forest. I’d been there a few times. I’d been beat up a little, but not like this.” Matt shifted his weight and hissed. “I was stupid, but Greg hadn’t hurt me bad before. I knew he’d been drinking.” Matt shut his eyes, his voice trailing off.

“He ignored your safeword. No one made him stop.” Ryan could fill in the details. He’d never seen it; he’d hoped to never see it, but even in his protected world of The Forest, those incidents were whispered around the edges. Abuse was always the shadow of a good player to be kept controlled and far away. Gavin had beaten Ryan several times hard enough to make the next day damn difficult, but it had been careful and safe, and Ryan had never suffered alone. To the outsider, it all looked abusive, but Ryan cherished Blade’s willingness to suffer and take pain for him. The bastard who had beat up Matt had just wanted to beat him up. It hadn’t been about mutual enjoyment; it hadn’t been about making Matt fly; it hadn’t been about affirming mutually agreed upon roles. It had been brutality, the wanton cruelty of cans tied to a cat’s tail.

Gavin showed up with the car, saving Ryan from further conversation. Ryan could only guess what Gavin had said to the traffic control in the little white booth, but he had a campus cop in tow. The cop took one look at Matt and reached for his radio to call an ambulance.

“Officer,” Gavin said with more control than Ryan could have mustered. “He doesn’t need strangers. He will get medical care.” Gavin pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and started fishing in its contents. Gavin was an EMT; Ryan had forgotten that. He was probably looking for some form of proof.

“Sir,” the officer said, staring down at Ryan and Matt. “Do you refuse medical care?” He looked young, no older than Matt. He probably was an expert on bicycle theft. The Boston police were surely called for real crime. 

Matt nodded. “I’ll sign what you need.” His eyes never left his knees. Ryan heard the whisper that Matt hadn’t totally kept quiet. “Make this go away. Please.”

Ryan cut his eyes to Gavin. Hopefully Gavin could still read him well. Get rid of the cop. Do your older, authoritative thing. They’ll listen to you over me.

Gavin had understood either from Ryan’s look or just the situation in general. They bundled all the boys into the car. Matt sprawled across the seat, his head in Ryan’s lap, his feet in Ray’s. How he’d ever sat in a rigid desk to write an exam was a question that Ryan didn’t want to contemplate at the moment. Matt’s nails had dug into Ryan’s hand just at the light touch of the leather seat.

Blade was upfront with Gavin. He’d pulled his phone from his pocket and was talking in a series of mumbles and half whispers. “Milton knows,” Blade said, pocketing his phone. “Matt, Milton will take care of it. He’ll know what to do.”

Milton--the white knight. He’d rescued Blade. Of course, Blade would think of him in this way. Blade was confident and sure of Milton’s powers of healing, or was this Blade’s own cloak? He was good at shielding his own feelings; Ryan had seen it enough when Blade turned into the airhead flirt. No, Blade trusted Milton. Blade had never been hurt by a dominant. The trust could be overwhelming at times. Ryan had felt it a few times when Blade would casually toss a disaster in his lap, not the amusing Blade wanting attention, but the boy underneath scared and hurt by the world around him. 

*****

Milton had been the white knight. He, with an efficiency that was both ruthless and kind, had stripped Matt, ensconced him on pillows, and covered his body in cooling lotion and ice. He’d asked the brutal questions about penetration, infection, and other damage with a voice that had made clear by tone and cadence that there was no judgment nor repercussions only information to be shared with someone who knew all sides of the world. 

It had been decided that Matt would go to Josh. Blade had shrugged and called it the logical choice. Milton hadn’t asked Ryan, not that Ryan knew Josh well enough to make an informed decision. He’d always seemed remote and frigid to Ryan, but Blade liked him well enough, and Blade read dominants well. Milton had made sure of that. 

Ryan swallowed another gulp of water. He felt a bit like the extra wheel. This was obviously something Milton knew how to do, and even Gavin had slid into the helper role with Milton. Ryan had tried to be the calm serf, getting the ice and the cold towels, but as Matt had cried into Milton’s shoulder as Milton stroked his hair, Ryan had left. He wanted to hit something or kick something, not a productive response. Matt needed support, not anger, and he wouldn’t understand that the anger was only directed at the asshole who beat the shit out of him. Matt hadn’t made the best choices, but this wasn’t his fault.

Ryan grabbed the car keys off the table and let himself out. He shouldn’t do this; he knew both Milton and Gavin would more than disapprove, but he was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

He’d found the Crossroads on the internet. It hadn’t been hard. The parking lot was rundown, filled with weeds and broken glass from the only security light. It was probably too early; this was probably for nothing.

Ryan’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim lighting. He hadn’t really thought this sort of place existed except in fiction. Even in the dark, the layers of grime were obvious on the floor and walls, and the place smelled of sweat and semen and people who needed a bath. It wasn’t crowded yet, but the few patrons turned and watched Ryan walk in. He was big, and he was dominant, and he had a whip. He had been going to play with Blade, but now the single tail would have a better use.

It had to be Greg at the bar. He was big and beefy, and he glared at Ryan as if Ryan were invading his territory. “Boy, are you Greg?” Ryan knew it was an insult and knew without a doubt that Greg wouldn’t let it slide by.

“Do you have a problem, boy? Do you need someone to show you how to use your toy?” Greg raked his eyes over Ryan, taking in Ryan’s pressed jeans and polo shirt. 

Ryan knew he might look like a school teacher, but he was the one with the whip. Ryan flicked the whip, sending Greg’s glass from the bar. “I’ve mastered the whip. I think it’s you who deserves the lesson.” Ryan knew how to fight. He bounced for The Forest; it was part of his job, not that he’d ever had to use more than a quiet word, but Gavin made sure his employees were trained. Greg might be big, but he was unfit and stupid. Ryan tossed him onto the bar and trapped his hands in harsh metal cuffs. Milton didn’t play that way with Sheldon, but he still had the gear, and Ryan had helped himself. 

“Boy, get over here.” Ryan jerked Greg’s hair, pulling him toward the center floor where he’d spotted a whipping post. Greg struggled, cursing and spitting. A knee to his groin shut him up and gave Ryan a nice compliant boy to tie to the post.

“I’ll have you arrested!” Greg shouted.

“After I press charges for what you did to Matt.” 

Ryan cracked the whip around Greg’s ankles. It would talk far more effectively than all the words in the dictionary. He jerked Greg’s shirt down, enjoying the satisfying rip and the quiver as the naked flesh hit the air. Greg tried to kick as Ryan worked down his wide belt and black jeans. 

“Stop it, boy. You kick, and it will be worse. What are your safewords?” The ritual of safewords. Ryan flicked the whip against Greg’s skin, a caress, not a blow. “Safeword.” Ryan snapped the whip; the crack made Greg flinch and cringe even as the lash only tickled across the skin. “No safeword. I’ll do this as long as I think you need, and that will be a long time.”

Ryan stepped back and widened his stance, feeling the weight of the whip in his hand. He cracked it over his shoulder and brought the lash down, a thin red welt on the white skin. The man screamed, and Ryan smelled the acrid smell of fresh piss. 

“Red! Red!”

Ryan checked his stroke and caught the lash in his hand. He’d been trained. He didn’t do this. That was a safeword. Ryan reached for the man’s hands.

“I’ll take him home.” 

That was Milton. He was standing in the doorway, looking all academic in khakis and loafers with eyes that could cut through walls.

“You would have stopped me?”

“You stopped yourself. Now get him untied.”

Ryan rode with Milton to return Greg home. The ride was silent as was the ride back to Milton’s except for the curt explanation that they would pick up the other car later. The house was quiet; Ryan didn’t think he’d ever heard the house without feet on the stairs, the clang of pans in the kitchen, or the comforting hum of a distant radio.

“I didn’t want to be interrupted,” Milton said, seeing Ryan’s expression. “I sent them away when I realized where you’d gone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No.” Milton’s voice snapped through the air and the hush. Milton was furious, and that anger was directed at Ryan. “Blade is your partner and your submissive. He is my partner’s brother. You are responsible to me.” Milton spat out each word like a bullet, and Ryan felt his eyes drop to the ground despite his effort not to submit. He hadn’t been in the wrong. He’d stopped.

“I’m not helpless. I didn’t hurt him.”

“Thank God. I’d never trust you with Blade again if you had. Now I just don’t trust you to use the three brain cells that God gave you to see your thirtieth birthday. He could have had a gun. He could have had five friends who weighed one hundred kilograms each and had knives and bicycle chains. He’s scum, but you’re valuable. You're Blade’s heart and soul, and I’m not holding his hand while he cries over your grave because you’ve been a world class idiot, not while I’m here, not while I’m still strong enough to do this, boy.”

Ryan flinched at the words. He’d thought he’d known Milton, a good dominant, a care taker. This was frightening. There was no mercy or gentleness in Milton’s eyes, just unmitigated furry and a dominance that made goosebumps rise on Ryan’s skin.

“Upstairs. Corner in the study. Strip. Hands on your head.”

Ryan moved. He only hoped once he was out of sight that Milton would calm down. Milton had never touched him, never shown any inclination that he wanted to control or demand anything of Ryan. Now obedience was the only option.

Ryan had been in the corner a long time, the only company his pounding heart. He’d managed to get his breathing under control, slowing it from the ragged pants, now that he was away from Milton’s explosive fury. He jerked as the door opened, but he kept his eyes to the wall.

“Someone taught you obedience once.”

“Gavin.” Ryan heard a clatter of something landing on the desk.

“Turn around.” Ryan turned and let his eyes sweep over the desk. A belt, a cane, and a crop lay on the pristine surface. 

“How many?”

“I’m in charge. I decide.”

There was no denying that Milton was in charge. Ryan was naked, his hands on his head, his eyes on the implements. 

“Gavin, didn’t use the cane?”

“No, sir.”

“Gordon would do this all with the cane, but lucky for you, I’m not Gordon. Over the desk.”

Milton didn’t touch or offer any reassurance. Ryan grabbed for the edges of the desk and tried to remember to control his breathing. This was going to hurt. Ryan heard the yell before he realized it had come from his lungs. Milton had raised a lick of pure fire across his ass with the belt. Ryan had been belted before, but never that hard on the first lick.

“Your safeword, boy.”

“Atlantis to slow down; Pompeii to stop.”

“Interesting choices.” Milton’s finger stroked the inflamed stripe. “You never put yourself knowingly in danger without telling someone. You cannot put the world right, and you are not alone in this world.”

The belt fell hard, hip to thighs. Ryan gave up screaming after the first pass and concentrated on holding onto the desk and sobbing. Ryan was engulfed in the fire that covered his skin. His brain could only take in one thought—the belt.

“Ah!” The sting across his shoulders jerked him upright. 

“Stay down. That was the crop. I’m going to give you one with the cane and then we’re finished.”

Ryan bellowed as the cane struck the already overheated flesh. Gavin hadn’t used the cane; Gordon had demonstrated it, but this fucking hurt. The single stripe burned through his body as if it were trying to escape through his chest.

Milton threw the cane down with the clatter. “Don’t make me do that again.”

Again? Never. One word was all Ryan’s brain could handle at a time. Fire. Pain. Shit!

“Easy. You’re not Sheldon. I can’t carry you.” Milton manhandled Ryan from the desk and supported most of Ryan’s weight on his shoulders. “On your stomach.”

This was Milton’s bed. Ryan groaned and didn’t try to check his tears as he clutched the pillows. He hurt. “Sorry,” he mumbled in an incoherent babble. 

“Shh.” Milton’s hand stroked through Ryan’s sweaty hair. “I know. We took care of it. You know how this works. Slow your breathing. I’ve got you. We understand each other now.”

Milton disappeared for a moment. Ryan heard water from the bathroom. He just wanted to curl up and cry. It hurt to breathe; it hurt to lie absolutely still and feel the sticky tears on his cheeks. He quivered as Milton draped cool towels over his battered skin.

“It will keep the swelling down, but it’s not going to be pretty tomorrow. Drink.” Milton held a glass with a pink straw to Ryan’s lips.”

“Pink?” Idiot thought. Idiot comment.

“Sheldon’s sense of humor, boy.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again after he wet his dry throat, sore from the tears and the shouts. “I was an idiot.”

“I won’t disagree.” Milton’s hand stroked an unmarked section of Ryan’s back. 

“I wanted to hurt that guy, real hurt, not what you did to me.”

“You didn’t hurt him,” Milton said calmly. “I was proud of the way you handled him. If he wasn’t absolute scum, he might learn something from it. Why was I angry?”

Milton had been angry. He hadn’t hid his anger. It had burned in his eyes and had been seared over Ryan’s skin. No, that wasn’t one hundred percent correct. Milton had checked his anger or at least channeled it before he’d taken his belt to Ryan. Those hadn’t been wild swings, painful, but not wild.

“You were angry,” Ryan said, unable to articulate the image he saw in his head. Milton had seen the image: Ryan hurt or dead, Blade alone, Ryan’s precious boy alone and scared.

“Very.” Milton tangled his fingers in Ryan’s hair and tugged lightly. “You mean a hell of a lot to Blade. You have responsibilities.” Milton’s voice gentled. “I love Blade, and I do my best for him, but he needs you, and I plan to keep you in one piece. Ryan, I understand your anger at that guy. It was your first time to see something of that nature, to really see it, not hear about it second or third hand. It’s beyond awful and a violation of everything in which we believe, but we, as the Green Mountain Boys, would have dealt with it. We protect ourselves with numbers; we stay on the right side of the law. We do not believe in vigilantes. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” Milton kissed the back of Ryan’s head. “Can you sleep, or is it still too painful?”

Sleep? Every nerve ending was still on fire. 

“Silly question.” Ryan felt the bed sag as Milton sat down. “Gordon gave me twelve once with the cane full force. I would gladly have rolled in broken glass and slept in a wasp nest; it would have been less painful.”

 Ryan turned his head to look at Milton. “What did you do?”

“Punched Landon.” Milton smiled ruefully. “Gordon can be severe, but those twelve were deserved. Milton propped himself against the headboard and pulled Ryan so his head was resting against Milton’s chest. “I heard my share of, ‘you idiot boy,’ and they were well deserved. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I don’t remember why I was arguing with Landon. I remember it was an awful day. Gordon was and is fussy about service, and I was tired and exasperated—something about sheets. I was ironing them again, and I punched Landon. He would have kept it quiet, but a bruise is hard to hide. Gordon extracted the information from him and tattooed my inability to control my temper and my tendency to act like a common thug over my ass.” Milton shook his head. “I had been an idiot boy; Gordon was right.”

“Twelve.” Ryan knew his voice was full of awe and shock. He could do twelve half force, but full force—brutal.

“Hurt,” Milton said. “More so because I knew it was deserved. We’re dominants; we have a responsibility to engage at least a modicum of common sense.”

“I’m an idiot,” Ryan said softly.

“It happened, just not again. Please.” Milton kissed Ryan’s hair. “I can’t use Gordon’s distraction and his other method for reminding me of my place.”

“He...?”

“Blade would say he fucked me into the mattress. Gordon wouldn’t tolerate that language, but that was the essence of what happened. We didn’t have a chaste relationship until Sheldon. It helped having that outlet, a visceral reminder that he both loved me and dominated me. I can’t do that for you. My relationship with Sheldon is different from Gordon’s relationship with Landon.”

“I’d let you,” Ryan whispered.

“I know you would, and I won’t. We’d both regret it in the morning. Now I’m going to get you more water, some aspirin, and aloe for the welts.” Milton slid from the bed and returned with the promised items. “Open.” He placed the aspirin on Ryan’s tongue. Gently he dabbed on the aloe, wiping his hands carefully on a towel before rising again.”

“Thank you.”

“Sleep. I’ll be across the hall if you need me or want me.”

****

“Ryan.”

Ryan groaned and pulled his eyelids open. It was light; the sun was streaming in the open blinds. “What time is it?”

“After eight and Gavin’s called twice. He’s starting to think I murdered you and buried you in the basement. Here.” Milton passed the phone to Ryan. “Talk to him.”

Milton left, granting Ryan privacy. Ryan clutched the phone and struggled to a sitting position before managing a hello.

“How bad is it?” Gavin sounded impossibly chipper for having three boys with him and knowing that Ryan had been soundly clobbered the night before.

“You left me in the lion’s den.”

“You earned it.” Gavin’s voice held a note of warning.

“I know,” Ryan said, hissing as he shifted his weight. “Milton...Milton...I see where Sheldon is coming from now. I understand that touch of fear. Shit!”

“Don’t swear,” Gavin said automatically. “I’m serious. Are you all right?” Gavin’s voice had changed again. It held genuine concern. “He’s Gordon’s protege, and I left you alone with him.”

“I’m sore, but he was right.” Ryan ran his hand through his hair. “I just...He can hit. Milton’s always polite and proper and looks all college professor, and he turned me inside out effortlessly. I knew he was good with Sheldon.” Ryan shifted the phone to his other hand. “It’s not at all about doing homework, eating peas, and going to bed on time. That’s his cover.” Ryan suppressed a shiver. He’d liked Milton; he still did, but he hadn’t seen him as hardcore, a good man who was a solid and reliable dominant, but last night he had been on the edge. He’d dangled Ryan over the abyss, shaken him hard, and then reeled him to safety. Milton was a master, both terrifying and gentle.

“What did he use?”

“The belt and a slight demo of his capabilities with a crop and a cane.” Ryan paused and moved in the bed. He now understood Sheldon’s terror about the belt. Ryan understood the strap; he’d been prepared for the bite of leather and the fierce burning pain. Sheldon had driven drunk. Milton would have been furious, and Milton usually used his hand. The belt would have been horrifying, impersonal, and terrorizing. Ryan had thought he’d been ready, but one more strike with the cane and he would have safeworded. Milton wasn’t his lover, but the intense connection he’d created last night had driven Milton’s displeasure through Ryan’s body by both words and actions. That had been pure punishment masterly given and with no erotic outlet. Ryan had been hit harder, but those times had led to subspace; Milton had kept him grounded firmly in reality.

“Ry, you’re very quiet. I know you. Talk to Milton.”

“Thanks, Gavin, and I know. Milton’s...” Ryan trailed off. How did he put it? It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Milton was dominant and that Milton was good at it, but Milton’s dominance had never felt so raw and unshielded. He’d always hid it behind choosing the right and sensible path. It had been cloaked in a shield of gentle guidance. Last night there had been no cloak. Ryan had seen the lion and heard him roar, and he was both enticing and terrifying.

“Ry, I don’t really know Milton. We’ve talked about Ray, and he’s been polite and diplomatic, but he’s always held something back. I’ve seen Gordon in a few of his unshielded moments. It’s raw power, and if you get too close you get burnt. I suspect Milton has it, but that he hides it more deeply than Gordon. How badly did you get burnt?”

“I don’t know if I got burnt or what happened,” Ryan said softly. “I would have given him everything.”

“Did he take you to bed?”

“Said he couldn’t.”

“You wanted him to?”

Ryan forced the word from his lips. “Yes.”

“Ry, you reacted to him as anyone would to a powerful dominant. With me it was always training. It allowed you to keep some separation and your identity as a dominant even if I took you down. Neither of us were attached which made it simpler. Ryan,” Gavin said, returning to Ryan’s more formal name, “don’t doubt yourself. That was not the lesson Milton was trying to impart. Sheldon and Blade want to talk to you. Can you handle that?”

“Yes.” Ryan fingered his hair into place and unconsciously sat straighter, drawing the mantle of his identity and his dominance back around his shoulders.

“Hey, Milton didn’t kill you?”

“Sheldon, I’m OK. Sore as hell, but he didn’t kill me. You know that.”

“He can be tough,” Sheldon said in a softer tone, the real Sheldon, not the brat he often portrayed to the world. “I try not to go there.”

“I hear you, Sheldon,” Ryan said, trying to keep his voice light and feeling like a fake. “Milton’s very good at this, and I’m OK. Can I talk to Blade now?”

“Sure. Maybe you can keep all of us from killing him. Right now we’re drawing lots to see who gets the honor.”

“Behave,” Ryan growled.

“Ryan.” Ryan heard the near franticness in Blade’s voice. This was his lover, his submissive, his responsibility, and he’d almost blown it.

“Shh. I love you, and I’m fine.” Ryan projected reassurance in his voice. He’d practiced this enough that he could still do it despite the uncertainty in his gut.

“I’m not an idiot. Milton was steaming. He kicked everybody out.”

“Blade,” Ryan said firmly, breaking Blade’s litany. “Milton punished me for being a complete idiot, but he didn’t kill me. I’ll tell you the gory details later. Now be good for Gavin. Promise me.”

Ryan made the appropriate noises and small talk for a few more minutes before hanging up the phone. Milton hadn’t killed him, but he’d turned Ryan’s world upside down. Ryan had wanted, had been afraid, and had ultimately surrendered. He was Milton’s boy.

“Up. Shower. Breakfast and then a little exercise.” Milton stood in the doorway, managing to look authoritative in running shorts, a T-shirt, and goofy white socks.

Ryan groaned; it was going to hurt to move.

“It will feel better after you move.” Milton held out his hand and Ryan gladly took it, letting Milton’s ease him out of the bed.

Ryan was naked. He hadn’t dressed since the belting. He turned, trying to hide himself, feeling a deep blush on his cheeks.

“I’ve seen it all,” Milton said in the same calm voice that he must have used at professional conferences. 

The decrease in the grain production resulted in famine and government upheaval, and here on the left we have a naked young man, Ryan could here the voice in his head. He could see the attentive professors, never dreaming of what Milton did behind closed doors.

Milton turned Ryan by his shoulders and ran a hand down the tender flesh. “No skin broken, but you have a lovely purple stripe from the cane and an assortment of welts and light bruising.”

“I’m not sitting down for a week,” Ryan said, trying to keep his voice light, trying to control the knocking of his knees.

“Kiddo.” Milton pulled Ryan into a hug. “You’re sore, you’re tired, you’re embarrassed, and you don’t know which side is up. It’s OK to show all that. I’ve been there. I’ve even been foolhardy enough to land myself back on the wrong side of Gordon the next morning. I’m hoping you have more restraint than I had.”

“Twice in twenty-four hours.” 

“Yes.” Milton kissed Ryan’s cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Ryan felt more human after the shower and was thankful for the loose shorts and soft T-shirt. He winced at each footfall on the stairs and stared at the hard kitchen chairs with dismay. He dropped to his knees next to Milton’s feet and glanced up at the dark eyes before lowering his head in respect.

“You can stand to eat. I don’t have Gavin’s rule about either sitting or kneeling.” 

“I’d rather stay here,” Ryan said very softly and knowing his eyes were pleading.

Milton rubbed the back of Ryan’s neck in silent reply. “Take what you need.”

Ryan leaned against Milton’s legs and let his eyes droop at Milton’s gentle massage. 

“Ryan.” He had been boy yesterday. “I came at you hard and now you’re unsure. You saw the damage to Matt’s back. You know how close we walk to a line that cannot be crossed.” Milton ran his thumb down Ryan’s cheek. “We are both dominant, but I am older and more experienced. It is the natural order for you to submit to my will if I insist. I unleashed the beast yesterday. I’m not sure you realized it was there.”

Ryan nodded and leaned into the stroking hand.

“Ryan, you have it too. It’s frightening and enticing and powerfully alluring, but also something as a sane man you should fear. We can harm our submissives. We can harm strangers out there.” Milton cut a triangle of toast and handed it to Ryan. “I don’t do this with Sheldon, so I’m awkward at the feeding.” Milton’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he spoke. “You and Blade do this gracefully. I’ll end up with food on the floor.”

“I almost harmed Greg. God, how much different am I?”

“You didn’t.” Milton sharpened his voice. “And you submitted to me. An abuser won’t submit, and a dominant who understands the terror of lying naked and vulnerable and wanting nothing more than to please his master won’t abuse. You’re young, and you want to fix the world. I suspect this won’t be the only time I’ll rein you in for forgetting about yourself and your absolute commitment to Blade. Gordon is still my check. It’s nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear nor will it change the fact that I think you are a wonderful dominant. You manage Blade.” Milton gave Ryan a half smile “That boy was the near death of me.”

“I love him,” Ryan said as much to himself as to Milton.

Milton smiled, his brown eyes gentle. “I see it, and I also see both the strain and the joy. Blade is a full time submissive. The Forest is well managed, but few of its members live this relationship. It is a diversion, and they go back home to normal lives. You have to always be the dominant, not only with the whip and the leather chaps. It’s difficult, and we all need an escape. Sheldon is older and may outwardly appear to be a lunatic, but he reads me well and will give me breathing space and support, and I have Gordon. Blade is perceptive, but he is also young. The play is easy for him, but his immaturity shows on the other side. You have Gavin, but you also have me. You’re family, and I protect what is mine.

“Yes, sir.”

“Off your knees.” Milton pulled Ryan to his feet and kissed him on the lips, It was a chaste kiss, but it felt like a brand, and Ryan ran his tongue over his lips tasting Milton and the slight saltiness of bacon. “You’re a beautiful young man. Now concentrate on keeping yourself around for a while, and if you forget I will do my best to catch you, but I promise it won’t always be pleasant.”

“Thank you.” Ryan met Milton’s eyes and smiled. “I guess I’m your boy now.”

“When you need to be, but more importantly you’re Blade’s lover, partner, and dominant, and I’m proud to consider you my friend, a member of this family, and a respected and admired member of the community.”

“Even when I’m being an idiot?” Ryan asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“It happens to the best of us, and I can be very persuasive.”

Ryan shuddered. “That’s an understatement.” Ryan dropped his voice, his face serious. “I will try to never be there again.”

“Don’t set impossible goals. I’ll watch your back.”