The Final Countdown 3

The Final Countdown 3

“Luka,” Milton said, trying for the Russian pronunciation that Tilden did so easily. 

“Luke, not Luka. Don’t even try. You haven’t a talent for it.” Luke didn’t look up from his book. He was sprawled on the bed, still dressed right down to his scuffed topsiders. 

“Does Tilden appreciate you wearing shoes on the bed?”

“He can say something if he doesn’t,” Luke’s sweet voice was as close to a snarl as Milton thought the boy could make it. “This isn’t you,” Milton said gently. “Mike can be believable as a snarling submissive. You’re not a good enough actor, boy.” Milton hoped he’d calculated correctly as he let the last word slip from his mouth. Luke’s words had been that he wasn’t a submissive, that he didn’t play these games, but there was more to communication that words. This was a submissive being as vile and difficult as possible, a submissive who wanted brought up short and given no options.

“I’m not your boy.” Luke resolutely stared at his book.

“If you are not a boy, you are the rudest man I’ve ever met.” Milton stepped toward the bed, took the book from Luke’s hand, and set it out of reach. “Don’t touch it until I give you permission.”

“You haven’t the right,” Luke protested, but didn’t reach for the book.

“As a friend, as a person who loves you, I have the right to be concerned that you’re hiding alone with your head in a book at all hours of the day and night. This has been going on for six weeks. Tilden’s tried to talk to you. The mumbled ‘I’m fine’ is not satisfactory in this household. Our lives are complicated and require communication. You tell me you don’t want dominated, but I see a boy who is begging for me to make the choice easy for him. Eat meals with us. Sleep normal hours. Communicate in more than swallowed mumbles, or x, y, and z happen.”

“That’s not dominating; that’s care taking. I’m not a child. I do live in this house. I do understand the game.”

“Do you?” Milton asked softly. “I’ve been doing this far longer than you, and I don’t always understand it. Domination and submission doesn’t have to be about the accessories of BDSM play. It doesn’t have to be loud and noisy Sheldon style or involve humiliating poses. It can be only an incremental rise of an eyebrow and a responding tilt of the chin. Yes, it requires an understanding that some flame burns brighter inside you when you step into that role, that it’s not about the dominant knowing better and the submissive being an irresponsible fool. This is about a portion of your soul that needs fed and cared for, and it is wrapped intimately in your identity and your sexuality. If you feel no frisson at a softly spoken order or zero thrill at the prospect of a hand across your ass raising a crimson color and making you squirm and buck, you are not a submissive, and you shouldn’t be dropping unsubtle hints that you are. I am a dominant; I never hide that about myself with my family, and I will respond in kind. I won’t hide it, I won’t sugarcoat it, and I won’t pretend it’s something else. I will order you to eat and not study at all hours of the day and night, but it won’t be because I have more common sense, but because I am dominant and you have accepted a role as a submissive. Milton sat down on the bed. “So what are we doing, kid?”

Luke looked up at Milton before determinedly looking away and into the corner of the room. His blue eyes had been wide and perhaps fearful and showing more of his soul than he probably wanted to share. “I didn’t sign up for this. It’s easy for Mike. He’s a submissive who likes all the parts a submissive is supposed to like. Let me have my book back.” Luke’s voice was an undisguised plea.

“What is a submissive supposed to like?” Milton asked, keeping his body language controlled, calm, and as un-dominant as possible. He had to let Luke find the answers. This was a soft boy; he’d be easy to persuade in the desired direction.

“Kneeling and pain and making an ass out of himself,” Luke mumbled.

Milton raised one eyebrow and let a slight smile graze his lips. “And what is a dominant supposed to like?”

“Giving orders, punishing…” Luke trailed off.

“Intimidating you into awful conversations,” Milton said with a true smile. “Luke, you are shy and introspective and this conversation is worse torture than any whip, but we live in a complicated relationship. We have to be able to talk to each other. How do I make that easier for you? With Mike I can put him on his knees or make him change three times into the exact shirt of a precise shade of red and drive him into his submissive mindset where he’s open and honest and a lovely young man. Austin I can lay over my knee and he’ll squawk and act eighteen for a moment and then talk between the tears. Sheldon is Sheldon. We have many strategies for getting what we want from each other.” Milton took a deep breath and gently stroked Luke’s hair. Tilden is my closest friend, a kindred dominant and now also my submissive. But you, Luke, where do you fit?”

“The extra,” Luke mumbled, and Milton wondered if those words had been meant for his ears.

Milton placed his arm over Luke’s shoulders and pulled him close, feeling for any resistance in that slight frame. “Tilden hasn’t stopped loving you because he came to my bed, and you have always had a piece of my heart.” Milton slowly and carefully dropped a kiss on the corner of Luke’s mouth; it wasn’t openly sexual, but it wasn’t completely chaste either. “Where do you want your place to be? I haven’t seen you in the rough and tumble of the other boys, and you haven’t come to me, and Tilden has to give you an engraved invitation. He loves you and doesn’t deserve to be rejected and hurt like that.”

Luke flushed a pink that rose from his neck and over his cheekbones at those words. He looked young and vulnerable and lost and very much as he had those first few months he’d lived with them, desperate to hide, but craving attention at the same time. Milton slipped his hand under Luke’s shirt and let his hand rest heavy and still on the tense back.

“Easy. Only as far as you want.” Milton kneaded the flesh under his hand. “Your safewords.” Let the boy know where he was taking this. Let the boy back out now if Milton’s guess was wrong.

“Octyabr’ and kranovshchitsa.”

“Octyabr’ I understand; the banners were red after all, but female crane operator?” Milton continued to rub Sheldon’s back as they talked: slow, steady, and platonic if need be.

“It’s just a silly word. I like it.”

“OK.” Milton allowed his hand to wrap around Luke’s torso and crawl toward his nipples. Unlike Mike, Luke didn’t wear jewelry nor shave his chest. Milton could feel a very light fuzz under his fingers. Milton pinched the right nipple gently, feeling Luke buck against his hand and hearing the hiss from his lips. “Good?”

Luke licked his lips and nodded slightly, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. Milton brushed the strands back and kissed the exposed skin before dropping lower and nipping the full lips. This was a beautiful boy, responsive and enticing under Milton’s fingers. Milton reached down and caught the tails of the shirt. 

“May I?” Milton asked.

Luke nodded; a slight tremor shook his limbs.

Milton lifted the shirt over Luke’s head and dropped a kiss on the exposed chest. “Beautiful.” He let his teeth scrape down Luke’s abdomen, enjoying the hisses and moans. Fingers caught in Luke’s hair, he gently lifted the boy’s head and forced eye contact. “Are we going further?”

“Yes, sir.” It was said with a gulp, but it was audible and clear.

“Good boy.” Milton kissed Luke’s mouth, his tongue exploring until they both needed to gasp for air. “Strip, boy.” Milton landed a light swat on Luke’s thigh, hoping to still any protest.

Luke’s eyes went wide, and a breath whistled through his lips. He kicked off his shoes, and his hand reached for his socks. Those were the easy items. It was his shorts and underwear which would be the true test. Luke froze as his hand came to his low slung shorts. A blush rose up his cheeks, and his eyes fell on Milton: blue and beautiful and hovering between terror and arousal.

“You have safewords,” Milton said gently. “Do you want to use them?”

The head shake was short and definite, but Luke’s hands didn’t move.

“Boy, obedience is prompt and cheerful. I punish.” Milton let his voice creep toward his dominant tone, not harsh or loud but suffused with dread and promise. Luke gulped and his fingers played on the snap of his shorts. “Stand up, boy, and let me see you.”

Luke was gorgeous with the high spots of colors on his cheeks and his shorts pooled around his ankles. One finger was snagged in the waistband of his boxers, but they still rested safely above his hips.

“These?” The question was soft almost as if even the thought was hard to process.

“Yes.” Milton paused a beat. “Don’t you think?” An exit strategy handed to the boy on a silver platter if he needed it. Milton had reminded Luke of his safewords, and now he’d given him another escape. The time for retreat was nearly gone.

The boxers fell against the shorts, a tangle of cloth against the pale ankles. Goosebumps rose on Luke’s skin despite the summer warmth. He fidgeted and his hands moved to cover a growing erection.

“Step out. Hands behind your back.” 

The orders were obeyed, not with the quick scramble of Mike or Austin, but with slow deliberation. Luke’s eyes were down, and crimson painted his chest, neck, and face. This boy was embarrassed, almost mortified by his exposure. His breaths were too quick, his lungs laboring in his chest. Milton stood and peeled off his shirt. He dropped it over Luke’s head and fed each arm through the oversized sleeves. The hem covered Luke’s rump, but left the thighs tantalizingly exposed.

“Too much.” Milton pulled Luke against his naked chest and let his hand rest on that round and enticing ass, now covered in a blue polo. “This is supposed to be fun.”

Luke made some noise Milton couldn’t interpret. It might have been a half of a Russian word or a stifled moan. Milton slid his hand under the shirt, touching the round globes of a firm and beautiful ass. He found Luke’s mouth and kissed him hard as he teased his hand between the slim thighs. His fingers glided over the lightly furred balls and stroked an erection that hadn’t gotten word from the boy’s brain that this was all terrifying.

Milton pushed Luke onto the bed, watching the boy’s thighs splay apart before being jerked back together. “Watch.” Slowly Milton unbuckled his belt and pulled it through one loop at a time. He folded it and slapped the leather against his hand before winding it into a coil and laying in on the dresser. He unbuttoned his khakis and slid them down his legs. In only his boxers, he folded his khakis into precise creases. His hand snagged the waistband of his boxers, and he stood naked in the center of the room. Except for the plain gold band on his finger, his body was natural, covered with a dark mat of hair that was more charcoal than the original black. 

“Do you like what you see?”

A dark flush and a flash of a smile was the only answer.

Milton eased down on the bed and stroked his finger over the fine bones of Luke’s face. “Lie back for me. Put your hands on the headboard and let me do this.”

Easy orders. Domination without pain. Let the boy find himself.

Milton worked his hands and lips along Luke’s front, never removing the shirt, but moving it to expose different bits of flesh. Luke moaned and squirmed, and clutched the headboard. Milton tapped Luke’s wrist as a hand lost its position.

“No, keep it there.”

A light scold, nothing harsh. This boy didn’t need harsh or abrupt.

Luke groaned as Milton’s hand skimmed his groin and feathered across his erection for the hundredth time. “More. Please.”

“My way, boy.” Milton’s fingers found an erect nipple and pinched. Luke jerked and hissed. “Pain and pleasure—a matched set.” Milton soothed the tender flesh. “Patience. We’ll get there.” He kissed Luke, his lips gentle against a mouth that wanted more. 

“Milton,” Luke groaned.

“My way, boy. You do this my way.” Milton’s fingers teased the tender skin of the inner thighs. Luke jerked at each touch, his body a flame of desire and need.

“Can’t.” Luke’s chest heaved, and his fingers scrabbled against the headboard. “Please.”

“Shh.” Milton brushed his hand over the taut abdomen. “Take pleasure in pleasing me. Domination and submission, this is the dance.” 

The boy was ready: open, spread, and lost in primal needs. There was nothing more beautiful than a boy, than a man who yielded in a glory of passion and lust and desire that he hadn’t even known he possessed. Milton fought for his own control. He must care for the precious and sweet boy under him.

“Sheldon,” Milton said, squinting from the light in the hall.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Sheldon whispered. “I was just bringing you some clothes for morning.”

Milton shifted. Luke was sprawled across him, the blond head nestled into his chest. “You OK?” Milton’s eyes caught the numbers of the clock. “It’s late. I thought you were with Austin and Mike.”

“Too gymnastic for me.” Sheldon bent down and kissed Milton gently. “I’m OK, maybe not good, but OK.”

“Sheldon, I never wanted to hurt you.” Milton entwined his fingers with Sheldon’s. “I love you.”

“I know. I had you all to myself all those years. Now I have to deal.”

“That sounds like a Ryan truism,” Milton said with a smile.

“Pretty much. He embellished it with suggestions of whips and harems.”

“He would.” Milton stroked his fingers through Sheldon’s red hair. “My precious and beautiful boy deserves better than a harem.” Milton patted the bed. “Do you want to join us?”

Sheldon shook his head and smiled. “I told you I was OK. Luke has looked far less OK, and Tilden is still up.”

“Do you need me?”

“No. I’ll get him to bed. I can manage Tilden.”

“I’m sure you can.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Sheldon nodded, a gentle smile on his face. This was Sheldon’s sweet and serious and generous side, a part of him that most people didn’t know or even see, the part of him that Milton loved best.

The sun was already high in the window when Milton felt Luke turn over in his arms. Sleepy blue eyes blinked and struggled to focus.

“Milton?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Milton said gently, “and yes it happened. Does it still feel all right in the light of the morning?”

A beautiful rose pink tinged Luke’s cheeks, and his blue eyes met Milton’s before he lowered his long, silken lashes. “I did that.” He blushed harder. “I liked it.”

“Yes, you did.” Milton tangled his fingers in Luke’s hair and lifted his head. “Boy, you will eat breakfast. You will work and sleep normal hours. None of that is negotiable. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Luke licked his lips and swallowed hard.

“Kid,” Milton said in a much gentler voice. “You always liked this part. Remember I was here when you first moved in with Tilden. You can have this part again now that you understand the motivations. You control this. Behave and I won’t be on you. Try studying at two in the morning, and Tilden or I will have your ass.  And, boy, I know you don’t like physical pain, so work on not earning it. Breakfast.” Milton rolled them both, so they were siting up and landed a teasing swat on Luke’s hip. “Rise and shine.”

“Morning person,” Luke groaned and struggled to his feet. “You and Tilden both. Unfair.”

“Would you like it more unfair?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then move, boy, without grousing.”

“Sheldon always said you were a meanie.”

Milton smiled at the hint of a tease in Luke’s voice. This was a boy who had found his footing academically and intellectually, and now maybe he was finally finding that little bit of himself that he kept locked away. He was showing the precious gems he buried in a vault to only gaze at from a distance and then lock away again. He would never be a Blade or a Sheldon who needed to blanket themselves in their submissive role, but he was a submissive, even if he only dipped a toe in the swirling waters,

“Go on. We love you,” Milton said. It was we. To make this insanity of a relationship work, everything must be about we. It was Luke with each of them and with all of them, just as it was Milton with all of them and each of them.

Milton watched Luke disappear down the hall, Milton’s shirt covering the most vital parts, but enticing flesh still below. He stretched and grabbed the clothes Sheldon had brought down last night. The shirt was a dark green, one of Sheldon’s favorites, and tucked between the shirt and pants was the delicate leather of Sheldon’s collar. Not bothering to do more than throw on the shirt and pull on a pair of boxers, Milton went in search of his red headed boy.

Sheldon was in the kitchen, a plate of Mace’s blueberry pancakes in front of him. His eyes fell immediately to the collar in Milton’s hand. He slid to his knees, presenting the bareness of his neck.

“Sheldon?”

“Yes.”

“Not in play?” Milton had to be sure. Sheldon wore the collar occasionally, but it had been a mood piece, a tentative step beyond his comfort zone. He didn’t hide it in Milton’s clothes, but set it out on the counter or if he was in a foul mood tossed it at Milton with a calculated lack of grace.

Sheldon looked up, his eyes alight with passion and determination. “I wear many hats in this relationship. I love each one of us in this tangled and ridiculous menage. I am Austin’s pal and lover and mentor. I know mentor is not a word which is usually coupled with my name, Sheldon, the boy who hides behind his bratty behavior.”

“Don’t degrade yourself. You understand the power exchange.”

“Let me finish. Please, sir,” Sheldon added as if he’d just remember his position on his knees.

Milton nodded. His hand cupped Sheldon’s head for a second in almost a brief and silent blessing before he withdrew a step.

“I’m Tilden’s friend. He was always the one I went to when I wanted sympathy and something less absolute than you or Gordon. I understand the reasons for the absoluteness, but sometimes my heart needs gentle and sympathetic. Luke and Mike were housemates, fellow submissives despite Luke’s attempts at vanilla. I’d never thought of going beyond friends and housemates, but this new arrangement does have its privileges. Luke is always shy sweetness. Mike, well, you understand our idiosyncrasies. We try to kill each other once a month, and I don’t think that will change. I expect you’ll be far harder about it now, but I can’t change that about myself. In certain moods he drives me insane.”

“Me too,” Milton admitted with a slight smile. “I’m now in more of a position to alter his moods. Maybe we can lessen the desire for mutual destruction.” Milton held up the collar. “If we’re doing this permanently, I will whip your ass if you fight with him. I won’t spank you; I will whip you. You hate the belt and the strap. Consider that.”

“I’m your boy. It’s your right and your duty to correct your errant boy. I accept that.” Sheldon bowed his head, his voice soft in the large kitchen. “I want to be your collared boy. I need to be your collared boy. I need this between us.”

Milton knelt and wiped the single tear from Sheldon’s cheek with his thumb. “My boy.” Milton ran the collar through his hand and fastened it around Sheldon’s neck, carefully testing its snugness. “It doesn’t come off except to bathe and to be oiled. Understood, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Up.” Milton stood and pulled Sheldon to his feet. “Breakfast.” Milton swept the now cold pancakes into the trash. “No boy of mine eats cold pancakes.”

“I don’t mind them cold.”

“I do.” Milton let the finality of his words sink in as he went to the stove. Mace had left a bowl of pancake batter by the stove along with fresh blueberries and raspberries.

“Morning,” Luke said from the door. “Is there any coffee?”

“Yes,” Sheldon said and reached for the pot. “Take a seat.” He patted the chair next to him.

“Uh...I’m not hungry.”

“You will eat,” Milton growled from the stove.

“Sit and eat.” Sheldon smiled, a quick grin. “Papa dominant is in one of those moods. Pancakes are better than the other choice.”

“Sheldon, behave.”

“I am behaving. I’m encouraging Luke to be a good boy. Isn’t that my duty?”

“Brat.” Milton swatted any exposed skin he could reach. “Eat your breakfast. Your dominant is cooking for you; don’t press your luck.” Milton slid half the pancakes onto a fresh plate. “You too, Luke.” Milton softened his voice and dropped the tease from his tone. “It’s not a choice this morning. You gave up that choice last night. We’ll negotiate for real, including Tilden, but right now eat.”

“I’d eat,” Sheldon said around a mouthful of pancake. “I’ve seen him do the kneel on the floor and get fed trick with Austin.”

“Try some table manners, or I’ll do it with you.” Milton swept Sheldon into his lap and took the fork. He stabbed a stack of pancakes and swallowed a large bite. “Eat, Luke. The world’s not coming to an end. It only sometimes feels like it because the dominants are crazy.” Milton passed the fork back to Sheldon. “We’ll all make this work somehow. I have faith in all of you. Your sensibility will save my lunacy. One day at a time, and we’ll make it. Small goals and today’s small goal is breakfast.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s cheek and placed him on his feet. “Finish your breakfast and then make mine.” Milton saw the words of protest on Sheldon’s lips. Milton touched his own neck. Sheldon was collared now; service would be an expectation.

Sheldon touched his own throat, his fingers playing against the soft leather. “Yes, sir. Would you like more, Luke?”

Luke looked up from where he’d been trying to hide himself in his breakfast, His eyes were wide and more anxious than Milton felt was ideal, but the boy was eating, and he was still in the kitchen.

“My choice,” Sheldon said calmly and clearly. “I didn’t get a choice about you or Tilden or Mike, but I understand. We both see Milton and Tilden together. It’s not often that two people get a second chance after a terrible error.” Sheldon smiled quietly and sincerely before his face broke into a broad and mischievous grin. “And it’s not a bad gig for us, all these lovely men.” Seriousness infused Sheldon’s green eyes for a second. Sheldon hid his serious side, but Milton knew where to look and knew how to follow his boy’s quicksilver moods. “We still get what we want and need. You still have Tilden, and I still have Milton, but you have Milton if you want him, and I can go to Tilden. And we both get Mike tamed. I’m sure you wanted to throttle him as much as I did. So buck up and enjoy your breakfast, or I’ll tell you tales of naked slave boys and harems and whips.” 

Milton slipped behind Sheldon and wrapped his arms tightly around his boy. His voice was soft and only for Sheldon’s ears. “Thank you.”

“I may hate this sometimes, but I love you, and I love Austin and Luke and Tilden and Mike. We will make this work. But, God, if you add any more names, I will kill you.”

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