Entanglements

Entanglements 

“That bad, huh?” Trent leaned against the counter and watched Mace in a pile of flour, bowls, eggs and milk. Dusted cake pans were stacked on the counter, and the timer was ticking away on the stove.

“Minute,” Mace said, scraping the bowl with a spatula.

“That bad.” Trent hooked an arm around Mace’s neck and kissed the short brown hair.

“He didn’t whack me or anything. I think he’d guessed you’d already done the deed.” 

“You’re stressed.”

Mace spun around and glared at Trent. “He was being a bossy assed bastard.”

“He’s always been a bossy assed bastard, as you put it.” Trent gave Mace a wry smile. “You usually like it.”

“Not to this degree.” Mace turned back to his baking. “I need the egg whites whipped.”

“Sure, and stop bothering you. Is that the message?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll do the egg whites, but you get to tell me the long sad story. We’ve already done the stomping and the snorting, and I’m not the top to scorch your ass twice in one day.”

Mace absently ran a hand over his butt. “He threatened it.”

“Oh.” Trent caught Mace’s belt and pulled him close. He should probably say something easy and comfortable and infinitely reassuring, but Trent wasn’t that sort of man. He wasn’t quick with words and bold reassurances. He’d seen Milton do it to soften Gordon’s hard edges, but it wasn’t catching. He hadn’t learned the trick.

“Yep,” Mace said and pulled away, “and I spooked and folded like a skittish two-year-old colt.” Mace stirred the batter too hard, sending flecks onto the counter and spotting the floor.

“Don’t. We already did that once today.” Trent ran his hand down his partner’s rigid back. 

“Oh, fuck it!” Mace slapped the bottle of vanilla against the counter. “I can’t even get this right. I just put in too much vanilla.”

“It won’t hurt. We’ll add some orange peel to counter it.”

“It’s not an orange vanilla cake.”

“Go sit down. Hands on your lap.”

“What?”

“Go on.” Trent turned Mace’s shoulders and aimed him for the chair.

“You don’t even know what I’m making.”

“Orange vanilla cake.” Trent steered Mace into the chair. “Hands in you lap,” he repeated.

“Oh yes, my lord and master.” Mace rolled his eyes and kicked his feet against the chair’s wooden rungs.

Trent clicked his tongue, but otherwise ignored the moaning. He had a cake to make after all. He busied himself with the pans. He didn’t have Mace’s baking skills, but he could manage.

“Do you think Milton will even let Sheldon have any?”

Trent ignored the question and pulled the first set of cakes from the oven. He tapped the top for doneness and set them out on the cooling rack. It was some sort of white cake, probably one of the more fussy ones from Mace’s mood. Trent skimmed the remaining directions, set the timer, and put in the next set of cake pans. He was in no hurry; Mace could stew for a few minutes. The slow baked recipes were always better. He tided up the kitchen, wiping the splatters from the counter, and finally turned toward his partner.

Mace was sitting with his hands on his lap and his feet hooked around the legs of the chair. He caught Trent’s look and lowered his eyes.

“Yep, kiddo, you were agitated. So what happened?” Trent straddled a chair and sat down.

“You already know about this morning.”

“The great breakfast battle.It will go down with The Battle of Hastings as a momentous occasion.”

“Milton’s the historian.” 

“It’s rubbing off. Should I have some of his dominance rub off on me too?”

“No.” Mace slapped the table with his palm.

“Hands in your lap,” Trent growled.

“Oh, God, it’s contagious!” Mace cracked a small smile before looking down and biting his lip.

“I take it Milton was forceful with you.”

Mace shrugged and swung his feet once before stilling them around the chair legs again. “He pulled me up on his lap. He talked.”

“Anything else?” Trent prodded.

“He threatened to punish me if I asked Sheldon about breakfast again. It’s breakfast, not if he wants to run off to Colorado with me.”

“Sheldon is Milton’s slave. Milton has that right.”

“How can he? It’s ridiculous!” Mace shouted.

“Don’t,” Trent said levelly. This was becoming his favorite word. “After we joined this merry band, Milton was upfront that we might see some odd and unusual goings on. This is just one more of those occasions.”

“He’s taken everything from Sheldon. How can you be so cavalier about it?”

“Does Sheldon look upset?”

“It’s probably not allowed. Ten lashes for calling your dominant a horse’s ass.”

“I’m sure it’s more than that,” Trent said half seriously. “Milton’s an old-fashioned master. He’s enforcing the master/slave contract.”

“How do you know?” 

“I called Ryan and Gordon. My personal oracles about all the more extreme elements of this lifestyle. Gordon has seen the contract. He was the witness. Sheldon has sworn obedience to Milton and freely offered himself as chattel. He has only the rights that Milton bequeaths on him.”

“Sheesh!” 

“He wanted it. Sheldon wrote the contract, not Milton. Milton only added to his own obligations to protect and cherish his property and to increase the safeguards for Sheldon.”

“And you think this is all right?” Mace started to rise from the chair.

“Sit down.”

Mace collapsed back into the chair and shot Trent a murderous look.

“We do this. Most people wouldn’t call this fair either. I spanked you this morning.”

“You can’t sell me as property.”

“And you’re not Sheldon.” Trent leaned on his elbow and studied Mace. “Sheldon, for all his antics, is deeply submissive. He needs this, especially now.”

“He needs to be muzzled so Milton can do whatever he fucking wants! Milton hurt Sheldon.”

“And he knows it. He would never have agreed otherwise. It’s more restrictive and all encompassing than Milton wanted. It’s work to be a good master. Ultimately Milton’s responsible for Sheldon’s happiness, and he takes his obligations seriously.”

“It makes Sheldon happy to be penniless and get dragged around naked on a leash?”

“I haven’t seen Sheldon naked on a leash, have you?”

“He could be. He can’t stop it.”

“True.” Trent checked the timer over his shoulder. “But Milton is obligated to Sheldon’s mental well-being. Dragging Sheldon around on a leash would hardly be productive.”

“No,” Mace snorted, “but controlling his diet is?”

“He making choices for Sheldon without punishment or pain. Think about it. Sheldon always was happiest when he was in some sort of trouble after the initial dust settled. Sheldon has this need. I don’t think either of us can understand it, at least not completely, but it is our role to show tolerance. He’s still your friend; you just need to ask Milton first before you do something for Sheldon. He’ll grant it as long as you ask, but he’ll punish you if you don’t.”

“How do you know? And you’ll let him?” Mace asked in rapid fire succession.

“We talked, or Milton talked and I listened. Mace—”Trent stood and leaned over his partner, lifting Mace’s chin so he couldn’t look away—“it’s always been understood that Milton has the final say in this household. We may be on the periphery of this family, but he is the head of the household. If you can’t accept that any longer, we should move.” Trent kissed Mace’s forehead and stepped back. “Consider it, kiddo. I can’t change that.”

Mace nodded slowly. “Milton asked me today if I still considered myself a submissive. I am, and I submit. I don’t like it today, but I will submit.”

“Good boy.” Trent almost never used that expression. Mace would know exactly what his partner meant. It wasn’t an empty or casual platitude. It was a reaffirmation of their way.