Green Pastures 8

Green Pastures 8

The house was thankfully quiet. Tilden had to be somewhere, but Luke didn’t see him. He turned to head toward their room. 

“Stay with me.”

What? They were home now. What else could Milton want?

“I told you that I was going to make it very clear that you understood your place in this family. You stay with me please until I tell you otherwise. Do you need the bathroom?”

Was he going to invite himself in? Supervised potty breaks.

“Luke?” Milton asked when Luke hadn’t answered the question.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Luke avoided Milton’s study. It was very much Milton’s domain. It wasn’t austere or dark, but somehow it had always felt as if it were the master’s domain. The curtains were thrown open, and the sun poured into the room. Milton’s tastes were different from Tilden’s. His furniture was Victorian, oversized and in blue and green velvets. Tilden’s study was homey, a kitchen table for a desk and a clutter of boxes and knickknacks. Milton had a large and heavy desk and kept his books in the bookcases. The only knickknacks were a few framed photos. 

“Sit.” Milton pointed at the floor.

He was serious. Luke had seen this plenty of times with the others, even Tilden sometimes draped himself at Milton’s feet when he was relaxing, leaning against Milton’s legs and looking way too comfortable.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“What I tell you, boy.”

“I have work to do.”

“Your work is to sit.” 

“Fine.” The other words Luke kept under his breath. With the expression on Milton’s face, he wasn’t sure if something far worse than sitting might be in the offering. He’d sit. Milton would have to get tired of this soon.

Famous last thoughts now. It had been three hours now. The damn clock kept him well informed of the time with bongs at every quarter of an hour. Luke had moved once when Milton had walked him once to the bathroom without asking him and stood outside the door. At least he hadn’t come in. One small indignity not suffered. Milton had put him back on the floor, much closer with his back against Milton’s leg if he relaxed.

Feet raced up the stairs. A flash of a naked body ran by the door.

“Sheldon?”

“Master, I was covered in mud.” Sheldon stood at perfect presentation position, naked, his cock and balls swinging in the breeze. His eyes met Luke’s and he smiled, an easy confident grin. “You in trouble?”

Sheldon was the naked one, and Luke was the one who felt the flush rising up his neck.

“Luke’s fine, taking a break from too much working,” Milton said.

“Master,” Sheldon repeated. “Your beard.”

“So you noticed,” Milton said with a laugh. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Sheldon said with a wide grin. “No more father time whiskers. I thought I was going to have to start to introduce you as my grandfather or sneak hair dye on it while you slept.”

“You, brat, come here.”

Sheldon scampered over, pretending to stay out of reach, but within arm’s length when Milton stood and caught him easily. The swat on the ass was light and playful. The kiss was deep and affection. Sheldon ran his fingers down the smooth cheeks, lingering for a long moment against Milton.

“Shower and dress. You’re way too tempting like this.”

“Master,” Sheldon whined and Luke realized if he wasn’t sitting here that they would have both gone into the shower or the bed. 

“I can leave.” Luke started to stand.

“Sit. Neither Sheldon nor I will turn into a gnome if we don’t have sex this very minute. In fact if my redheaded temptation isn’t in the shower in thirty seconds, he’ll have a cock cage as his newest accessory.”

Sheldon fled in a flurry of running feet. 

“You really don’t like that, do you?” Milton’s voice was a soft rumble overhead.

“No,” Luke said and bit his lip. He wasn’t saying more. How could Milton have done that right in front of him? Didn’t he have any boundaries? Tilden loved the man, but Tilden would never ever act that way.

“You’ve lived with me a long time. I won’t do that to you if you don’t like it, but Sheldon and I like it. I think we should be able to enjoy ourselves in our own home in front of our family and lovers. Do you understand?”

“I’d rather not have a front row seat.”

Milton studied Luke for a long minute. “If you truly feel that way, I’ll be more careful. You don’t have to be prim and proper about your sexuality with me.”

“I am prim and proper.” Luke knew he was red to his hairline. He wanted out of this. Tilden understood this. Luke wasn’t some sort of crazy sex fiend.

“Your sexuality and your submissiveness are not heavily entwined,” Milton said softly, almost as if he were giving himself a lecture on some novel topic. “It’s why I’ve always given you space. You don’t get hot when I press on you. It’s not just that you don’t much like pain; submission is something different for you. You really want me to tell you what to do, not play at it. You want the security, the sense of belonging, and somehow it’s all tangled up with submission and discipline. You’re not just prim and proper because you’re living under some cloud of outside pressure. Oh, Luke.” Milton bent down and kissed the top of Luke’s head.

“Milton, I’m fine. It’s nothing I’m just shy.” Luke wrapped his arms around his knees. Suddenly he didn’t want to get up, even though he knew that Milton wouldn’t tell him to sit down. “I know you and Sheldon were just teasing.”

“Luke, I don’t know.”

“Stop! Don’t go there.”

Sheldon had burst into the room. He was only wearing a towel. Water was pooling around his bare feet and dripping off his hair.

“I thought I told you to shower and dress. You’ve only managed half of that,” Milton said dryly.

“You did, but then I realized you were going to blow it. This isn’t nuclear physics. Luke wants to live under your power, but he’s not crazy about giving you a blow job. Fine. It took you years to get me in a cock cage, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t agreeing to have you beat my ass.”

“Luke doesn’t—“

“He’s vanilla in bed. Don’t you think I haven’t noticed? He’s a proper gentleman, not a graduate of the Landon school of sexual desire. Fine. He doesn’t get off on that part, so you don’t mess with it.”

“He doesn’t get off on it period.”

“Oh yeah he does. Before I gave him a flipping heart attack, he was leaning on your legs, purring like a kitten. He wants ordered around. He’s had ten years to tell you to fuck off and he didn’t. You’re not coercing him. You’re not emasculating him. Now get over yourself and your morals that only make sense to you and get on with dominating him.” Sheldon ran his hand over his wet hair and shot Luke a half smile. “I’ll go find the cock cage. He will use that on me, and I just bought myself a week of celibacy.”  He turned and marched out.

“Sheldon.”

“Master, I know. The cage lives in the top drawer.”

“You don’t need to.”

“If you’re calling this dressed, you need to visit the eye doctor. I’ve got it. Deal with Luke. He needs you with your brain engaged. He does know what he’s buying. He might want to pretend it’s only about teaching and protecting him, but he knows it’s about power, and he’s good with that. You’re not crippling him or torturing him. Negotiate the hell out of it. Drag Gordon or Ryan down to verify everything.”

“You can do that,” Milton said. “I’ll be in the kitchen. We’ll do this in thirty minutes.”

“Oh, God, it’s not even New Year’s and I’ve got to do this.” Sheldon reached out for Luke’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find a way to endure this torture.”

****

Luke ran the peeler over the potato. It was rather crazy how many potatoes they ate. Hundreds in a month it seemed. Saturday night and Trent and Mace were making standard weekend fare, formal dinners, classic American cooking. Tonight it was a massive roast with all the trimmings. The house already smelled of the cooking beef and of the two apple pies that were cooling on the counter. They’d have mountains of mashed potatoes and lakes of gravy as well as several vegetables, a concession to their health needs and Austin’s on again off again vegetarianism. 

Luke couldn’t remember if this was vegetarian month, raw foods only month, or dairy products will kill you month, or whatever new health rage that Austin was trying. Milton ignored it. Luke could only remember one offhand comment to eat enough not to pass out. Luke thought that was during Austin’s fruit eat only phase. That hadn’t lasted too long. He’d been so famished that Mace had made him an entire pan of lasagna and two loaves of garlic bread.

Trent nagged Austin about his eating, good natured as always and half fatherly, half offended cook. He also collected an array of cookbooks featuring a cornucopia of ingredients that everyone but Austin detested. Wheat germ did not need to be served at every meal.

“Hey potatoes.” Mace flicked Luke with the towel. “You’re spacing on me.”

“Sorry.”

“You OK, cowboy?” Mace put his hand on Luke’s shoulder and peered into his face for a moment. “I heard Milton order you to stay here when he grabbed Austin to fuck his brains out.”

“Mace.”

“Come on,” Mace said with that wide smile of his. “You and I both know that’s what he does when Austin’s having a stress attack. The kids a mess about his exams for med school, and Milton’s probably popping Viagra like candy.”

“Not an image I want,” Luke said with a shaky laugh.

“Come on, you’ve seen that well fucked look when an hour before stress was coming off of him like electricity. Not a bad gig for a man of Milton’s age.”

“Mace, really, let’s talk about something else.”

“You with Milton and Sheldon took up my kitchen for an hour when I needed to be cooking. Pretending to not know what’s going on might not be your wisest choice.”

It had been bad enough during round one. Luke had no desire to rehash it. He had a contract now, signed, witnessed, and tucked into Milton’s filing cabinet. Sheldon had done the heavy lifting, Luke would have sat in the chair like a robot with a broken voice box if Sheldon hadn’t known how to lead the conversation.

Luke had always considered Sheldon an overgrown and hyperactive nuisance. It wasn’t that he disliked the guy; it was impossible to dislike someone who exuded effervescent good cheer. Only he’d never felt all that real to Luke, a class clown who hadn’t realized school was out years ago. He’d pigeon holed Sheldon as Milton’s sidekick and thought not much more about him. He’d thought he’d known all sides of Sheldon, but today at the kitchen table, he’d been unquestionably Milton’s equal, not a foil or a sidekick, or a redheaded sprite. His green eyes had never once dropped from Milton’s deep stare, his voice had never wavered, and he’d never looked seconds away from tears or an explosion of temper. Luke had felt desperate, going from stomach dropping coldness to his face ablaze with fire and back again in micro seconds.  

Sheldon had been the blunt one. “Tell him what, when, and how, and Luke will be a happy camper. He doesn’t want pretty marks all over his ass, not that you can’t try to convince him later. You know as well as I do, he gets off on the cane if it’s not too hard.”

Luke didn’t want to remember the heat on his face at that moment. He might have been able to cook dinner on it without a stove.

“He wants stability, consistency, someone to have his back. Those traits have your name all over them. You live by rules. Gordon beat them into you. He wants that, only a little less brutality than Gordon. He doesn’t suffer from your legendary stubbornness or mine for that matter,” Sheldon had added with a grin and a wink at Luke. “I am right, aren’t I?” Sheldon had added in a much softer tone. 

Luke had only managed a nod, his mind too adrift by the craziness of the entire situation. 

“Luke, I watch you. Being adult and responsible has never come easy for me. I understand the idea of wanting someone to keep you on the straight and narrow, to protect you from the world and from yourself. Family does that, Luke. In different ways, but we all do that.” Sheldon had stopped for a minute, his eyes so kind that they had made Luke almost gasp. “You want the lines colored in a bit differently from many. So do I.” Sheldon touched his collar. “I’m a slave. I’ve given my sovereignty to Milton. He is my friend and my lover and my master. He hurts and bleeds and makes errors like all of us, yet I’ve given him the right to control me, to own me.”

Luke had never thought anyone looked less owned than those few moments where Sheldon spoke with his eyes fixed on Luke’s face. 

“He can’t make the world perfect. He can’t promise to never hurt you or to make wrong choices. All he can do is try. You must trust and surrender, but you must also understand that you can stop it all. You hold the emergency stop. Use it wisely. Servitude and submission is voluntary. You must wear his chains voluntarily. He can wrap them tight, step into all those areas that smart, accomplished men are supposed to handle on their own, but you must give it to him.”

Luke had handed his rights and sovereignty over. He watched as Milton had written the terms down in his careful penmanship, as he’d read it through, made a few corrections, and read it again. He’d labored through copying out the paragraph that Milton had insisted that Luke must memorize and understand, that Milton had power over him in ways that didn’t involve making him a better person or teaching him to survive in the world. It was power for the dominant to enjoy.

“Luke, as your dominant, I will promise you many things: protection, love, security, fulfillment, but I won’t promise not to enjoy the power. A submissive serves me, Luke. I’m not here to only service you. You are giving me the right to walk all over your life, and I will. Make sure you understand what that means. Ryan explained it once to Sheldon at its most naked and most brutal when I brought you and Tilden into the relationship. Either leave or ask how many beds to make up. When you sign this, you hand me that power.”

Luke had signed it, his signature scratchy and irregular as his hand shook. He signed it and been ordered to help Mace with dinner. He was now a prisoner with a mountain of potatoes in front of him and Mace’s eyes way too knowing on his face.

“What did you give to Milton?” Mace’s voice broke the stillness of the kitchen. “Everything?”

Luke nodded. “I think so.”

Mace’s smile was crooked and gentle. “He seems to have that effect on people.”

“You?”

Mace straddled a chair and leaned across the table, silent for one long moment. “I was so fucked up when I first met him, them really because it was Josh who was the heavy with me, that I can’t really tell you what happened. Josh jerked me around pretty hard. If I wanted to be a whining, pitiful boy, he could give me something to whine about. He takes politically incorrect to a whole new level.” Mace scrubbed his face with his hands. “He showed me it was OK to be weak and to beg and to want to lean on someone, and then pointed out that hiding and pretending was the real weakness, or at least weaker than me dropping my shit on Trent. I never do totally swallow the happy juice and agree that throwing your shit in the air and hoping some damn dom will catch it is a good idea.” Mace grinned, grabbed a potato, and tossed it in the air. “I can juggle these for about three seconds then I either drop one or Trent makes noise about food safety and government agencies. Not that it matters.”

“Am I crazy to stay here?”

“Whoa.” Mace held up his hand in a stopping motion. “If you’re getting this serious, I’m not the best person to be sorting it out.”

“I’m not asking Milton, and I won’t get between him and Tilden.” Luke snapped his head away and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. Milton’s words had hurt, more than Luke would ever admit. He’d been all the things he hated— a jealous, fearful bastard. Any idiot could see the relationship between Milton and Tilden. He couldn’t be so greedy to want to destroy that; only he was. 

“Luke,” Mace said, his western drawl thickening as he fought for time, “Milton’s all over you. He doesn’t do that with a boy he expects to disappear over the horizon. He wants you.”

“Mike’s gone.”

“That was Mike’s stupidity. If he could have gotten his head out of his friggin’ ass for one second, he could have figured out that Sheldon wasn’t the enemy. It was Sheldon who got shafted in the original deal, not dearest Mike. Mike got what he wanted, a dom hard enough to rattle his back teeth, and he left because he couldn’t figure out Sheldon, the man who wears his emotions like an advertising slogan.”

Luke picked at the placemat. It might have been red many years ago, but it had faded to rose. “We both got shafted.”

“How? You got a dom who’s versatile enough to accommodate you, and you kept Tilden. That sounds like a good deal to me.”

“I don’t want Milton as my dominant.”

“Then leave.” Mace grabbed a peeler and tore a strip off the potato.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is, but, buddy boy, you like being Milton’s. You like the scary Vermonter with the deep growl when life forgets to be a bed of roses. Your only problem is you keep trying to hide from it. You’re a submissive. It’s not a dirty word. Suck it up and do what your dominant tells you.” Mace stood up and took the three steps back toward the stove, the slight hitch in his gait evident to those who knew him well. It showed more when he was upset and forgot to hide it.

“Mace—“

“I don’t have anything else to say. Peel the potatoes.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Luke ducked his head, wishing he still had the long hair to hide his face. He was no good at the people skills thing. He always made a mess of it.

“You didn’t. Only I want to eat before midnight.”

You lie, Luke thought, but could think of no more to say. He bent back over his potatoes.

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. 

Breakfast with Master

Breakfast with Master

“Do you want pancakes, Sheldon?” Mace asked, already pulling out the flour and the mixing bowl.

“No,” Milton said softly.

“I didn’t ask you,” Mace shot back. He continued to pour the flour into the bowl and reached into the refrigerator for the milk.

“Sheldon is not having pancakes today,” Milton said in a steady voice. “It’s no longer his choice; it’s mine, and in the future do not ask him.”

Mace spun around, real anger evident in his eyes. He wiped his flour covered hands against his thighs, sprinkling his dark jeans with white specks. “I can’t believe you.”

“Don’t, Mace,” Milton said, keeping his voice steady. “You will not like where this conversation is going, and you’re making this harder for Sheldon, not easier. I will tell Trent to punish you for upsetting my slave.”

Sheldon dropped his head and picked at his placemat at the mention of his official title. Milton rubbed the back of Sheldon’s neck, hoping the weight of his hand would anchor his boy. Sheldon had bratted for a long time; a new title and a new status were hard for him. His desires were suddenly naked for all to see.

“Are you going to make him eat bread and water on the floor?”

“How I treat my slave is not your business. Leave the kitchen. Talk to Trent, or I will.” Milton let the unspoken threat hang in the air. If he had to speak to Trent, he’d make sure Mace was solidly punished.

“Fine,” Mace spat and marched out of the kitchen.

Milton pulled Sheldon onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around a shocked and shivering boy. “Shh. It’s my job to protect you. You were a very good boy not to lash out at Mace. I’m very proud of you.”

“I feel like a wimp.”

“There is nothing wimpy about being a slave; it is very hard work.” 

Sheldon nuzzled into Milton's neck, but his eyes registered his disbelief. Instead of feeling empowered by his new status, he was feeling emasculated. Milton sighed and drew Sheldon closer, dropping a kiss on the red hair.

"I never told you this would be easy, but Mace will come around. You've been friends for a long time, and I won't take that away." Sheldon needed his friend; he tended to easily make acquaintances, but rarely make friends. Sheldon didn't have friends at work. Landon and Mace were his only true friends outside of their tangled group of six, and Landon was as much a mentor as a friend. 

"What are we having for breakfast?" Sheldon asked.

Sheldon wasn't ready to talk. Make it ordinary; they could talk later. "Eggs Benedict. It's my favorite, and I know you like it.” Milton stood and pulled Sheldon with him. "You have to help. It's bad form for the master to cook for the slave."

***

Milton rubbed his eyes as he plowed through another paper. He couldn't hide behind his work for much longer. Luke was working on his dissertation, Sheldon was watching TV, and Mike had disappeared somewhere. Austin was downstairs doing his homework, or at least the boy better be. They'd had a discussion last night about Austin's haphazard approach to college. Milton wasn't going to harass him into completing every assignment, and bratting in situations where it could damage his future was something Milton didn't tolerate. If he found that boy playing zombies and whatever one more time, it was going to be the belt. Fear of your dominant could be healthy. Milton had been kind today; he'd sent Tilden to check. Tilden would harass and cajole and maybe swat, but he wouldn't leather their disobedient cub's ass.

Milton startled at the tap on the door. "Come in."

Mace entered, shutting the door behind him but staying close to its safety. His eyes were red, and his head was down. Trent had obviously taken Mace's disagreement this morning beyond a simple conversation. 

"Bad?" Milton asked gently.

"Trent called me irrationally angry. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Thank you," Milton said formally and stood up. He captured Mace's wrists before Mace could flee. It had been a long time since Milton had pulled Mace onto his lap, but this was a boy who was struggling. Milton rarely saw Mace give off submissive signals, but at the moment it was unmistakable. "You're still angry and confused, aren't you? And by the way I don't consider your anger irrational just inappropriate. Sheldon is your friend. You don't understand what happened. I'm the obvious target, the cause of the changes."

"I don't want to be here." Mace's voice was soft, and Milton chose to ignore the request.

"Tell me what you feel when you see Sheldon now."

"Angry."

"Angry at me?"

"Yes." Mace managed to make that single word sound like an entire litany against Milton.

"Understandable. I'm the master."

"You're the asshole who screwed it up. Sheldon was happy before—" Mace broke off.

"I won't punish you for honesty. Yes, I was the asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his trousers. Does that about sum it up?"

Mace nodded.

"I hurt Sheldon; I hurt him badly. You don't have to tell me that. I know, but I also know we were having trouble in our relationship long before I succumbed to temptation. Sheldon was struggling to find his footing as my submissive. His brother's and Ryan's relationship, my role as head of the Green Mountain Boys, and the effect of time were all changing our relationship and the power structure within it."

"He was fun. He was happy."

"Sometimes." And sometimes Sheldon was screaming for help, Milton added silently. Milton had known the dynamics were changing. They'd both become too comfortable in the old ways; Milton hadn't pushed hard enough to make the needed changes until Sheldon imploded and demanded everything. 

"You think he was unhappy?"

"I think he needs something very different than you. You're rarely a submissive. I'm not privy to what goes on in your bedroom with Trent, but I suspect the dynamics are far different than our arrangement. I am always a dominant, and Sheldon is always a submissive. Those roles are irrevocable. You, on the other hand, rarely show a submissive side except when under emotional stress." Milton brushed his fingers through Mace's hair. "If you hadn't been hurt, you would never have been a submissive at all. Maybe it was wrong what Josh and I did all those years ago, pushing you both toward a power dynamic, but you were both hurting, and the power exchange is something we understand. It troubles me that I never see you and Trent play, and it troubles me that you find Sheldon's deep submission so incomprehensible. We may have forced you someplace you shouldn't be if you can't comprehend Sheldon's desires."

Mace sat still for several minutes. "May I get up?"

"You may." Milton unwound his arms, allowing Mace to go free. 

Mace walked slowly to the window and stared out as if he was trying to find the western sky between the reds and gold of fall. He leaned against the window, a pose he'd probably taken thousand of times against the side of a corral. "I don't know," he said, his drawl thickening as he spoke. "I'm not like your boys; I've known that for ages. I understood the bratting. It was such an obvious game. I don't understand this—the complete loss of autonomy. I get the sexual charge." Mace flushed and grimaced. "Oh, I get that for sure. When you're mad it goes straight to my groin. Trent only has to stare a certain way, and I get all tingly. So yes, you and Josh were right all the time; I am a submissive. I was also totally messed up in the head, and I needed someone to take charge. I needed a good old-fashioned kick in the pants. Josh is always good for that if Trent doesn't step up and do it himself, but I don't want it all the time." Mace's eyes went to the window again. "I don't want to play at it, but I'm not a 24/7 submissive, at least not now."

"Can you understand and accept what Sheldon needs?" Milton asked softly.

"I'm trying, and I'm trying not to hate you because I’ve always liked and trusted you. You've seen me at my worst and have always been decent and kind." Mace shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Come here, cowboy." Milton folded Mace into a tight hug. "I'm a dominant; I'm a master, but I do care about each of those beautiful men who are entangled in my life and love. I promise I'll try my best for them, and I expect you'll tell me when I'm not. Just try to be patient with me for a while. Can you do that?"

"I'll try, but I won't promise."

"Mace," Milton said, pushing Mace to arm's length. "If you speak to Sheldon as you did this morning, I will punish you. Understand that. Now go."

Alone

Alone

“Luke,” Mace said, standing in the doorway and looking over the kitchen. “I know you love Tilden, but emulating his cooking wasn’t necessary.”

“Fuck!” Luke said loudly and explosively.

“Luke, you OK?” Mace asked and entered the kitchen, trying not to shake his head at the debris: powdered sugar on all surfaces, pink icing dripping down the counter, and the remains of a cake on the floor. “What happened?” Luke wasn’t usually the volatile one. Mike had a temper, and in the right mood he’d send a cake to the floor, but not Luke. Mike and Sheldon together could definitely send a cake to the floor, but they both knew it and didn’t usually try to set each other off. Mike didn’t engage in bratting for the hell of it, or at least not often, and Sheldon, well, he would have dumped the sugar, but not the cake. No use losing a perfectly good cake.

“I knocked it off the counter by accident,” Luke said, raking his fingers through his blond curls and leaving bits of pink and red sugar. “The phone rang,” Luke continued as if that should be explanation enough.

“You were running to get the phone and knocked off the cake?”

Luke nodded. “I guess I should clean it up. Sorry.” The tone was petulant and angry, not apologetic.

“If you don’t want Milton or Tilden to have a cow.” But maybe that was the intention. Mace dodged the broken eggs and made his way to the sink. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“It’s my mess.” Luke looked despondently at the floor, only a few tiles peeking through the flour, sugar, egg yolks, and pink icing. “I’ll deal with it.”

“It’s easier with two,” Mace said and started sweeping the dry goods into the dustpan. 

Luke wasn’t really helping; he pushed mixing bowl around the counter and threw the empty egg carton in the trash, but his eyes were cloudy, and he’d run his hand across his face several times, obviously trying to hide tears.

“Hey, don’t step in my swept pile,” Mace protested in a tone he hoped would come across as light and jovial.

“Sorry. I know I’m an incompetent ass,” Luke said, turning sharply from Mace, his shoulders hunched in a way that indicated he was battling tears. “Fuck! I can’t even do angry right. I just start crying.”

“Whoa, cowboy.” Mace left his floor sweepings and draped an arm over Luke’s shoulder.  Mace wasn’t naturally demonstrative with other men. He didn’t have that easy ability to hug even his closest friends. It taken him years to stop flinching and ducking when Milton or Josh laid a hand on his shoulder.  Trent joked that the strong, silent type might make a great romantic movie hero, but was hell as a partner. Luke thrived on being touched. He was usually in Tilden’s back pocket, especially is he was upset. This wasn’t the week for Tilden to be away at a conference of Russian teachers.

“I’m all right,” Luke mumbled, sliding out from Mace’s embrace.

“Yep, and the moon’s made out of green cheese. If you can’t convince me, you’ll never convince them.” ‘Them’ were the tops of course. Tilden might be out of town, but Milton was here, and even Trent might abandon his live and let live policy for a moment to deal with this. Trent couldn’t do a Milton and have every submissive in a three state area on their knees, but he could be unshakable in his quiet, understated way. Yep, he could, Mace thought. They’d had their moments, and Trent had won every single one of them.

“I was just angry I’d knocked the cake off.”

“You’re not Sheldon; you don’t throw food in the kitchen.” Mace kept his gaze steady; he might be the sensible type, but he didn’t do this top thing, and Luke needed a top. Milton could do a look that made Mace’s stomach drop faster than climbing on the rankest horse ever had.

“I did today,” Luke snapped. “Can you just leave me alone?”

“No,” Mace snapped back and then steadied his own temper and slowed his voice to the easy western drawl that always steadied his own nerves. “You don’t need to be alone.” Mace propped his hip against the counter and looked out the windows to the gray sky of New England. Back in his riding days, he would have grabbed a piece of hay and chewed on the end while studying the mountains or the horse flesh in the coral. He couldn’t do that in the kitchen, but he could think of Trent standing over the stove, a spoon in one hand a hot mitt in the other.

“Shit!” Luke kicked at the pile of flour on the floor.

“Luke, we’re all in this together.” Mace swallowed hard; he didn’t do this easily or naturally. He sat on a horse naturally; he didn’t have to explain himself to the horse, not in words; people weren’t so easy. It was Milton who had insisted that Mace not nod and turn away and dream of a life he could no longer have. Milton, who on the outside looked like a stereotypical New Englander, had grabbed Mace’s wrists, pinned them over his head, and growled at him.

“You’re a submissive. You live in my house. I’m a dominant, and I won’t pretend we’re strangers.”

Mace had stood, shoulders frozen against the wall, half-afraid, half-aroused, and half he didn’t know what. His heart had been pounding like it did before he wrapped the rope around his fist and nodded for the gate to be opened on the chute.

“I won’t touch you sexually, boy. You aren’t mine, but I won’t ignore the signals you’re throwing off. Submission isn’t only about Josh and don’t kill yourself at work being an idiot or whatever you and Trent do in bed, but it’s about everything, and right now, boy, you want someone to put you into a submissive head space.”

Mace had stilled under Milton’s powerful grip and steady, dark gaze. He’d felt his body go limp, surrender. He would’ve given Milton anything at that moment, but Milton hadn’t taken it, He’d whispered a word of praise, kissed Mace’s forehead, and let him go. 

Trent didn’t do that. Both Trent and Mace knew they played at it compared to Milton and Sheldon. Mace didn’t want to go down that far; he wouldn’t give himself up that much. Trent had touched the edges a few times, but Trent didn’t need that much either. Trent was fine to pretend they were vanilla with a touch of games in bed and with only a hint of the  other side like the first rays of the morning sun in the mountains. 

Luke needed it all right now. He needed to go in deep. Where was Milton? Tilden would be better, but he was halfway across the country. Milton could do it. His relationship with Luke was closer than his relationship with Mace, and he could do it with Mace. He’d proved is easily in the hall that day.

“Luke, here now.”

The deep rumble of Milton’s voice broke Mace’s thoughts from Luke. He hadn’t heard the door; he hadn’t heard the footsteps.

Milton snapped his fingers and Luke moved, falling into the open arms. Milton looked over Luke’s head, silent but his eyes expressive. Mace nodded; he understood the silent message. He’d deal with the mess in the kitchen; it wasn’t his, but Luke needed something right now, something they couldn’t quite name but Milton would do his best to give to Luke. Mace might never know what set this off, and that was OK. He wasn’t a dominant; he didn’t run this house. Milton would know and Milton would deal with it. Sheldon would know. It was Sheldon who guarded Milton’s secrets just as Mace guarded Trent’s secrets. 

Mace dropped his eyes to the mess on the floor. He didn’t even watch Milton guide Luke from the room. It was about trust and surrender, and Mace trusted Milton. Luke would be able to do both. Milton would hold those precious pieces in his hands. He might wish fervently that Tilden was here. He might bend and even crack a little under the strain, but he’d turn to Sheldon and find the spot they both enjoyed. They knew how to do this.

The Queen of Clubs

The Queen of Clubs: Mace Dewey

Mace wiped the dust and sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and watched as they saddled Tornado. Like most experienced bucking horses, the horse stood quietly in the chute as the saddle was cinched. He pinned his ears and cow kicked as the men worked around him, but he’d save his real fury for the flank strap. Tornado was an ugly brute, typical for a bucking horses. Two small piggish eyes glared out of his coarse head. His thick neck stopped abruptly at his shoulder, no long smooth shoulder for a comfortable ride. He was short coupled and well muscled through the loins; this added power to his leaps.

Mace had ridden Tornado several times. He was owned by the company that put on most of these crappy, small town rodeos out in the middle of nowhere. They would stay in town for a night or two, attracting the surrounding farmers and the unlucky souls stuck in these dying towns of boarded up main streets and a fast food joint at the intersection of the interstate. It was the lean season. Mace hadn’t ridden well--fucking awful was more accurate--at the last couple of big rodeos, and now he was desperate for a little prize money, no matter how small. 

Mace had been thankful to run into Trent at the last big rodeo. They had an off and on relationship, and Trent was always good for a meal. Trent wrote for one of those silly Eastern magazines that made the cowboy all romantic. Dirt, blood, cow shit, twenty below wind chill--romantic. Mace spat, thinking about it. Cowboys were only romantic in Hollywood. God, he should know. He’d tried dating a few. They were all as tough of sons of bitches as he was, or at least they were pretending as hard as he was not to be the soft, fucking queer. Trent had shrugged and smiled that easy smile of his the first time they’d gone out.

“You know back East guys don’t spend the first date trying to see who is the bigger and tougher asshole. I’m happy to concede that role to you. Let’s go have a nice dinner where everything doesn’t smell of cattle, sweat, and three day old chewing tobacco.”

Trent dated like guys did with girls. They went out to restaurants where the beer wasn’t the only edible thing on the menu. Trent knew about food. He’d been a food critic before shifting to writing about primordial man as he liked to call it. He wrote about the cowboys, and he also wrote for hunting and fishing magazines.

“Someone has to cater to those poor men’s feeling of inadequacy. It’s easy work, and it pays OK, and I like it out here. I don’t have to pretend to be interested in wine.”

Trent was a city boy by his own admission, but he could rough it with the best of them. He’d gone off to some backwoods camp every year as a boy and could hunt, fish, hike and whatever. He hadn’t really known much about horses, but Mace was fixing that. Maybe they could settle down and raise some nice horse flesh. Fat chance. Trent would go back home to civilization, and Mace would be thumbing a ride to the next rodeo.

“Cowboy, you dreaming of a hot date tonight?” the chute crew guy punched Mace’s leg. “You’re up next. You do have to ride, not just sit on the fence looking all fashionable.”

“I’m ready.” Mace pushed his hat down firmer on his head and positioned himself to drop carefully onto the horse’s back. He could do this. This horse was easy--two or three straight jumps out and then some spinning. It’d be a piece of cake. Mace coiled the rope one more time around his hand, and nodded for the gate guy to open the chute.