Discoveries

This story will only make sense if read after Wants and Needs. I hadn't planned on doing a little series. I was only taking a breather from The Unbreakables and tidying up bits of RC Verse when I started these little stories.

Discoveries

(6 months after Needs)

Someone was banging on the door. Mirka’s bark echoed off the wall. Noah flicked on the light. There was no use worrying if Sam was awake, not with the barking. 

“What?”

Sam was never coherent in the morning, not at nine and certainly not at four am. “Grab Mirka. I’ll see who’s at the door.”

“Noah Webster?”

“Yes,” Noah said slowly, his mind trying to absorb that two police officers were at his door at four in the morning. He didn’t do criminal work. He had no family in this country. Sam was safely in the kitchen with Mirka on leash and on guard. “Can I help you, sirs?”

“Is this the residence of Jonah Spencer?”

“It was. He moved out eight months ago. Officers, can you please tell me what this is concerning.”

“I think we best come in,” the first officer said, moving toward the door. “I’m Officer Hernandez and this if my partner Officer Mendez.

“What is this about?” Noah blocked the door with his body. He hadn’t seen Jonah for a month; the last time he’d practically had to trap him in his classroom after school, but as far as he knew Jonah wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t having the police barge into his house, not without a warrant. 

“There has been an accident,” Officer Mendez said. “You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

“What?”

“Sir, please, we should do this inside.”

“He’s dead,” Noah whispered. He grabbed for the door handle, suddenly needing support. 

“Sir, please. Maybe a cup of coffee,” Officer Hernandez said.

“Yes, of course,” Noah heard himself say. His mouth was working automatically. His brain was flying in all directions. What was he going to tell Sam? For all the hurt and pain, Sam had loved Jonah. He would need Noah now. He couldn’t stand here gaping like a fish. 

“What is it?” Sam’s hand was in Mirka’s collar. Sam’s eyes met Noah’s. He was perceptive, sensitive. He’d been the one gluing their relationship with Jonah together. “Bad?” The word was a whisper.

“It’s about Jonah. He’s had an accident.” Noah was shocked that his voice was steady. The world felt as if it were spinning in all directions, but his voice was steady and calm. “Put the dog in his crate. I’ll make coffee.”

“Where is he? What hospital?” Sam’s voice rose in panic.

“Put the dog away. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

Sam obeyed. Noah didn’t order him. They didn’t have that sort of relationship, but Sam was always polite and gracious. He went with stiff shoulders and a desperate look in his eyes. Noah busied himself with the coffee beans. He measured and ground and poured. Sam slipped back into the kitchen. He brushed his fingertips against Noah’s back, an almost invisible gesture of affection.

Texas had beaten the public displays of affection from these men, but Sam always found a way. He’d learned to allow the more demonstrative side of his nature to show when he felt safe, but here with two strange men in uniform, he’d reverted to invisible and shy. Noah caught his hand and squeezed.

“We’ll get through this. Officers, what happened. Can I…Can I assume…” Noah couldn’t form the words. He knew the words. He knew he didn’t even need to be told; he could read it on these men’s faces. They’d not come to tell them that Jonah was injured, but to tell them that they would need to make funeral arrangements.

“He was dead at the scene,” Hernandez, the older of the two officer’s said, unable to make eye contact even though Noah knew they must have been trained in managing grief and shock. “We’re sorry.”

“How? When? Where?” The words bubbled from Sam. His entire body shuddered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Noah said, pulling Sam against his chest and hugging him tightly. His precious boys—one gone. Jonah had seen so little of this world; it was so unfair.

“Why?” Sam cried, clinging to Noah, tears streaming down his face. “Why?”

“Sometimes there is no why,” Noah said, swallowing tears which he could only allow later. Right now he needed to be strong. He needed to do the official business. “Is there paperwork or identification I need to do, officers?”

“We had his fingerprints on file. No need for identification. If you’re officially next of kin, the remains will be released to your care.”

“Not officially,” Noah said with a quick shake of his head. “Too many of us,”

“Do you know his next of kin?” Officer Martinez asked, pulling out a notebook.

“He’s—was,” Noah corrected himself, “from Texas. There is no one but us.”

“Yes, but—“

“I have the paperwork,” Noah interrupted. “It’s filed at my office. We weren’t married, but we made arrangements.”

“You were living separately?” Officer Hernandez asked.

Noah stiffened. “My understanding is that Jonah died in a road accident. Are we under investigation?”

“No.” The officer spread his hands in a soothing gesture. “Just routine. Both drivers were killed on the scene. We’re just filling in the details.”

“What happened?” Sam asked. “Was he drinking?”

“Sam!”

“I want to know,” Sam said, pulling away from Noah. “He’s dead. I at least deserve to know what happened.”

“Did he have a drinking problem?” Officer Hernandez asked, pulling out his notebook.

“He wasn’t a teetotaler,” Noah said, “but he didn’t drink and drive.”

Sam glanced at Noah, but didn’t say anything. Maybe Noah had glossed over the details, but he wasn’t offering the police more information than necessary. Jonah didn’t need to be tainted in death. Once he had driven drunk, and Noah wasn’t sure if Sam had hidden other incidences. Sam hated conflict, and Noah had been true and legitimately furious. He could still remember the shouted words and Jonah’s anger. 

“If it’s such a fucking problem why don’t you beat me for it. You’re the dom after all.”

Noah had walked away, too horrified to respond. He was a dominant, not an abuser. They’d talk about it later when they both had better control of their temper, but Noah had never been sure that Jonah understood the difference. He’d wanted punished for the drinking and Noah had refused.There were places that he wouldn’t go and that was one of them. Submission was supposed to bring the submissive pleasure, not pain or at least not pain without an end goal of pleasure or headspace. He wasn’t his sub’s keeper or conscience. 

“Did he have a drinking problem?” Officer Hernandez persisted.

“No,” Noah said. “You have access to his arrest record. Jonah taught at the high school. There is no need to investigate him.”

Officer Hernandez shrugged. “I’m just completing our report.” His expression softened as he took in Sam who was clutching his coffee cup with too much force. “There’s no evidence that he was anything but sober. It appears the other driver was under the influence. He was driving the wrong way on I-25 and hit Jonah’s car head on. Death was instantaneous. He didn’t suffer.”

“Thank the Lord,” Sam muttered, his eyes glazing with tears again.

“Officers, I assume the formalities can wait until morning,” Noah said, standing up. “I would like some time alone with my partner.”

“Of course.” Officer Hernandez shut his notebook and stood up. “This is my card. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Thank you.” Noah knew he was pushing the police out the door, but he didn’t care. Sam was hanging on by a thread, and he wasn’t much better. Only the shock was keeping him half rational. He shut the door and nearly ran back toward the kitchen.

Sam had let Mirka out of the crate and his head was buried in the big dog’s fur. “Why? Why?” he cried. “Hadn’t he suffered enough?”

Noah had no answer. All he could do was add his body to the tangle of Sam and Mirka. He stood there, tears dripping on the black dog’s fur.

***

Making the funeral arrangements had been a blessing. It had kept both them occupied, flowers, accommodations for the hordes, preparations of remembrances. Noah would have preferred small and private, but the school faculty had turned out in full as well as a dozen students and their parents, but they felt like a fraction of the people compared to the masses of Green Mountain Boys. Jonah had lived in Milton’s house; there was no way that Noah could not invite them to the memorial. 

Noah didn’t think he knew half of them, maybe not even a quarter of them. Sam knew a few more, or at least the half dozen or so that seemed to be in Milton’s household. Noah wasn’t even going to try to figure that out. Five, he thought; the man must be insane. Gordon and Landon had come, of course, both older, but still vibrant with larger than life personalities. Josh and Jer had come with them. Josh’s steady solidity a welcome respite in the chaos of a funeral and burial. Noah hadn’t seen either of them in years, but their sad smiles and strong hugs were genuine and welcomed. 

Noah cast his eyes over the food. It wouldn’t have held out, except Trent and Mace had commandeered the kitchen at the sight of the crowd and doubled the amount brought by the caterers. Noah looked for Samuel in the thinning throng. He’d been fading, his expression more and more forced. Noah hoped that one of the red-haired brothers had pulled Sam aside. They had closed ranks around him as soon as they arrived, irreverent to the extreme and just what Sam needed.

“Mr. Webster,” a tall and broad man said from his back.

“Noah,” Noah said automatically. “You were a friend of Jonah’s?”

“Hugh Grendel.” The man held out his hand and shook Noah’s hand with a firm, confident grip. “You wouldn’t know me. I met him after…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Hugh,” Noah said, searching for words. What did he say to the man who was obviously Jonah’s boyfriend, a man whom Noah didn’t know and who was grieving as hard as Noah?

“Your loss must be worse. I only knew him a few months. He was a good man. I…” Hugh broke off again.

“You were his dominant. It’s no secret Jonah was a submissive.”

Hugh let out a soft sigh and relaxed a fraction. “Part time only. He was with me the night before he died. He was happy that night. I just thought you should know.”

“Thank you.”

Hugh nodded and looked over his shoulder. “I knew he’d been in the lifestyle, but those are Green Mountain Boys.”

“What gave them away? Their excessive polite bossiness or the the thousand dollar suits?” Noah said with a genuine smile.

Hugh laughed, a strained bark that he choked back quickly. “Good to know.”

“Thank you for coming,” Noah said as they stood staring at each other. “It means an enormous amount to me.”

Hugh reached forward and gripped Noah’s arm in a gesture that should have been too familiar, but was somehow appropriate from this big man. “Sometimes life keeps raining shit on your head. He had you and he had me. Maybe he was luckier than some.”

“Not lucky enough.”

“He’s gone now. You have a boy. Take care of him. The dead don’t need your care. The living do.”

“Mr. Grendel—“

“I know that was beyond my place,” Hugh said, holding up his hand. “I’ve never been polite or proper. I say what I see. Take care of that boy. Jonah and I didn’t have a relationship that involved much talking, but I have eyes. I can tell what he meant to you and your boy. He’d want you happy. Live your life in the future.”

“And you?”

“I’ll cope,” Hugh said with a shrug. “I’m better at giving advice than living it. I’ll be going now. I just wanted to pay my last respects.”

Hugh crossed the room before Noah could react. His long strides made it clear that he was going for the door, but there was no way to stop him. He was gone as fast as Jonah’s life had disappeared.

Noah managed more proper and bland words as mourners pressed his cheek with kisses or tried to tell amusing anecdotes. A minute of solitude and he stood staring into the thinning crowd. He resisted the urge to rub his hand over his hair, sigh, and slump into the corner. He’d learned long ago to keep his game face on, first in Texas and then under the savage tutelage of Landon and Gordon. Maybe savage was too unkind of word for them. They’d paid for his undergraduate and graduate education and his down payment on his house without any demand for repayment, except for his loyalty. 

They demanded loyalty in blood, once a Green Mountain Boy always a Green Mountain Boy. It was the only social club in the world beside the mafia that had no exit strategy except concrete boots.

Shit, he was starting to be the absolute cynic he’d promised he’d never be. They’d let him go, only to whistle and have him trotting back like a loyal dog. The force of Milton and Gordon together had been a sucker punch that he couldn’t resist, and, of course, they’d had all the logic; they always did.

Jonah and Samuel need some space; they need out of our craziness. You’re quiet and steady, just board them for a while.

Those hadn’t been the exact words, but that had been the meaning. He couldn’t say no. He knew the meaning of all that craziness, the lure and power that hadn’t even been whispered in his small town, even with his parents half crazy progressive friends. Their rebellion went far enough to suggest the state not arrest people for morality crimes and to buy organic produce. It didn’t stretch to tying up your lover and whipping his ass. That had been Landon and Gordon’s specialty and somehow it had trickled over to Noah. He’d never really had a chance at vanilla. To an eighteen year old it had been an unbelievable sea of kinkiness. They hadn’t needed to manipulate him into trying it; he’d jump right in without looking for sharks or rocks.

He’d found his sharks, his first lover in the arms or another Green Mountain dominant, so much for the much vaunted honor. And this with Jonah, nothing left but congealing cakes and too many bouquets trying to look cheerful instead of sad.

“You OK?”

“Milton.” Noah bit back the curse words that rose to his throat. He didn’t want to deal with Gordon’s successor. Noah knew Gordon well enough to at least half shield himself from the invasive questions. He had an arsenal of counter tactics. Against Milton he was flying blind, and worse, he suspected Milton might be better at it than Gordon, not the ruthlessness, not that Noah could imagine any protege of Gordon’s not knowing how to be ruthless, but the sense of goodwill. How did you fight the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus wrapped into one? The man exuded the sense that his only care was Noah and Noah’s feelings. Damn, he needed more sleep. He was never going to survive this.

“I’d offer you coffee, but somehow I think you’ve drunk more cups than is safe or sensible.”

“I thought safe and sane was for sex. Does the coffee have to consent to me drinking it?”

“I prefer risk aware as my motto because even without kink we take risks. Love is a risk, and it hurts. Let’s not fight, Noah. You loved that boy, and you hurt for him. We all get that. We aren’t the enemy.”

“I failed him.” 

Milton made some sort of scolding sound in his throat that was far more appropriate for an errant puppy than talking to a man, but Noah’s protests were interrupted by a far too effective herding technique. He found himself outside, blinking into the blue sky and sucking in the spring air.

“Are we going to talk or fight? I can do either.”

“Milton, fuck off!”

“I happen to know you have an expensive Ivy League education; you can do better than that.”

“I’ll take a raincheck on witty conversations. Funerals do that to me.”

“Me too.” Milton grabbed Noah’s arm and guided them both to the wooden bench that overlooked the hollyhocks that were only started to grow up the trellis. “You looked at me like you wanted to kill me when Samuel ran into my embrace when I got here.  I’m not Gordon, and I don’t know all the details between you and him, but I know it went sour. That’s your business. I’m here for Samuel and for you.”

“Sam, he prefers Sam. Where is he now?”

“Sheldon and Blade have him. He’ll be well occupied and entertained and they’ll keep a hold of him. Sheldon only pretends to be irresponsible.”

“He’s not a child.”

“I hope not since he has a few years on Austin, and I still hear whispers of cradle robber when he stands by my side.”

Noah stared off to the mountains in the distance. He was being played and far too well for his addled brain. He was usually good at negotiations, but today he’d buy a swamp for a million or sell the family trade secret for a worthless scrap of paper. He’d noticed Austin, still gawky as if he’d just left his teenage years behind and with eyes filled with naked worship that rarely left Milton.

“He’s not a victim, and he’ll tell you all about it if you want verification. I keep him muzzled because he can have the manners of a pack of hyenas when he gets going, but if you want a taste I’ll unleash him. Most people only want to be bitten once.”

“Milton!”

“He’s young, and I spoil him. You don’t need to tell me I’m failing at domination 101. I have Landon to tell me that.” Milton smiled, a crinkling around his eyes and a curling of his mouth, an expression that spoke of such genuine warmth that it was impossible not to smile back.

“Truce.” Noah said, spreading his hands across his lap in a peace gesture.

“If you need someone to take out your anger on, I’m here, and I’m practiced. I don’t mind.”

“No.” 

“OK.” Milton dropped his arm over Noah’s shoulder in a hold that was far too intimate for near strangers, but was also impossible to deny its comfort and security. “I wanted to ask your forgiveness.”

Noah stared. He knew his eyes showed the surprise he felt. He’d expected a lecture on keeping his chin up, on not giving up, on remembering others had his back, not a plea for forgiveness. “For what?”

“I pushed my problem on you instead of facing it head on and now—“

“Oh, no you don’t.” Noah jumped up and stood over Milton. “Neither of us were driving that car. We didn’t ram into the front of Jonah’s car as if he wasn’t there.”

“I know that.” Milton stared up at Noah, his eyes unwavering, controlling the situation even as he sat under the heat of Noah’s righteous lecture. “I should have separated Jonah and Samuel. I didn’t want to play God. I thought with more time they would realize it. I’m sorry.”

Noah slumped back on the bench and buried his face in his hands. “Don’t I know.” He should look up. He should own his problems, but hiding for the moment felt so much easier. “I was always between them. I thought I could handle both.” Noah pulled his head out of his hands. “I knew you just meant for me to board them, so don’t you go blaming yourself for this mess. I went into it with my eyes wide open, and I was arrogant enough to think I could manage it. Jonah wanted beat, and Sam wanted loved and protected.” Noah paused and wiped his arm over his eyes. “I thought I could teach Jonah to want to be loved.”

“I think you did. I talked to Hugh.”

“How—“

“He wasn’t with the school group and he wasn’t with your friends or the Green Mountain Boys. That left Jonah’s boyfriend, so I asked him.”

“I wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t told me.”

You had more on your mind. Anyway he was with Jonah for a few months. He had no idea Jonah was a Green Mountain Boy, and he doesn’t think much of us, ‘stuck up do gooders in too tight of pants who stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“He said that to you?”

“He wasn’t shy, and I think he likes to poke a bear with a stick. He was disappointed when I only grinned at him and handed him my card if he ever wanted to get in touch.”

“You devil!”

“Couldn’t resist. It will give him a good story to tell at the bar.”

“You’re a brat.”

“At heart,” Milton said with an easy grin. “But don’t you dare tell Gordon. He’ll take my crown, and I’ll no longer be king.”

Noah shook his head. “You were his choice.” 

“Different generations, but we’re more alike than I’m letting on.”

“You’re manipulating me.” Noah jerked away from the hand that had been comfort a second ago. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk about you and Samu—no Sam—as a friend. Are you going to make me the enemy?”

Noah let his head fall back and the sun warm his face. He was too tired for this. He might as well hear this out. He’d never get rid of Mr. Head of the Green Mountain Boys if he didn’t. “I’m listening.”

“Under duress,” Milton said with one of those wry smiles that made it obvious that he knew exactly the extent of his manipulation and polite force.

“I’m not an innocent, my dear Mr. Brown,” Noah said, raising an eyebrow. Two can play at this game as well as one.

“We can lunge and parry until the cows come home as my grandfather would have said, or we can close ranks and remember our similarities. We both want the same thing, Noah.”

Noah looked up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve agreed. What do you want, my complete capitulation?”

“No, just not the feeling I’m torturing you.”

“Milton.” Noah leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. “I have history.”

“As do we all,” Milton said, his voice taking a harder tone. “Are we going to wallow in the past wrongs, or are we going to live for today and tomorrow? Don’t you dare think I never fought with Gordon until we hurled words at each other the way armies fire missiles. I’ve hurt my own boys in such frightful ways that I hardly deserve a molecule of air to breathe. The world is unfair. All we can do is our best.”

“Your boys…I’ve seen them.” Noah ran a hand down his dress slacks. “They’re happy.”

“We keep trying.”

“It’s not so easy.” Noah’s gripped the bench with his hand. He wasn’t going to go here. His defenses were down; it didn’t mean he had to capitulate. “And—“

“I’m being a bastard.” Milton said with totally disarming charm. “I’m being the interrogator that wakes keeps the prisoner awake for three days and questions him at two in the morning. I know that. Can we move on from there?”

“God.” Noah blew out a long breath of air between his teeth. “Shit!” He hung his head down and clasped his hands together. “Go on.”

“Well, that went better than I thought,” Milton said, a laugh bubbling under his voice. “I don’t actually have a black eye.”

Noah lifted his head and gave Milton a long look. “I suspect you can hold your own in a fight.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

Noah nodded. At some level he knew Milton’s words were true, but still anger rose in his throat. This dominant was here to tell him what to do, to read him the riot act. Noah could like Milton; that was the problem. Gordon with his supercilious manners and his arrogance was an easy target. Milton might be a regular guy if he didn’t wear his dominance quite so easily.

“I’m the stranger from back East telling you what to do. I get that.” Milton reached down and picked up a pebble from the path, rolling it between his fingers. “I’m another dominant, a rival. I get that too. You know, Gordon gives me these lectures. He’s not this nice about it.”

“I can believe that,” Noah said with a snort.

“Unfortunately no matter how angry I am, how ill used I feel, he’s usually right. Maybe that makes it worse. I don’t know.” Milton thumbed the rough wood of the seat, not looking at Noah. “I only know he’s saved me from myself more times than I can count. I also always know how hard it is not to resent being saved from myself.”

Noah stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. The silence sat between them far sharper than any words. “Go on,” he muttered, unable to bear it any longer.

“Jonah’s gone now. Let him go. Focus on the boy you have. Samuel, Sam,” Milton corrected himself, “needs you. Jonah overshadowed him in life. Don’t let him overshadowed him in death.”

“Sam is not a boy.”

“Are you sure?” Milton rested his eyes on Noah. “I’ve learned something about who is and isn’t a boy since the last time we talked at any length.”

“I gave him a choice.”

“And he yielded to Jonah like he always did. He gave way for the man with more needs. Jonah screamed submission in all the obvious ways.” Milton hesitated and cleared his throat. “I missed it with Tilden for twenty years, the man who wanted to serve so badly that he pretended to be dominant, and I’m supposed to be good at this.” Milton’s voice rose with exasperation and anger. “I made him suffer. Big, strong, all knowing dom and I was a heartless idiot.”  Milton slapped his palm down on his thigh, agony crossing his face before he controlled his emotions.

“You made it right,” Noah said softly, offering the words more to the wind than to Milton.

“Maybe. I did my best as inadequate and failing as that may be, but you still have time with Sam. He’s only figuring it out himself. Be his guide. He needs you,” Milton said with increased passion.

“He’s not into it.” Vague and useless words, but Noah couldn’t articulate more. Sam had blanched at all the usual submissive pleasures. 

“He doesn’t want whipped or spanked. Can you blame him with his history? He’s not pain averse. You’ve pierced him.”

“He wanted that. It wasn’t a scene.”

“Maybe not, but he had you do it, not a professional piercer. He trusted you with his pain when he was still very afraid. Noah, he knows who you are. He’s no innocent. He knows that you’re a dom, and he hasn’t run screaming for the hills.” Milton started to reach for Noah and stopped himself. “He won’t ask. I’ve seen this before. Sacrifice runs too deep. You have to ask him.”

“And if he’s this creature as wired to please as you say he is, how can he say no to me?” Noah spat. He wouldn’t force himself on Sam. 

“It’s a balancing act,” Milton replied, not reacting to Noah’s hostility. “You ask yourself what you’ve seen him do, how you’ve seen him give of himself.”

“He’s kind and generous.”

“And…” Milton let the word hang in the air.

“I know what you want. You want me to say he’s submissive, but I don’t know.”

“No,” Milton said with way too much calm detachment. “Ultimately I want him to say whether he’s a submissive. I want you to think of his reactions. The lavender shirt for the funeral today was your choice.”

It might not have been a question, but Noah answered it. “The color looks good on him.”

“It does. It also reflects his effeminate side, something you’ve surely noticed and also noticed how hard he tried to hide it from Jonah.”

“Sam likes pretty things; Jonah couldn’t always understand that.”

“You have a very pretty boy. There is no shame in letting him know you like him pretty. I’d keep him in lavender and soft blues with beautiful silver up his wrists and hanging from his ears and perhaps around his neck. Let him know that you’re proud that he’s pretty and wants to be pretty. Gordon bought the shirt Tilden was wearing today. I still remember him all smug after he brought Tilden home from his London shopping trip. ‘You have some boys who want to wallow in the mud and buy shirts by the gross sight unseen. Your Tilden has more refined tastes.’ And I’d been worried sending Tilden off alone with him. They drank tea and picked out power ties in pastel. I don’t wear pink, but Tilden does and often at my orders. Give that to your boy.”

“Wearing pink doesn’t make him submissive.”

Milton snorted. “I’ve seen Gordon in pink. No it’s not the color; it’s the service. He’s always at your elbow, clearing your plate, giving you coffee.”

“He’s polite and thoughtful.”

“He’s begging you to notice and call him a good boy. I asked him if he was a good boy when he ran into my arms. His face lit up like a thousand watt bulb. Give him that, Noah. There is far more to dominance and submission than a whipping. You should know that. You don’t even much get off on the pain side. It’s the control and the protection. You have the perfect boy. Don’t chase him away?”

“What—“

“I asked Landon what you liked. I’ve also seen you with the two of them a few times and with my boys. You want to give a boy pleasure, not make him suffer, even if suffering is how he finds pleasure. At least think about it, Noah. All I can do is ask.”

Noah stood up. “Are you done with your Green Mountain Boy head shrinking?”

“For now,” Milton said with a half smile. “We’ve disappeared for long enough. We better show our faces before someone sends the cavalry.” 

Needs

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Needs

Jonah had promised himself that he wouldn’t do it again, that he was over it, that he didn’t need it. No, fuck! It wasn’t the car driving itself. He watched the lights in the dark sky, the stream of cars from the other side of the freeway. 

Saturday night, he’d eaten out at his favorite place. He could still taste the edge of red chile in his mouth that hadn’t been erased by his mouthwash. He’d walked around the plaza, feeling almost as out of place as the tourist and their cameras. He’d peered in the shop windows at the pots and beadwork and expensive silver. All were far more than he could afford, far more than any normal working person could afford. The prices were for the rich from California with their thick bankrolls and shiny cars with bumper stickers about solar power or bicycling. He’d gone home, back to his one bedroom apartment and the television with nothing but terrible reality programing. 

Now he was in his car, the open rangeland on either side had already changed to the outskirts of Albuquerque sprawl. He exited at University Avenue, a normal street in a normal city, the lights of a fast food place glowing on the corner. The club wasn’t far, only a few turns, lost in the urban landscape of cheap apartments painted in pseudo adobe colors and gas stations with thick iron bars protecting the cashier.

Jonah couldn’t stop himself; he wouldn’t think about not finding him. He didn’t even have a phone number or an address, only a first name and a vague memory of a small apartment with a narrow bedroom and a kitchen with cracked tile on the floor.

He still hadn’t dressed as a submissive. He couldn’t make himself show skin or wear a collar around his neck. He’d taken Noah’s off, left it on the bed where Noah couldn’t miss it. Noah’s collar had been like Noah, discreet and camouflaged. It had been designed to hide under Jonah’s shirt. It was like everything else about Noah, halfway there. He’d been halfway collared, halfway dominated. Noah, with all his caring, always terrified that Jonah would shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fuck, Noah! He didn’t think of that man anymore. Skinny ass with a soft pitched voice that faded into the wind or the rumble from the street. He was over that. Samuel needed petted and coddled. That boy always had, but not Jonah. He didn’t need babied. He was a real man.

Jonah walked into the bar, his fingers resting on the silver buckle of his belt. It was his one thing from home, his great grandfather’s belt. Supposedly he’d worn it during Texas’s fight for independence. Jonah wasn’t sure he believed the story, everyone claimed they had a relative who had died for independence and freedom, but Elijah Spencer had looked like Jonah. He no longer had the old black and white photo that had sat in the small silver frame on his dresser, tucked in front of the one of his parents on their wedding day. Jonah never had any desire to look at his parents, not with their hateful words, not with the smell of booze that oozed from his father’s pores, but he remembered Great Grandfather Elijah.

Young Jonah had modeled himself on the myth of his great grandfather, the independent man who had struck out on his own in the dust ridden plains of central Texas. His great grandfather had raised six children after his wife died in childbirth with the seventh. He’d put them all through school, three boys and three girls. Jonah had heard the story of his wonderful strength enough times that the words circled his mind even in sleep. The great and wonderful Elijah Spencer who bred cattle as easily as he’d bred his wife and who stood in that one faded and yellowed photograph with his arm over the shoulders of a war buddy. Jonah couldn’t remember what anniversary of victory they were celebrating; he only remembered the slight smile and the eyes that seemed more focused on the man at his side than the camera.

What would his great grandfather say at Jonah’s cowardice? He was a man who had been willing to die for his country, and Jonah had fled like a scared rabbit. He was a man who would never have imagined begging another man to beat him.

The loud music shook those thoughts from Jonah’s mind. Jonah drew in a deep breath and searched through the crowd. Stupid to try to kid himself. He’d come here looking for Red. His eyes circled the room; men dancing too close, the smell of spilt beer, the sound of leather against flesh. Not here. Only strangers eyeing the fresh meet.

Jonah turned. He should leave; there was nothing here for him. 

“Hey, Red, your boy’s here.” The shout rose above the music and the straining voices trying to be heard in the din.

Jonah froze. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and if there hadn’t been a dozen bodies between him and the door, he would have fled. Instead he drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some catcalling. 

“Boy.” 

The hand was hot. The touch of lips on his ear made him shiver. How had he not seen Red? Where had he come from?

“You’re not expected to have eyes in the back of your head,” Red teased, his hand wrapping around Jonah’s neck. “My place?”

Jonah nodded. God, he was doing his bobble head act again, but he couldn’t help it. He was so fucking screwed up. He didn’t want to be here, not in public, but he didn’t want a lovely dinner and a long chat. He’d run from that, bolted as fast as his legs could go.

“You. The bed. A red ass and my cock.”

Jonah stifled a moan. He wanted that. He wanted it all.

Jonah tried to pay attention to the streets as Red drove, but they were a jumble of signs, Calle this or that. Red’s hand kept leaving the wheel, and it was far too big of a distraction. The blood was in all the wrong places. 

“Inside or do you want a quickie in the car?” Red ran his hand over the bulge in Jonah’s pants. He smiled wide and waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Inside,” Jonah managed. He already felt breathless. God, he wasn’t some teenager. He should be able to control himself.

“My shy Texan. This time inside.”

Was that a threat or a tease in Red’s voice? What would it be like to be taken in the car or to run bare chested with a leather collar on his neck into Red’s apartment? No, Jonah didn’t do those sort of things. He wouldn’t think of those things.

“Ah, we could have some fun,” Red said with a chuckle as he seemed to read Jonah’s mind. “Some other time.” He reached across and opened the door. ”Second floor. Remember. I want you kneeling and naked. You’ve got two minutes.” He tossed the keys at Jonah and looked at his watch, flashing the digital readout at Jonah.

Jonah jumped from the car and scrambled for the outside metal stairs. The apartment faced the highway overpass, the door painted a bright red. He remembered that from last time. 

Should he fold his clothes? No he only had two minutes. He tossed his t-shirt onto the bed and wiggled out of his black jeans. Where should he kneel? The bedroom was impossibly small. He could kneel on the bed, on the wildly striped comforter that look like it came out of a kid’s room. 

“Slow, boy and what a mess.” Red reached down and picked up a sock that had skittered toward the kitchen. “Do you need punished for your tardiness?”

The task had been impossible. He couldn’t have everything in place in two minutes, He’d been hurrying. 

Jonah didn’t say any of those thoughts. He lowered his eyes and nodded once. He’d failed. He always failed.

“Lovely. A pink ass of a well punished boy is always a pleasure.”

Red was laughing. He wasn’t angry. He’d been teasing, setting Jonah up.

“Yes, sir.”

Red’s hand caught Jonah’s chin, forcing his head up. For a moment, Jonah thought he might stop. There was something in his eyes. Had he seen something, seen Jonah’s useless thoughts? 

“My hand today, my naughty little boy. On the bed. Shoulders down. Ass in the air.”

Jonah jumped into position. Please start. Please don’t look at him again, all thoughtful and concerned. 

“Fuck!” 

Red didn’t believe in a warmup. The first strike had rocketed Jonah forward. He yelped through the next three before he finally got hold of himself. This was only a hand—no need for all this childish noise.

The yelp was horrible and undignified and sounded like someone’s unglued aunt after spotting a mouse in the kitchen. The fingers crushed Jonah’s balls, driving another terrible sound out of his throat .

“Better. I don’t do silent.”

“Please,” Jonah begged as the hand rested on his precious orbs. “Please,” he begged again, not sure if he wanted more or if he wanted to get up and run.

Red kissed Jonah’s shoulder. His teeth worried the skin. The hand, which had only moments ago punished Jonah’s testicles, stroked his cock in a delicious rhythm. The spanking started again. Jonah moaned, his body responding as if his mind was only a distant appendage. His moans were filling the small room. He panted, gasping to draw air into lungs that were starved for oxygen.

“Come for me.”

Blessed relief. His body uncoiled into the pits of pleasure.

“My good boy. My beautiful boy.”

Jonah groaned, not wanting to move.

“My turn.”

The slap on Jonah’s ass was hard and chased all the languid pleasure from his mind.

“Hands and knees.”

A finger plunged it. Even slick with lube, it burned, and Jonah braced himself. He could take it; he deserved this.

Jonah shuddered. God! That was a tongue. Red was rimming him.

“You like that. My boy likes his pleasure.”

Jonah groaned. He couldn’t possibly think. His mind short circuited with every swipe of Red’s tongue. He wanted more. He needed more. One finger wasn’t enough. God, he was begging for it. He could hear the litany of words that were pouring from his mouth. He wasn’t even hard, not yet, not so soon, but he was begging to be used, to be taken. 

If you’re going to be a fucking faggot at least be the one sticking in your dick. His father’s voice—no he wasn’t going to listen. He wasn’t going to remember the blood dripping from his broken nose and the door slamming in his face. This was now. He moaned as Red added another finger. 

“If you can get it up and come like this, I’ll let you. Otherwise no more until morning. I have a beautiful cage.”

Why did the cage sound as wonderful as it sounded awful? He wasn’t eighteen again; there was no way he was going to come again. He’d always needed stimulation anyway. His dick brushed the lurid comforter. Maybe this way.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Teeth clamped down on Jonah’s shoulder. “No touching, boy.”

“Bastard.”

 A slap landed on Jonah’s ass. “Bastard, sir, boy.”

“Bastard, sir,” Jonah repeated.

“Good boy. You ready?”

He was more than ready. “God, please. Yes.”

Mounted. Pinned. Filled. He was a bottom boy whore, and he couldn’t help himself. He was hard now. He grunted with each thrust. He needed friction. Every move to his cock sent a burst of pain to his shoulder where Red bit him in retaliation. 

Red slammed into him again. His hands clawed on Jonah’s hips. One final thrust.

“No luck for you.” The laugh was cruel.

No fair. Red should be in a happy bliss. He shouldn’t be noticing that Jonah was desperately humping the bedspread. 

“Cage for you, boy.” Red rolled off and reached into a drawer.

“Don’t sound so gleeful about it.”

“Hours of torture. Of course I’m gleeful.”

****

Jonah groaned and pried his eyes open. Pale light shown through the windows, full dawn still only a promise. Jonah’s hand brushed his groin. He was still caged, the cold plastic a harsh reminder.

“You can piss through that, boy. Don’t you take it off.”

“I thought you were still sleeping.”

“Am,” Red mumbled and grabbed another pillow to block the rising light.

“Bastard.”

“Careful, boy. Your dick might never see the light of day. Go piss, and I’ll see.”

Jonah did have to pee. He hated getting out of bed with the cage as an ever present reminder. He was the boy, still the boy in the morning. He was the one whose ass hurt and who had bite marks all over his shoulders.

“Stop thinking.”

“It’s morning.”

Red pulled himself upright, not bothering to cover himself. His hand rested on his stomach, almost as if it were pointing the way below. “I remember last time. I may be old and halfway to dementia, but I try not to repeat the same stupid shit twice. You, boy, need direction in the morning. Especially since I’m not into chasing fleeing bedwarmers before seven. Now pee and get back here. Go, or I might be finding a padlock for that thing.”

Jonah went. He was sure it was an empty threat, or at least his rational mind was sure of it, but he still raced to the bathroom.

Red was back under the covers, but not asleep. The pale blue eyes tracked Jonah. His mouth turned up into a smile. “Almost worth the early hour to watch you. Now get back here.” Red patted the bed.

Jonah slid back into the bed and surrendered to the demanding kiss. He didn’t even flinch as he felt the cuff go on his wrist and heard the chain rattle. It wasn’t his decision. He was chained to the bed.

“You like that,” Red snuffled into Jonah’s neck. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you at breakfast.”

****

Jonah sniffed the air. Coffee. Red was waving a mug under his nose. 

“Now I know how to get you asleep. Chains and you sleep like a baby. It’s ten. I didn’t know if you had somewhere to go.”

“Ten?” Jonah reached for the mug with his free hand.

“Yes. I have breakfast ready.” Red reached over and unbuckled the cuff. “Leave the cage in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

It was all so normal. He was sitting in bed with a cup of coffee. No, it wasn’t normal. He had a cage on his cock. He could still imagine the feel of leather around his wrist. The bathroom was safety. He slid the lock home. The cage came off easily. He needed a shower. Cold. Mind clearing. Shivering, he dried himself and grabbed his clothes. They’d been stacked on the towel rack. He didn’t bother to shave. He could do that at home. 

“Morning,” Red said in a way too normal voice as he set a full plate on the table at the sight of Jonah and held out the coffee pot. “More?”

“No, not hungry.”

“We had this conversation last time. Eat and I’ll take you back to your car.”

“We’re not…” Jonah sighed and sat down. He’d been through this before. Maybe he’d just wanted to test. He was hungry. He reached for his fork.

“Good boy. You need it that way, don’t you?” 

“What way?”

Red took a long swallow of coffee. His eyes didn’t meet Jonah’s, but focused on the mug that he  held in front of his face. “Forced aftercare.” Red slammed the mug onto the table as if he’d just remembered that he was holding it. “You’re not nice to yourself, and I’m not the man for this.”

“Hugh.”

“No,” Red cut him off. “Eat.”

Jonah stuck his fork into his eggs. “You are good at this.” Maybe that was Noah’s training. Jonah had no idea. The words had come out of his mouth, unexpected and unplanned. He didn’t want anything. He didn’t need to make conversation. He’d been fucked. That’s what he’d come for.”

“Shit, boy, eat.” Red stood up, his hand brushing Jonah’s shoulder as he ran water in the sink to do the dishes.

Wants

Please see the introduction of Texas, Our Texas, if you have concerns or questions about these characters.

Wants

“Jonah, no. Talk to me. Please,” Noah pleaded and reached for Jonah’s arm.

“I’m done. Done, done, done. And I would have been out of here nice and quiet if he hadn’t called you.” Jonah pointed at Samuel. “He always stays in his studio like a good little boy, but not today.”

“Jonah, please,” Samuel whispered. “Please, don’t do this.”

Noah’s arm swept around Samuel’s shoulders, pulling the slight body into his chest. “Sammy, I don’t think we can stop him, I’m sorry,” Noah whispered into Samuel’s silky hair. “Jonah, do you have a place to stay? Do you need money or anything?”

“I’m not helpless,” Jonah ground out each word through clenched teeth. He didn’t need cared for and coddled. He was a grown man. He could take care of himself. He wasn’t Samuel. Oh, God, his Samuel. The boy didn’t look like his precious Samuel. He was all beatnik artist now with a braid down his back and a half dozen silver bracelets on his wrist and some crazy tattoo that Noah had allowed on his forearm. He’d even lost his Texas accent unless he was agitated, and he called himself Sam or the ridiculous Sammy with Noah.

“Tell me you have a place to sleep,” Noah said in his patient voice which made him sound like he was trying for kindergarten teacher of the year. “Jonah, we’ll worry.”

“Don’t,” Jonah snapped. “I have a place in Old Town. I’ll be in touch.” Jonah grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or to look back at the bright ceramic tile, the vivid colors of Samuel’s paintings, the man with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie askew, No, he couldn’t look back. It was time to leave. He wasn’t Noah’s boy. It had all been a sick farce. He wasn’t that sort of man.

Three months later:

He was here. He’d sworn three months ago never again, that he wasn’t a boy who wanted to crumble to his knees and press his head between hot thighs. He was a cocksucker. Worse, he wanted a man’s fingers in his hair, controlling him, forcing him against that warm flesh, making him swallow.

He should just go home. What if he met someone who knew Noah? Albuquerque wasn’t that far from Santa Fe. 

Jonah peered out the window into the darkness. This didn’t look like Noah. The parking lot was lit by only a single light. A beer bottle was pushed against the curb, and sage pressed through the cracks in the sidewalk. Trash spilled out of the dumpster. Several motorcycles were clumped together; Harleys probably, not that Jonah knew anything about motorcycles. The rest of the lot was pickups and four by fours which looked like they’d seen better days. 

No, this wasn’t Noah’s type of place. He liked soft light and quiet music and pretty views of the mountains and sunset. He liked to talk and analyze and think about feelings. Jonah wanted to feel. He didn’t want to think; thinking only made it hurt. 

Two men came out the back door. Their cigarettes glowed red in the dim light. One jerked the cigarette from his friend’s hand and crushed both under the heel of his boot. He leaned forward, fencing the other man in against the building and plundering his mouth. 

Jonah should look away. He wasn’t a voyeur; that was even more foul than all the other names he could call himself. His eyes refused to obey his brain. It had been so long, three months since he’d touched another man. He waited, invisible in the darkness. He wasn’t close enough to see all, but he could guess. The man against the building was withering, probably pleading. Hot hands must be tormenting abused skin.

A head poked from the door and the men broke apart. Now or never, Jonah thought. The night wasn’t hot. The coolness of the desert evening seeped into the car, but Jonah could feel the sweat on his palms as he gripped the steering wheel. He wiped his hands down his black jeans and jerked open the door. For one second, he stood on the pavement and debated himself with an endless litany of words that he’d heard a thousand times. He slammed the door and tried to stride confidently toward the club.

Ryan and Blade had dragged him once to that damn club in New York. This definitely wasn’t it—no discreet bouncers, no careful I.D. check. Here Jonah pulled open a heavy door and was immediately blasted by loud, thumping music and a flurry of strobe lighting. He almost left, but his feet kept moving forward. Inside men ground against each other in motions that they must have called dancing. Others clustered around the bar. Some wore leather and a few skinny twinks sported collars that would look better on the family labrador.

“Sir, you’re new here,” one of the collar sporting guys in obscenely tight jeans and a pink tank top said, slithering close and offering up his ass for an easy grab.

Jonah grunted and pushed past pink boy toward the bar. “Beer please,” Jonah demanded, leaning over the shiny counter. He wanted something stronger than beer. Whiskey neat, several of them would fit his mood, but he was being practical. Beer was camouflage, and if Jonah had learned one fucking thing in his life, it was how to blend in.

“Tap or bottle?” the bartender asked, not hiding that he was admiring Jonah’s body.

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.” Jonah half turned to look at the dance floor.

Another pretty boy approached, sashaying his hips and smiling at Jonah. He wet his lush lips with a quick dart of of his pink tongue. “A boy can get thirsty out there.”

Jonah ignored him and took a pull on his own beer. That wasn’t what he was looking for. He should have known with his size and closely cropped hair. Of course, they thought he was a dom. He’d been an idiot; this was never going to work. He tossed money on the bar and stood up. 

“You running away already?” the bartender asked in a way too cheerful voice behind him.

“Not my style.”

“Our subby boys too aggressive for you?”

Jonah shook his head and felt for his keys. He didn’t need to engage in a conversation with a complete stranger. Walk away. Just walk away and forget the entire thing.

“Man, you’re touchy. Can’t even get a friendly word. Beer that bad?”

“No, not thirsty.”

“Ah, sir, do you want to dance?” a thin wisp of a man asked as he fluttered by. He waved his arm at Jonah, a flock of bracelets shimmering in the lights.

“No,” Jonah snarled. “I don’t dance.”

“Jesus, man, chill. Just asking.”

“Greg, find someone more your style,” the bartender said, leaning over the bar and flicking some water from a glass at bangle boy. “And you sit your ass down and finish your beer, boy, before you give us a bad name.”

It must have been the few swallows of beer or the smell of sweat and sex, but Jonah’s knees buckled without input from his brain, and he found his ass on the hard bar stool.

“Thank you, boy,” the bartender said in a soft voice and gave Jonah a sweet half smile. “I’m on your team also, but I think I know just what you need.” He nodded at bangle boy who slithered through the crowd, heading somewhere that Jonah couldn’t see. “You’re not going to complain about me calling you boy?” the bartender continued, swiping his towel over the already polished counter.

Jonah stared into his beer as if it were a great oracle that would provide him with all the answers. How could he complain? It was what he was looking for. 

“It’s tough for us subs who aren’t pretty boys who the big, bad dom can fling over his shoulder in some cave man impression. They don’t like collapsing on the floor with a slipped disc.” The bartender nodded at the man being prodded nearer by bangle boy. “Meet Red.” The bartender grabbed a man in black jeans and a complicated amount of leather who was watching the bartender with an amused look on his face. “You two will be perfect together.”

“Danny boy, you’re getting senile in your old age.”

“I’m not the one one with gray at the temples, and I’m not senile. You’re sitting with the new boy. Last night you moaned at me for three hours that all you could find was pretty twinks who would break in a strong breeze and cried like little girls.” The bartender looked Jonah up and down. “He doesn’t look breakable to me.”

“And I don’t do vanilla or switch,” Red said, stretching his long legs in front of him and reaching for Jonah’s beer. He took a long swallow and wiped his hand over his mouth.

“Hey,” Jonah muttered.

“Not going to object,” Red leered.

“Uh—“ Jonah looked away. He wanted to be mad; he also wanted to ask this Red to buy him another drink. He swallowed and crumpled the napkin in his hand. Maybe he should deck the guy. And he’d get hit back. The guy was older than him, but he’d kept himself in good shape, and he was no small, skinny thing. He looked like a real man, a man who could do a day’s work outside and still bed his wife at night.

“Told you. He’s a sub all the way,” the bartender said with a grin. “You should have seen him send all the pretty boys away.”

“He telling the truth?” Red jerked his head toward the bartender while his pale blue eyes never left Jonah.

Jonah managed a nod. He wanted alcohol, but he wasn’t going to take another drink of his beer after this stranger had so casually helped himself.

“You looking for some action?”

Jonah nodded again. God, he must be looking like a bobble head doll. He had no experience with any of this. All he could do is sit here and look stupid.

“Done this before?”

“Yes,” Jonah forced from his throat.

“Ah, he speaks,” Red said with a grin.

“Anything you don’t like?”

“No piss and shit.” 

“I can do that. Safewords?”

“Amarillo and Austin.”

“Texas boy,” Red said with a crooked grin that showed a chipped front tooth. “We on?” Red stood up and held out his hand.

Jonah’s hand slid toward Red’s. What was he doing? Noah had always been so careful. They’d negotiated everything endlessly. It been worse than getting a home mortgage, and now he was going with someone he only knew as Red. He should have his head examined, yet his stomach fluttered with reckless excitement. He wasn’t a fragile, broken submissive. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

“Strip boy.”

Red had led Jonah to a back room. A spanking bench was against one wall and a broken down sofa against the other. 

“We doing this? I want to see my prize.”

“Sorry.”

“Sir,” Red prodded.

“Sorry, sir.”

That’s better. Red stroked down Jonah’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m still not seeing your skin.”

Clothes. Take his clothes off. Jonah bent and fumbled with the laces on his hiking boots. His t-shirt was next.

“Nice.” Red patted Jonah’s abdominals, his thumb tracing the layer of muscle. “You’re a gym rat.”

Jonah shrugged. He liked looking good.

“Let me see that ass.”

Jonah pulled down his pants. This had been a bad idea. He was an idiot.

“Present, boy.”

Present. Hands behind his head, feet spread, shoulders back.

“Good boy,” Red said softly and planted a kiss on Jonah’s bare shoulder. “I see what you need, boy.” He traced his thumb down Jonah’s back. “Shiver for me. That’s right.”

“Sir,” Jonah choked. He should tell this man he’d changed his mind. This was obscene, naked in front of a total stranger. Shit! His cock was hardening. He was panting. 

“I’ll hurt you so good, boy,” Red purred. “Over the bench.”

Hurting so good. Jonah wanted that. He wanted the sting of the lash and the amnesia that followed the whip. He welcomed the pain. He needed punished. Noah had never punished. He’d been too soft. Jonah had always been the fragile boy who needed babied like some virgin girl.

The smell of the bench’s leather wafted through his nose. His skin slid against the slippery surface. A big hand with calloused fingers caught his wrist and pulled it forward. Padded leather. His hand froze in place. Red trapped and restrained Jonah’s other hand, his grip sinking through the bones as he buckled the cuffs.

“Beautiful and all ready for me.”

The first lash. Too soft. Almost a caress. The second. Not a flogger with its many tails. Thin. A crop. Not as good as the belt. Jonah wanted the belt. Three more hits. Five more hits. Harder. He needed harder. Faster now. His skin burned. Maybe he’d get welts. A hand squeezed his ass. A moan escaped the prison of his teeth.

“You like this, tough guy. Harder? More?”

“Yes, sir. Please.” He was begging. His ass searched the air for another strike. He was shameful, hopeless.

Pain. Thank the Lord, pain. It was his only anchor, his only reality. Those noises—they were from him. Moaning. Begging. Pleading.

Fingers. Please inside. He needed fucked. 

“Fuck me.”

“Not here.” Fingers caressed Jonah’s shoulders; lips touched his ear. “My place. There’s a bed.”

A nod. Jonah was too desperate to speak. He nodded again, a broken marionette, head moving wildly.

****

Shit! Whose sheets? Whose room? His ass hurt. This couldn’t be. They’d rutted like rabid rabbits last night. How many times? They hadn’t made it to the bed the first time.

Jonah listened to the shower, reality brutally returning. He was a faggot whore. He’d gone home with a stranger, a man who he only knew as Red. Next time was he going to pick up Shorty or Slim?

He struggled out of bed, almost bumping the wall that was way too close. His clothes were on the chair. Pants and shirt. No underwear. He’d been commando last night; he’d planned to be filthy. 

“Your car is ten kilometers away. It’s a long walk without breakfast with a sore ass.”

Red was in the bathroom doorway. His body covered by a meager scrap of a towel that did nothing to hide his broad chest sprinkled with graying hair. He smiled, sad and wistful and ran his hand through his dripping hair.

“It was that bad?”

“No,” Jonah said with a swift shake of his head. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Your welcome includes a shower, my world famous huevos rancheros, and a ride back to your car. Deal?”

Jonah didn’t answer. He looked at the floor. His ass ached, walking would be torture.”

“I hear your accent. You’re safe here,” Red said softly and way too kindly.

“No,” Jonah shouted. “It’s not that.” Rage filled his mind and his heart, rage without meaning or reason. He grabbed his boots, trying to shove his feet in without socks. They wouldn’t go. He hurled a boot at the wall.

“Try socks first,” Red said with a hint of humor in his voice. “Usually it takes at least two dates before my life is threatened by flying objects.”

“Fuck you!” Jonah charged toward the door.

“Stop, boy. Sit now.”

A command, it was unmistakable. Jonah collapsed onto the floor. Cuffs. Some sort of plastic. He was being hoisted to his feet.

“I don’t play this way.” Red’s voice was full of exasperation. “Why me?”

 “Sorry, sir. I’ll be a good boy, sir,” Jonah babbled.

“Shh. You’re going to take a shower and get dressed with socks and shoes, and we’re going to start the day again. Do you understand me, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Red released the cuffs and slapped Jonah on the ass. “Go.”

Hot water. Tile against his shoulders and welts. Oh, God. He jerked the towel from the rack. Those were his eyes in the mirror. He was an adult, a math teacher. He wasn’t a raving maniac. He had to go out there. He couldn’t stay hidden in the bathroom. He just wanted to go home, lock the door, and never come out.There was no way to escape the house without going through the kitchen and by Red. He was stirring something in the skillet.

“I…”

“Ah, you look much more human. Sit down and have some breakfast.

It was fucking domestic. Put the napkin on his lap, drink the juice, Jonah coached himself.

“Hey, my fault this morning. You were having sub drop and I disappeared into the shower. No harm done. We’ll just start again.”

That man lied. He lied worse than a used car salesman and a preacher wrapped together. Jonah had flipped this morning. He should be committed and the key thrown away. His father had been right as always. Jonah was broken. No wonder Noah had held his breath around him and treated him like a wounded puppy.

“Eat your breakfast.” Red flopped into the opposite chair. “Cold eggs are gross.”

“I don’t need your sympathy. You can stop pretending,” Jonah said in the coldest voice he possessed. 

“Civilized isn’t sympathy. I beat you black and blue and fucked you into the mattress last night for my pleasure. The least I can do is feed you and take you to your car. It’s not like I’m handing you a ring and proposing.”

Jonah felt the flush rise up his face. He couldn’t meet the man’s eye.

“I’m a fucking disaster at commitment,” Red said. “Join the club. Now eat up.”

“You?”

“Oh, I can play. Just don’t expect anything more.”

“You—“

“I just try not to be a complete animal which means fed and washed before you leave. Then I disappear. I don’t ask questions. Boy, I don’t know your name, and you don’t know mine. I’m fine with that, more than fine with that. The pleasure of the flesh without all the complications.”

“Jonah.” It was a whisper that fluttered in the air and disappeared.

“I wasn’t asking for that. Finish up and we’ll hit the road.” Red hesitated a minute, swiping his tortilla across his plate. “Hugh, but everybody knows me as Red. Eat.” He shoved the last of the food in his mouth. 

Conversation was over. This was safest. This was what he wanted. Why did he wish Red would say more? Why did Jonah want those blue eyes on him and not the chipped coffee mug?

Eat. Get out of here. He’d gotten what he wanted. His ass was well used. Nothing more—an exchange of animalistic passions. All he needed. All he wanted.