Tilden’s Struggle
Tilden turned the page of his book, half his attention on the familiar Chekov story, the other half roving around in his head with an irritating clatter. He was supposed to be on vacation, the long winter break that had become so typical of the colleges dotting the northern tier of the country. Classes wouldn’t resume until the last week of January, and unlike the previous years, he had no major academic project or study tour of the Russian winter.
Tilden was stuck here in the Vermont winter. Milton hadn’t ordered him to stay home this year. He was more subtle than that, wielding the authority that Tilden had somehow relinquished to his longtime friend and now lover and dominant with a velvet touch instead of an iron hammer. The hints had been delicate and soft, wrapped in a cocoon of concern for Tilden’s well-being, but ultimately Tilden had known the outcome as soon as Milton had started suggesting that Tilden spend January at chez Gordon’s. Tilden was a hostage to the power dynamic. He’d go to Vermont, or the suggestions would become demands followed by unpleasant consequences.
Tilden read the same paragraph again. He really didn’t like this story with the stupid white dog and a woman looking for love on a lonely quay. Maybe it was his overexposure to the damn thing. It seemed to appear in every possible Russian reader. He could probably recite it backwards. Tilden slammed the book closed, and several less than polite Russian phrases swam in his head, but didn’t leave his lips. Milton had started raising his eyebrows when Tilden swore in Russian or when he drifted off into Russian even when the language was clean and correct. It was all Landon’s fault. He was the one who had pointed out with his superior smile that it was a form of clever avoidance. Tilden wanted to brain the man, beat him with a comprehensive collection of Russian stories; the shear mass would certainly cause a concussion.
“Tak,” Tilden muttered the syllable that slipped so easily from his mouth when he wanted to change the subject or just not make a comment.
Everyone liked Landon. Tilden was being unfair. He knew he was, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want a keeper, and he didn’t want to be Landon’s special project. Landon had shoved and pushed Milton until he’d finally outed Tilden as a submissive, forced that fateful admission from his mouth two years ago.
Tilden knew the truth was supposed to be liberating. He was supposed to revel in his newfound openness. Yeah, right as Mike would say in one of his more sarcastic moments.
Everything had changed and everything had stayed the same, and Tilden felt more lost than ever. He loved Milton. He knew that, and he always would. He’d been happy in that man’s coattails for twenty years; he didn’t need to announce that he was a submissive, to declare he was no threat or challenge to Milton. He didn’t want to challenge Milton. He never had. Milton had always run the household; it was just the way the world worked. Maybe he’d thought he was consulting Tilden, but Tilden had always followed Milton’s lead.
The other four: Austin, Luke, Mike, and Sheldon, had shrugged it off as if it were no more exciting than a cloudy weather forecast. Well, more actually three. Luke had never said much; it wasn’t his way to complain, but Tilden knew his sweet boy had felt the loss of his shield against the master of the house. Luke had adjusted. He was far tougher and more resourceful than anyone ever gave him credit. Whatever his bugaboos about Milton, he’d conquered them, and his relationship with the lord of the manor was better than ever. Luke even baited Milton occasionally now and seemed to delight in getting Milton to play the strict schoolmaster with the cane. Tilden had to admit that Milton was far more convincing in that role than he’d ever been, and despite Milton’s ability to take the skin off someone left only the faintest souvenirs on Luke’s backside, just enough to be admired in the mirror for a few hours.
With the other three, Tilden didn’t think his role had changed. They still came to him when they were trying to mitigate Milton’s harshness or wanted a referee before confessing to some horror. That was mostly Austin. When Sheldon did it, he was playing, knowing full well he’d shaken the bear’s equanimity to see him roar. Mike never feared Milton, but he manipulated Tilden. They all knew it, and Milton despised it. Milton regularly beat Mike into a bruised and tear soaked mess, but put Tilden in the middle and Milton sent Mike out of sight with a curt nod. Tilden wasn’t privy to how those disputes ended, but he never saw a mark on Mike, and it was often weeks before Milton would touch him again.
“Hey.”
Ryan! Tilden was in no mood for their blue-eyed, blond-haired giant. He’d leave the Viking gods to Blade who could tolerate the man. Tilden found him an insufferable busybody. He didn’t need mothered or guided or whatever smiling Ryan called it.
“Hello,” Tilden said, dropping his eyes back toward his book. Better to be engrossed in Chekov than deal with Ryan.
Ryan clicked his tongue and with a skillful motion took the book into his custody. “No you don’t, boy.”
“I’m over a decade older than you. Far too old to be boy.” Tilden lifted his head and gave Ryan his best stare, the one that made his students look guilty and promise to do better. Ryan just smiled, a look that probably melted most people’s hearts, but just raised Tilden’s ire to a new level. “I can do without your wiseass smirk, Ryan. Unlike everyone else I’m not under your spell.”
“What’s your safeword?”
“What?”
“Safeword. You know what that is, right, boy?” Ryan stepped closer, looming over Tilden now.
Tilden knew he should get up, move to the window or bookcase, but all he managed was to draw his knees up and wrap his arms around them in a childish, protective gesture.
“Tilden, you don’t want to try to play me this way. It won’t work out.” Ryan sat down on the arm of the sofa. “You do know that I know your safeword? I’m the safety officer. I have a lovely list of them, so I can jump in if someone is stupid enough to ignore one.”
“Tak.” The perfect word.
Ryan leaned forward and half grimaced. “Tilden, do you know why I asked?”
To hear yourself talk, Tilden thought, but stayed silent. Ryan was a talker; maybe silence would make him disappear like some oversized leprechaun that had escaped a horror movie.
“I asked because it shows your participation in our little game. Your body language right now is all pissed off sub who is swirling the waters of bratting for a bit of attention, but I’m not Milton. I haven’t lived with you for twenty years. I want some verbal feedback I’m on the right track.”
“I’m pissed off, buddy boy, but not for the reasons that are going through your delusional brain. I want to be left alone, not engaged in some harebrained conversation with a marauding sadist. Can I be any clearer? English is your native language isn’t it?”
Ryan grinned and whistled. “A Tilden temper tantrum. I never thought I’d see the day. What else do you want to get off your chest? You have a three minute free pass.”
“Then what? Are you going to beat me black and blue like you did Blade last night? Before or after you pass me around to all the guests? You may have a pretty face, Ryan, but you’re an ass.”
Ryan shrugged, sighed, and grinned again. “That’s better.”
“I don’t find you patronizing me charming.” Tilden stood up and started moving toward the door.
“Sit.”
Tilden collapsed back onto the sofa. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Ryan’s huge hands that rested casually on his knees. He should just get up, walk out. Ryan had no hold on him.
“Thank you.”
The skin around Ryan’s eyes crinkled. He projected warmth and ease, and Tilden wanted to throttle him. Or maybe it was himself he wanted to throttle. He’d collapsed like a puppet when Ryan had barked sit. He had no compulsion to obey this man. Damn submissive streak!
“Tilden, how are we doing this? We can’t ignore our dynamics; it’s a farce to pretend that I’m not dominant and you’re not submissive, but I’m not your dominant. You’re showering me with submissive signals, but you’re also not giving me express permission, so what in the hell am I supposed to be doing? What do you want from me?”
“I want to be left alone.”
“You lie badly. I’ve seen you when you’re busy. You half nod at me and give me a little smile and start reciting the location of the rest of your gang. You don’t do everything possible to get my attention, so let’s try the question again. What do you want from me?”
“Ry—” Tilden started, but didn’t finish. What was he going to say to this giant? That he’d wished two years ago hadn’t happened? That he hated being a submissive? He couldn’t say those words to Milton. He certainly wasn’t saying them to Blade’s lunatic husband.
“Go on.”
Tilden shook his head.
Ryan studied Tilden for a long minute, stood, and held out his hand. “Come.”
“What if I say no?”
“Are you safewording?”
“No,” Tilden muttered and stood up. He’d go with the damn giant, but he wasn’t taking his hand.
“Good boy.” Ryan wrapped his arm around Tilden’s shoulders and steered him down the hall and up the back stairs.
Ryan’s arm was heavy and shamefully comforting. Tilden knew he should pull away, demand his autonomy, but he didn’t.
Blade was sprawled on top of the king-sized bed. Ryan’s boxers covered his lower half, but his shoulders to his waist were painted with red and purple streaks. He was watching something on the huge television, propped on his stomach, a picture of calm bliss.
“Ryan.” Blade smiled, tilting his chin up so Ryan could kiss him on the lips.
“Beautiful boy, Ryan said after tasting the red lips. His hand ghosted over an exposed welt and Blade keened and arched into his touch. “You’re not getting more, spoiled brat.”
“It’s always worth a try.” Blade batted his eyes at Ryan, long, pale eyelashes grazing his cheeks.
“Not until the marks heal. What’s your pain level?”
“Seven as long as I don’t move too much.” Blade stretched and hissed. “But it feels good.”
Ryan ruffled the red hair. “You’re such a hedonist.”
“But you love me.”
“Of course” Ryan kissed the top of Blade’s head. “I want you to talk to Tilden.”
Blade looked over at Tilden, his green eyes calm and composed without the flirtatious sparkle that had been there seconds ago. “Last night.” Blade smiled softly, his entire expression sympathetic and so full of understanding that it was almost painful for Tilden. “A bit much for you. I saw you leave.”
Tilden shrugged and looked away. This just wasn’t him. Blade happily paraded around in the buff and had let himself be passed around like a New Year’ party favor last night. Tilden didn’t need to see it.
“Ah, my dear Tilden, don’t look so stricken. You know me. I missed the modesty gene when they were handing out the genetic code; instead, I got a double dose of masochism. That was my Christmas gift. Ryan had planned it to the level of the Normandy invasion, and Gordon, Landon, and Milton were all watching my back. Literally in this case. Broken skin and we were done. Only Ryan’s allowed to do that.”
“Why, Blade?” Tilden knew his voice sounded plaintive, but it was beyond his control.
Blade sat up and reached for an oversized sweatshirt, shrugging into it before turning to Tilden. “Is the question more perhaps why you don’t do it?” Blade asked, his expression too acute. “Ryan brought you up here to talk to me. Since we both know you don’t play this way that’s not it. I’m guessing Ryan’s thinking you’re having some sort of submissive crisis, and I’m being pressed into service because I’m Blade and I’ll talk about anything. Well, my dear Professor, talk.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Bullshit!” Blade jumped up. “Ouch!” He flinched as the sweatshirt moved over his skin. “Note to self do not jump up after a beating even when a dear friend is being an idiot. Crap my back is sore.”
“You didn’t take the ibuprofen I laid out this morning,” Ryan said, pushing away from the wall and moving toward the bathroom.
“I wanted to enjoy the feeling. We’ve got a long winter ahead of us.”
“Changed your mind?”
“One.”
Ryan nodded and returned seconds later with a pill bottle and a glass of water. “One to two every six hours.”
Blade rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “Yes, Mother. I mastered reading years ago. I can read the pill bottle.”
“Just making sure.”
“You’re hovering.” Blade made a shooing motion with his hand. “I’ve got this. Tilden and I go way back.”
Ryan hovered long enough to watch Blade take a pill and drink the glass of water.
“Finally,” Blade sighed as the door shut. “When he goes into mother hen mode, he can drive me wild. I’m a little bruised and battered. It’s not like I’m dying from it, and I’m still high as a kite, so it was well worth the trade off.” Blade flopped back down on his stomach on the bed. “So what can I do for you, Tilden? I’ve assured you that I’m still alive, and you still look worried. So what is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Tilden said with a shake of his head. “I was just looking for some peace, and your mother hen husband took objection to that.”
Blade laughed. “I’m not that young and naive anymore, and I do know you. Is something wrong between you and Milton?”
“No,” Tilden said too quickly.
“In other words yes.” Blade folded his arms and rested his chin on them. “Have you tried talking to Milton? He’s the most talking dominant I’ve ever met. You don’t want to know all the crap he pried out of me. There’s always Landon or Gordon also. Gordon will glare at you, but really he can be ridiculously kind. Landon’s the one who’s more likely to be all sharp and prickly, but he’s usually right when he’s like that. Much to my dismay a few times. Don’t get him pissed at you when he’s figured out exactly what buttons to push to make you feel five centimeters high. I’ve been there. Trust me, it was no fun. I’m a good boy with Landon, much easier on everyone.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“And you’re a spectacularly bad liar,” Blade said casually.
“I’m not.”
“Oh, that’s spectacularly articulate for a man who speaks more languages than I have fingers. Sit your ass down and tell the red-headed hellion all your problems.”
“Blade!”
“Don’t even try growling; you’re useless at it.” Blade rolled to one side and sat up gingerly, tucking his legs under him to take some of the weight from his tender skin. “You want me to guess?”
“Be my guest,” Tilden said with a wave of his hand. “You’re going to anyway.”
Blade cocked his head to one side and studied Tilden for a second. “I think you want Milton to dom you a bit more. You fessed up two years ago, but he still treats you like delicate china. He’d see it himself if he wasn’t so damn in love with you and wasn’t so damn concerned he’d hurt you again. You need to let whatever happened all those years ago go, so he can build a proper relationship with you. I know Gordon and Landon see it also, but fuck if I know why they don’t interfere. It’s not like they’re the shy retiring type.”
“They’re not allowed to,” Tilden said, totally unsure why he’d said anything at all. Blade’s chatting had always been infectious. It was something he shared with Sheldon, his older brother.
Blade whistled. “So Milton’s not getting it, and your allies in this little problem have their hands tied. OK. So your options are tell him yourself, and you’re doing a lousy job of that. Tell Ryan which you aren’t doing much better, or go to Gordon and lift that lunatic restriction.”
“I won’t go to Gordon.”
“Milton?”
“No.”
“And you already rejected Ryan. Not good, Tilden. If you were my brother, I’d tell you to go break a few glasses or toss the wine on Ryan. Milton would have the confession out of you so fast your head would spin, but that hardly seems your style, and Milton would probably think you were ill or something. I still think Gordon’s your best bet. I’ve seen his eyes on you. He knows there is a problem, and he knows Milton better than anyone. Milton listens to him. It’s that or talk to Milton directly. So what will it be?”
“There’s nothing wrong, Blade. I’m just tired of all these endless parties.”
“If you want to suffer,” Blade snorted, “and I thought I was the only masochist in this room. Don’t say I didn’t try. I can’t make you.”
“Blade there’s nothing to make me. I’m going back to my reading. Take care of yourself and have a good New Year’s.”
“You too, Tilden, but do it Tilden before it gets worse. It’s stupid to be miserable when you’ve got all these guys who’ll go to bat for you. Think about it.”
Blade grabbed the remote and turned up the TV. The conversation was over.
***
Tilden flipped through the pages of the art book he’d found on the coffee table in one of Gordon’s many living rooms. It was one of those typical Vermont winter days where the white of the snow drifted into the gray of the clouds. Midday and he needed a reading lamp.
“Are you hiding?”
Landon stood in the doorway in one of those awful holiday sweaters that seemed to be a tradition here. It was red with Santa and an assorted number of elves.
“I thought you’d be skiing.”
“I already wore all the kids out, and it’s cold today. I brought tea.” Landon walked in and set the tea tray down on the table. “One lump or two?” Landon put a lump of sugar in his tea and waited for Tilden’s response. “You can be many things, Tilden, but rude is not usually one of them. Only more evidence that you have your head’s so far buried in your ass that you can’t find the light of day.”
“At least I don’t insult people every time I open my mouth.”
“No, you withdraw and make the man who loves you unconditionally miserable. That’s a great trait. Maybe we could all be so blessed.”
“You have no right to talk to me this way.” Tilden came to his feet. Milton was the good one at arguing. Tilden hated this. He wasn’t a shouter. He was an avoider.
“You can’t even manage to shout at me. Are you going to stand there and let me rip you a new one?” Landon taunted.
“Shut up!”
“Chuck the pot at me. It’s a cheap one from some chain store. Yell at me. I know you have it in you.”
“I don’t throw tea sets,” Tilden said with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Would you like to?”
“No.”
“What do you do? Because sitting around like a fucking frog on a lily pad is doing you no good. You’re miserable which is your business, but Milton is also miserable, and he is very much my business. I love that bossy son of a bitch, and if he’s not going to fix this, I am.”
“Landon, you have no right.”
“I have every right. Milton is a long and dear friend, and he’s hurting. I’d be an ass not to interfere.”
“You promised—“
“You made Gordon promise not to interfere. The prohibition didn’t include me. I honored it as a courtesy toward you, but I’m done being polite with someone who is thoroughly trying to fuck up the best thing that ever happened to him. Tilden, I actually like your uptight, thin little ass, and I’m trying to help you.”
“You have a great way of showing it.”
Landon grinned, all boyish charm and brightness, his eyes sparkling and vivid. “I brought you tea.”
“While yelling at me.”
“Sometimes you need yelled at. Now sit down. I did bring jam for your tea.” Landon pulled a small jar from his pocket. “English gooseberry. I do know how you like it. I do pay attention to you.”
Tilden ran his fingers through his hair.
“Sit. Please. We’ll have tea and talk like civilized people.”
“Civilized?”
“I can be very civilized. I can also be a bully. Your choice, my dear boy.”
“Fine. Pour the tea.” Tilden sat back down, crossed his legs, and counted silently to ten in a half dozen languages. He could play this game. He could drink tea and pretend to chat with Landon.
“Lovely choice. We have some delicious biscuits. Would you like one?”
“Landon, get on with your tea party.”
Landon lifted his cup and took a long drink, followed by a bite of cookie. He brought the linen napkin to his lips and dabbed at the single crumb—all unhurried, all dignified. “Tilden, I know you see Gordon and me as the enemy. We are not, but we cannot change the past. You can loathe us. We don’t enjoy it, but we will survive it, but that is not what I wanted to talk about.”
“I don’t loathe you.”
Landon held up his hand. “Perhaps the word was too strong, perhaps distinctly uncomfortable in our presence is a better choice, but that is of little concern. My concern is you. I’ve lived too many decades for you to hide your misery from me. The curse of old age is wisdom and having to get up three times in the night to take a piss.”
“Landon.”
“I know your ears aren’t that delicate. You live with Mike, and his language can make me blush.”
“Nothing makes you blush.”
“And you’re suffocating under your inhibitions.”
“I don’t need your analysis.” Tilden stirred his tea with too much vigor.
Landon set the delicate teacup down on the end table and leaned forward. “For twenty some years, you pretended you weren’t a submissive. You’re in your forties now, a beautiful man, but no longer a twenty something where wildness is expected. You never had your chance, and now you see it slipping away and you are paralyzed by your propriety. You deserve a taste of it before your body forces you to say no. I can’t do half the things I did in my youth, and, God, I miss it, but I have my memories. All you have is vague longings.”
“I can assure you I don’t want passed around and beaten bloody.”
“Boy, I know you’re not an exhibitionist or a masochist, and there is no shame in that. But you are a submissive, and you have your own wants and needs. All your life, you’ve given to other people. The deepest submission is about sacrifice, but we aren’t talking about a religious experience. It’s time for you to get something back. You give and give, and no one picks up that you’d like a return in kind. You want cared for.”
“Milton doesn’t do care taking.”
Landon snorted. “And what is he doing with the other four? He doesn’t pretend it’s not about his dominance, but he care takes. In fact, he’s obsessive about it.”
“He has four others,” Tilden said, studying the dark liquid in his cup.
“And you are the ultimate martyr, the ultimate submissive. You’ve given everything to be the pillar of the family, and you’re exhausted and strung out and unfulfilled. It’s time you get your piece of the pie, and you’re ashamed that you’re selfish enough to want even a crumb. You’re a much better submissive than I’ll ever be. I’m a greedy little bastard. I submit to get want I want. Sacrifice is not high on my agenda. You sacrifice. You make the pantheon of saints look greedy and jealous, and you need a reward.”
“And what is this reward? Are you going to beat me black and blue or make me kneel at your feet naked and oiled?”
“I already told you that you weren’t an exhibitionist.” Landon raised one eyebrow and studied Tilden. “It is interesting that you voice the most extreme. It does reinforce my theory.”
“And your theory?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. Some indulgences and a nice private spanking party would suit you fine. A chance to be the center of attention.”
“I don’t want to be the center of attention.”
“Oh, yes, you do and it’s not shameful. Each person has a place with Milton, and where’s yours? Sheldon, his precious slave; Austin, his little boy; Mike, his maniac, Luke, his sweet plaything, and where are you? The submissive who is holding it all together and is ignored for his effort. No wonder the long face.”
“I’m not ignored.”
“You are.” Landon held up his hand to silence Tilden. “It’s not because Milton wants to slight you. He adores you, but he’s paralyzed by the fear of hurting you. He blew it once, and he doesn’t wear his mistakes easily. He needs help here. This is your power and your gift. Tilden, you’re a good submissive. Give this to both of you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Landon stood up and walked behind Tilden. He set his hands on Tilden’s shoulders. “I’m not sending you for a dental extraction with no anesthesia. This is about you. You’ll like it.”
“Why am I suspicious?”
“Because you have a suspicious nature.” Landon kissed the top to Tilden’s head. “I need you to trust me because you’re going to resist the idea.”
Tilden twisted around to look at Landon. “What am I getting myself into?”
“Just a little spanking, some shopping, and a chance for Milton to be the perfect white knight.”
“What are you cooking up?”
“I told you.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Tilden, listen to me. Promise. Don’t interrupt.”
Tilden nodded once, and Landon stroked his fingers over the nape of Tilden’s neck.
“Such a beautiful boy. Scared and not trusting, but still trying to obey. Such a perfect boy. I want to pass you around to a few dominants for a gentle, sensual spanking.”
“Never.” Tilden spun around and glared at Landon.
“You promised you’d listen,” Landon said with gentle reproach. “Turn back around and hear me out.”
“I won’t agree. Why waste your time?”
“Just listen to me.”
Tilden turned around, his shoulders slumping.
“It’s not defeat. It’s victory,” Landon whispered before continuing in a more normal voice. “Just four people who are focused on you. I know too many would kill the fun. “Milton, Ryan, Gordon, and me.”
“Gordon!”
“There are very few dominants who can even hope to read you, and he’s one of them.”
“He did such a good job before.”
“And you’ve made him pay a dozen times over. You’re an enigma wrapped in a cloak of false signals. You can be safe with very few dominants, and he’s one of them. Let him have another chance. He’ll be very good to you.”
“Great so I get my ass beat by four people. What other pleasures await me?”
“Go shopping with Gordon.”
“Bribery. He can keep his money.”
“He adores shopping, especially with a beautiful young man on his arm who needs an entire wardrobe, and you need an entire wardrobe.”
“What is wrong with my clothes?”
“Big box, mail order. You might as well wear a bag. Milton deserves to enjoy his gorgeous boy. You should look your best for him.”
“You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“Of course.” Tilden could hear the smile in Landon’s voice. “You know me, Tilden. You know I don’t hide that I’m a manipulative bastard. I don’t want you to continue to hurt Gordon. I won’t lie to you, but this is for you. You’re a boy who wants protected and indulged. Gordon can give you that, and he’ll make sure that Milton gets on the program. You’ll love the feel of perfect cotton rubbing across your warmed back or silk over you reddened ass cheeks.”
“You’re awful.”
“No, I’m honest. So, are we on?”
“Do it,” Tilden muttered, not knowing why he agreed, not even sure he would until he heard the words in his own ears.
“Good boy.” Landon bent Tilden’s head beck, and dropped a soft kiss on his lips. “Such a good boy. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Tilden’s tongue slipped out and licked the foreign taste from his lips. “You’re a brat.”
“And it took you how many years to figure that out? Be good. I’ll see you tonight.”
