and stroked Aiden’s cock, increasing his pace until
Aiden couldn’t bear it anymore.
“Keaton—”
“Are you ready to come for me?”
“Yes!”
Keaton fisted Aiden’s cock once more, running his
thumb over the slit, and Aiden’s cum shot across the
sheets as Keaton arched and shuddered against him,
coming with a shout.
They lay there for a few minutes, breathing
together. Then Keaton pulled out of him, stripped off the
condom, and tossed it onto the floor. He pulled Aiden’s
trembling body against his and dragged the covers over
both of them. Aiden rolled over so he could bury his
head in Keaton’s chest. Keaton trapped Aiden’s legs
between his own and whispered into Aiden’s hair. “All
right?”
“All right?” Aiden laughed shakily. “That was
fucking incredible.”
Keaton chuckled. “No kidding.”
Aiden wound his arms around Keaton. “Thank
you,” he said softly. He didn’t know what he was
thanking Keaton for, exactly. For the sex, for not hurting
him, for letting him stay here.
Keaton kissed the top of his head again. “Sleep,” he
said.
Aiden set his pen down and looked over the list
he’d just written.
THE RULES
1. I will behave respectfully and maturely at all
times. This means no lying to, cursing at, manipulating,
or back talking my partner.
2. I will eat three balanced meals per day.
3. I will be in bed by midnight each night, and sleep
at least eight hours.
4. I will not bite my nails or pick at hangnails.
5. I will talk to my partner if I feel afraid, confused,
angry, or overwhelmed.
A fairly simple list—except that as Aiden read over
rules one through three, he absently bit his thumbnail.
He reached number four and quickly sat on his hand. He
grimaced at number five. He appreciated Keaton’s
concern, but no way was he going to bother Keaton with
every little mood swing he experienced.
Simple rules. And the consequences for breaking
them were decidedly silly. Having his mouth washed
out, or having to write lines wasn’t going to do anything
but make Aiden feel a little foolish. And he had a feeling
Keaton was probably a gentle touch as far as spanking
went. Corner time was the only thing Aiden really
dreaded. But Keaton had promised to stay in the room
with Aiden anytime Aiden was assigned corner time. He
stuck the list on side of the refrigerator facing the wall so
that he’d always know where it was, but guests wouldn’t
see it. He had a hard time taking this domestic discipline
thing seriously. But if it made Keaton happy, what the
heck?
He was biting his nail again. Damn it. He felt a flash
of annoyance. What business was it of Keaton’s whether
or not he bit his nails? Scott’s rules had made sense. They
were all designed to make sure Aiden was a good sub,
that he pleased his dom. And Scott’s punishments were
true punishments. These rules, except for number one,
had nothing to do with Keaton, or Keaton’s pleasure. So
why did they matter so much?
“You don’t have to sleep there,”
Keaton had said last
night when they went upstairs and Aiden headed for the
guest room.
“Unless you want to.”
Aiden had attempted a smile, though his heart was
pounding.
“I thought the reason I was here was to appreciate
the guest room?”
Keaton had laughed.
“I’m relieving you of your duties.
If you’ll accept my invitation to share the master bedroom with
me.”
Aiden had accepted, closing the guest room door
and following Keaton into his room.
Their
room? Aiden
still wasn’t sure what he and Keaton were. Partners,
Keaton had said. But what exactly did that mean?
Aiden sat back down and listened to his stomach
try to digest the cereal he’d eaten for breakfast. Was it
possible that Keaton
really
cared about him? Cared
whether he was healthy, happy—safe? He’d spoiled the
thrill of being asked to share Keaton’s bed by leaping up
in the middle of the night to throw up his dinner. Keaton,
of course, had woken and come into the bathroom. Aiden
had tried to explain to Keaton afterward that he didn’t
need
help or comfort while he was throwing up, that all
having Keaton there did was embarrass him—but
Keaton wouldn’t listen. And fine, maybe it did help a lot
to have someone rubbing his back while he puked. That
still didn’t make Keaton’s intrusion acceptable.
Now he was supposed to start brainstorming for his
personal statement. He slid a fresh sheet of paper in front
of him and picked up the pen. Keaton had told him to
freewrite for fifteen minutes about his dream role as an
actor—the lead in the play he and Keaton had discussed
the other night on the way back from the gym. Why did
he want to play the role? What drew him to the character,
to the play? What unique interpretation of the part could
he offer? What skills did he want to master before taking
on the role?
Aiden stared at the paper. The thoughts that had
flowed so freely in the car with Keaton were now hiding
in the shadows of his mind. He didn’t know
why
he
wanted to play the part, beyond the fact that it would be
fun. But he was too weak an actor to play it well, and he
didn’t have anything unique to bring to the role, so why
bother writing about it? How was this supposed to help
him write a personal statement?
He scribbled a few bullet points.
* The role would be cool.
* I’m a shitty actor
* Who fucking cares?
Keaton had said Aiden didn’t need to show him
what he’d written; it was for Aiden’s personal use. Aiden
sat there until fifteen minutes had passed; then he went
to find Keaton in the studio.
“Hey,” Aiden said, standing in the doorway.
“Hey there,” Keaton said. He was arranging coils of
clay in an off-kilter tower. “How’d the writing go?”
“Good,” Aiden said. A flash of guilt tore through
him at the lie. He ignored it. “I think it’ll help with my
statement.”
statement.”
“That’s great. What you told me the other night
about that play and that role really shows your passion
for theater. That might be a good starting point for your
statement.”
“Yeah. How’s your stuff going?”
“Good. I’m getting a little frustrated with this vase.”
“It looks—crooked.”
Keaton grinned. “It’s supposed to be. Trouble is,
it’s not quite the kind of crooked I want.”
“You look like you could use a break.”
Keaton wiped his brow with the back of his hand,
smearing a little clay onto his forehead. “Maybe so. Want
to take a walk?”
Aiden shrugged, stepping closer. “I had another
kind of exercise in mind.” He put his hand against the
front of Keaton’s pants.
Keaton’s breath hitched. “Oh really?”
Aiden grinned. “Really.” He dropped to his knees
and undid Keaton’s fly.
Keaton groaned softly, and the sound sent electric
waves through Aiden.
He was about to take down Keaton’s pants and
underwear when Keaton pulled him up by the
shoulders. “Hold on.” He kissed Aiden thoroughly, until
Aiden’s face was flushed and his breathing was rough.
“There.” Aiden’s legs trembled as he sank to his knees
once more and uncovered Keaton’s bobbing cock.
During the next ten minutes, Aiden heard sounds
he’d never imagined coming from someone as collected
and dignified as Keaton Hughes. He finished, wiped his
mouth, and grinned up at Keaton. “Good?” he asked.
Keaton tugged him up and kissed him again, hard,
backing him against the workbench. A cup of water
tipped over. Aiden struggled for purchase and put his
hand on a soft, cool mess of unmolded clay. “It was
okay,” Keaton said. But he couldn’t keep a straight face
for more than a few seconds. He unsnapped Aiden’s
pants and let them fall, tugged his briefs down. “It was
good. So good I’d like to show my gratitude.”
He reached around Aiden and picked up a large,
clean paintbrush. He dragged the bristles against Aiden’s
cheek.
They were unbelievably soft. “What are you—”
Aiden began.
“Shh,” Keaton said. He grinned devilishly and
brought the paintbrush between Aiden’s legs, letting the
fine, silky bristles glide over Aiden’s balls.
“No,” Aiden said, squirming desperately. “You
can’t.”
“I am,” Keaton said, brushing Aiden’s balls again.
He dragged the brush up the shaft of Aiden’s cock, then
back down.
“Oh God.”
Keaton increased the speed of his brushstrokes,
going up and down and back and forth, covering Aiden’s
cock, balls, and the skin behind his balls. Finally Keaton
focused his attentions on the head of Aiden’s cock. Aiden
yelped and came, his cum collecting in the bristles.
Keaton swept sticky wetness over Aiden’s belly and
inner thighs, painting him with it. Aiden clutched the
workbench, gasping. “Did I ruin your brush?” he asked
finally.
Keaton burst out laughing. “That’s all you can
say?”
Aiden blushed. “I mean, that was—I just—”
“It can be cleaned,” Keaton said, kissing him.
* * * *
Aiden brief writing assignments to help generate ideas
for his personal statement. Aiden continued to brush
them off. The deadlines for the applications were now
less than a month away. He’d arranged to audition
privately for Case Western in mid-December and would
be sending a video audition to Irvine and to State. He
worked on a couple of short monologues each day while
Keaton was teaching, and felt more discouraged each
time he practiced them.
I suck. I absolutely suck. I’ll never get in. Why waste the
program directors’ time—and my own?
The stress made him irritable. Keaton had had to
warn him a couple of times already this week to Be
Respectful, and to Talk to Him if There Was a Problem.
Fuck respectful. And fuck talking to Keaton about
his feelings. Sex was the only thing that took his mind off
the stress, and he sought Keaton out as often as possible
for it, until by the end of the week his cock and asshole
were both sore and raw.
Thursday night found him sniping at Keaton as he
struggled to sort through the mess of feelings inside him.
“Something wrong?” Keaton asked as Aiden
chopped onion for supper, slamming the knife against
the cutting board.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Aiden muttered.
“Y—”
“If you’re going to start on that ‘share your feelings’
bullshit, you can save it. I don’t want to talk. I just want
to fucking cook”—SLAM—“in”—slam—“peace.” The
cutting board tipped, and the onion rolled into the sink.
Aiden was about to throw the knife in after it when
Keaton took his wrist and removed the knife from his
hand.
“That’s enough now,” Keaton whispered. “Go sit
down. I’ll take care of dinner.”
“You sit down!” Aiden shouted, trying to pull
away.
Keaton held on, neither tightening his grip on
Aiden nor losing his temper. “Come on, now.” He led
Aiden, cursing and pulling, to the kitchen table.
“I’m not going to sit down! I’m not going to fucking
sit down! Let go of me, you bastard!”
Keaton spun Aiden so that his back was pressed
against Keaton and he was trapped by his own arms.
“No!” Aiden stomped one foot.
“I’d think twice before you kick me,” Keaton said
calmly.
Aiden thought about it. Twice.
And decided to do it.
Keaton evidently anticipated the kick and moved
his leg.
“Fuck!” Aiden thrashed until he was exhausted,
and Keaton never budged.
The next thing Aiden knew, he was slumped in a
chair, head resting against Keaton’s stomach. Keaton was
stroking his shoulders, murmuring to him. Aiden heard
his own sobs as though they were someone else’s. He
didn’t want to be here; he refused to be here. He wanted
to be far away. This was someone else losing control,
someone else being a coward and a jerk.
“Aiden?” Keaton’s voice was loud as though he’d