Tuesday night—not a lot of shows on, probably. Besides
he didn’t want to watch truly talented actors the night
before he got up and made a fool of himself auditioning
for Case’s program.
He remembered Little Italy was close to the
campus, and caught a bus toward that area. He walked
around for as long as he could stand in the cold, enjoying
the smells, the Christmas decorations in the small shops.
He went into a bakery and bought a lemon bar, which he
ate most of, then got a coffee, which he knew was a bad
idea. He tried not to think about Scott or about how
much he missed Keaton. He tried not to think about the
fact that he and Keaton were probably operating on
borrowed time, or about how little this seemed to faze
Keaton. The man hadn’t said one word about what
they’d do if Aiden got into grad school.
Probably because you won’t do anything
.
He’ll let you go,
and that’ll be that.
Maybe he should have stayed Keaton’s houseguest,
friendly but detached, then moved back into his old
place as soon as the subletter left. Instead he’d thrown
himself at Keaton, desperate to be rid of Scott’s memory,
and insisted Keaton have sex with him. Then he’d agreed
to the crazy discipline thing…
I need the discipline thing. And I love Keaton. What’s so
crazy or confusing about that?
He gulped his coffee.
The fact that it can’t last. That one of us will leave. Keaton
apparently goes through boys like tissues. If I do compromise my
future to stay with him, I’ll regret it. He’ll get sick of me and kick
me out. And then where will I be?
Aiden finished his coffee, trying to ignore the
anxious churning of his stomach. He left the bakery and
took the bus downtown.
It isn’t healthy for me to rely on Keaton, or on someone
else providing me with discipline. I’m an adult. I need to make
my own decisions. Look out for myself.
A fine job I’m doing of that
. He shook his head, lost in
his argument with himself.
So I skipped a couple of meals.
Big deal. Adults do that sometimes. They also stay out past their
bedtimes, and—
Bite their nails, apparently. Aiden glanced at his
hand gripping the bus pole, and saw he’d chewed the
skin around two of his fingernails bloody.
He ought to spend as much time sitting down as
possible, while he still could.
Downtown Cleveland wasn’t much fun to walk,
though he did enjoy seeing the buildings decked out for
Christmas. He went to Tower City to people watch for a
while. The enormous shopping center was crowded and
noisy, but Aiden didn’t mind. He wondered fleetingly
what he and Keaton might do to celebrate the holidays,
picturing the two of them in robes and slippers, drinking
hot chocolate and opening presents. He rolled his eyes at
his own domestic-bliss fantasy. He didn’t even own a
robe.
He left Tower City and wandered into the House of
Blues, a jazz club, where he listened to some music he
didn’t really care about while he had a whiskey sour to
calm his nerves.
Somehow the next time he looked at his watch, it
was almost two in the morning. He was slightly to pretty
damn drunk and had come to like jazz
a lot
in the last few
hours. He clapped unsteadily for whoever had just
finished playing, paid his tab, and went outside. It was
bitterly cold, and suddenly all he wanted was to be at
home, in bed, with Keaton. He shivered, trying to
remember where his bus stop was.
He had an audition in six hours. Shit.
And he was going to throw up. Double shit.
He vomited in a nearby trash can, feeling dirty and
pathetic.
Cleveland was not a safe place at night, he knew
that. He needed to get back to the hotel. He needed
Keaton.
He was definitely overwhelmed.
He called Keaton, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad
about being woken up. Keaton answered after two rings,
and his warm, “Hey,” made Aiden close his eyes to hold
back tears.
“Hey.” Aiden tried to sound cheerful.
“You doing all right?”
“I’m a little drunk,” Aiden confessed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I threw up.”
“Where are you now?”
“Um, downtown.” His voice trembled. “I broke
every rule. Except number one. I’ve been resp-respectful.
Except calling you now isn’t very nice, I guess. You were
sleeping.”
“I’m glad you called me. Can you get a cab back to
your hotel?”
“A cab! That’s a good idea. I can’t find the bus.”
“Get a cab. You know which hotel?”
“Yeah.” Aiden’s elation at the idea of the cab
evaporated as he remembered all the things he had to
confess. “I’m not in bed,” he said. “And I didn’t eat,
except junk food. I’m really nervous, and I thought I
might get sick. But I got sick anyway because I had some
whiskey—but it was just to calm my nerves. And I bit my
nails! I don’t even remember, but I did.”
“All that matters right now is that you get back to
your hotel and get some rest. Did you request a wake-up
call?”
“A wake-up ca… ? Oh! Yes.”
“Good. It might be tough getting up tomorrow.”
“I’ll get up. I won’t fuck this up.”
“I know you won’t. I’m glad you called.”
“Me too. I miss you. I love you so much. I wasn’t
even scared to call you and tell you what I did, even
though I know you’ll spank me.”
“I’m glad. You should never be afraid to call me.”
“Yeah. I have a cab now.” Aiden waved at the taxi,
which pulled over to the curb.
“Stay on the line with me until you’re back.”
“Okay.” Aiden gave the driver the name of the
hotel. “You’ll probably spank me hard, huh? All the stuff
I did.”
“We’ll talk when you get home.”
Aiden snorted. “Talk. I know what talking means.
Me over your lap.”
“Don’t scare your poor cab driver.”
“Okay. I’ll be quiet. You can be quiet too. I just like
knowing you’re there.”
“I’m here.”
Aiden rode in silence. The cab pulled up in front of
the hotel, and Aiden paid. He kept the phone to his ear
as he took the elevator up, loving the sound of Keaton’s
movements on the other end. He went down the hall,
fumbled with his key card, and entered his room,
relieved. “I’m back.”
“Good. Now climb into bed, and close your eyes.”
“Not in my jeans!”
“Undress then.”
“You’d like to be here to see me do that, huh?”
Keaton chuckled. “I would.” His voice was low and
scratchy.
Aiden wished there was a way to kiss that voice.
“You’re tired, huh?”
“A little.”
“Me too. You going to sleep now?”
“Are you?” Keaton asked.
“I’m hard,” Aiden replied, looking at his
burgeoning erection.
“You know what I’d do if I was there?”
Aiden’s heart sped up. “What?”
“How wet is your cock?”
“A little. On the end.”
“I’d spread your precum over your cock with my
thumb. Then I’d wrap my fist around the whole thing so I
could feel how hard you are.”
Aiden took his cock in his hand and began to stroke
it. “Oh shit.”
“I’d start pumping it. And I’d watch you while I
touched you, so I could see how much you enjoyed it.”
Aiden gulped and pulled harder on his throbbing
dick.
“Are you touching yourself?” Keaton asked.
“Yeah.”
“Does it feel good?”
“It’d feel better if it was you.”
“It is,” Keaton whispered.
Aiden closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
“Let me hear you.”
“I can’t.”
“Come for me.”
Aiden panted, feeling himself edge closer and
closer to orgasm as he imagined Keaton’s hands on him,
Keaton’s voice in his ear, Keaton’s eyes locked with his
own. He moaned.
“That’s beautiful. I love listening to you.”
Aiden let out a small whimper, and his hips rose off
the mattress.
“I need this,” Keaton said. “I need to hear you
come.”
Aiden squeezed his eyes shut. His body stiffened,
and he came with a sharp cry, collapsing onto the bed.
He lay on the sheets, his breath leaving him in rushes
until it finally evened out and he curled under the
blankets, exhausted.
“So good,” Keaton said. “Can you sleep now?”
“Yeah. You too? We can go to sleep together.”
“All right. Hang up, though, so your battery doesn’t
die.”
“I miss you.”
“You too. Call me after your audition. Call me
anytime.”
“Anytime. Okay. G’night.”
“Goodnight, kid.”
Aiden hung up, and fell asleep smiling.
Aiden Cole was happy.
He couldn’t remember feeling this content for any
sustained length of time, but for the last two months, life
had been good. He had a job; he was done with grad
school applications; his body had filled out, and he
looked great. He tried not to fret as he waited to hear
back from MFA programs. He hadn’t botched his Case
audition back in December, despite delivering his
monologues with a slight hangover. He’d shared a
perfect first Christmas with the man he loved—Keaton
had given him a robe for Christmas, and they had indeed
drunk hot chocolate in robes and slippers. They’d also
had Hera, Kim, Sloane, and a couple of Keaton’s friends
from the school over for dinner and a poker tournament.
Aiden had recently been cast in another play at the local
theater, and Keaton had already bought a ticket for
opening night.
Aiden wouldn’t have gone so far as to say things
were perfect. He still worried sometimes about his and
Keaton’s future. And Scott continued to text and e-mail
him. Sometimes Aiden deleted the messages without
looking at them; other times he glanced at them and saw
invitations, suggestions that made him blush and
squirm. He ignored every single message, but it
bothered him that they kept coming. Aiden considered
talking to Keaton, but doing so would mean confessing
how long this had been going on.
Aiden stretched, enjoying the warmth of his and
Keaton’s bed. Keaton was downstairs in the kitchen,
making waffles. It was Saturday, and Aiden had nowhere
to be until six thirty, when they were going to Hera’s for
dinner. He rolled onto his back, wiggling against the
sheets, and reflected that it had been a while since he’d
earned himself a spanking. In the two months since his
post-Cleveland punishment—which had been so
thorough that Aiden sometimes swore he could still see
the red blotches from Keaton’s hand—his behavior had
been exemplary. And while he was proud of this, he
occasionally craved the high drama and catharsis of
acting out and being punished.
There was something else that had been nagging at
Aiden, something he hadn’t quite figured out how to
bring up to Keaton. When Keaton had spanked him for
breaking the rules while he was in Cleveland, Aiden,
though thoroughly ashamed and sorry, had felt oddly
disconnected during the punishment. He’d lain quietly
over Keaton’s lap, accepting what he was given but not
really feeling it. The spanking had been one of the most
severe Keaton had ever given him, yet Aiden’s mind had
wandered as the swats fell; he’d resisted the catharsis.
He’d continued to feel distracted, detached when Keaton
helped him up and held him. He hadn’t cried or clung.
He’d offered a simple apology and slid off Keaton’s lap.
He hadn’t really been spanked enough since then to
know whether the change in his discipline mind-set was
permanent. A spanking he’d received last month had had
him kicking and “ow”ing, but the sense of complete
surrender definitely wasn’t as potent as it had been in the
past. Keaton continued to spank him occasionally for
pleasure, and that experience was as powerful as ever.
But Aiden wondered if disciplinary spankings were
losing their effect, and if so, was the problem the
punishments themselves? Did he need Keaton to punish
him harder, with something more severe than his hand?
Or was Aiden simply outgrowing the discipline
relationship, now that he had himself under better
control?
He groaned, turning his face into the pillow. He