Bad Behavior

by K.A. Mitchell

  “ID said Officer Fonoti, and you did say something about being called in for drug testing. Called you David. Figured it to be important.”

  “I didn’t change the entry for—Fuckgoddamn.” The water shut off. “Give it to me and get out.”

  “Makes sounds like one righteously pissed-off bull,” Clayton said.

  “Out.” The door closed, and there was silence except for David’s breathing. Tai pictured him staring at the phone, considering what to say.

  At last David’s voice came through clearly, though sullen enough to have sprung from pouting lips. “It’s not Monday.”

  “It’s not,” Tai agreed. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t have called?”

  “No.” That was his David, the response quick but the hitch in his voice obvious on the single syllable. Almost as quickly, his cockiness came bouncing back. “You mean Clayton?”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Tai supposed the jealousy was already obvious. “Who is he?”

  “An old college friend. Seems to have run away from home at the ripe old age of thirty-three.” David had to be drawing out this pause on purpose. “He’s sleeping on the couch.”

  Tai’s jaw relaxed. “Glad to hear it.”

  “If you weren’t—I mean, is that the kind of thing that would lead to more punishment?”

  The shift back was so sharp it gave Tai whiplash. The sudden hesitation, underlying yearning laid bare in David’s voice.

  “For someone who says he doesn’t want to be punished, you seem focused on it.”

  “I don’t—It confuses the hell out of me too.” David’s laugh was tight, as if trapped in a thick throat.

  “David, does thinking about it make you hard?”

  “Um, I could be… headed in that direction.”

  “Stroke yourself for me. Don’t say anything. I want to hear it in your breathing.” It didn’t take long for the first hitch, followed by a gasp.

  “Good boy. Now.” A harsher sound bounced back in answer to that word. “Stop.”

  A bitten-off grunt.

  “You’re going to save that for me.”

  As David’s breathing slowed, Tai felt resistance like static on the line. At last there was a sigh. “All right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I want you to know there is only one reason you’re not spending today in my bed, learning how to please me.”

  A much less resentful David asked, “What?”

  “I already had plans.”

  “Oh.” Surprise, hurt, and embarrassment colored that single sound.

  “With my daughter.”

  A DAUGHTER.

  Beach sat on the toilet lid and stared down at the phone. He knew people had them, of course. It had simply never occurred to him that Tai had one. Had a life, connections outside of his job, outside of making guys like Beach beg to be cuffed to Tai’s bed. Beach supposed he’d been lucky so far not to have such an entanglement himself, though he was equally as careful when he had sex with women as with men. In fact, he wasn’t sure the idea of fatherhood didn’t terrify him more than the prospect of contracting HIV.

  Tai had a child.

  Beach barely had the sense to keep himself dry and fed. And most of his friends considered even those skills beyond him. To be responsible for another human? One utterly dependent on you? He shuddered. He didn’t even want to suffer another day with his houseguest. He’d never realized how much the warmth of a buzz smoothed away the rougher edges of his companions. Sober, all Beach could focus on was the way Clayton omitted the first half of ninety percent of his sentences, which had him thinking there must be untraceable poisons for sale on the internet.

  Clayton certainly wouldn’t have noticed what was mixed with the liquor he kept pouring down his throat. After Beach had dumped him on the couch last night, he’d hoped for a few minutes of peace in the morning, forgetting that the bastard never suffered a hangover. Screw Clayton and his metabolism and his syntax. Beach needed to get out of there.

  In his bedroom, he dragged on a shirt and slacks and grabbed his cane.

  “Hey.” Clayton greeted him at the counter with a frying pan in his hand. “Made breakfast.”

  I made breakfast. Beach wanted to throttle him with the dish towel Clayton had dropped on the counter. I. I. I.

  Completely unaware of his imminent death at the hands of an alleged felon, Clayton went on. “Had to repay your hospitality. Not much in the fridge to work with. Egg whites? Couldn’t find any bacon or grits.”

  Only an Earnshaw would repay hospitality by raiding the larder and complaining about its contents.

  “Haven’t been to the store lately.” Christ, now Clayton had Beach doing it. He ground his back teeth and slid onto one of the stools at the counter.

  Clayton scattered scrambled whites onto a plate and added toast from under the towel. “Was that your probation officer?”

  “No. He’s not.” The denial sprang to Beach’s lips so fast he missed his chance at a decent lie. Clayton would have had to believe a sudden departure was due to being summoned for a probationary review. He wished he had been summoned. The things they’d done yesterday, the way that it had felt to be controlled and then praised for it….

  “Oh.” Then, “Oh.”

  Clayton’s exclamation derailed that perfectly lovely train of thought. Beach hated whatever was showing on his face.

  “So, your gate’s swinging the other way at the moment?”

  Beach jabbed at his eggs with a fork. It felt like such a mundane way to eat them after yesterday. “It doesn’t work like that.” Every time Beach swore off trying to explain his sexuality to straight—or gay—friends, he found himself back at it, like some kind of earnest conspiracy theorist. And he made about as much headway. “Hell, you ought to know as much.”

  “It—Nothing really happened.” Clayton went redder than sunset. “We were only eighteen, and there was only one female in the whole school.”

  “Relax, Clay. The fact that you and I enjoyed the occasional Princeton rub didn’t change you any more than it changed me. You like what you like. And I like what I like.”

  “Which is?”

  “Variety. God, don’t you ever stand at the registers and think of getting a different candy bar? A new flavor of gum?”

  “Of course I do. Oh fuck.” The color faded from Clayton’s face, and he dropped his elbows on the counter, then buried his face in his hands. “I can’t marry Iris.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ve stood there with you a hundred times, stood there last night when you were three sheets to the wind and letting out the jib, and I have never seen you walk out with anything but a Snickers bar.” Usually with me buying.

  Clayton looked up, his hands clasped together like a man who’d been praying intently.

  “And that’s it. Whatever flavor you’re in the mood for?”

  Beach followed the gaze to his phone. Tai. It wasn’t only a new taste. It wasn’t even the same hunger. The feelings ran so much deeper than what made Beach’s dick hard. He shrugged. “You go prix fixe. I go à la carte.”

  “That way is always more expensive.”

  “Yeah.” Beach smiled. “But it’s so worth it.”

  WHAT LITTLE hair Clayton had left would have been standing on end if he had seen the à la carte menu Beach was examining on Monday afternoon. Fortunately Clayton had found another poor sucker to mooch dinner from tonight.

  First up on the alphabetical checklist Beach had printed out: Age Play.

  Beach hadn’t expected any of this to light his fire, so he was determined to consider each item for a potential new source of that incredible rush. The idea of a daddy and a boy didn’t turn him on, but it didn’t revolt him. The directions at the top—and it really was like homework—said to put a check mark if that was the case. Stars were for yes, please. Xs for no way.

  He handed out stars for the various anal-play options.

  Animal Roles? Beneath
that was Puppy Play and Pony Play. A quick peek online had him giving that an X. Not saying he couldn’t change his mind, but he liked the use of his opposable thumbs.

  Ball Torture.

  After a protective shift and wince, Beach gave it a check. If it was as bad as it sounded, that was what a safeword was for.

  Biting. He was putting a star on that when he decided it needed a comment. Not to the point of needing a bandage, he printed at the side.

  Blindfolds. His heart rate kicked up, that feeling of flying out on the waves in his boat, the risk. The high. Gold star for you.

  Blood Play. He really didn’t want to enter that into the browser. He didn’t even like to get a tetanus shot. X.

  Bondage. He reached into his pocket and ran a finger over the leather cuffs. It was pretty damned safe to say that being tied up was on the cock-hardening list.

  Breath Play. Tai’s hand sliding from Beach’s jaw to his throat. Tai’s thick cock cutting off his air. Beach’s lungs aching with it while the rest of him felt that buzz of hooking something big, something scary. He shifted his trousers again and drew in a careful star.

  He’d made it to Medical Scenes, which, given his opinion on shots and doctors in general, was getting the big old X, when his phone rang.

  Not a number he knew, but the Baltimore area code didn’t show the pesky signs of someone looking for money.

  It took a few moments to recognize the voice. It wasn’t until the lilting “I called to see how my advice went. Did you get his attention?” that Beach was able to place the caller.

  “Eli?”

  “Yup. So…?”

  “It was”—what the hell—“yes, your advice came in handy.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Eli chuckled in his ear. “Gavin gave me your number, but don’t be pissed at him. I’m irresistible.”

  “I see.” Beach put a check next to Nipple Play and an X next to spanking, then realized he had a much better source than any search engine on the phone.

  “Eli, what’s shibari?”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s this elaborate bondage with ropes. Takes a bit of time, and it’s really restricting. But it’s gorgeous to see.” That chuckle again. “Have you heard of Google, hon?”

  “I prefer hands-on learning. Or primary sources.”

  “Sorry. Wish I could say I’d tried it. It looks really cool. So, you guys are going to make it a thing?”

  Whether or not it was a thing—did saying You need time to think about this make it a thing?—wasn’t included anywhere on the checklist. Maybe Eli had insight on that too.

  “Not sure.” Damn Clayton’s contagious speech pattern. “I’m going through this list right now to give back.”

  “Yeah? I’ve seen those. Fetish checklists.”

  Beach doodled some waves and then a marlin in the corner of the page. Fetish was a creepy word. When they were doing it, it didn’t feel creepy. Just right. Almost like their hearts and breathing got in sync, and there was all this energy.

  That blend of dread and want curled in his stomach as he scanned the rest of the list, and he wanted to be done as soon as possible.

  Eli was still going on. “Not doing one with Quinn, though. Don’t want to freak him out. Though I gotta say, the guy is seriously inventive with stuff around the house. It’s nice to have someone else kinky to talk to.”

  Maybe it would be, once Beach got used to having that word applied to him. For now he’d take anything that would get this over faster. “What’s sounding?”

  “Ah, it’s these rods that go down your piss slit—”

  “Ah, gotcha.” Big dark X there. “Violet wand?”

  “That’s pretty hard-core. It’s an electric shock, a toy, but depends on where the shock is hitting you.”

  “I bet.”

  “But there’s a TENS unit thing some people use. It makes muscles contract. They use it in physical therapy.”

  Ah hell. He’d never called for a physical therapy appointment. He snuck a look at the time on his phone. Four thirty. The text he’d gotten at one had been as direct as it had been arousing. He didn’t have to fake the urgency in his voice. “Eli, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Okay.” Eli’s voice had a smug smile in it. “I hope he’s the one to put that panic in your voice.”

  Eli clicked off, leaving Beach sputtering for an answer.

  He put the phone facedown on the counter and finished off the list. What the hell was this at the bottom? Essay questions? And he had something else he needed to do—

  Fuck all, he’d forgotten the PT appointment again. His doctor had recommended someone, some place. Beach scanned the options a search on his phone turned up. Something with—ah. Sports Science and Rehabilitation. When he dialed, the pleasant man’s recorded voice informed him regular office hours were between the hours of seven thirty and four thirty. Regular his ass. There was nothing regular about a business that opened at seven thirty.

  A cold weight dragged at Beach’s gut as he considered his ass might be all too apt an expression. He’d been considering a little push, showing up a hair past his five thirty deadline. Wondering how Tai would react to the challenge had given Beach a sweet prickle in his balls, spreading out under his skin.

  But not this. He’d honestly meant to make the appointment. He was sick of the limitations forced by the cane and his leg, and if a bunch of exercises would help, he was ready for it. He had honored his promise and called for an appointment; he simply hadn’t gotten one. For once the rationalization didn’t offer any comfort. In the meantime he decided he wouldn’t be late.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE KNOCK came at exactly five thirty, and Tai rode a rush of power all the way to the door, opened it, and found himself holding David’s face in a kiss before becoming aware of deciding to do it. After a startled breath onto Tai’s lips, David kissed back, instant hunger in the slide of his tongue, the open welcome of his mouth. Tai kicked the door shut with his heel.

  Tai didn’t know how long he’d have kept them standing there if Jez hadn’t pushed between them to demand her own greeting. David lost his balance, one palm slapping the wall.

  Jez jumped.

  “Sorry, girl,” David said as Tai was telling her she was all right.

  “Sorry to keep you on that leg.”

  “Maybe I just swoon from your kisses, Sir.” David’s words rolled with a thick accent, hands rubbing behind Jez’s ears. His cane clattered to the floor as he went down on one knee to let her nuzzle his hair and neck.

  Tai scooped up the cane. Jez dropped to her haunches to watch him, eyes bright like she thought it was a new game. When Tai put the cane on his desk, though, she lowered herself with a sigh.

  “Did you think about whether you want to keep doing this?” Tai turned to watch David answer.

  Without the dog to play with, David’s hands dangled at his sides, but he didn’t get to his feet. With his gaze somewhere between Jez and the bedroom door, David nodded.

  “That’s not an acceptable answer, David.”

  David flicked his tongue over his lips, head lifting until he met Tai’s stare. “Yes, Sir. I do.”

  “Okay. Did you bring the checklist?”

  David started to nod again, then said, “Yes, Sir. Here.” He slid a folded paper out of the pocket of his cargo shorts.

  Tai took it from him, drinking in the obedience on offer, the hunger in David’s eyes as he tracked Tai’s every move.

  “When I ask you to come here, you will always be on time. After you say hi to Jez, you will remove all of your clothes and put them on this chair, folded neatly.” Tai turned his desk chair out to face the couch. “Then you will put on your cuffs and”—he couldn’t have David kneeling with that bad leg—“sit on the floor until I am ready for you.”

  “Yes, Sir.” David climbed to his feet and stripped off his shirt.

  Under his husky breaths of arousal, there was something of a pushback. “What?” Tai asked.

  Davi
d swallowed. “It wasn’t on the sheet. But I don’t like waiting. I get bored.”

  Tai watched him, drawing the tension out, feeling it stretch like a wire between them. David didn’t look away, not even as he unfastened his shorts, dropped them to the floor, and then peeled away the briefs underneath. As he folded them between his hands, Tai stepped forward.

  “Too bad. You’ll wait if I want you to. But as for you being bored, I’ll take care of that.” Tai took the shorts from David and fished the cuffs from his front pocket. “Give me your hands.”

  The light from the blinds could have been the reason, but David’s pupils widened as the leather was buckled over the tender inside of his wrists. Only a hair’s width of blue iris showed as Tai leaned forward to breathe the order across David’s mouth. “Go sit on my bed and wait for me.”

  David didn’t answer, but he went, disappearing around the corner. Jez had gone off to stretch out under the air conditioner when she realized it wasn’t her kind of play date. Her ears barely twitched as Tai unfolded the checklist to scan it.

  He was relieved to see David wasn’t looking for anything Tai didn’t feel able to deliver.

  In fact, with the exception of impact play, they were well matched.

  Tai wouldn’t say he was a sadist in the way he understood it from Nic’s point of view. If Tai marked a sub, the satisfaction was in the proof of ownership, not the hurting. To him, impact play was about a submissive surrendering to what Tai wanted, demanded. That pleasure and pain came from him. And the sight of a guy over Tai’s lap, upturned ass waiting for the smack of his hand, got him hard enough to cut diamonds.

  He tucked the list in his back pocket and went into his bedroom.

  David had followed orders—insolently. He was sitting on the bed, barely. His legs were wide apart, and he leaned on one arm as his other hand made a lazy stroke on his half-hard dick, as if he wouldn’t mind waiting until August to get off.

  Tai leaned back against his closet door and folded his arms. It would serve the brat right to make him wait that long. “Are you challenging me, David?”