by A. M. Riley
Jim studied him. Inhaled smoke. Exhaled. “Friend,” Jim said.
Scott looked across at him with eyes going dark in the dimly lit, smoky room. “Missed you, baby.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed.
Scott went over and sat next to Jim. He rested his chin on Jim’s big shoulder and looked up at Jim through his lashes. “You miss me?”
Jim set the bong down on the table.
Scott leaned against Jim, opening his legs a bit and wriggling. He rubbed at the growing bulge at his crotch and whispered, “Been hard since you kissed me hello.”
Jim’s eyes followed the movement of Scott’s hand.
Scott’s other hand got up under Jim’s shirt and started finding a nest in his chest hair. “Keep thinking about that big cock fucking me.” His hand clutched at his crotch as he said, “Thought dinner would never be over…” and he was flat on his back on the undulating waterbed, Jim’s mouth on him, Jim’s tongue pressing into his own. Warm, calloused hands under his T-shirt and pulling at the little nipple ring there.
Scott moaned and tried to get Jim to press against him where he needed it. He helped Jim strip his clothes from him, loving the smell and the feel of it, and when Jim rolled him and began pushing the lube in, Scott bent his head to the mattress in abject gratitude. Then he heard the snap and crinkle of what must have been a condom wrapper, and he turned his head. “Christ, Jim, you don’t need that.”
“Don’t I?”
It felt like a window shattering in slow motion deep inside him. Scott rolled over and looked up at Jim. “No.”
“You haven’t been having sex with that boy?” And who knows who else? It wasn’t said, but it was implied.
“No,” said Scott. “Not sex. Not exactly.” His cock was wilting, and so was Jim’s. Scott rolled over on his belly.
He felt Jim’s warm hand rest then in the middle of his back. There was something about the gesture, something anchoring and sure. Like Jim was saying, Right now I’m upset with you, but it’s going to be okay. And Scott just laid his forehead on his arms and said, “I love you, you asshole.”
“Me too, kiddo.”
“Okay, there was…something.”
“What sorta something?”
“Handjobs. I’m sorry.”
Silence. Jim’s hand moved slowly up and down. He was petting that little bit of soft hair at the base of Scott’s back. Scott remembered once when Jim was waxing uncharacteristically poetic, he’d told Scott that he’d fallen in love with Scott the first time he’d seen that little patch of hair.
“I knew it wasn’t right at the beginning. When we first asked you to quit playing. I had a bad feeling.”
Scott thought maybe he’d never felt more awful in his life. “I don’t want anybody else, Jim. That’s not what this was about.”
Jim was silent again, his hand petting. Sometimes, Jim just understood. It was a toppish characteristic of his that Scott frequently cursed. But Scott was hoping and praying this would be one of those times when Jim just understood.
“I would have appreciated it if you’d spoken to me first,” said Jim.
“Would you? You get a long-distance call sayin’, ‘There’s a young man here near dying of loneliness in the middle of Buttfuck, and I just want to give him a body to hold on to and a kind hand around his aching dick,’ and you would have said, ‘Go for it’?”
Jim was silent for a long while, and then he said, “Was it really like that?”
“He was like a puppy somebody kicked out onto the road, Jim.”
He heard Jim sigh, a long thoughtful exhalation through his nose. Then that big warm hand moved, just stroking the place at the bottom of Scott’s spine. “He’s a good boy,” said Jim. “Maybe he can teach you some manners.”
“Like hell,” said Scott and got a nice swat on the behind for that. He rolled over. His cock popped up like it had never been down, and he could see that Jim’s cock was feeling better about things too. Dark red and jutting up there from between Jim’s thighs. Man. Scott licked his lips. He always forgot just what a thing of beauty Jim’s cock was.
“You gonna stick that in me, baby?” he said hoarsely. “’Cause my ass is so lonely for you.”
Jim growled and manhandled Scott back onto his belly a little roughly. “Been thinking about that ass a lot…”
“Baby, slow down. It’s been weeks.”
“Deal with it,” growled Jim, climbing up on him and pushing it in fast and hard, because he knew that was what Scott wanted. Because Scott knew Jim knew.
Scott moaned long and loud. “You’re breaking me, Jim.”
Growling, Jim pumped into his lover. “So fucking tight.”
“Yeah,” said Scott, gripping at the rolling mattress with both hands. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”
Skin slapping against skin, their voices rose together.
* * * *
Joshua looked up from where he was seated on the sofa when Scott came padding out.
“Hey,” said Scott. “I’ll show you where you can sleep. And I’ve got you clean towels.”
“Thank you.”
Joshua followed him down the hallway. At the bedroom, Scott put the towels on the bed. “This is my room, except I hardly ever sleep here. The bathroom’s just there, second door on the left. Jim and me are the fourth door down there on the left. You want something, come on and knock.”
Joshua was looking down at the towels and nodding. He pushed the hair out of his face in that nervous way of his and said, “Jim’s a nice man.”
“He’s a real son of a bitch,” said Scott. “But that’s what it takes to handle a son of a bitch like me.”
“Oh,” said Joshua. “I don’t think you’re a son of a bitch, Scott.”
Oh hell.
“Well, I am.” Scott went to the door. “See you at breakfast, Joshua.”
He heard the kid mumble “good night” as he shut the door.
Scott crawled into the nest that Jim and his waterbed made for him. He curled up around his lover just like a squirrel and said, “That boy needs a top worse than an old jar of jelly.”
Jim chuckled. His fingers traveled over Scott like he was Braille, little needles and pricks of good feelings following them. “You applying for the position, baby?”
“No way,” said Scott. “I’m a brat. A spoiled brat.”
“That you are.”
“Not spoiled enough, though.”
“No?” Jim’s fingers found a part of Scott of which he was particularly fond, and Scott vibrated a little against him.
“Mmm,” said Scott into Jim’s chest. “Do that again.”
“Do that again, what?”
“Do that again, Sir,” whispered Scott, snuggling in a little closer to give Jim better access. “Please, Sir, thank you, Sir…”
* * * *
Joshua seemed content in a kind of yearning, heartsick way, to follow Scott around but not ask for more than friendship. He eagerly helped out with whatever housework he could find to do, was respectful and sincerely grateful toward Jim, and two weeks down the road, he actually got a part-time job at a ranch up off Cucamonga. A man kept steer for cutting classes and needed someone to take care of them.
Jim’s reserve at the wisdom of letting the young man live with them was abated somewhat. Of course, Joshua had no idea how things really were between Scott and Jim. Partly because Jim wanted to keep things low-key and partly because Scott was on his best behavior.
Jim smiled to himself as he dumped the mayo into his tuna spread. A sorry, grateful Scott was a joy in more ways than one. Every time Jim thought about what they’d done the previous evening, his head felt warm, and his balls ached.
“Hey, you seen Joshua?” Scott came in, bouncing a soccer ball from his hand to the floor to his foot to his hand to the floor. Jim caught the ball midbounce.
“No balls in the house.” And at Scott’s pleased look and mouth open to retort, he added, “Not even funny. I haven’t seen Joshua since he went out
to bring the garbage pails back up from the street.”
Scott snatched his soccer ball from Jim. “Huh. I was going to show him… Oh, fuck.”
Jim was going to say something about Scott’s language, but then saw where Scott was looking.
Paul had built a “rec room” out of the converted and unused old garage standing at the back of the property. He’d reinforced the walls, insulated them, installed heating in the new wooden floors, and most importantly, moved the Saint Andrew’s cross, discipline horse, and a few other items into the room.
There was also a ping-pong table and a video game corner.
They kept the room locked for so many reasons. But Scott had cleaned it this morning because Paul and Brian were due home within the next couple of weeks, and he’d left the door unlocked.
Joshua stood in the open door. From the window Jim and Scott could see him standing there, motionless. But they could not see his face.
Scott shot out the back door before Jim could stop him.
Halfway across the yard he called Joshua’s name, and the young man turned, his eyes big, his face white. Scott skidded up to him, talking fast, and Joshua took a step back.
“What…”
Scott reached for Joshua’s arm—and maybe he imagined it, or maybe Joshua really did flinch away.
Scott reached out and carefully shut the garage door. Then he took his key out and locked it. Joshua was looking at him as if reading him anew to see if there were any words he’d missed or small print on the first reading.
“Was that…?” he said.
“A ping-pong table?” said Scott wryly. “I’m afraid so.”
Joshua’s mouth seemed to be trying to shape a word, and then Jim appeared behind Scott, and Joshua’s face went very still. “Oh,” he said.
Always defensive and feeling just a little guilty too, Scott rolled up onto the balls of his feet and said hostilely, “Oh? Oh, what, cowboy?”
Joshua’s eyes went from Scott and Jim to the garage.
“Didn’t you get a good enough look?” said Scott, and he stepped up to the door.
“Scott…” Jim was saying, but Scott opened the door wide and stepped in, swaggering just a bit with braggadocio.
“Come on, Joshua. You can’t see everything from the door.” And when Joshua looked back at Jim, he added, “Oh, don’t worry. Jim won’t do anything to you. This little master/slave thing is exclusive, you know?”
Joshua looked worried. “Scott, I don’t think…”
“This is my personal favorite.” Scott stood behind the Saint Andrew’s cross, his chin on the cross bar and both hands around the tips of the beams. “See, you can strap me on forward or backward. Great access points here and here,” he gestured roughly and slid one arm through a restraint there and slipped the buckle closed with a snap. “See?”
“Scott. You don’t have to explain,” Joshua said.
“But I want to,” said Scott, grinning a big angry grin.
“Scott, stop it,” said Jim quietly.
“No, Joshua wants to see,” said Scott. “Don’t you, Joshua?”
“Scott!”
Breathing hard, Scott whirled around and yelled at Jim, “What?”
Jim stared him down, eyes steady, voice calm. “One more chance, Scott.”
“See,” said Scott out of the side of his mouth to Joshua, glaring at Jim. “If I say no one more time, I get strapped to that thing and punished.”
“I’m sorry, Scott,” said Joshua. “I didn’t mean to pry into…”
“No. Fuck you,” said Scott quite loudly to Jim.
“Joshua, I apologize for Scott,” said Jim quietly. “Please go into the house. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“No, I want him to stay,” said Scott. But Joshua skittered out the door—pretty darned fast in Scott’s opinion—and Jim walked over and shut the door behind him.
Scott was breathing hard, and he couldn’t keep still, pacing back and forth, and when Jim approached him, he pushed the man away. “No.”
“Scott, you know we have to do this.”
Scott stopped dead. Just stopped. “Fine,” he said.
Jim sat down on the bench. “Come here.”
Scott walked over, and Jim unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, bringing Scott into his lap easily, and before Scott had even taken a breath, Jim swatted him hard ten times and then popped him back up to his feet.
“Corner,” he said.
“That’s it?”
Jim’s eyes were blazing. “Quiet,” he said. He pointed. “Corner.” Scott looked at Jim as if he were considering and then biting back a number of words, but then he went off to the corner and stood. When Jim came up, lifted his hands, and clapped them on top of his head, he dutifully clasped his fingers there and didn’t comment.
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” said Jim.
* * * *
“I’m sorry about that, son. Are you okay?”
Joshua had been sitting on the sofa. He started and almost rose to his feet when Jim entered the house.
“Yes, sir. I’m s-s-sorry, sir. I see now I shouldn’t have opened the door.”
“Sit, son. You don’t need to apologize.” Jim came round and sat in a chair.
“Is Scott all right?”
Jim studied Joshua. “Scott is facing a corner. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“F-facing a corner?”
“After I spanked him, I set him to face a corner,” said Jim, calmly, as if he were explaining how one set out annuals in the garden. “We should have told you, son. I see that now, and I am very sorry. Scott and I have a very special relationship. It is very important to us that Scott relinquishes this control to me.”
Joshua’s eyes were wide, but there was something about the shock there that seemed less judgmental and fearful of Jim or Scott and more fear of something else.
“Do you have any questions? Concerns?”
“N-n-no, sir.”
“I am willing to explain anything that confuses or bothers you, Joshua.”
“It’s none of my business, sir,” said Joshua. “Whatever you and Scott do between you is none of my business.” He was afraid of knowing, Jim thought. And that was very interesting.
Jim rubbed his chin. He played with his beard, and then he said, “Has anyone ever spanked you, son?”
The color seeped up Joshua’s neck and very slowly stained his face a deep rose. “Sir?” he barely whispered.
“Or is it that you’ve only thought about it?” asked Jim with that unerring perception. “And you never knew how to ask?”
Joshua’s mouth opened, and he was breathing hard. He looked like he might bolt at any moment.
“The first rule in this house,” said Jim, “is we don’t keep problems to ourselves. You have worries, you bring them to someone. Do you understand?”
Joshua stared at him.
“I said, do you understand, Joshua?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” said Jim. “Scott needs me now. While I attend to him, I’d like you to go into the kitchen and start setting the table for dinner. We’ll eat in half an hour.”
And he stood and walked out, leaving Joshua gaping after him.
* * * *
Jim sat in the big comfy chair that Paul had dragged out to the rec room and rocked, reading a magazine. Scott stood in the corner with his hands on his head. When the digital clock on the wall clicked onto the eight, Jim said, “You can come over here now, Scott.”
Scott lowered his arms and came across the room, slowly and via a large arch, but he ended up standing before Jim.
“That was cruel, Scott,” said Jim. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Scott scowled. He’d been standing in the corner reliving the way Joshua had looked at him, standing in the open garage doorway, and he was still feeling defensive.
“Do you think we’re through here?” asked Jim.
“No,” said Scott. He felt surly.
&
nbsp; “Do you think you can go into the house and apologize to Joshua?”
Of course, the correct answer was Yes, Sir. Scott willed his mouth to speak the magic words that would get him out of the rec room unscathed and was only a little surprised to hear instead, “Why the hell should I apologize to him?”
Jim didn’t react at first. Which of course was even more chilling than when he snapped out corner or here. It meant he was thinking.
Scott ground his teeth and breathed harshly through his nostrils.
“I think what really bothers me, Scott, is how you are judging yourself here. How you are judging us.”
“I didn’t!” said Scott immediately. “It was Joshua…”
“Joshua didn’t say anything. Joshua apologized.”
“Well, he would,” snarled Scott. “He’s a kiss-ass.”
Jim frowned and tapped one hand on the arm of the chair. “Bring me the paddle,” he said finally.
Well, good. Do it and get it over with. Scott stomped over to the case where they kept the paddles and toys. His hand hovered over the wooden one, but at the last minute, he decided not to give Jim the opportunity and picked the more painful Lexan paddle.
He brought it back and dropped his pants, his movements jerky and angry, glaring at Jim the whole time. Dropping to his knees, he laid himself over Jim’s lap, his teeth gritted, hands locked around each other, legs tensed.
“Ten, Scott,” said Jim.
For reasons he could not bring close enough to the surface of his brain to articulate, this low number angered Scott.
Jim’s hand moved on his back like some kind of freaky divining rod. “Fifteen? Is that better?”
Scott nodded his head once and closed his eyes.
The first swat sounded loud in the room. The second, third, and fourth left bright round patterns of red on Scott’s behind, and his feet scrabbling against the floor.
By the tenth, Jim was really wishing Scott hadn’t requested more. His lover’s butt and the backs of his legs were fire red, and his body was shaking. Jim administered the last five in an agony and then dropped the paddle, lifted Scott off his knees, and hugged him fiercely.
“I love you, Scott,” he said. “And I will do anything for you. Do you understand?”
He didn’t expect a reply. Scott was shaking and mute. Eventually he calmed enough so that Jim was able to help him pull his pants back up and walk back to the house for dinner.
