by Xenia Melzer
“That must be Richard with the van.”
Richard had taken on the task of organizing two vans to transport Leeland’s and Emilio’s possessions to their respective new places. Jonathan went to open the door while Dean and Leeland started checking the packed cardboard boxes once more.
The man at the door was not Richard. He wore a beige T-shirt with the slogan Happy Moving—You Move, We Do the Heavy Lifting. It wasn’t the most ingenious slogan ever but charming in its bluntness. Jonathan looked at the man. He already had an inkling where this was going.
“Yes?”
The man cleared his throat.
“Are you Mr. Leeland Drake?”
“No, I’m his partner, Jonathan. How can I help you?”
“We’re here to move Mr. Drake to his new address. A Richard Miller hired us.”
Jonathan frowned. “He was supposed to hire two vans, not a moving crew.”
The man squirmed a bit. “He said he didn’t do heavy lifting.”
Jonathan snorted. “I can imagine. Come in.”
When the man entered the living room where all the boxes were stacked, Dean and Leeland looked up in surprise. Jonathan grinned.
“This is….” He looked at the man expectantly.
“Oh, yes, sorry. I’m Bob. I’m in charge of your move.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Let me guess, Richard hired you.”
Bob avoided Dean’s glare, obviously sensing that something wasn’t right. For a sub, Dean could be quite intimidating if he wanted to. Jonathan had seen him develop this talent after he got Emily. If he remembered correctly, Leeland called it Dean’s “dad glare.”
“Yes?” Bob sounded hesitant, as if he seriously wished to be somewhere else. Jonathan could relate.
Before Dean could open his mouth, Richard entered the room. Jonathan remembered that he had left the door open, assuming the rest of the moving crew would come up. Dean looked at his master.
“You were supposed to hire a van, not a crew.” He sounded almost accusing.
Richard shrugged. To Jonathan, he didn’t look particularly repentant.
“Hiring a crew to do the moving was only slightly more expensive than just getting the vans, so I indulged.”
“You just don’t want to do any lifting!” There was a hint of laughter in Dean’s voice now.
“I was put in charge of taking care of transportation, I took care of transportation. If you and Leeland failed to be specific, that’s not my problem. Bob, do your thing.”
“Of course, Mr. Miller.” Bob clearly knew who was in charge. He left the apartment to instruct his crew. Richard pulled Dean into his arms.
“Admit it, love, it’s much better this way. We can leave the boxes to Bob and his no doubt capable men and drive over to Jonathan’s place, have a nice drink while we wait, and you and Leeland can prepare for when the boxes arrive.”
“You, Master, are horribly well prepared.” Dean grinned. “Must be why I love you so much.”
Richard smacked Dean’s backside. “I hope there’s more reasons than just my ability to organize and delegate.”
“I might come up with something on our way to Jonathan’s.”
Richard looked at Jonathan, who had slung his arm around Leeland’s waist.
“Are you good to go?”
Jonathan nodded. He couldn’t wait to get his boy into his lair, this time for good.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They wanted to leave the house keys with Bob so he could close the apartment, but the man shook his head.
“The other crew at Mr. Vidal’s place is almost done. We’ll wait till they’re here. That way the apartment isn’t left unattended.”
Jonathan smiled at the man. Bob had just earned himself a generous tip.
“Thank you, Bob.”
He took Leeland’s hand and led his boy to the elevator and out of the building. Richard and Dean had already climbed into Richard’s Z8, ready to leave. Jonathan went to his Volvo, opened the passenger’s side so Leeland could get seated, then rounded the car, climbed in, and started the engine.
“You and me, Leeland. I’m so happy.”
Jonathan didn’t know why he had said it, but the radiant smile on his boy’s face told him it was good.
“Me, too, Jonathan. So happy.”
“Okay, let’s see what else Richard has paid for.”
Leeland laughed. “You should have seen his face when Dean told him we wanted to do the move ourselves. He was downright horrified.”
“Well, having Bob around does make things easier.”
Having a moving crew was like shooting starlings with cannons. Emilio only had his clothing, a few books, some toiletries, and his battered old laptop to pack. And since Jonathan’s apartment was already fully furnished, Leeland wasn’t bringing any furniture except his favorite wing chair. The only heavy lifting they had to do were the boxes with his books and said chair.
Jonathan felt a cold shudder running down his spine when he remembered what else would come with Leeland—Peyton had already come by once to compare the blueprints of the apartment with the actual room situation. Just thinking about the adventurous gleam in the interior designer’s eyes made Jonathan wince inwardly. There was no doubt, once Peyton was done with his apartment, he probably wouldn’t recognize it anymore.
Jonathan sighed. Who was he kidding? As long as Leeland was happy, he didn’t care about anything else. And Peyton was a genius. It would just take time and money, two things Jonathan could spare. He looked over at his beautiful boy and thanked fate and whoever was in charge of the HEA of Doms and their subs for the gift they had bestowed on him.
Chapter 5
Three weeks later
LEELAND STOOD in the kitchen, preparing the salad that would go with the fish he was cooking for dinner. Settling in with Jonathan had been surprisingly easy, probably because he had already spent most of his time at the apartment even before the move. Emilio, too, was ecstatic about his new lodgings and, as it turned out, Curtis, who had helped Emilio settle in, was very good at hooking up entertainment systems. The man definitely had some hidden depths. The only downside at the moment was the construction going on in the apartment. Peyton had wasted no time turning the place into something “presentable,” as he put it. Though Mike and Jeff—Peyton’s business partners and contractors—did their best not to inconvenience Jonathan and Leeland, always working on one room only so they could close the door on the construction site, there were times when Leeland wished he had resisted Peyton more firmly, especially last week when Mike and Jeff had taken down two walls to make the living room bigger and create one generous guest room, sacrificing what Peyton called “the remnants of the Stone Age of interior design,” meaning lots of smaller rooms instead of big open spaces. Those “remnants” had turned the entire apartment into a dusty hell, and it had taken Leeland three days of frantic cleaning until everything was back to normal. Or as normal as it could be till all the renovations were done. When he had complained to Peyton about the dirt, the man just mumbled something about necessary sacrifices and how nobody seemed to be able to appreciate his genius.
The workers were gone for the day, which left Leeland alone to do the cooking. He was just slicing the tomatoes when his cell rang. Leeland furrowed his brow at the caller ID.
“Uncle Misaki?”
“Hello, Leeland. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yes, it is, Uncle.” Misaki Aoki was not really Leeland’s uncle. When Routa Hashimoto, Leeland’s father, had fallen in love with an American woman and followed her to the States, his childhood friend Misaki was the only one of his old circle of friends and family who didn’t shun him for breaking with tradition. Three years after Routa had married Layla Drake and taken on her last name, Misaki couldn’t stand the restrictions of rural Japanese society anymore and followed his friend into the land of endless opportunities. The men maintained their close friendship, and when Leeland wa
s born, Misaki became his godfather. He was also the man who had helped train Leeland in several martial arts. They still kept in touch, mainly at family gatherings, though it was unusual for Misaki to just call him. The man was incredibly busy with running his MMA gym.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of talking to you?”
As a Japanese man, Misaki would dance around the reason for his call endlessly, as Leeland knew only too well. The only way to get the information quickly was to ask directly, even though it wasn’t considered polite, at least in Japan. Leeland was too American to care, and he already sensed this wasn’t a courtesy call.
“Well, since you’re asking so directly….” There was a hint of reproach in Misaki’s voice, paired with a dash of amusement. He had lived in the country long enough and been around enough MMA fighters not to be offended by the “American bluntness,” as he called it, that Leeland had inherited from his mother.
“Yes, I am asking directly.” Leeland smiled at the salad in front of him.
“I have to ask a favor of you, Lee-kun. A big favor.”
Leeland felt a chill creeping up his spine. This sounded ominous.
“What’s wrong, Ojisan?” Automatically, Leeland fell back on the Japanese form to address his uncle.
“As you know, I’ve started a charity, Hinode.”
Leeland nodded, even though Misaki couldn’t see it. He loved the project that offered children without money the opportunity to train at Misaki’s gym, thus keeping them off the streets and out of trouble. His parents, both cops, helped however they could.
“Are there problems with the project?”
“No, but however.”
Leeland took a deep breath. “Ojisan, please tell me what’s going on.”
His uncle sighed. Even though he couldn’t see him, Leeland could practically feel his oji squirming.
“About six months ago, I got an offer that allowed me to expand the project. A European company that produces an energy drink called Smash! wants in to the US market. They’re looking to maintain a certain image and approached me, asking if I could train somebody to send to official fights with the UFC. I had a promising candidate I wanted to place there, and with the financial backing from Smash! everything was great until two days ago. My man was in a car accident. His leg is broken, and as you can imagine, he’s out for this season. Perhaps even for the next, depending on how the healing and rehab go. The contract with the UFC is already signed, but they’re willing to accept a substitute. Smash! has already set up everything for this season, up to a point where withdrawing is going to cost them more money than staying on with a candidate who isn’t likely to win.” Misaki paused, and Leeland knew what was coming next. “Which brings me to you.”
“You want me to compete?” Leeland couldn’t believe it.
“I know I’m asking a lot. And you don’t have to. Just think about it, please. I need the money for the project, and I can’t say for sure if the people from Smash! will keep me on if I can’t produce a substitute. They want an in with the UFC, and they want it immediately.”
Talk about putting the pressure on. Leeland knew Misaki wasn’t cornering him intentionally, but he sure made saying no difficult. While he was still trying to wrap his head around the proposal his uncle had just made, Leeland remembered something important.
“I’m out and proud, Ojisan. Last time I checked, the MMA world wasn’t very accepting of gays, and I’m pretty sure that hasn’t changed, no matter what Dana White says in front of the cameras. There’s still no gay man out in the UFC, and you and I both know why. I’m not going back into the closet, not even for you. I don’t think I could at this point. Given my lifestyle, somebody would find out. Does your sponsor know you’re asking a gay man?”
Misaki sighed again, this time even more emphatically.
“Yes. As I said, they’re between a rock and a hard place, and as Samantha Jones, the PR lady for Smash! has so eloquently put it, there’s nothing worse than no PR. Sponsoring a gay fighter may not have been their original plan, but it will definitely garner them a lot of attention.”
“You mean they want to turn me into a gay poster boy?” Leeland didn’t even try to keep the anger from his voice. If there was one thing he despised even more than hiding who he was, it was being used for who he was. Why couldn’t people just let him be?
“No, of course not. You should know me better, Lee-kun. I already told Samantha you aren’t happy with publicity, which in turn made her unhappy. We finally agreed on not hiding the gay angle but not promoting it either. Depending on how successful you are, people will start digging regardless, but with any luck they will make their big finds toward the end of the season.”
“Fine. So I may or may not become the first out gay UFC fighter. How wonderful.” Leeland felt so rattled, he didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, even though he usually wasn’t that disrespectful toward his uncle. That Misaki let it slide without comment only upset Leeland more, because it showed how desperate he had to be. “What about my studies? I only have one year left, and I can’t just take a leave of absence.”
Misaki sounded a bit guilty when he answered. “I already checked with Miami Dade. The prospect of having a professional MMA athlete to add to their list of students was enough to make them very accommodating. They’re going to keep your scholarship on hold, and Smash! will pay you for the time you can’t study so you don’t lose any money over this.”
Leeland was stunned. He didn’t know if he should be annoyed or amused and decided to postpone his reaction.
“You seem to be awfully sure I’m going to do this.”
“To be honest, yes. You know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I had another choice, but I don’t. Plus you’re an incredibly talented fighter, you already have experience competing, and I know you still train regularly. Getting you into shape for competing may be a challenge depending on how soon your first fight is scheduled, but I’m convinced we can do it. I even see a chance for you winning some of the matches.”
Leeland snorted. “Flattery won’t get you my cooperation, Ojisan. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m tempted. But I have to talk to Jonathan first. We’re living together now, and he gets a say in this. Something as big as this is going to affect our lives deeply, and I want him to know what he would be getting into and to make an educated decision. I’m going to talk to him tonight and call you back tomorrow. That’s all I can promise right now.”
“And it’s more than you have to, Lee-kun. Thank you.” Misaki ended the call, and the genuine relief in his uncle’s voice tore at Leeland’s heart. Misaki was family, just like his parents and Jonathan and Dean and all the other men at Whisper he had formed friendships with. Not helping the man who had helped raise him went against everything Leeland had learned to believe in. It was true, though, that going pro, even if it was just for one season and not with the goal to win anything—something that didn’t sit well with Leeland either; when he fought, he fought to win—would change their life dramatically. Leeland only hoped he would be able to explain matters to Jonathan in a way that enabled his master to make an informed decision.
Saddened, Leeland looked at the sauce simmering on the stove. A creamy goodness like this would be just one of the many things he would have to relinquish if he agreed to help his uncle.
Chapter 6
JONATHAN ENTERED the apartment and knew immediately something was wrong. Where he was usually greeted by an atmosphere of tranquility, he now felt nervous energy. Leeland approached him down the hall from where the kitchen was located, looking jumpy and unhappy.
“Boy.” Jonathan simply opened his arms, allowing Leeland to throw himself into his embrace. Because Leeland was so self-reliant, such displays of vulnerability rarely happened. Jonathan wondered what had his boy so upset.
“Jonathan.” Leeland sounded both relieved and agitated, which didn’t make sense to Jonathan.
“What’s happened? Is it something with your
friends? Or at college?”
Leeland drew back in Jonathan’s arms, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“No. My friends are fine, and college is going smoothly. I’m sorry if I worried you. The last hour has been weird.” Leeland took Jonathan’s hand and led him to the kitchen, where the dinner table was already set. Jonathan let himself be guided toward one of the chairs, sat down, and accepted the water Leeland poured from a glass carafe. While Leeland busied himself with mixing tagliatelle—at least Jonathan thought that was what these noodles were called; to him it was all just delicious carbohydrates in a pleasing form—with a sauce that smelled divine, Jonathan tried to gauge his boy’s mood. Leeland didn’t seem angry. For that his movements were still too fluid. He wasn’t sad either. No tears, no sniffling, and, most importantly, no empty ice-cream containers and chocolate wrappings littering the kitchen. Leeland just seemed—restless. Like something was eating at him from the inside. Jonathan was fairly sure it didn’t have to do with their relationship either. They were solid and practiced a firm policy of openness. Hiding things was a bad idea in any relationship, but even more so in one that involved BDSM.
Before he got together with Leeland, Jonathan had envied couples like Richard and Dean from a safe distance, sticking to a rigorous “spank them, then leave them” rule, mostly because the parameters during a single encounter could be more easily controlled than the ones in a steady relationship. In that regard Jonathan was a typical Dom, always wanting to be in absolute control. Then he had fallen in love with Leeland and everything changed. It was just like Richard had told him once—the scenes got more intense, even small gestures took on a different, deeper meaning, and the chances to fuck up multiplied. But so did the joy, the lust, the emotions. When you were in love, everything was more.
It had taken Jonathan some time to adapt to the intensity Leeland brought into his life, and sometimes it had scared the shit out of him, but now he didn’t want to miss even one second. He loved being the person Leeland turned to when he needed help, being his rock, his anchor. Seeing his boy so agitated woke Jonathan’s most primal urges to protect and shelter. If it weren’t for the irrational need to spill somebody’s blood, those feelings wouldn’t be too bad. After all, they showed how deeply he cared for his boy.
