Tough Love

by Heidi Cullinan

  Ethan glared at his husband. “You didn’t tell him? Or ask?” When Randy only grinned, Ethan pursed his lips. “You’re terrible. I should send you to bed without any supper.”

  “So long as you come with me, honey, I wouldn’t care.” He turned to Chenco. “I knew you’d obsess, and I didn’t want to distract you while you were working. I also knew it would all be fine.”

  “Bossy and arrogant,” Ethan remarked in singsong.

  “You love it,” Randy sang back.

  They were adorable, but they were so connected when Chenco felt so cut off, and that didn’t endear them to him right now. “You still haven’t told me what’s happening.”

  Randy grinned. “What’s happening is Ethan is going to give you a lesson in flogging.”

  It was on the tip of Chenco’s tongue to say he’d been flogged plenty—then he looked at Randy’s naked chest again. “Wait—you want me to flog you?”

  “I do indeed.” Randy gave him an impatient look. “Come on, Princess. You’ve got switch written all over you. Yeah, you’ll bottom, but you want to swing a whip too sometimes. Monk’s not the man for that outlet.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I, however, am.”

  Dimly Chenco remembered Sam remarking about how he’d flogged Randy, which was the only way he knew this wasn’t a joke. “We’re going to do this now? Here? In Ethan’s office?”

  Someone knocked on the door, and when Ethan told them to come in, a handsome young man just a bit younger than Chenco entered bearing a tray of a pitcher of water and three glasses. He glanced at Randy’s naked chest so many times he nearly spilled the whole business on the rug. Randy ogled him right back, and once the boy was gone, he turned to Ethan. “Slick, honey, I think we need to interview your new busboy together.”

  “You’re a slut.” Ethan said this idly while he sifted through papers, but then his gaze flicked to the door, and no one could mistake the banked heat there. “I’ll make inquiries to see if he’s interested. I don’t want to scare him off. Sarah says he’s very good.”

  Randy sniggered. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Chenco recalled the way the bartender knew what the pitcher of water meant, the way the busboy had seemed to be in on the game too. “So, what, you guys do this all the time? Bring in guys to flog Randy?”

  “No, it’s only for family.” Ethan shut his computer and shrugged out of his jacket before fumbling in a bottom drawer. “Ace, get your sassy little ass over the couch, and not another word, or I won’t teach him how to flog you.”

  “Yessir.” Still happy, Randy knelt backward on the lush red couch across from the desk as Ethan produced a beautiful black flogger from the desk. It was a cowhide with thin, medium-length tails.

  “Another time we’ll work you up to some thud, but Randy is particular with how he takes his heavy blows, and you need to work up to that kind of artistry. Steve said you’ve handled floggers a few times, but I want you to practice on a pillow first.” Ethan paused before adding, “This assumes Randy is correct and you do want to try this.”

  Randy was, but Chenco still wasn’t sure he should. “Steve knows? He won’t be upset?”

  “He thinks it’s a great idea, though I understand if you want to talk to him first. Do you wish to call? He’s working in my office at the house.”

  Chenco wasn’t sure. He was actually a little annoyed with Steve for not bringing it up. In a perfect world, he’d rather Steve were here, a part of the moment. Since Steve had deliberately not been a part of it…well. Put bluntly, yes, he felt like flogging someone right now.

  “I’m good,” he told Ethan, and the lessons began.

  Like Steve had, Ethan showed him how to swing the flogger and not injure himself, making a figure eight in the air, but he focused much more on taking proper aim, measuring the weight of the blow. He had Chenco strike a suede pillow for several minutes and critiqued his form until he felt satisfied Chenco had the hang of it.

  “Blows on a pillow aren’t the same as hitting flesh. When you first strike Randy, you’ll be nervous, but it’s important you maintain your control. That’s the key to this side of the whip—whether or not you feel in control in other aspects of your life, you will be in control here. Take some comfort in the fact that I’ll be here the entire time. If you’re unsure or anything goes wrong, I’m in control too. You need to let go, however, the same way you do when Steve takes you under—this time to the other side of the coin. Let go to control, to creating a safe space for Randy to enjoy what you give him.” Ethan raised an eyebrow at him. “Questions. I know you have them.”

  Chenco did, but—“I think my questions are stupid.”

  “God, sometimes he reminds me so much of Sam, it’s creepy,” Randy murmured.

  Ethan swatted him lightly on the butt. “You’re about to hit my husband with a flogger, Chenco. I wouldn’t count any questions you have as stupid. Ask them.”

  “It’s not about flogging him, though. It’s—well, Randy, why are you doing this? Are you being nice or something? This feels a little weird.”

  Randy eased up from his position and glanced over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, I love getting hit. I like it when Slick does me, but I really dig a young, sweet thing working me over. Weird kink, maybe, but it’s mine. What I love is giving it back to the same sweet young thing after, but I prefer my teeth straight and all in my mouth, so that’s not happening with you.”

  “You’re saying Steve would hit you if you flogged me?”

  “No, but he would if I had sex with you. Or even thought about it. He’s batshit possessive of you.”

  Chenco flushed. “Sometimes I don’t know.”

  Randy snorted. “What the hell did you think him making you wear those big plugs to stop up his come was about?” When Chenco sputtered indignantly, Randy rolled his eyes. “Please. You have a stopper in you half the time you’re at home, and sometimes when we’re out. I know a plug walk when I see one. Plus I know how Monk falls. Hard and deep and jealous, that’s our Steve.”

  “Enough talking.” Ethan’s tone was stern, and Randy shut up. Ethan gave him a look both loving and weary, then turned to Chenco. “Yes, Randy enjoys this. What other questions do you have?”

  “What if I hurt him—too much, I mean?”

  “He’ll use his safe word—cactus—and you’ll stop. Or I’ll stop you, if I think you’re about to do something dangerous.”

  “But I don’t want to hurt him, not like that.”

  “It’s the risk you take, Chenco. You might. That’s why this for you, tonight, is about control. Not giving it but claiming it.”

  He was going to make Chenco come out and say it, wasn’t he? “But what if I can’t?”

  “Then you’ll stop. I agree with Randy, however. I think you’ll shortly find this is the part of you that you hadn’t known had been missing.” He handed Chenco the flogger. “Take your time. Warm up your arm. When you’re ready, give him a tap and see if I’m right.”

  Chenco took the flogger. He held it in his hand, measuring the weight, then swung it around a few times, feeling the rhythm and scraping up his courage. He stared at Randy’s broad, naked body, focusing on the subtle muscle, grateful Ethan had given him a pair of leather gloves as he was sure the flogger would have slipped from his hand otherwise.

  Control. Control. Get some fucking control. Centering himself, Chenco stood his ground and let the falls land on Randy’s back.

  Smack.

  Leather connected to skin, sending the reverberation into Chenco—he gasped, staggered backward, and almost dropped the flogger. As soon as it started to slip from his hand, however, he caught it fast and tucked it into his jeans.

  Oh, hell no, he wasn’t letting that go.

  Ethan leaned in and said in a wicked, velvet whisper, “Would you like to try again?”

  “Yes,” Chenco replied, in a rough voice he barely recognized as his own.

  This, Chenco decided, was better than sex. He loved subspace, yes, but ho
ly crap this was fucking awesome too. He was hitting Randy, striking blows on him that left angry red lines across the perfect pale skin, skin that marked like a dream, and it felt glorious. He was fucking hitting, and it was okay. Chenco hadn’t so much as taken a swing at anyone in the valley since he’d never been big enough to not end up a smear as a result. He sure as hell was swinging now. Control—oh fuck yeah. He could feel it curling around him, catching in his teeth, a contained, violent version of how Caramela managed a stage. This wasn’t Caramela, though, this was Chenco. This was his stage. His moment.

  Holy shit, he had to do this again.

  When Ethan’s quiet command called him to stop, Chenco felt dazed, like he was coming out of a room just north of subspace—not as disorienting, but still sacred and close. He hated to leave, but he realized something important then, something he’d forgotten: Randy. He felt a bit sick—if Ethan hadn’t been there, he’d have kept going, sailing away on the high of hitting. What if Randy had been too far under too? What if he’d sent him to the hospital? What if—?

  “Stop nagging yourself,” Ethan ordered gently. “Yes, I saw that you forgot him, but I didn’t. It was your first time. I got a bit lost too until I had it under control, though I suspect if you’d have been working him alone, you wouldn’t have let yourself go like you did. You knew I was watching you. You have more control than you think.” He nodded to Randy. “There’s lotion on my desk. Give him some water and smooth out some of those pretty red lines, so I don’t hear him moan and carry on all night long about how they sting.”

  Chenco gave Randy the water, which he took with a slightly trembling hand. It thrilled Chenco to see him undone like that, lost in the same place he’d been so many times—but when he started rubbing in the lotion, suddenly Randy was moving, twisting his body and pinning Chenco flat on the couch. He opened his mouth to say what the hell then froze, arrested by the heavy, intense heat in Randy’s gaze. Chenco’s dick, still half-hard from the thrill of flogging, rose to full mast.

  Grinning lewdly, Randy ground his hard cock against Chenco’s. At a sharp word from Ethan he laughed and drew back, though he kept Chenco in place. “I know, I know. No turnabout with this one.” He ran rough knuckles down Chenco’s cheek and gave him a grin that made Chenco’s insides dance. “You just think about this, baby, when you put in those sexy little plugs, and everything you monogamists are missing.”

  Chenco could barely breathe, let alone respond, but then Randy was gone, rising away from him and moving to Ethan, who murmured something in disapproval before taking Randy’s face firmly in hand and capturing his mouth in a greedy kiss.

  He watched for a bit, but pretty soon Chenco’s phone found its way into his hand, and before he knew it, Steve was answering his call.

  “Papi?” Voice cracking, Chenco cleared his throat and deliberately turned away from the two sexy, sexy men flashing him knowing looks. “I think I need to come home.” He heard Randy groan and swallowed hard. “Right now.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” Steve promised silkily, and hung up.

  “There’s another office next door.” Randy gasped. “Unlocked. Shit. Slick.”

  Chenco climbed off the couch and headed there, grabbing a glass of water on the way.

  Chapter Twenty

  AS CARAMELA’S DEBUT at Herod’s drew closer, as Chenco’s nerves began to settle and he found his feet in Vegas, both as a performer and as a member of the motley Tedsoe/Keller/Jansen/Ellison family, Steve admitted it was time he faced a hollow, uncomfortable truth—Chenco didn’t need him.

  He made himself sit with that revelation one afternoon in early May as he sat on the patio, taking a smoke break while a project uploaded to a client’s server. Everyone else was at work—Ethan at the casino, Mitch on a run to L.A., Sam at the hospital, Chenco at rehearsal, Randy teaching a poker clinic. Even Salomé and Daisy were absent, off sleeping in their cat condos. More and more lately these were his days, with the house to himself, working out of Ethan’s home office. It was not at all unlike his days had been in the RGV before Cooper’s funeral, except he didn’t have the feeds to watch and his internet connection was faster. There were better delivery options, and Randy kept the fridge stocked with gourmet-level snacks and quick meals. Not for five weeks had he worried about gangs at the cannery or whether or not he’d find Gordy dead and bloody in his nest of newspaper. It was the kind of quiet and peace he’d longed for.

  Steve had never felt so rudderless, so irrelevant, so lonely.

  The evenings when everyone returned were both better and worse. He’d grown accustomed to the chaos of living with five other men, had come to like it, but with everyone else happy and living their dreams, watching them joke and laugh and share the insights of their day, their challenges only served to make him feel more outside. It wasn’t that they excluded him—quite the opposite. Their drive and focus, however, in achieving the goals they’d set for themselves, wasn’t something Steve could share. For so long all he’d wanted was to help Gordy. When he first met Chenco, he hadn’t considered a relationship, only helping someone who clearly needed a leg up.

  Except the more he got to know Chenco, the more he realized his boy hadn’t ever needed anything. Oh, he’d been in a tight spot, and he hadn’t been happy, but he’d have figured something out. Ethan’s cats didn’t land on their feet as well as Chenco. This “rescue”, Chenco’s airlift out of the RGV, was simply a bonus round, a well-deserved assist for a young man who had been effectively sewing silk purses out of sows’ ears since birth.

  Chenco didn’t need Steve. Their sex was still fantastic, except ever since the night Chenco had flogged Randy, it seemed to Steve his lover was a bit more distant. Chenco wasn’t nervous, though, not the way he’d been before they left the valley, not like when they’d first arrived in Vegas. Gordy, from the few reports Steve had received, was making significant progress. Steve’s clients had less they required of him lately, to the point he’d had to actively seek out more to keep himself busy during the day.

  No one needed Steve, and he didn’t know what to do about that.

  After extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray Randy had left out for him, Steve went to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Jansen had one of those fancy single-serving makers with the coffee pods, which on the one hand made excellent coffee but on the other often made him a bit melancholy. He missed the homey waft of auto drip and the constancy of a twelve-cup carafe waiting for his next refill. He supposed that was a backward thing to pine for, but then it was how he felt lately—an irrelevant throwback, just like an automatic drip.

  Realizing he’d compared himself to a coffee maker, Steve vowed to seek out a gym membership. Clearly he needed something to challenge him or he’d be seeing philosophical statements in Jansen’s litter genie next. Shaking his head at himself, he collected his mug and headed to Ethan’s office.

  He had just sat at the desk and put his glasses on to work when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was someone’s delivery, Steve grimaced in irritation and rose, sipping his beverage before answering the door.

  It wasn’t a delivery person on the other side. It took Steve several seconds, however, to recognize who it was.

  “Gordy?” Steve opened the door wider and stood in the center of the frame, as if a more direct angle could disrupt the illusion. But yes, this was his old friend, neatly trimmed and washed, smiling the familiar smile that had been home in so many ways since Steve was seven.

  “Surprise.” Gordy laughed. “The look on your face. Are you going to let me in or stare at me?”

  Dazed, Steve stepped back and watched Gordy saunter into the foyer.

  Jesus, Gordy looked good. His skin almost glowed, probably because he’d been eating decent meals and not sleeping with rat feces. There was a fullness to Gordy, a sense of humanity he’d been missing for years.

  Heaviness eased in Steve, weight he’d carried since he’d turned his friend over to Crabtree’s care. This had been a good
move. He hadn’t dreamed to see Gordy looking so well. Gordy, standing in the foyer of a nice house, clean and smiling and normal.

  When Gordy turned around, Steve realized those blue eyes were a little too bright, and his shock gave way to quickly ripening caution.

  “Gordy, where’s Crabtree?”

  The mean, angry face Gordy pulled told Steve all he needed to know. “Fuck him. He has a house full of guys to play with. He won’t notice I’m gone. I miss you, Stevie. I want to be with you again.” With some effort, he smoothed his face into a smile. “I’ll be good. You’ll see.” The smile turned up, a bulb set too high. “It’ll be just like you wanted in the valley—I’ll live with you in a real room and everything. No feeds. I’ll be down the hall. Or at the foot of your bed, if you’ll let me.” When Steve tensed, Gordy’s coldness returned in a swift wind. “What? It’s not like you don’t have room here.”

  “This isn’t my house.” Steve thought about reaching for his phone to text Crabtree, Randy, anyone, but it was on Ethan’s desk next to his coffee. The foyer, clean and neatly appointed, suddenly seemed fraught with weapons—a vase could be smashed and used for its sharp edges, a hall tree could make a fantastic club. A crystal bowl was heavy enough to render Steve unconscious if Gordy swung it at his head.

  Gordy caught his inventorying and sneered. “God, look at you, freaking out because I might break something. Is that who you’ve become? A big pussy worried about me messing up someone else’s stuff? Like you couldn’t take them all out if you wanted. You don’t need to be afraid of them.”

  “I’m not afraid of them, Gordy. I’m respecting Ethan and Randy’s home. Which I can’t invite you into without their say-so.”

  “They invited him in.” The vitriol in Gordy’s tone made it clear it was Chenco he referred to. “Your little boy toy. God, what a fucking stick insect. What the hell do you see in the scrawny little shit?”

  “Watch your mouth,” Steve snapped.

  Gordy curled his lip in revulsion. “You shouldn’t be with him. You should be with me.”