by Rachel Ember
I have a meeting at 4, but I should be home by 5:30, Emile texted.
OK, came Jay’s answer. 6 pm, then?
Emile typed his reply with his thumbs as he stepped out into the hallway and the traffic of the students trekking to their classes. I’ll be there.
Jay arrived that evening and knocked instead of letting himself in, as had become their habit. The break in pattern set Emile slightly on edge, and then he was fully confused by the sight of Jay on his doorstep with his hands shoved in his pockets and his smile uncharacteristically dim.
“Hey. Thanks for saying I could come by,” Jay said as he stepped inside, though he seemed careful not to brush against Emile.
“Of course,” Emile murmured, his confusion deepening by the moment. He closed the door as Jay crouched down to pet Godot. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Jay said, standing up again. And although he looked slightly hesitant as he stepped toward Emile, Emile was still unduly relieved when he cupped the back of Emile’s neck and kissed him.
Emile was sure that something was off between them, though. “Are you sure?”
Jay nodded, but then he sighed. “Well, there are some… things. But I’m not even sure what they are yet. I’ve been thinking a lot, though… and at some point it occurred to me that it might be better if we just talked, instead of me deciding I understand shit that I probably don’t. Would that be okay?”
Emile nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’m very much in favor of talking.” He tentatively slipped his hands up over Jay’s shoulders and gently squeezed the taut muscle there. “Do you want a drink or something? I have some iced tea.”
Jay nodded and followed Emile to the kitchen, where he leaned against the countertop while Emile prepared two glasses, stirring the mixture vigorously to rouse up the sugar that had settled at the bottom of the container, and finally dropped a slice of lemon into each glass. He handed one to Jay and watched him take an uncertain sip before his entire face lit up in surprise.
“This is good. So sweet.”
“Where I come from, tea is always sweet,” Emile said with a wink. He took a sip from his own glass, and the wash of sugar along with the notes of acidity from the lemon soothed him just like they always did; a comfort food in liquid form. “That means that you have to drink it sparingly, but it always makes me feel a little better.”
“I can see why.” Jay took another deep swallow and smiled as he set his glass down. “I guess I’m lucky you happened to have it made.”
“Well,” Emile said ruefully, “I guess I needed it, the past couple of days. I had a feeling something was up with… well, us.”
Jay instantly looked sorry. “Oh, shit. I didn’t want to make you… I don’t know, need tea. I just—” He paused and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I just got a little freaked out.”
Emile was sure he must have gotten a bit pale; he could feel the blood ebbing out of his face. And Jay looked a little more panicked as he took in Emile’s shift in expression.
“Not about you! Or… not exactly. God, it’s so hard to explain, or to even know where to start.”
Emile carefully set down his own glass of tea and leaned against the island countertop that ran parallel to where Jay had slumped, so that they faced one another while staying a reasonable distance apart. “Take your time.”
Jay nodded, cleared his throat, and began again. “Okay, you know Bria?”
Emile nodded. Obviously, he knew her from his class, but Jay had also shared a little about their history—that they’d been childhood friends.
“Well, I asked her about some stuff at the beginning of semester. When I was… confused. Stuff about, I don’t know, consent. And, um, being kind of rough with people. BDSM stuff, I guess, even though that wasn’t how I was thinking about it at the time.”
It occurred to Emile that Jay was troublingly uneducated about their dynamic if he was going to refer to it as ‘BDSM stuff, I guess,’ but he decided that was a problem to be rectified at another time. “How did she react?”
“She was cool about it. She gave me some good advice. I didn’t say anything about you,” he rushed to add. “Or at least, not in a way that she would know who I was talking about, and nothing… personal.” Jay was blushing, which made Emile want to comfort him, but he stayed still and let Jay talk. “She said she wanted me to get to know the scene and learn, like… skills, you know. Sort of a mentorship.”
Emile simply nodded. Setting aside the uncanny coincidence that Bria was apparently at least a semi-experienced Dominant, it didn’t surprise him to hear that she’d offered Jay guidance. Sharing the benefit of one’s experience was common in the lifestyle, among both Doms and subs.
Jay took a deep breath and let it out, and then he finished. “So, the other night, when I told you I was helping her with something? Well, it was a… scene, I guess.”
Emile felt a chill ghost over his arms, and he folded them over his chest. “You mean, you… and her…?” It wasn’t like they’d ever set down any boundaries or claimed exclusivity, but Emile had assumed… well, like an idiot, and as always, he’d assumed that the powerful feelings he had were echoed not just in intensity but in their precise, monogamous nature.
He could have slapped himself for his own naivete.
Jay stepped forward and put his hands on Emile’s shoulders, squeezing hard. “No!” he said fiercely. “I didn’t do anything with her, or with anyone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t even really watch!” His cheeks were still bright and flushed, but his words and his grip on Emile were unwavering. “I wasn’t even tempted.”
Emile found that a little hard to believe, and his expression must have made his skepticism obvious—because Jay gave him a small shake for emphasis, and insisted, “I only want you.”
The fierce declaration startled Emile’s doubts. He’d never expected to be told such a thing and have someone mean it—everyone suffered from temptations. That was just human nature, and he and Jay barely knew one another—but Jay was also the most guileless person he’d ever known, and Emile could see that he meant what he said.
Humbled, Emile unwound his arms and tentatively touched Jay’s waist. “That’s… I’m glad.” His ego and anxiety thoroughly soothed, he couldn’t help being intensely curious about the rest of the story. “So, what kind of a scene was it?”
Jay’s hands slid down his shoulders to rub his upper arms, and he smiled ruefully at Emile’s teasing tone. “It was kind of wild. The whole set-up was about—um, this guy—being used by a bunch of strangers. And Bria was like, his stand-in Domme, I guess, for the night, but they’re not together. They just play sometimes, I guess?” He’d said the word ‘play’ like it was a vocabulary word he still hadn’t fully integrated, with an awkward emphasis. “And now I think I must have been completely clueless.”
“About… Bria?” Emile asked, not tracking Jay’s rushed words very well, but trying to understand what was bothering him so much.
“No. About you.”
Emile frowned. “I don’t think I understand.”
Jay squeezed his arms, and then he groaned, letting him go in order to push his hands through his hair, taking a half-step backward. “Like, if that’s what you need, can I even give it to you?”
“You think I need you to loan me out in public?” Emile asked, piecing the words together carefully.
Jay made a small noise and physically flinched. Then, he swallowed and asked with obviously forced calm, “No? I mean, I hope that’s not what you want.”
“It’s not,” Emile assured him, smiling and shaking his head. “Unless…” he paused. “I mean, if it was something that you’d want.” He thought about it; the idea held no particular appeal to him, but it wasn’t a hard limit. “We could talk about it, but—”
“No!” Jay said immediately, something dark and possessive flashing in his expression, and though it really wasn’t the time, Emile couldn’t help being pleased to see it. “No. It
isn’t something that would please me, and we don’t have to talk about it.” He pulled Emile close again and leaned their foreheads together. “I know… God, I know that there isn’t like, one way to do this. That not everyone has the same kinks, or whatever. But I also realize now how much I don’t know. How much I have to learn to be what you deserve, you know?”
Emile tilted his head to kiss him gently. “I’ve been to those kinds of things, years ago. I don’t seek them out. The formality, the audience… the community. It can be great for some people, but it’s never been something that I need. Or want, really, although if you were interested, I could be. It’s like I said that first night. What pleases you pleases me.” His heart kicked up as he realized something more, though. Could he really follow Jay into random scenes anywhere in the area, if that’s what Jay wanted? He and Ben had always been discrete, but for obvious reasons. Oliver was just as careful, and he had been brought along by his friend Nelson—an extremely powerful man with access to the kind of spaces where people never had to worry about being found out, given that the exclusivity and rigorous requirements on members were so impenetrable.
But Emile and Jay alone wouldn’t necessarily have access to that level of privacy, and Emile didn’t think his line of work disposed itself to people knowing his particular tastes in bed, not to mention the need to be discreet about him and Jay.
“I don’t think I’m interested,” Jay said, and Emile felt a surge of relief. He also wondered how many anxiety spikes he was going to have to endure in this one conversation.
“Then, that’s settled.”
Jay still looked cautious, leaning away from Emile to study his face. “But… is there something that you do want, that we’re not doing?”
Emile shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing already.”
“Nothing wrong,” Jay repeated, “but is it good enough? I know that I’m not experienced. Definitely not like the people at that thing Bria set up, and probably not like other people you’ve been with. Like that professor, Benjamin.”
Emile tried a smile. “And thank fuck for that, because Ben is kind of terrible.”
Jay huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look convinced.
Emile took a deep breath with his eyes closed and then opened them again, and he tried to be as brave as he could. “Jay. The way things are between us… I enjoy the way we have sex, and the way we play, so much. More than I have with anyone else. Do… do with that confession what you will, but please don’t worry that I’m unsatisfied.”
Jay’s eyes were wide and searching, as though for signs of insincerity. His hands walked back up Emile’s spine as his smile grew and his dimple bloomed, apparently convinced. “Really?”
Emile nodded, and he lifted himself onto his toes again, this time to kiss Jay’s cheek, feeling the divot of his dimple against his lower lip.
“It’s good between us because you’re so perfect,” Jay said. His nose drifted past Emile’s ear, and then his neck, not quite touching, but breathing deeply like he was sampling Emile’s aftershave. “When I’m with you, all these ideas come to me. Sometimes, I think I should plan in advance, but when I’m alone, I can’t think of anything. Even when I jerk it, it’s just to something vague, like the way you sound.”
A small, involuntary sigh escaped Emile at the thought of Jay jerking off to thoughts of him. Jay finally kissed his neck, and then he kept his mouth pressed there, where Emile imagined he could feel his smile.
“Like that, yes,” Jay murmured, crowding forward so that he was pinning Emile to the counter. “It’s when I’m with you that I know exactly what to do. I guess this is what people mean when they say they have a muse.”
Emile couldn’t help a laugh, in part because Jay’s breath was tickling him just behind his ear. “I think muses are supposed to inspire art, not sex acts,” he said softly, but his voice was breathy with happiness, and the effect of Jay’s warm hands touching him everywhere, albeit nowhere for long enough.
“Sex acts kind of feel like art with you, baby,” Jay said with perfect seriousness, and Emile’s heart somersaulted, so that he made another one of the noises Jay liked, which earned him a firm kneading palm to the ass that made him want to wrap his legs around Jay’s hips and rub against him like a pole dancer. He’d never necessarily cared for pet names, but there was something about Jay calling him ‘baby’ that he couldn’t get enough of.
Then, abruptly, Jay groaned and pulled away. “I have to go.”
Emile’s eyes had fallen half-closed, but now they sprang open. “What?” He scowled. “You’re joking.”
His indignation seemed to amuse Jay, who kissed his forehead, petted his hips a few times, and then stepped away with a regretful expression. “Nope. I have to have dinner with my parents, and I don’t have time to make art with you first.” Jay’s smile turned wistful. “I wish you could come with me.”
The idea made Emile’s stomach tight, even though he knew Jay wasn’t seriously inviting him. “Are you one of those rebellious youths who lives to shock their parents?”
Jay laughed. “I don’t think I’m capable of shocking them. My parents are ridiculous.” He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “Maybe you could come with me. Why not?”
Emile’s smile faded. There were moments where he remembered how young Jay was. He shook his head.
Jay sighed. “Right. I know you can’t. One day, you will have to meet them, though. They’ll say all kinds of obnoxious crap, for sure, and act embarrassing, but you’ll probably like them.”
“And they will hate me,” Emile muttered, but the thought of a future where they’d be known to all of the people in one another’s lives felt both impossible and wonderful.
“What, because you’re older?” Jay asked, as though he really didn’t know.
“And your former teacher,” Emile added, wanly.
“I think they’ll be thrilled,” Jay said, grinning again. “They’ve always thought I was too straightlaced.” He hesitated. “What about your mom? Could I meet her?”
Emile felt a rush of mingled anxiety and excitement at the thought of presenting Jay to his mother, and seeing them together. She’d never liked Ben, but that had had nothing to do with their age difference, as far as he knew, and more to do with her admittedly good instincts. He smiled a little, despite himself. “You would love her. Everyone loves her.” He hesitated. “I’m not going to stop you from telling your parents, but...” Emile trailed off as he imagined Jay’s parents making an outraged phone call to Walland about the professor who had seduced their son. “You don’t think they’d... tell anyone?”
Jay looked at him worriedly, obviously seeing some of Emile’s inner turmoil in his expression. “I know they wouldn’t, but—hey, don’t worry, okay? I’m not going to tell them.” He hugged Emile to him, and Emile let out a long breath until the shakiness of the moment before passed. Jay rubbed his back. “Sorry. I know we have to keep it a secret. I would never tell anyone without talking to you first, okay?”
Some of his anxiousness immediately eased by the assurance, Emile hugged him back. “Okay. Thank you.”
“But I really do have to go,” Jay muttered against the side of his head, and then he kissed him and pulled away, his eyes bright. “Do you still think you can come to the game tomorrow?”
Emile had actually been having second thoughts about going, but with Jay looking at him with such bright hope, there was no way he was changing his mind now. “Yes. I’ll have to go the airport tomorrow night, but my flight isn’t until eight. I’ll be there.”
In the face of Jay’s incandescent grin, Emile’s lingering misgivings slipped away.
Fifteen
Jay
November
Jay had never played a game while there was a guy he wanted to impress in the stands, and it gave him just the competitive edge he’d imagined it would. Even though Walland had a division I program, soccer attracted but a fraction of the audience that basket
ball and football did. He probably could have figured out exactly where Emile was sitting if he’d let himself stare at the stands for long enough, but he was trying not to be obvious. Jay’s parents, on the other hand, were situated prominently in the front row and impossible to miss.
The game was going beautifully until it wasn’t. In a tight group of players struggling for control of the ball, one of Jay’s teammates kicked at the wrong moment and, instead of connecting with the ball, he connected with Jay’s planted ankle, forcing it out from under him.
Before Jay fell, his arm had been outstretched to fend off the opposing players crowding near him, and when he fell, he didn’t pull it into his body quickly enough to take the hit on his shoulder. Instead, he landed hard on his left hand, and he both heard and felt something crack in his forearm on impact.
Before he knew it, he was lying in a hospital bed while his mother grumbled about the doctors and the standard of care, and how to casually let the nursing staff know that both of their patient’s parents were lawyers. Meanwhile, Jay was typing out a painstaking, one-handed reply to a semi-panicked text from Emile.
I’m fine, he promised, holding his phone against his knee with his right wrist and awkwardly hitting the letter keys with his left index finger. Only my pride is really hurt.
That wasn’t technically confirmed yet, but Jay felt sure that he hadn’t broken anything. He’d told his mother as much, too, but she hadn’t been reassured when he’d explained that he’d felt and heard a crack, but not a snap.
Watching her now, Jay was overcome by a combination of affection and weariness. Dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she was a petite woman with hair the sunny color of Jay’s, but threaded with silver in a way that made it almost metallic. Other than the gray hair, there was nothing about her that would have suggested she was a day over thirty. Growing up, Jay had constantly been reminded by his friends that his mother was, apparently, incredibly hot.