by R. J. Moray
But Nate and Ewan’s relationship wasn’t the same as Jack and Channon’s. Nate was wrangling a headstrong brat. Channon was (in Nate’s words) a ‘perfect little angel’. What Ewan needed and what Channon needed weren’t the same thing at all.
So. Maybe what Channon needed was Jack prying into his business.
He found Channon in the weights room, on the elliptical. Channon had a strict regimen of exercise each week and ticked off his tasks obediently and without fail. Now he eased up, slowing to a walk.
“Sir?”
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Jack said, propping himself against a wall. “I can wait.”
“I was doing extra,” Channon huffed, and he hopped off the machine to rub a towel over his face. “I’m good.”
Jack handed him a bottle of water and watched him squirt it down his throat. God, he was beautiful. Hot and sweaty and muscular, like a wet dream. Pretty, innocent Channon, who didn’t even know how pretty he was. He must have some idea by now, surely. What a perfect jock. And now such a nerd too, with his videogames and love of Stargate.
Bright and beautiful, and all Jack’s.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jack said, not exactly sure how to begin this. “You’ve been…I don’t know. Absent, lately.”
Channon blinked, and Jack saw the way his attention focused. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll pay better attention.”
“I’m not telling you off, sweetheart. I just wondered if there was a reason you were distracted. Something on your mind?”
Channon shook his head, but it was far too quick. “I’m good, Sir. Just…tired.”
Maybe he was. Maybe Jack was pushing him too hard. Maybe he should take something off Channon’s plate, though Channon disliked it when he did that so he had to be careful about it.
“You can talk to me,” Jack said, wondering if he’d created too wide a gap between them for Channon to feel comfortable just reaching out.
It had been part of the game in the beginning—for Jack to be up on a pedestal for Channon to worship, distant and deified. But now…things had changed. Jack didn’t want to be Channon’s god…well, not all the time. He wanted Channon’s trust, but not the blind trust of someone who didn’t know any better. He wanted Channon to know what he was, and still choose him.
He’d set himself up for this all by himself, a neat little noose to spring. He’d played the God King, and Channon worshiped at his altar, and now? He wanted Channon to want him as a man, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that, just human, in case Channon saw him for who he was and didn’t want it.
Fuck.
“You can talk to me any time you like,” Jack tried again. “About anything. I’ll always have time for you.”
Channon frowned. Just a touch, but enough. “I know. I don’t need it right now, though. I…need to work some things out. For me.”
Jack nodded, because there was nothing else he could do. “But if you want to. Or when you’ve come to whatever conclusion you’re working toward. You’ll come talk to me about it, right?”
It sounded needy, and Jack disliked it in himself. If Channon heard that, however, he gave no sign. “Of course, Sir.” And then he smiled, a broad, white smile. “Thanks.”
Jack reached for him and pulled his wet, sweaty body against the clean front of his shirt. “Always,” he said, and kissed him. It was slick and salty and objectively disgusting, but Jack closed his eyes, reveling in the musky scent of his boy, fresh and pure.
I love you, he thought. I didn’t know that was possible.
But it was, and now that he had Channon, Jack would do everything he could to to keep him. Even if it meant changing his nature. If Channon needed it, Jack would try.
❧
“Oh, fuck!”
Jack turned, glancing out over the party to trace Nate’s line of sight. “What is it?”
When he turned back, Nate was ducked behind a potted plant. “It’s Lionel.”
Ah. Jack suppressed a grin. “And you owe him money?”
Nate scowled at him. “He wants tech support. He always wants tech support. Someone needs to take away his admin privileges, I swear to God. Do you need the bathroom?” he added to Ewan, who was slouched insouciantly against the wall. “I should show you were it is.”
Ewan gave him a level look, and then a slow, devious grin spread across his face. “Nah, I’m good.”
Typical. Jack tapped Channon’s shoulder. “Go with Nate. Be good.”
“Yes, Sir,” Channon said, perfect as always.
Nate gave Jack a grateful look before sneaking away. Channon followed Nate obediently out of the room, leaving Jack and Ewan by the potted plant, and when Jack turned he found Ewan eyeing him narrowly.
“Can I help you?” Jack asked.
Ewan scowled, kicking at the floor. “You know, you remind me of this bloke I hate.”
It was unexpected. Ewan so rarely talked to him if he could help it. Jack found himself one part intrigued and the other defensive. “Do I? How so?”
“He was a right bastard, but he was honest.” Ewan wrinkled his nose. “Mostly. He never promised me nothing he didn’t mean.”
“I guess I should take that as a compliment,” Jack said, curious about where this was gong.
Ewan lifted his chin, his eyes sharp and dangerous. “If you say stuff to Channon, you’d better mean it.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll regret it,” Ewan said, but it wasn’t a threat, more like a promise.
He was right. Jack would. But whatever he meant by it now, Jack didn’t know. “Sage advice,” he said. “Do you want a drink?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to feed other people’s pets,” Ewan said, arching an eyebrow at him.
“I didn’t think Nate kept you on that short a leash,” Jack countered, and was rewarded with a sharp grin.
Before Ewan could answer, Jack felt a hand close on his elbow. “Master Jack! How are you?”
He turned to find his elbow in the possession of a very tall, very pale man with unfortunately droopy hair. He was wearing a purple shirt in a shade that didn’t suit him, and a black suede vest that suited nobody at all.
Lionel. Great. “Good, Lionel. And you?”
“Excellent, excellent.” Lionel rubbed his hands together in a way that always made Jack feel unaccountably sticky. “And, ah, your erstwhile companion?”
He meant Nate. “Around here somewhere, I imagine.”
A slim blond was waiting patiently at Lionel’s elbow, his eyes demurely downcast. Very twinky, very subby, and radiating an air of contentment. Good for him, Jack thought. But on the other side, an intensely pretty young man in a leather harness was staring around the room as if looking for someone. Or maybe, just an excuse to get away from Lionel.
Jack caught his eye and flashed him an encouraging smile. The boy flushed and looked away. So cute, with all those dark curls. Pity he was hanging round someone as dull as Lionel.
“Corey is under my protection,” Lionel was saying, indicating the boy in the harness. “And Pip is my Boy.”
Pip bobbed something like a curtsy, which was actually kinda cute. Jack took another look at him, noting his elegant frame and carefully coordinated outfit. Yeah, pretty cute too. “You must be very proud,” Jack said politely.
Lionel preened like a peacock. “I am, thankyou. Pip is new to his collar of consideration, however I think we make an excellent fit.”
Strange, the things that brought people together. Maybe Lionel was good for Pip.
Corey, though, looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, fidgeting as he snuck glances around the room. Definitely looking for someone. Jack was tempted to ask but he was aware of Lionel’s pompous ‘under my protection’. It wasn’t the done thing for Doms at Diana’s parties to speak to collared submissives they didn’t know, even if the collar in this case was invisible and obviously weak.
Ewan, of course, wasn’t a Dom and had no such compunction
s. “Hey, d’you wanna get a drink?” he asked, eyeballing Corey with suspicious interest.
The speed with which Corey turned to him, his face lighting up, was somewhat telling. “Yeah, sure,” he said. Ewan tilted his head in an invitation and the two of them ran off together before anyone could tell them not to.
Not that Jack would bother telling Ewan to do anything, pretty much ever. And Corey didn’t belong to him or Lionel, so he was free to do as he pleased. Jack sent up a tiny prayer that Ewan wasn’t going to get the both of them into trouble—only a tiny one, though, because frankly? Not his responsibility.
Lionel, however, looked deeply concerned. “Is your boy trustworthy?” he asked, his tone and expression grave.
“He’s not my boy. Mac belongs to himself.” It was true. Ewan—or Mac, here—was about as free-spirited as a human creature could get. Still, it wasn’t the whole truth. “He’s attached to Nate at present.” With no sign that it would change any time soon.
This didn’t seem to reassure Lionel at all. “Not a bad influence, I hope?”
“A very bad influence,” Jack said, but again it wasn’t the whole truth. “Corey’s safe enough. Mac has good intentions.”
Was that true? He felt it was. Though he disapproved of Ewan, and disliked him for the crime of Ewan’s not liking Jack, he had to admit that Ewan was good for Channon, and that while Channon wasn’t precisely a good judge of character he didn’t seem to care for assholes. So, while Ewan pretended to be an asshole a lot of the time, he wasn’t. Mustn’t be. Not if Channon liked him so much.
And Channon did. It had come as a surprise to realize just how much Channon cared for Ewan. It wasn’t simply attraction, or that he was flattered by Ewan’s interest in him. They spent too much time together for it to be something so thin.
Ewan, Channon said, was fun. Channon needed fun in his life.
So did Nate, if Jack was honest with himself. He forgot sometimes how self-absorbed Nate could get. Nate had a lot of acquaintances but he didn’t make friends easily, and he was (so obviously) head over heels for Ewan. For some reason. God, I don’t get it, but whatever he wants.
“Is Master Nate here tonight?” Lionel inquired, his solemn face shifting into something urgent. “I wondered if I might bend his ear on a teeny problem I’m having with my printer.”
There we go. “He was. I’m not sure where he’s got to.” Jack fixed Lionel with a look. “I don’t know that this is the right venue for that kind of conversation, however. I know I’m not keen on talking business when I’m off the clock.”
“Hardly business,” Lionel blustered, “more like a gentlemen’s arrangement.”
Meaning he didn’t want to pay anyone. Oh, fuck it. “Here’s my card,” Jack said, offering the one he used for play parties with his scene email on it. “Drop me a line and I’ll get you a number for a girl who can help you out.” One of Diana’s girls, who had a tech support business on the side and liked helping people—he’d cover the fee himself since Lionel probably didn’t have the budget for it and Chelsea needed the money.
One of the advantages of having more money than you knew what to do with was being able to buy yourself out of annoying social situations.
Lionel took it gratefully, frowning at the card like he’d forgone his reading glasses. Jack tried to think generous thoughts about him; Lionel was all right, just dull. That wasn’t a crime, after all.
Still, Lionel wasn’t the kind of person Jack would ever invite to join him in showing Channon some discipline and a good time. It wasn’t his looks, which weren’t his fault, nor his reputation, which was solid enough. Nor was it his technique—Jack found him technically competent, and trustworthy. In that regard he couldn’t fault him.
But for Channon? Lionel wasn’t the type to do what Channon needed. To be handled roughly. To be held down. To be threatened—a little. A touch of fear to add spice to the whole thing. Channon needed to feel dominated in a way that Lionel couldn’t provide, because Lionel enjoyed a very different kind of dominance. And Jack didn’t trust Lionel to be quite hard enough on him.
Plus, Jack just didn’t want to watch him with Channon. That was, honestly, the main reason.
Still, he didn’t deserve to be shunned or avoided just because Jack didn’t want to play with him. Jack caught Celestina’s eye and gave her a ‘staring into the camera on the Office’ look. She turned away, but he saw her detach herself from her conversation and come over, smiling a thin-lipped headmistress smile.
“Master Jack. I trust you’ve been good.”
Hah. Very funny, Celestina. “Quite. Mistress Celestina, do you know Lionel? He’s…a dominant I’ve known for some time,” Jack said, struggling to think of something interesting to introduce him with. “Celestina runs a disciplinary academy here in Santa Rita. You may have heard of it.”
Clearly Lionel had, but had never been invited. He blustered a little under Celestina’s attention, but she was good at this sort of thing, and deftly occupied the conversation.
Sometimes, play parties felt more like networking than fun. Jack mentally sighed to himself. There were about a dozen things he could think of right now that he’d rather be doing, though honestly most of them were Channon.
When he got Channon home tonight he’d put him in the bath, soap him up, get him nice and clean. Then he’d spread him out on the bed and rub him down with oil until he was slippery as a seal. And then he’d slide into him, slow, see how long he could fuck him before one of them came.
“Master Jack?” Celestina was obviously expecting a response.
Jack couldn’t help his smile. “I’m so sorry, I was distracted. What were you saying?”
Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Fuck Channon into submissive bliss. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for this party to be over.
Chapter Four
“Thanks, Channon,” Nate was saying, leading the way back through Diana’s house. “You have no idea how much it sucks to be asked for tech support from people you barely know.”
“Um. I worked help desk,” Channon said, wondering if that was out of line. They were at a party, and it wasn’t exactly high-protocol, but Channon was wearing his collar and generally that meant being on his best behavior. No back-talk, no cheek, no argument. But that was with Jack. Maybe it was different with Nate, who was generally far more relaxed.
In any case Nate just grinned. “Yeah, so you were being paid. Makes a hell of a lot of difference. Ooh, snacks.” He diverted to a table loaded with dishes of finger food—baked things and fruit slices. “Did you want something?”
“No thankyou, Mr Scott,” Channon said, thinking that yeah, he kinda did, but at this kind of party he didn’t feel one hundred percent confident in just helping himself to food, and he definitely didn’t want Nate to hand-feed him. That was a Jack thing. He wanted it from Jack, only.
Unless of course Jack told him to let Nate feed him. That was different. He didn’t mind if Jack said.
“Ah, Nathaniel.”
The sound of that voice sent a shiver through him. Channon dropped his chin, tucking his hands behind his back, and held very still.
“Hello, Mr White. You’re looking sharp, as usual.”
“And you are charming, as usual.” Mr White sounded amused. “I see you have forgone your usual company tonight. I hope everything is well with you.”
“Mac’s around,” Nate said, clearly unconcerned. “I was just showing Channon where the bathroom is.”
“Ah. If it is urgent, then he ought to go.”
“I don’t know how urgent it is,” Nate said, and Channon could hear him suppressing a chuckle.
It was humiliating to be talked about like he was a child who needed to go potty. But Channon kept his head down, just listening, until Nate squeezed his upper arm.
“It’s through there,” Nate said, lowering his voice to murmur in Channon’s ear, “if you wanna escape.”
“Thankyou, Mr Scott,” Channon said, taking advantage of this to sli
nk away, conscious of Mr White’s eyes on his back.
The thing with Mr White was that Channon knew how much he disappointed the polished older man with his own unsophisticated ways. He would never be good enough to make Mr White happy. Mr White’s standards were too high, and Channon could beat himself up over it or he could accept it as a fact and know that Jack didn’t care. Because Jack had said it: he didn’t care what Mr White thought of Channon. It was Channon’s job to live up to Jack’s standards, not Mr White’s. It felt good to know that, even when he hated disappointing anyone.
The bathroom was through a sort of mudroom, and Channon used it because he might as well. It was, like the rest of the house, decorated in white, with a lot of white-painted curly fixtures. He checked his hair in the mirror. It looked good. When had he become the sort of person who cared about his hair? he wondered, but of course he did. He wanted to look good for Jack.
Could even make that Tiffany jealous, he hummed, and stuck his tongue out at himself. Ridiculous.
But Jack’s. That was the main thing.
He still had that song in his head as he stepped out of the bathroom. A woman was waiting in the mudroom, silhouetted in the doorway.
“I know you,” she said, and then he recognized her.
She looked different. Now her hair was cropped short in a bob, dyed a vibrant red that matched her lipstick, and her dress was cut in a school-girl style, long socks pulled up over her knees to leave only a few inches of thigh bare beneath her skirt. There was something anime about it, something that made it look less like clothes and more like a cosplay. It was distracting enough that it was no wonder it took Channon took a moment to place her.
“Alice,” he said, surprised. Then he stiffened, looking around instinctively. The last time he’d seen Alice she’d belonged to Mistress Gwendolyn, and Mistress Gwendolyn was possibly Channon’s least favorite person in the scene. She was always touching him, telling him things he didn’t want to hear. Bullying? Maybe not. But he didn’t like her and he didn’t want her to creep up on him.
Alice tucked her hands behind her back, eyeing him with a pout. She was in the doorway, blocking his exit. He was, of course, bigger than her and could easily push her out of the way but that wasn’t something Channon did, so yeah, she was very much blocking his exit.