by Jaime Samms
“Thought what?” Vance asked.
Len let out a sigh, and Vance knew Len had read the look on his Dom’s face correctly; Vance wasn’t going to back down.
“You’ll answer my questions, boy. You don’t need to think.” He kissed Len’s parted lips briefly. “You just need to do as yer told.”
Len stared up at him, eyes liquid behind tears he had yet to shed.
“You want to talk about what happened?” Vance asked again.
“I talked to Trev.”
Vance grunted.
“But you know that,” Len whispered, dropping his gaze. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugged and brought his knees up until they contacted Vance’s thighs. “Everything was the same.”
“Everything?”
A small sniffle sounded, and Len bent his neck and squirmed closer so the top of his head pressed against Vance’s breastbone. “The way he looks. The way he moves. The way he looks at me.”
Len was clearly distressed. His erection was gone, and he had pulled so deeply in on himself, he was a small ball in the center of the bed.
“How’s that, darlin’?”
“He’s afraid of me.”
Vance petted Len’s back but said nothing.
“I never saw it before. He doesn’t see it. But it’s there. He’s scared of me. I hurt him so bad.”
Vance caressed featherlight down Len’s spine, breathed deep, held his tongue. So many things he could say. Platitudes he could give, reassurances. Len relied on him for honesty, though, and so he said nothing.
“I can’t believe I was his Ace,” Len said softly. “I mean. I can believe it. I know I was. But…. He says it doesn’t matter anymore. That he’s over it, and then he looks at me, and there’s that thing in the back of his eyes. Like a hurting animal, waiting to be hurt again. Expecting to be hurt again. He can’t forgive me because he doesn’t trust me not to do it again.”
He shifted and squirmed until he could look into Vance’s eyes. “You have that.”
Vance blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Sometimes, when you look at me, I see it in there. Not the same, exactly, but a thing in there, waiting for me to lash out. To hurt you.”
Goddammit, why had he picked now to turn his hand to utter honesty? “Len—”
“Don’t say I’m wrong,” Len warned. His body had cooled under Vance’s touch. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter. Say it.”
“Don’t think you’re in charge here, boy.”
“And don’t think you can be if you can’t be honest.”
So fucking true. Vance searched his face, his eyes, feeling out the truth in the lines and planes of his body.
“You’re right,” he said at last. He didn’t hesitate, but flicked open the carabiner at Len’s wrists.
“No!” Len shot up. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean—”
Vance got off the bed and paced to the window, then back to the bed to look down on Len. “Maybe you threw one too many punches. I don’t know.”
“Vance….”
“You wanted the truth.”
“Need it,” Len said softly, stricken.
“Truth is, you scare me. Yer temper, yer moods. It’s scary, yeah. I can’t control them, and that’s been my mistake.” He tossed the small metal clip on the bed and it bounced, hit Len’s hip, and settled, a shimmery, blue brightness against the plain white of the sheets. “But I ain’t gonna tie you up, have you helpless and then tell you ya scare the crap outta me, Len. That ain’t healthy. But I can’t always handle you, so you have got to handle yourself. Trevor is scared of you for a reason.”
“I know.” He looked so small. So damn frightened. So alone.
“I ain’t scared yer gonna hurt me physically.” He gestured to Len, then held both arms out at his sides. “I can take ya.”
Len sniffled up at him.
“But I cannot be the man who gets into a brawl with you when you get mad or scared, and be the one who ties you up. I can’t let you lash out, hit me, and then punish you for it. Truth is….”
Truth was, he didn’t know what to do. He had thought, back in the car, he knew how to calm Len, how to bring him back to stable and secure. But he knew you didn’t tie a wild animal up until all the wild was gone. That didn’t tame them. It broke them. And just because an animal ate out of your hand didn’t mean it wouldn’t snap your fingers off if it felt threatened.
Of course, Len wasn’t an animal. He could think and feel and understand what he was doing. Most of the time.
“Truth is what?” Len asked, very small. Very hesitantly.
“Truth is, Len, I don’t know how to do this.”
And there it was, right there in his sub’s eyes, plain as day. Abject fear. A glance at the cuffs, at his still-bound feet. What sub didn’t react with terror when his Dom said something like that? He trusted Vance to keep him safe, sane, and here Vance was telling him he didn’t know if he could. It went beyond something worrisome into nightmare territory. Vance knew. Hadn’t Jacko once told him this exact same thing? That he didn’t know how to keep Vance safe and sane when Vance went on a binge?
“You listen to me,” Vance said, latching on to that memory and kneeling on the floor next to the bed.
Len was scrabbling at the carabiner at his ankles, but Vance caught his hands.
“Listen for one minute, Len.”
Maybe the trust wasn’t all gone, because Len stopped and looked at him.
“When I was with Jacko, and you know how that man is. He don’t sub for no one.”
“Doesn’t,” Len mumbled.
The correction brought Vance up short, and he started back a fraction.
“Doesn’t sub for anyone,” Len said.
“I… um. Okay.”
“Sorry.”
Vance had to let out a laugh, letting the grammar lesson soften his edges. “He doesn’t sub for anyone. It was before he trained me to be a proper Dom. Before I knew anythin’ about myself but that I liked fuckin’. That I liked men under me, that I liked the high of booze and fuckin’ and bein’ worth a million smiles and screams and all that fuckin’, intoxicatin’ attention.”
He searched Len’s face, searched for the judgment for admitting he hadn’t always been in control.
Len watched him back, waiting.
“When he took me in, I was a mess, Len. I didn’t have any interest in his rules or requirements, but I liked the way he made me feel, those few times when I paid attention, when I listened. I liked the way I wasn’t screaming headlong over a cliff if I was tied to his bed. But when I came to him drunk, he refused me. Every time. He let me sleep on the floor at his feet, but he wouldn’t do another damn thing with me until I was sober and not feelin’ the aftereffects. He finally told me, one day when I was a sorry, tired, pathetic wreck at his feet, that I scared him. When I was on a binge, rampagin’ and drunk, he couldn’t control me. He didn’t dare try. He was afraid he’d ruin me, and he was right. But God, honey, that hurt to hear.
“That a guy as tough, as brutally rigid as Jacko couldn’t hold me down was like a death sentence to me at the time. Until I realized—”
“Why did you drink? If you needed him to keep you so bad, and he wouldn’t when you were drinking, why didn’t you just stop?”
“Because I was a dumb-ass cowboy who had a whole lot of shit to prove. At least, that’s who I was for a really long time. I ricocheted between Jacko’s restraints and Stan’s bloody-minded surrender, and had no idea which one it was I wanted.” He cupped Len’s face. “It weren’t until Stan told me to stay away from him that I began to figure my shit out. He told me he’d manage my career, but I wasn’t to come anywhere near him otherwise. He was my best friend. I’d fucked that up, and I went to Jacko, completely lost. He took the bottle away from me then. Maybe he knew I couldn’t do it myself. I still spent six months pretty much sleepin’ on his bedroom floor and beggin’ him, but he
got me straightened out, finally. When I’d sober up, and he sat me down to talk, I knew there was never goin’ to be another night I would ask for his bed or sleep like a dog beside it. Not like that. The only reason I ever let him dominate me in the first place was because I needed someone to control me. I couldn’t control myself. Once I had a handle on my demons, it was a no-brainer to know I wasn’t a sub. I couldn’t let go again like I had when I was desperate.
“But he taught me, and I learned how to give him what he wanted, even when I wasn’t comfortable with it. I learned because he said I had to know how it felt when I was on the other side of the whips and cuffs. He said I needed to be able to feel what my subs would feel, so I did as I was told. By then it was my choice, and that’s what it had never been before. Even when I wasn’t actually drunk, I was still a user. I was still out of my mind with the immensity of what my life had become, and if it weren’t the booze, it was Jacko I needed. Or Stan. And they both shut me down. When all I had left was a choice between the bottle or gettin’ my life back, I chose my life.”
He stopped talking and for a few moments, watched the rise and fall of Len’s bare chest. The rhythm matched his own heavy breathing. The pattern of freckles swelled and shrank with every motion, and Vance didn’t realize the change in them until he felt Len’s hand on the side of his face.
“How did you convince him you’d stopped drinking?”
Vance snorted. “How do I convince myself I’ve stopped?” He shrugged and sat back on his heels, forcing his gaze up to Len’s. “I say it to myself again, every single day. I tell myself when I wake up, I ain’t gonna drink today. When I’m pissed off and want a whiskey, when I want a cold beer ’cause I worked my ass off an’ I deserve it, when I want wine with my boy at dinner, I remind myself, I ain’t havin’ a drink today. Tomorrow’s another day, and tomorrow, I’ll say it again. If there’s another way, I haven’t found it.”
“Then how do you expect me to promise you I’m not going to use the anger? That I’m going to never lose my temper ever again? You can’t promise me or Jacko or Stan you’ll never pick up a bottle, never get drunk again. But you try every day to make it real, and you do okay.”
Vance nodded.
“I can only do the exact same thing. I can’t ever promise him, or you, I’ll do a perfect job of never letting the anger and fear dictate how I act. I can only promise you I’ll try. I don’t know how to make that good enough. I don’t know how to make that enough of a guarantee so you can trust me again.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his hand fell away from Vance’s face. “If that means you can’t be my Dom, then you can’t. You can’t be my boyfriend either, because I know enough about myself to know I can’t have one without the other.”
Nothing ever hurt quite like the breakup speech that left the decision in the hands of the dumpee. Vance stood and grabbed his jeans. What else was he supposed to do?
“If that’s the way you feel,” he said, thrusting a foot into the denim and nearly falling on his ass as his foot got caught in the crotch, “then I can respect that, darlin’.” He’d have to.
Len watched in silence as he struggled with the denim, as his foot caught again in the folds, and then his sub slipped from the bed and gracefully kneeled before him and straightened the pants.
“I’m sorry my promise to try isn’t enough,” he said, still so soft and small as he held the jeans for Vance. “But it doesn’t matter if you leave me. I’ll still try. Because I have to. Because I can’t keep ruining everything and everyone I touch. Maybe someday, when I’m better, when I’ve proved to you that I can do better, we can try again.”
Someday. That was a lifetime. An eternity. Vance gazed down at the mess of red waves, the squared shoulders, and though Len’s head was bent, his gaze on the floor at Vance’s feet, he wasn’t curled in on himself now. His back was straight, his shoulders firm. His feet stuck out from under his butt, the cuffs peeping at Vance, a tiny sliver of color against all the pale flesh. His heart hurt.
He took the jeans and stood with them, watching Len, so uncertain. He could stay. He could keep fumbling forward, keep trying. He should stay. Shouldn’t he? God, why wasn’t there anyone to tell him what to do? How to handle this? Why had it seemed so straightforward in Boston, so clear then what Len needed? Why wasn’t it clear now?
Len stroked the fabric hanging limply from Vance’s hands. Vance thought about pulling it away, moving back, and getting dressed. He didn’t move. Len closed fingers around the material and tugged, once, twice, and on the third pull, Vance let go. Len folded the jeans carefully and laid them on the floor in front of his knees.
“How do I stay?” Vance asked, and only realized he’d asked out loud when Len looked up.
“How did Jacko keep you?” Len countered.
“He took me at my word.” Vance held a hand down in front of Len, who took it without hesitation and held up the other, letting Vance support his awkward rise. “He outlined what would happen if I started drinkin’ again. I knew what the consequences were if I did. Gave me the freedom to make that call for myself.”
Len nodded. “You already told me what would happen if I hit you again, and so far, I’ve been good.” He flushed and pulled free. “I mean, I’ve kept my temper. I’ve….”
Vance touched his cheek. “You have, darlin’.”
“So don’t leave.” His eyes, golden flecked and luminous, held Vance in place.
“You want me to stay? Knowin’ I might screw us both up?”
“Well, I might too. It didn’t need to be about kink or dominance for me to screw up the last time. I’ve never even been in a relationship where I actually talked to the guy.” He smiled, and the gold in his eyes brightened. “This is weird. New. I don’t expect you to be perfect.”
“You don’t know how terrified you looked just then when I said I wasn’t sure what I was doin’, darlin’.”
“So you fucking don’t know everything.” Len scowled at him, and it was almost comical, that dark look as he stood there naked, his ankles bound so he couldn’t do anything but balance, waiting for Vance to accept this thing or walk away. “How does that make you different from any other guy on the goddamn planet?”
“I’m different because I’m your Dom. I—”
“And you’re a drunk, and you’re a country music star, and a rancher, and a lot of other things.” Len closed his eyes, and he looked so defeated and tired, and everything Vance had felt in the car about what his lover needed washed back over him. “Please,” Len whispered. “I’m done. I need—”
“I know.” Vance wrapped him up in his arms and lifted him back onto the bed. He was offered no resistance as he laid Len on his back. In fact, Len lifted both his arms once he was down and held them, cuffs together, against his chest. He didn’t ask for the bondage. He simply lay still, gazing up at Vance, waiting.
Making the decision, Vance nodded. “Okay, darlin’. I had to say it. I had to give you the same truth you give me. Yeah. I’m scared. Scared I’ll make everything worse for you. Scared I’ll do the wrong thing. Scared I can’t make it right.”
“Make what right?”
“Everything. Your world. Your life.”
Len placed a single finger over Vance’s lips. “I don’t need you to make my world right, Vance. I need you to make it safe. I’ll make it right.” He sighed, let his hand drop back against his chest. “I’ve been trying so hard to keep everything inside from falling apart, ripping apart, really. Some days it feels like I’m bleeding out. And then today, with Trev, I saw it. I saw all the crap I’ve been holding on to, trying to preserve because it was what I knew, because it felt like me, and I realized: I don’t have to be that guy anymore. Yeah, it’s hard to let it go. But it’s like Doc Stanton keeps trying to get me to realize. I have to choose to be what I am or choose to be someone better. Maybe it’ll be hard to be something else, whatever is left when all that shit is gone. Not to feel like a hollowed-out shell of what I was. But what’s the alterna
tive? Be the guy who makes domestic violence statistics real? I don’t want to be him anymore. I’m better than that.” He stopped talking, skidding to a halt, his words crashing up and over themselves into a tangled pile, and he stared up at Vance. “I am better than that.”
Vance kissed him softly. Reassuring him he was more than the guy who’d done the wrong thing once.
“Yeah, baby. You’re better than that.”
Len cupped Vance’s face and closed his eyes. “I’m not who I was,” he whispered. “With Ace or with Trev. I’m yours now, and you can have me. Any way you want me.”
Vance kissed both palms and stroked through the curls spread over the bed. “I want you under the covers again. It’s late, you’re tired. I’m tired. Git in bed and we’ll git some sleep. We’ll see what else comes, darlin’, yeah?”
Len nodded. “Yeah.” He wiggled and squirmed his way to the pillow and let Vance pull the covers up. His hands, though not bound together, were still close to his chest, cuffs still meeting. It was clear he wanted the security. Vance knew how that small token bondage eased his tension. The carabiners were easy to fasten, quick and easy to release. He knew Len would sleep better, feel safer, if he had them in place. Still, he held off, keeping the metal clasp tucked into his fist as he crawled in next to his lover and instructed him to turn over, so he could spoon him.
Maybe it was asking for trouble, leaving his hands free. History had proved, more than once, that emotional things like this gave Len’s sleeping mind more to work with, made him dream, and the dreams were rarely pleasant. Rarely gentle. He could wake with a few new bruises. But Len couldn’t help what happened in his sleep, and Vance had to believe there would be an end to the nightmares someday. He wanted to save the gear for the times Len did dream, make it a signal to his sleeping self that Vance was there, everywhere, ready to fight off the demons Len couldn’t quite lick.
For now, he wrapped his big hand around both of Len’s and kissed his temple. “Sleep now,” he instructed.