by CB Conwy
"I want to take you into the playroom. For a massage," Mischa added when Tom opened his mouth to protest. "It's about time you let yourself feel good. We won't do anything else, just a massage."
"Red."
Mischa blinked. "What?"
"Red. I don't want to do it." And Tom turned on his heel and left, closing the door to the library behind him without looking back.
Mischa stood back, blinking. Tom had safeworded. And left him. Mischa took a step to follow Tom; then he stopped again. Tom had safeworded. Just to get out of being touched. By him.
As Mischa stumbled back to his office, he tried to tell himself that it only showed how miserable Tom felt. It was no good; the despair came anyway. Tom was so desperate to avoid him that the boy safeworded.
Mischa sank down in his chair, his eyes following the swirls in the painting on the wall. He had always found it erotic, with its curves and colors. Right now, it mocked him, told him what he couldn't give Tom anymore. What Tom didn't want from him anymore.
He wondered if he should just let Tom go, if that was what Tom couldn't find a way to tell him. Maybe the boy felt obliged to Mischa for letting him stay here. It really stung to think that that might be the only reason Tom stayed.
Or maybe it was his only opportunity. Tom wasn't well off, and he hadn't been able to take care of himself during the last couple of months. Perhaps this was just his recovery home and he wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. The thought that maybe it was only Mischa who had been seeing this as something permanent was devastating.
It was also insupportable. What they had had before Tom's beating was more than Mischa had ever felt before, and he was not about to give it up without a fight.
It was after midnight when Mischa finally left the office and went through the quiet house. He had made a decision.
***
When Mischa got up the next day, Tom was still asleep next to him. Tom often slept in lately; not because he was lazy, but because he lay awake most of the night. Like last night, Tom always pretended to be asleep, but Mischa could hear it in his breathing.
They didn't meet until lunch. Tom was in the kitchen when Mischa got there, making coffee. That was another thing; the boy didn't eat much anymore.
Mischa made a bee line to Tom, gripping his shoulders firmly and making him look up in surprise.
"I'm not going anywhere. I know you don't feel all right, but I'm not going anywhere."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Well, maybe you should."
"I'm not going anywhere." Mischa held his eyes.
Tom looked searchingly at Mischa for the longest time, his face inscrutable. Then he sighed and leaned his head on Mischa's shoulder. It was only his forehead that was actually touching Mischa, but the gesture still made Mischa's heart leap. Then Mischa carefully stroked Tom's hair.
Tom only stayed a few seconds like that, then he pulled back and looked into Mischa's eyes again. Tom nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then he grabbed his mug and turned to go back into his study.
"No. You're going to eat." Mischa made sure his tone told Tom that this wasn't up for discussion.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "I am?"
"You are. Sit down." Tom's eyebrow stayed up, but the rest of him sat down. Mischa nodded and started making a light lunch. He was going to take care of Tom, and feeding his boy was a basic. The rest would have to follow along the way.
***
Mischa felt just a little nervous. It was the right thing to do, but he was still anxious to see how Tom would react when he found out where they were going.
It had been easy enough to get him out of the house. Mischa had told Tom that he had an appointment. Tom's memory was still shot, but he tried to hide that, too, and since he didn't want to reveal that he had forgotten the fictitious appointment, he had just nodded and gotten into the car. The charade didn't sit well with Mischa, but the determination to make Tom feel better won out.
Tom was staring out of the window during the drive, and it wasn't before Mischa pulled up at the dojo that he woke up from his trance.
"This isn't the doctor's office." Tom looked at Mischa, frowning.
"No, it isn't."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Have you gotten me a therapist without telling me?" His voice was low.
"No. You said you didn't want one. I've gotten you a sensei."
Tom looked completely bewildered. "A sensei? As in a karate one?"
"Yes." Mischa turned toward Tom, serious. "Something has to happen. You can't go on like this." Tom stared at him for a long time.
"Are you sure that it's a good idea for someone who got attacked to do martial arts?" Tom's voice was carefully neutral.
"I do. And so does Phil."
"Your karate friend is called Phil?" Tom sounded incredulous.
"Yes?" Apparently, Tom never stopped surprising him.
"You can't be named Phil and do karate." Tom sounded very sure of that.
"Well, you'll have to talk to him about that. You have an appointment with him in two minutes." Mischa knew he wasn't playing fair; Tom hated being late more than anything. But he was going to make his boy better, even if he had to drag Tom kicking and screaming all the way there.
Tom scowled at Mischa, but he got out of the car. Mischa was actually surprised that it hadn't been harder.
They went into the house and left their shoes at the door like the sign told them to. Mischa opened the door and stepped into the dojo, looking to see if Tom was going to follow him. He got a "we're so going to talk about this later" stare, but Tom did follow. The relief welled up in Mischa.
Phil had been doing a series of complicated movements in the middle of the large dojo, but when they entered the room, the sensei stopped and came over. Mischa only stayed long enough to introduce Phil to Tom, and then he turned toward his lover.
"I suspect you want me to wait outside instead of in here?"
Tom's eyebrow did its thing. "Yes, please." Nobody else could put that much meaning into two little words. Mischa spontaneously leaned in and kissed Tom before he turned and left. Now it was up to Phil to coax his boy back to life.
***
So. Karate. Tom really hadn't seen this one coming. He didn't have much time to think about it, though.
"Have you ever done any martial arts?" Phil didn't look much like a Phil. Phils were slightly overweight men in their forties who played football with their kids in their gardens. Each and every Phil Tom had ever met had been exactly like that. This one was fit and kind of young, too. And Tom was distracted.
"No. Never. And I'm not in very good shape, either." Tom shrugged apologetically.
Phil smiled. "Don't worry, we'll get you there. Mischa told me that you were attacked. Do you have any physical injuries from that?"
"No. But I tire easily, and I can't focus for more than short periods at a time." Tom narrowed his eyes. "What else did he tell you?"
"Nothing, basically. He called me and asked if I thought this would be a good way for you to regain your strength. And I think it is."
"I guess I can try it. But I don't want to fight." Tom was going to keep his appointment, but he wasn't going to let anyone hit him again.
"I don't want you to. What I'm going to teach you is some basic techniques -- that's called kihon. If you want to use the punching bag at the end of your lesson, you can do that, and perhaps we'll do some kata, too."
"That was the thing you were doing when we came in? It looked cool." Tom might feel terrible, but he had to get the best out of the next 60 minutes.
"Yeah? I can teach you one today if you'd like."
"Okay. Even if I don't think I can do what you just did."
"Oh, you're not supposed to. You learn the easiest ones first. I'll teach you the movements separately, and then we'll put them together." Phil sounded very enthusiastic. Tom had his doubts, but he kept them to himself.
Phil came across as a pretty easy-going guy, and it made the training a lot more fun. The sensei tau
ght Tom some blocks and punches and a couple of stances, making him repeat them up and down the floor and correcting them until Tom did them right. Phil did demonstrate which block went with what punch, but the sensei always made Tom do the punch. Tom was relieved about that; he had no idea how he would react to getting attacked -- and he didn't particularly want to find out.
Tom tired quickly, but he got a couple of breaks to get some water and juice. It was exciting, though, especially when he got to put the movements together into his first kata. He was practicing it when Mischa came back, and his lover came over when Tom finished.
"That looks good!" Mischa sounded impressed, and Tom couldn't help feeling proud. He was drenched in sweat and his muscles were shaking with fatigue, but he felt really good.
Phil smiled. "Yes, he's got a talent for it. When would you like to have your next lesson?" Before Tom got to think about it, he had made another appointment with Phil.
Phil looked at Mischa. "You remember the stretching?" Mischa nodded. "Great. Be thorough and make sure he gets enough to drink. You might want to get him more juice or some food on your way home."
Mischa nodded and took Tom to a small room next door where the floor was covered with mats. He made Tom lie down and started bending Tom's leg, leaning in on it. "So, did you like it?" Tom's heart melted a little by hearing how hard Mischa tried to keep his voice casual.
"Well..." Tom was teasing; he wasn't going to forgive Mischa that easily.
"Well what?" Mischa made him feel the stretch.
"Oh, god! I'm not sure this is good for my butt."
"It is. What were you going to say?"
Tom took a deep breath and let it out while he felt his tired muscles loosen up. "Well, in principle I hated it, of course."
"Of course." Christ, Tom might have met his equal in sarcasm. Or perhaps Mischa was just a quick study. "And in reality?" Mischa let go of his leg and started on the other one.
"In reality, it didn't suck. I liked the kata at the end." Tom had been tricked into this; this was as much of an admission as Mischa was going to get.
Mischa smiled down at Tom, his eyes shining. "You're not that good at lying when you're high on endorphins." Mischa let Tom's leg down and sat behind him, starting on stretching his arms.
"Shut up and let me fly." Tom was high as a kite from the exercise. Mischa chuckled and kept up the stretch. The close contact was nice, and Mischa worked him through, making him drink in between the stretching. Tom was all loose and relaxed when Phil came in.
"You can take a shower in the locker room on the other side of the hallway, if you like. I'll see you Friday."
Tom managed to get up, his legs only a bit wobbly. It was really nice to know that the feeling came from using them, not from being beat up.
"I had a great time today. Thanks a lot." He did. Even if he still had some Mischa-ass to kick.
***
Tom was quiet on the ride home, obediently munching on the peaches Mischa had gotten him. Eating didn't seem as hard as it usually was; he was thirsty after the workout, and the fruit was just what he needed.
"So?" Mischa broke the silence when they had put the city behind and the fields opened up around them.
"So what?" Tom had been looking out of the window, still floating.
"Do you hate me now?" The words weren't joking, and that fact made Tom sit up straight. He turned in the seat.
"I never hated you."
"You acted that way." Mischa's words weren't accusing, just sad, and it shocked Tom so much that he had to think before he answered.
"I didn't. I don't. I just don't know... I'm not who I thought I was." Fuck, that sounded so inadequate. And still, it was way more than Tom had ever intended Mischa to know. Some things were better left unsaid.
"What do you mean?" The tone was gentle, inquiring. Not mad at him.
"I don't know. I... can't explain it." Tom looked down. He didn't even know why he was so fucked up. He just knew he was.
"Try." For a demanding asshole, Mischa could sound really kind.
Tom gestured helplessly. "I'm not sure. It's not important, I'll get better, I swear."
"Tell. Me." Now Mischa's voice was low, commanding. Tom felt both a shiver of excitement that had been absent for months -- and dread of what telling Mischa would do to them.
"It won't do any good." Tom knew he was stalling, but he couldn't do this. He had already said too much and he had never imagined this conversation taking place in a car and he didn't want everything to be over yet.
"Let me decide that. Tell me. Now."
Tom felt angry and sad, and in the end, he just gave up. "I'm not who I thought I was. I thought I was happy and good for you, and I'm not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it so hard on you. You don't deserve that."
"That's pretty stupid, don't you think?"
Tom turned toward Mischa, astounded. Then he got angry. "Well, I'm sorry you think that. I won't bother you with my stupid explanations anymore."
"They're not stupid. But it is stupid to think that you can be the victim of a very violent attack and be all happy go lucky afterward. You can't, and I don't expect you to."
"Well, it wasn't what you signed up for." Tom couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"It was exactly what I signed up for. Do you remember our talk after Toby's first visit? This isn't just about wild sessions in the playroom."
"Well, good, because you don't get any of those anymore, either."
"I don't, at the moment, and that's okay. What's not okay is you not talking to me."
"'At the moment.' What if it's not just 'at the moment'? What if this..." Tom gestured helplessly, "if it's going to last? What if I can't be like before? What if the person I thought I had become, the happy person who had the guts to be with you, what if that was only a phase and this is the person I really am? I wasn't exactly overly happy and confident before I met you; what if I can't be what you deserve?" Tom started crying, and that just made him even more despondent.
Mischa had just turned onto the small road through the woods, and now he pulled over and killed the engine. He reached out for Tom, and Tom drew back, crying harder and leaning on the door. Mischa cursed, and then he pulled at Tom, hard, until Tom was in his arms.
It only made everything worse to feel Mischa' s arms around him, and Tom cried so hard he couldn't breathe. This was what he was losing. Mischa rubbed his back and mumbled soothing words to him, and slowly, Tom managed to stop crying. He was exhausted, though, and just stayed where he was.
"Better now?" Mischa gently rubbed his back.
"No." Tom wasn't, even though he did feel strangely relieved. But he had said way too much.
"Why not?"
Tom felt empty, worn out. "I can't stay with you like this. It isn't what you want, what you need."
"Huh." Mischa hugged him. "You may be very smart, boy, but you're rubbish at reading minds."
Tom kept hiding. He didn't have any strength left to be sarcastic. "I can't do this anymore." His voice wasn't much more than a whisper. "I can't pretend to be all right any longer."
Mischa gave an exasperated sigh. "Finally."
With an effort, Tom managed to lift his head to look into Mischa's eyes, questioningly. There was an overbearing look on the man's face.
"Do you remember what Toby teased me about when he visited us? That I'm into power play?" Tom nodded. He had no idea where this was going.
"Well, then. If I'm into helping you, guiding you and pushing you in a session in the playroom, wouldn't you think that I'd be into helping you, guiding you and pushing you outside of the playroom, too?"
Tom frowned. "It's not the same." Even he could hear that it was a lame objection.
"It is, and you know it." Mischa gently took Tom's head between his hands. "You've been trying to spare me from knowing how bad you're feeling. It's very noble, and I appreciate the thought behind it. However, I really don't appreciate what it's doing to us, so stop it. Now."
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Tom blinked. This was going very fast. "I... But..."
"Stop it. It means you're going to be vulnerable and that you have to trust me to be able to handle that. I am able to handle that."
"I do trust you." It was dawning on Tom that Mischa might be right. Fuck.
Mischa raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything, just waited.