by J. A. Rock
* * * *
When Hera let him out in the parking lot behind the
bar the next morning, Aiden thought seriously about
getting into his car and driving away—out of town, out
of state, heck, maybe even to Canada. He could start
somewhere new, somewhere no one would know what a
fuckup he was.
Instead he drove to Keaton’s.
Keaton wasn’t home from his morning class yet, so
Aiden parked across the street and waited in his car,
chewing his nails and trying to will his growling stomach
silent. He studied the house. Its exterior was clean, tidy,
relaxed. Like Keaton.
Aiden tensed as Keaton’s Solara turned into the
driveway. He waited until Keaton was in the garage
before making his way slowly up the drive.
Keaton flashed him a grin. “I thought you’d bailed
on me. Was the guest room that disappointing?”
Aiden blushed. “I lost the garage code. I didn’t
want to wake you up, so I slept at Hera’s.”
He felt Keaton studying him, taking in his
disheveled appearance. He knew he stank of alcohol,
smoke, and sweat, and wished he’d showered at Hera’s.
“You can always wake me. I’m a light sleeper
anyway.”
“Yeah, me too.” Aiden swallowed.
Keaton held out a hand. “Come on in.”
It felt natural to take Keaton’s hand; Aiden did it
without even realizing. But the electric jolt that shot
through him when he did made him pull away. Keaton
let him go, not seeming to notice or mind. Aiden
followed Keaton inside.
“Hungry?
I’m
gonna
make
a
couple
of
sandwiches.”
Aiden didn’t feel like eating, but guilt over last
night made him say, “Sure.”
They ate in silence. Keaton didn’t press Aiden for
details about where he’d been and why, just talked about
his morning class. The sandwich was good, and it helped
Aiden’s headache. But almost immediately after he’d
finished, he felt sick. He excused himself to the bathroom
and threw up.
He showered, which made him feel a little better.
He was exhausted and decided to take a nap. He lay
down on the huge, soft guest bed and pulled the covers
up to his chin. The comforter smelled freshly laundered,
and the pillows were plump and downy. He was asleep
in minutes.
He dreamed he heard footsteps pounding up the
stairs. The door flew open, and Scott stormed into the
room. He grabbed Aiden’s hair, trying to drag him out of
the bed. Aiden fought and shouted, kicking off the
covers. Scott raised his other hand to strike Aiden.
Suddenly Scott disappeared.
There was a weight on the bed beside Aiden. The
covers were once more drawn up to his chin. He tried to
open his eyes to see if Scott was still there. A hand
smoothed his hair. Aiden whimpered and went still
under the touch. He couldn’t tell if he was asleep or
awake.
When he woke, it was late afternoon. He went
downstairs. No sign of Keaton at first, but then Aiden
heard him clear his throat in the den. Aiden wandered
the house, restless and anxious. He wished he could
make himself settle down and read or watch TV. He
walked around the house, looking at the paintings on the
walls. Some were Keaton’s; others were by artists Aiden
didn’t know.
By dinnertime, Aiden was stressed and irritable.
“I’m going to the store to get some stuff for dinner,”
Keaton said. “You’re welcome to come.”
“No, thanks,” Aiden muttered.
Keaton left, and Aiden considered hitting the bars
again, but he didn’t have the energy. How was it
possible to be exhausted and restless at the same time?
He suddenly resented Keaton for leaving—and for
refusing to have sex with him. Sex would definitely calm
Aiden down, distract him from the mess in his mind.
He was too hot. He took off his sweatshirt and
threw it on the couch, pleased with how it detracted from
the room’s tidiness. He lay on the couch and turned on
the TV, and watched two episodes of some stupid
sitcom. When Keaton came home, Aiden didn’t return
his greeting.
“Anything good on?” Keaton asked, entering the
living room.
“No,” Aiden said. “A bunch of shit.” He tossed the
remote as hard as he dared. It lodged between the
cushion and the arm on the other end of the couch.
“Something bothering you?” Keaton asked.
“Nope.”
“Nothing you want to discuss?”
“I just want some fucking time alone, if that’s all
right.” He held his breath, waiting to see how Keaton
would react.
Keaton just nodded. “Sure.” He left the room and
busied himself in the kitchen.
Aiden seethed his way through another episode of
the sitcom. A movie came on that he used to like, but
tonight found irredeemably boring. He thought about
Keaton in the next room—Keaton’s eyes, Keaton’s hands,
Keaton’s ass… He wondered what that ass looked like
bare. He wondered what Keaton’s cock looked like.
Thick? Long? Cut? He rolled over, ran a hand over the
front of his pants. Decided that, even if he hated Keaton,
it was bad manners as a guest to jack off on his host’s
couch.
He slid off the couch and went into the kitchen,
where Keaton was putting groceries away. “Need help?”
he muttered.
Keaton glanced at him. “I’m almost done.”
“What are your plans for tonight?”
“I was going to shut myself in the studio for a
couple of hours. You?”
Aiden shrugged. “I might go out again.”
Keaton nodded.
“You don’t go out much?” Aiden asked.
“Once in a while,” Keaton said. “I’m kind of a
homebody.”
“I’d never seen you at Obey before that one night.”
“I’ve only been a couple of times. It’s not really my
scene.”
“What is your scene?”
Keaton seemed unfazed by Aiden’s prying. “Hard
to explain. Not clubs.”
“But you are a top?”
“Yes. I’m just not into chains and leather and toys.”
“So what are you into?”
“Submission,” Keaton said simply.
Aiden didn’t understand this man. All at once, it
seemed that every nerve in him was alive and whipping
back and forth; he didn’t want to sit or stand or lie down.
He didn’t particularly want to exist. “Scott was into that
too.”
“I don’t think Scott’s and my definitions of
submission are the same.”
“He said I had to stop thinking about what I want
and do what he wants, no matter what.”
Keaton put a couple of boxes of pasta into the
cupboard. “I don�
��t think what a sub wants and what a
dom wants have to be—or should be—mutually
exclusive.”
“If a sub didn’t cooperate with you, what would
you do?”
“I’d try to find out the reason for the sub’s
resistance. I make it clear at the beginning of a
relationship what my expectations are, and what the
consequences are for not meeting those expectations.
Sometimes a sub will accept the consequences in the
abstract, as part of a discussion, but when he actually
finds himself facing them, he gets anxious and fights.”
“And that’s when the fun begins,” Aiden said
softly, almost to himself.
“What do you mean?” Keaton sounded curious.
Aiden swallowed. “Do you think it’s hot, when they
fight you? When they’re scared?”
“No,” Keaton said quietly. “That might be fun in
play, as long as both parties are into the fantasy. But I
don’t really play games.”
“Neither did Scott.”
Keaton studied him for a long moment. “No. I
guess he didn’t.” Keaton got himself a glass of water and
handed Aiden one too, even though Aiden hadn’t asked.
Keaton drank, then set the glass down and said, “I
believe in a mutually fulfilling D/s partnership. I don’t
believe a dominant partner has the right to harm or
frighten a sub. Submission is about trust.”
Aiden’s throat suddenly felt tight. “I think I’m
gonna go for a walk.”
“Want some company?”
Aiden shook his head.
“Remember the garage code?”
Aiden managed a small smile. “Yeah.”
Aiden left the house and started walking, not caring
where he went. The sky was dark, the moon clouded
over, and Aiden ignored the lit windows of the houses
he passed, the families watching TV, eating a late dinner,
or trying to get the kids to bed. A dog barked at him
from a fenced yard. He felt completely alone, like he
could disappear and it wouldn’t change a thing about
the universe. Keaton would probably be glad. He’s probably
regretting that he ever asked me to stay with him.
Submission is about trust.
Yeah, but it’s also about doing what someone else wants.
And I’m not into that anymore. From now on, I’ll do whatever
the hell I want.
He kicked a stone down a drain and tried not to
think about Keaton’s smile, Keaton’s hand in his.
* * * *
Keaton had a hard time concentrating on his work.
He knew it wasn’t really his place to worry about Aiden.
Aiden was an adult, perfectly capable of making his own
decisions.
Except that Keaton had known more than a few
adults who had trouble making their own decisions, who
longed for guidance and security. Boundaries. Aiden,
obviously an intelligent young man, was lost right now.
Scott Runge had harmed Aiden physically and
psychologically, and it would be a while before Aiden
felt safe again. In the meantime, the boy was letting his
health—and his attitude—go to hell.
Keaton had yet to see Aiden eat anything that could
Keaton had yet to see Aiden eat anything that could
be called a meal, and he was fairly certain Aiden had
thrown up what little of his lunch he’d eaten. When
Keaton had sat on the bed beside Aiden this afternoon,
trying to ease the boy through his nightmare, he’d been
struck by how small Aiden looked in the large bed, the
covers kicked askew—painfully thin, huddled in the
center of the bed in a T-shirt and underwear, his ribs
jutting as he drew quick, shallow breaths.
If somebody didn’t look out for the kid, he could
end up in real danger.
Keaton toyed with the idea he’d been trying to keep
at bay. On one hand, it seemed that the last thing Aiden
needed was another D/s relationship with someone he
didn’t know well, didn’t trust. But the type of
relationship Keaton had in mind would be very different
from what Aiden had had with Scott. Keaton had no
intention of taking advantage of the boy, of harming or
frightening him.
It’s not a good idea, Keaton warned himself. He
barely knew Aiden, after all. But there was something
about him—underneath Aiden’s skittishness, his
defensive sullenness, was a beautiful, intelligent,
talented young man. Keaton longed to get to know him
better.
He heard the front door open. Aiden had barely
been gone ten minutes. Keaton forced himself not to go
downstairs, to let Aiden have time to himself. Even
though I don’t think that’s what he really wants. Aiden
needed to know that what he asked for would be
respected—he’d said he wanted alone time. He had a
right to privacy, without Keaton watching and worrying
over him.
The TV went on, the volume far too loud. Keaton
smiled, recognizing he was being baited. Yes, it was
possible that Aiden Cole would benefit from some
discipline. But Keaton had no intention of rushing things
or pressuring the boy. He painted for another half hour,
turning up his music to counter the TV’s volume, which
decreased when it drew no reaction from Keaton. When
he finally went downstairs, Aiden lay on the couch,
staring at the ceiling. The TV had been muted.
“I have an idea,” Keaton said.
“What?” Aiden muttered.
“I’m a member of an all-night gym in Frankfort.
What do you say we head over there for a little while?”
Aiden sat up. “Really?”
Keaton almost laughed at the boy’s wide-eyed
eagerness. “Really.”
“I’d like that. A lot.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. There are a couple of
rules though.” He watched Aiden carefully to see how he
reacted to this statement. Aiden sat up straighter, looked
directly at Keaton, and waited. “The first is that the
workout lasts no more than an hour.” Keaton assumed
anyone with Aiden’s eating issues was a candidate for
exercise addiction as well. “The second is that, when
we’re done, I buy you a protein shake from the smoothie
bar, and you drink the whole thing.”
Aiden looked uncertain and a little disgusted, but
finally he nodded. “All right. I’ll pay for it, though.”
Keaton shook his head. “My treat.”
“But—”
“No,” Keaton said firmly. He noted how quickly
Aiden stilled. The boy’s muscles relaxed visibly, as
though Keaton’s “no” had unburdened him somehow.
“Okay,” Aiden said, still looking at Keaton. Aiden
wasn’t intimidated, wasn’t frightened. He accepted
Keaton’s rules.
The drive to Frankfort took about twenty minutes.
Keaton loved this gym for the drive as well as its
insomniac-friendly hours. At two or three a.m., when his
mind was wild and his body singing with energy, the
dark, winding road to Frankfort was a comfort and an
adventure. He loved the town of Frankfort at night—the
historic brick buildings dark and vacant, the glow of
streetlamps on Main Street…
Tonight he enjoyed the drive even more than usual,
because Aiden was finally talking. The idea of working
out seemed to have cheered him immensely, and he
chatted happily with Keaton, cracking jokes and telling
stories. At the gym, Keaton left Aiden in the weight room
while he made use of the indoor track and lap pool. After
an hour, he returned to the weight room to find Aiden
diligently bench pressing what looked to Keaton like far
too much weight for such a slight body.
“Let’s hit the showers, kid,” Keaton said.
“Just a few more.” Aiden strained to lift the bar.
“Uh-uh.” Keaton took the bar from him and set it
back on the frame. “And what do you think you’re doing
benching without a spotter?”
“He’s spotting me.” Aiden nodded at a good-
looking, dark-haired man on the rowing machine, who
was watching Aiden hungrily. “He’s been spotting me all
night.”
“Very funny. That’s dangerous and foolish. Come
on.”
Aiden followed Keaton to the locker room. Keaton
stripped down to his underwear, keeping his back to
Aiden. Watching Aiden at the bench press had produced
uncomfortable evidence of his interest in the younger
man. He wrapped a towel around his waist. Aiden, too,
seemed shy. He removed his shirt, and Keaton tried not
to hiss at the few pink welts and yellow bruises that
hadn’t faded completely from his back and torso. Aiden
slipped quickly into a shower stall and, a few seconds
later, reached around the curtain to hang his pants and
underwear on a hook.
Keaton showered, hating Scott Runge with a fury
that made his head hurt. He closed his eyes, trying not to
think about Aiden, naked, soaped up, just one stall over.
He wished he could slip inside that stall with Aiden and
rub soap into the boy’s pale skin, being careful not to
press too hard on his bruises.
Cut it out, Hughes. He just came out of an abusive
relationship. He tried to offer you sex in exchange for a place to
stay. He doesn’t know what he wants right now.
Showered and dressed, they headed for the
smoothie bar. Aiden looked increasingly apprehensive
as they approached. “I’m really not hungry,” Aiden said.
“You didn’t eat dinner. You barely ate lunch. You