by J. A. Rock
can’t burn the kind of calories you burned tonight on that
kind of a diet. Now what kind do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Keaton shot him a look.
“Really! I like anything.”
Keaton ordered him the Protein Powerhouse.
On the car ride home, they discussed a production
Keaton had seen of one of Aiden’s favorite plays. Aiden
grilled him about how the lead actor had approached the
role—a role Aiden dreamed of playing one day. Keaton
role—a role Aiden dreamed of playing one day. Keaton
enjoyed the discussion so much that he didn’t have the
heart to nag Aiden about drinking his shake until they
were almost home.
“You’ve barely taken a sip.”
“Look what I did to the straw.” Aiden held up the
cup, grinning sheepishly. He’d chewed the end of the
green plastic straw completely flat. “I can’t drink out of
it.”
“Then take the lid off.”
Aiden shifted in his seat. “I hate drinking out of
Styrofoam cups. I can’t do it without a lid.”
Somebody does have a touch of brat in him, Keaton
thought, smiling to himself. Maybe more than a touch.
When they got home, Keaton poured Aiden’s
smoothie into a tall glass with a straw and set it on the
table in front of him. “Drink,” Keaton said.
“I’m not—”
“Drink,” Keaton repeated in the same calm, certain
tone.
Aiden’s face clouded. He took a few sips. Keaton
brought up the play again, but Aiden no longer seemed
interested in talking. He pushed the glass away, still
more than two-thirds full. “I don’t feel well.”
“You’ll feel worse if you don’t get some nutrients in
you.”
“You don’t know everything.” Aiden tipped the
glass back and forth in his hand, watching the sludgy
drink shift.
“I know it won’t hurt you to drink that.”
Aiden glowered. “I wish you’d mind your own
business.”
“That’s hard for me.”
“No kidding.” Aiden took another sip, wincing.
“No more,” he said, pushing it away.
“At least half.”
“Goddamn it!” Aiden picked up the glass and
hurled it. It cracked into several large pieces on the
kitchen floor, and chocolate-peanut-butter sludge coated
the floor and the nearby wall.
For a second, Aiden looked horrified, as though he
couldn’t believe what he’d done. Every muscle in his
body tensed, and he stared at the floor. His breathing
became shallow, and he closed his eyes.
First things first, thought Keaton. He’d worry about
the mess later. He stepped behind Aiden’s chair and
placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Aiden flinched,
and Keaton ignored it. Keaton moved his thumbs firmly,
slowly toward the base of Aiden’s neck, where he rubbed
small circles, pressing deep into the knotted tissue.
“Easy. You’re all right.”
He felt the boy tense, relax, tense, relax—like a
flickering lightbulb. Then Aiden slid out of his chair and
bolted upstairs. Keaton decided to give him a couple of
minutes before he went after him. He knelt on the floor
and picked up the large pieces of broken glass, then
sopped up the smoothie with paper towels. He headed
upstairs.
Aiden was gagging in the hall bathroom. Without
knocking, Keaton opened the door and went in. Aiden
was hunched over the toilet, bringing up strings of bile.
Keaton hooked an arm around him, supporting him, and
rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. Even when
there was nothing left to throw up, Aiden continued to
gag and choke.
“That’s enough now,” Keaton said.
Aiden gagged again.
“Shh. Deep breath. You’re okay.” Keaton helped
Aiden to the sink to rinse his mouth out, speaking
soothingly to him. He wet a washcloth and wiped
Aiden’s tear-streaked face. He felt how hard Aiden was
trying to contain his sobs. “Let it out,” Keaton said. “It’s
fine.” But Aiden tensed and fought harder for control.
Keaton led him down the hall and into the guest room.
He stripped the boy of his shirt and pants and got him
into bed, pulling the covers over him. He sat on the edge
of the bed, one hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Breathe,”
Keaton said.
Aiden choked, tears still flowing from his red,
swollen eyes.
Keaton got up, intending to get the boy a glass of
water, and was surprised when Aiden caught his wrist.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
Warmth flooded Keaton. He sat back down on the
bed. “I was just going to get you some water.”
“Stay.”
Keaton kicked off his shoes and got on the bed,
propping himself up slightly with pillows. He shifted
Aiden so the boy’s head rested in his lap. Aiden grabbed
the fabric of Keaton’s pants with one hand as if to keep
Keaton there. Keaton stroked Aiden’s hair, and after a
few minutes, the boy quieted. His body stopped
shaking, and some of the tension left his muscles. “That’s
right,” Keaton said as Aiden drew a deep breath. “Good
boy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Just rest.”
Aiden lifted his head from Keaton’s lap and
wriggled until his thin frame was pressed against the
length of Keaton’s body, his head on Keaton’s shoulder.
He tipped his face up so that his lips were inches from
Keaton’s. Then he leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed
Keaton.
The kiss was soft, brief, and chaste, but the contact
jolted Keaton, and for an instant all he could think to do
was pull Aiden against him and kiss him all night.
Instead he wound an arm around the boy, cradling
him, and brushed his lips against his forehead. “Rest,”
he repeated.
Aiden stroked Keaton’s chest through his shirt. “I
should do something for you.”
Keaton caught his hand gently, lacing his fingers
through Aiden’s. “Not right now,” Keaton said, rubbing
Aiden’s knuckles with his thumb.
Aiden’s voice became very small. “Why don’t you
want me? Am I really that bad now?”
“That bad?” Keaton repeated, confused.
“That ugly.” Aiden’s voice broke. He swiped his
free hand over his eyes.
“God no,” Keaton said, brushing the hair back from
Aiden’s forehead. “You’re so beautiful, Aiden.”
“Then why don’t you want me? I’m clean, if that’s
what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not.” Keaton paused. “Do you want me?”
Aiden nodded.
“Do you really want me, or do you just feel you
owe me something? That I expect something from you?”
Aiden met his eyes. “I really want you.”
Aiden met his eyes. “I really want you.”
Keaton sw
allowed. He pulled Aiden closer, tucked
the boy’s head under his chin. “I want you too,” he said
softly. “But I think you need time to heal.”
“I’m fine,” Aiden insisted. “You can check if you
want. Really.”
Keaton winced. “I don’t just mean physically.”
Aiden pulled away from Keaton. “Why does
everyone think there’s something wrong with me?” he
demanded. “I’m not fucking scarred for life. I knew what
I was doing with Scott. Nothing happened that I didn’t
ask for!”
“What do you mean when you say ‘ask for’? You
actually requested he do what he did to you? Or you feel
you deserved it?”
Aiden looked down. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
“I said he could do whatever he wanted, and I’d take it. I
said he could train me.”
“But when you told him no, that night… ”
“He fucking did it anyway.” Aiden’s voice was full
of bitter hurt and confusion. “But he had a right to. It was
part of the agreement.”
“Look at me.” Keaton waited until he did. “Did
you safe word?”
“I… ”
“Did you safe word?”
Aiden swallowed. “Yes.”
“Then he had absolutely no right to continue. None.
Do you understand me?”
Aiden closed his eyes. “But he… ”
“Look at me.”
Aiden opened his eyes. “I shouldn’t have been so…
I was fighting him. On purpose. Usually I liked that kind
of stuff. You know? Where I’d fight and he’d get pissed?”
“Did you want to have sex that night? Did you want
him to hit you?”
“No. But I… I told him that I liked knowing he
would, even if I didn’t want him to.”
“Did you like it that night?”
Aiden was silent for a moment. “No.”
“That’s why you safe worded. And that’s why Scott
should have stopped.”
Aiden tried to roll away, but Keaton held on to him.
“Leave me alone,” Aiden snapped.
“Not a chance.” Keaton moved the pillows and
stretched out alongside Aiden, spooning the boy against
him. “We’re not going to do anything tonight but sleep,”
he said. “You need it.”
“You don’t know what I need,” Aiden muttered.
But he didn’t resist anymore, and he nestled a little bit
closer to Keaton.
Keaton stroked his back until Aiden’s breathing
evened out. “I think I have a pretty good idea,” he
whispered to the sleeping boy.
Chapter Twelve
A wonderful smell filled the house when Aiden
woke the next morning. He listened for a moment to the
clink of dishes in the kitchen, the running water. He was
surprised the smell of food didn’t make him sick. His
stomach muscles felt less tight than usual. His head
didn’t hurt. He didn’t have the sense of having just come
out of a nightmare.
He shut his eyes as the details of last night came
back to him with alarming clarity. His refusal to drink
the shake… the broken glass… what he’d revealed to
Keaton about his relationship with Scott. He sighed,
wondering if there was any way he could slip out the
window, climb down the side of the house on a sheet
rope, and escape.
Except he didn’t want to escape. If Keaton was
going to punish him for last night—and Aiden couldn’t
imagine that Keaton wouldn’t—Aiden would take what
he had coming. Because he felt safer in this house, with
this man, than he could remember feeling in a long time.
He got up, got dressed, and went downstairs.
Keaton had two enormous waffles stacked on a plate,
and was removing a third from the waffle iron.
“That smells amazing,” Aiden said.
Keaton turned and grinned at him. “My secret
every-other-Saturday-morning indulgence.”
“What’s in them? They smell like—”
“Banana and chopped pecans.”
“Wow.”
“You hungry?”
“Sort of,” Aiden admitted. He watched Keaton,
waiting for him to make some comment about last night.
Keaton nudged one of the waffles onto a smaller
plate and handed it to Aiden.
“Butter and syrup are on the table.”
“You’re trying to make me fat,” Aiden accused with
a weak laugh.
“It’ll take more than a waffle to put some flesh on
those ribs.”
Aiden tensed, remembering Scott’s comments about
his body. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Scott had
asked, trailing his nails down Aiden’s chest. “I don’t even
want to fuck you, you scrawny whore…”
“Aiden?” Keaton was watching him. “You all
right?”
Aiden tried to smile. “Fine.”
He was struggling to find a way to apologize for
the previous night when Keaton shocked him by saying,
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“What are you sorry for?” Aiden asked,
incredulous. “I’m the one who was awful.”
“I’m sorry I tried to force you to drink that shake
when you weren’t feeling well.”
Aiden drizzled syrup on his waffle. “I was a shit. I
shouldn’t have thrown the glass.”
“No. But you were angry and stressed, and you had
a right to be. I don’t mean to be so pushy. I just worry
about you.”
“Why?” Aiden was genuinely curious.
Keaton turned off the waffle iron, wiped his hands
on a dish towel, and leaned against the counter. “I guess
because you don’t seem to worry enough about
yourself.”
“Oh.” Aiden took a bite of his waffle. It tasted good,
and the warmth of it was pleasant in his stomach.
“And because I like you.”
Aiden nearly inhaled his waffle. Calm down, he
told himself. He didn’t say he loved you. He didn’t say
he wanted to marry you. He doesn’t even want to fuck
you. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
“It’s very plain that you’re intelligent and talented,
that you’ve got a lot of potential.”
Darkness crept over Aiden. Scott had thought he
had potential too. The potential to suck cock, lick boots,
and spread his legs on command.
He forced himself to eat almost half the waffle. It
tasted good, but his stomach was already churning after
a couple of bites.
“Do you have plans to do any more theater in the
area?” Keaton asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“The community college does a couple of plays in
the spring. I know you said the other night you wanted
to move to a city where you could find work as an actor.
But if you’re still around this spring, that might be an
option.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to figure out what to do
next. I mean, I’m not moving anywhere until I’ve saved
some money. Which means I need a job. Fast.” Aiden
took another bite of his waffle. “I’ve been thinking about
graduate school,” he admitted, staring at his plate. He
wondered if Keaton felt the same way about going to
grad school for theater as Scott.
“Really? An MFA program?”
“Does that sound stupid?”
“Why would it sound stupid?”
Aiden shrugged. “Scott said it was a waste of time.
But it’s not like I’d lose any money if I got into a good
program. They’d pay my tuition and a stipend.”
Keaton sat at the table and started to cut his own
waffle. “That sounds great. What programs are you
looking at?”
“Um, UC Irvine and Case Western. And maybe
State. That’s where I did my undergrad. I’d really like to
go to Case.”
“What do you like about it?”
“They have a partnership with the Cleveland
Playhouse, so MFA students get to work with a
professional theater. And I kind of like Cleveland. I’ve
been there a couple of times. I don’t think it’s as bad as
everyone says.”
“It has a— unique charm.” Keaton grinned. “I’ve got
a friend who teaches at Cleveland State, which is pretty
near Case. They’ve been trying to hire a new art faculty
member. He keeps pestering me to apply.”
“Are you going to?” Aiden asked.
Keaton shrugged. “I don’t know. My gut usually
tells me when it’s time for a change, and it’s been
nagging me for a few months now. I’ll at least finish out
my year here.”
“Would it be hard to sell the house?”
“I rent, actually. I’ve got a very cool landlady, who
lets me do things like paint the guest room strange
colors.”
“Yeah.” Aiden looked at the floor.
“So are you applying to schools this year?”
“I don’t know. I started some applications, but… ”
“But?”
“But maybe it is a waste of time. I mean, I don’t
even have the money for application fees right now. And
the deadlines are coming up, and I just—I don’t feel—
ready.”
Keaton nodded. “I see.”
“I’d have to audition too. I might audition for Case
in person, since it’s not that far away. Then send video
auditions to the other schools. I just haven’t spent much
time working on monologues lately.”
“You’ve got time.”
“Maybe.” Aiden didn’t want to talk about this
anymore. “I’m going out for a while,” he said. “Thanks