Tough Love

by Heidi Cullinan

  Steve slid a hand into Gordy’s collar, tugged hard enough to cut off his air and said, “Heel.”

  The move was automatic, an act learned from years of practice. Gordy fought him, struggling and clawing at the air, at Steve, but with a few more jerks on the studded ring around his neck and some bit-off commands, Gordy fell to his hands and knees, whimpering and nuzzling Steve’s leg.

  For Steve, however, hell had just begun. He hated this, hated when Gordy goaded him. It wasn’t that he resented the puppy play—well he did, but because of what Gordy had done to it, not the play itself. He hated how angry Gordy made him feel, how helpless. He hated how out of control he felt, how manipulated, hated how Gordy always managed to get what he wanted and how the result always left Steve himself so empty and hollow inside. He resented himself for being this weak, for letting things get this far, for not knowing how to make them right again.

  Worst was Gordy seeing this weakness. His comment about the mirror had been cruel, but it wasn’t a lie.

  Probably sensing the chink in Steve’s armor, Gordy bent and kissed Steve’s boot. “Can I have my hood?” All the spit was gone from Gordy’s tone, but there was a smugness there, pleasure at having gotten what he wanted, a certainty he could get more. “Give me a scene, baby. Give it to me good and hard. Cut me, Stevie. Cut me good the way you used to. Make me bleed out. Don’t make me do it myself. Hurt me, and we’ll both feel better, same as always.”

  Steve felt furious, sick, trapped. This wasn’t a scene. This wasn’t the exchange he had with Chenco. This was manipulation, plain and simple. It was fucked up, fucked over, and it was wrong. Steve didn’t want this. He didn’t want to give until he bled, not anymore.

  Not to Gordy.

  “No.”

  The word echoed in the empty cannery. Gordy lifted his head and looked at Steve, surprised.

  “No.” Emboldened by his own defiance, Steve let go of Gordy and took a few steps back, feeling stronger with each one. “No. I’m not giving you a scene. You want me to be in charge, you let me set the rules. No scene right now.”

  “Too eager to go back to your cute little black bean?” Gordy bared his dirty teeth. “Bet you’ll make him cry. You’ll hurt him then you’ll leave him, just like you do me. I’ll make him a room for when you’re through.”

  God, but Steve wanted to smack Gordy’s cruel mouth. The only thing keeping him from swinging was the whisper of sanity reminding him this was what Gordy wanted. Giving in to the urge wasn’t only wrong, it would let him win.

  “No,” he said a third time, losing track of what exactly he was defying. “Stay away from Chenco. Stay away from the fucking flats.”

  “Stay away from me, asswipe.” Gordy threw a wad of rotten newspaper at him. “Go. Get out. Go fuck your toy. Make him as miserable as you made me.”

  Vibrating with emotion, clinging to the edges of his control, Steve left, ignoring the roars and smashes he heard behind him. He climbed on his bike and rode the wind, screaming down deserted roads until the terror of high speed gnawed off the pain in his heart. When he felt halfway human, he headed home.

  He found Randy sitting in the office, frowning at the screens, half of which were fuzz. “Something happened to the feed.” When Steve didn’t reply, Jansen did a double take. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to you?”

  After shutting the door, Steve sat in the chair beside the desk. “I can’t do this.”

  “This is Gordy, isn’t it. He fucked the feed because he’s pissed at you.” Randy’s expression hardened. “Let me guess. He knows about Chenco, and he’s jealous.”

  Self-loathing, fear, and loss swirled inside Steve like a storm. “I should send the boy away with you. Right now. When Ethan comes, you should take him away from me, so I can’t hurt him.”

  “You’re not going to hurt him.”

  Steve curled his fingers into the chair. “He deserves better. He could have better, so easily. Younger, less fucked up. Take him to Vegas, take him to a bar, let him meet somebody better.”

  Randy gripped Steve’s goatee and held him in place—the gesture shocked them both, and they regarded one another, surprised. Then Randy gathered himself, staring Steve down with a surprising thread of steel.

  “He’s poison to you, Monk, and you’re poison to him. You need out of this. You’ve needed out for a long, long time, but now that you have something good in your hand, you really gotta get out of Dodge. I’ll take Chenco to Vegas if he wants to go—but you gotta come too.”

  “I can’t leave Gordy.” Steve pulled back from Randy’s grip and sagged in the chair. “He’ll get himself killed.”

  “You are not his husband, Steven Vance. Even if you were, at this point of the fuckery, I’d say you need to get a divorce.”

  “I can’t leave him. It’s fucked, you’re right, but I can’t let him stay here by himself. He’s right, I did make him. I can’t leave him. I can’t fix him, but I can’t leave him.”

  Randy’s smile was so wicked, it could have ruined a saint. “Maybe I know somebody who can.”

  Every fiber of Steve’s being went still. “What?”

  Eyes dancing, Randy leaned forward. “Tell me what you want, Monk. Give me the words.”

  I want to be free. I want Gordy to be my friend again, not my cross to bear. I want Chenco. I want to look in the mirror and see a man who deserves him, not the man who might undo him like I’ve undone Gordy. I want what Mitch has, what you say you have too. I want the big pot. I want it all.

  “I want out.” Steve’s fingernails almost pierced the leather arm of the chair. “I want out of this.”

  “Do you want Chenco?”

  Like nothing else in the world. “Yes.”

  “Enough to leave the valley and go with him to Vegas, if it’s what he wants?”

  “Yes.” Anything. Everything.

  “Okay.” Randy leaned back in his chair.

  Steve stepped on the hope rising in his heart. “You can’t give me that.”

  Randy chuckled darkly. “The fuck I can’t. Hell, honey, this one isn’t even hard. You’re ninety percent there already. You just need one little variable removed, and then you need to bring those brass balls you used to be so proud of and put them back on your dick. This one’s easy.”

  “How?” God, Steve wanted it to be true, but he couldn’t see a way out, not for anything. “How can you make this okay?”

  Randy put his arms behind his head as he propped his booted feet on the edge of Steve’s desk. “You dear, fucked-up old man. I already stacked your deck.”

  CHENCO WAS SURE, absolutely sure he was going to get his sexytimes the night after the trailer fiasco, but in point of fact the first day and a half after he moved in, he barely saw Steve at all. He didn’t push it because he was tired, but he woke the next morning full of determination. Unfortunately, Mitch informed him Steve had been up early and wouldn’t be back until the afternoon.

  Which, as Chenco had to work, meant he’d miss Steve. As he went off to Taco Palenque, Chenco felt frustrated and angry. He wasn’t in any better of a mood when he got off and realized home was now Steve’s place, which meant he had to be around a bunch of people when he was upset, one of them the person he was upset with. Grumbling to himself, he beelined to the shower across from his room and scrubbed the grease out of his hair. He wondered if he could talk Sam into getting drunk with him again.

  When he got back to his room, though, Steve was there, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had a stack of papers in his hand.

  “Hi.” Chenco adjusted the towel at his waist, trying to play it cool. He shifted uncomfortably, aware he was naked, damp, and a guest in someone else’s home—with no home of his own anymore. “Is everything okay?” His glance shifted to the stack of papers and saw the word contract in boldface. “Oh. You…you need me to sign something, like a lease?”

  “What?” Steve followed Chenco’s gaze and rolled the papers up. “No.” He ran a hand over his bald head. He looked nervous
.

  Chenco sat beside him, resisting the urge to put a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He pushed past his own selfish desires and added, “If things have changed, if you need me to leave—”

  “No.” Steve sighed and caught Chenco’s hand, folding it into his palm. “The opposite, really. I came…I came in here to see if you were still interested in exploring something with me.”

  Jesus, the guy made it sound like they were going off to poke around in a cave. “Are you talking about a relationship? Sex?” Do I get a headlamp?

  “Yes. Both.” After clutching the papers, Steve thrust them into Chenco’s hand. “Here.”

  Frowning, Chenco scanned the opening paragraph—then looked up sharply as he realized what Steve had handed him. “Are you serious? This is a contract about sex?”

  Steve went tense and rigid. “I told you, I play rough. I want things very clear between us. No surprises, no one upset.”

  Chenco felt plenty upset right now. “I thought this shit was only in those kinky romance novels.”

  “It’s not a requirement in the lifestyle, no. Usually it’s for Master/slave relationships, which this isn’t. But a contract is necessary for playing with me. Especially after—” His face clouded with pain, but then his rigid control was back. “I won’t hurt you, not beyond what you want, but first I have to know what the breaking point is.”

  This was crazy. But when Chenco turned to Steve, ready to argue, he got a good look at the frayed edges of the man’s control and stopped.

  Look on the bright side. You’ll be getting sex. With a sigh, Chenco picked up the paper. “All right, Papi. Lay it out for me.”

  Steve walked him through the agreement, starting with the preamble where he took Chenco directly down the rabbit hole of how Steve Vance got off on pain. Chenco quickly understood why the contract came into question, because apparently when Steve said sex without pain was food without taste, he wasn’t fucking around, and man, did the guy like to eat.

  “The first point I need you to clarify is whether or not we’re breaking skin, and there’s a distinction—accidental and deliberate. If blood is a hard limit for you, if it can’t happen at all, I’ll take care never to come close. If you’re willing to let accidents happen, I can push things a little. Now, I’m assuming this is all a bit new to you, and I want to make it clear—should we engage in any blood play at any time, I will take appropriate precautions. Our scenes will be clean, and if I spill you, part of your aftercare will be making sure you do not get infected or injured in a way outside of consensual play.”

  It was telling, Chenco decided, how much calmer Steve got as he outlined his kink. Calm was something Chenco couldn’t quite get when he realized sex for the foreseeable future contained concepts such as blood play. Maybe the contract was a really good fucking thing, in fact. “I think accidental is okay for now. I’m not saying no to the other, but it might be best to walk before I run in this stuff.”

  This comment earned him a brief massage of his shoulder. “Before I can go to the next point, we need to come to an official understanding. You will trust me when I tell you to do something or not do something. You will respect my authority and yield to it at all times. You may ask questions, but you will not challenge me. It will be my job to make sure you don’t feel uncertain about things. You have no need to double-check me, but if I ever miss something, I need you to speak up respectfully as you ask for clarification and reassurance. I will not be patient with sass or backtalk or bitching about whether or not I’m doing the right thing.”

  Yes, Mr. Benson. “Okay.”

  Steve handed Chenco another paper. “Here’s your first test on that point.”

  Chenco scanned the paper—and found he was looking at his own confidential STD test from the McAllen free clinic.

  “What—” He stood up, swallowing a string of curses. “How, sir, did you get this?”

  “I told you. I’m very, very good with computers. There aren’t a lot of secrets I can’t uncover. I’m taking you at your word you haven’t had contact since this, but I don’t like contracts without the tests included. You’ll find mine at the back. It’s got an old date, but I’ve had no contact since then. I’ve played, but never penetrated, and there has been no fluid exchange of any kind. On the rare occasions I’ve done edge play, there have been gloves and proper precautions. If you want, however, I can get another test tomorrow, and we can put things off until you have proof I’m clear.”

  Chenco stared at him for several seconds, trying to find places in his head to stick everything. Was there something wrong with a fucking condom? Apparently for Steve there was.

  It was a serious invasion of privacy, but did Chenco really care? Steve hadn’t poked around in his private records to hurt him, he’d done it because he was a crazed control-freak. The only indignity here was proof of how long Chenco had been dry. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “You reacted a lot better than I thought you would. I assumed you’d point out you could have called in and requested the results yourself.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Chenco, which illustrated he was off his usual game, way too focused on getting busy. Control freak wasn’t looking so bad, actually. “Nope. I’m good.” He met Steve’s gaze and said, with sincerity, “Thank you. For checking for me, for walking me through what to expect.”

  They finished the list with a practical calm Chenco didn’t know he had in him when it came to kinky sex. He had to admit, it cleared a lot of snot out of the air over hooking up. For one, nobody had ever understood before Steve how in no way could any marks or signs of sex interfere with Caramela’s ability to perform.

  Steve had a whole page of the contract for Chenco to fill out for her, complete with diagrams of the body so Chenco could delineate where Steve could and could not mark him. The clarification of acceptable and unacceptable kinks was great too, because all the ones he hated had been tried on him without so much as a “do you wanna?” before engagement. Permission, Chenco began to understand, was an entire buffet of pleasure in its own right.

  He was surprised to find Steve’s hard limits didn’t just include sass and backtalk. He had a few kink lines he wouldn’t cross too. No infantilism, no age play, and no scat. He was open to watersports, he said, but it wasn’t a requirement.

  Chenco hesitated, his pen poised over the checkbox. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and he felt abruptly strange, as if reading that question had stripped him naked and put him on a stage.

  Watersports.

  Piss play.

  Peeing on someone during sex.

  Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

  Fingers threaded softly through his hair. “Chenco, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me about anything you want or don’t. And just because I’m open to something doesn’t mean we have to do it.”

  Chenco tried to nod, but it was hard to make his body respond. He kept reading that line over and over. Would you be open to watersports? Would you like Steve to piss all over your body? Because he didn’t have any illusions about who would be peeing on whom here. It made him think of Mr. Benson, of how appalled he’d been by the act when depicted there. No, he didn’t want to be a toilet. That hadn’t changed. Yet as he stood here, Steve touching him in reassurance, the menu of pleasure and sin in front of him…

  All he had to do was check no and it would be over. Except the more Chenco stared at the question, the more he realized, for reasons blooming deep from his subconscious, he wanted to check yes.

  For a moment his mind flashed him an image of fantasy, of him lying on Steve’s bed, tied up and helpless, Steve looming over him in leather, leering with a knowing smile as he slowly unzipped his fly and aimed…

  Chenco shivered and shifted the stiffy in his pants. What the fucking fuck. Who the hell was he, and how was this happening?

  Steve’s hand began to knead at Chenco’s neck. “Talk to me, boy.”

  He spoke gently, but with that edg
e giving Chenco space and safety. Chenco drew a deep breath and let it out, staccato and rough. “I…I don’t know.”

  “I assume, since I’ve made it clear I do not require this, that your hesitation comes from realizing you do.”

  Gut churning, Chenco nodded once and gripped the pen so tight he feared it would break.

  Steve brushed a kiss on Chenco’s hair. “Sweetheart. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting that.”

  Chenco swallowed hard. “A lot of people would disagree with you. I would have, before. Except right now…I wouldn’t. But I don’t know why.” And I’m so scared by that realization I can barely breathe.

  Steve kept touching, stroking, caressing, with hands and mouth and the sweet, silky gentleness of his tone. “I’m honored you trust me enough to even talk about this, Chenco. That’s what the act would be about between us. Honor and trust. Do you understand how much that means to me, that you would even think of allowing me that right, giving me permission to treat you in a way you wouldn’t let anyone else?”

  “H-how is letting you…do that about honor?”

  “Because so many people say it’s terrible. To most of the world, that we would consider engaging in that play is disgusting, inhuman, beyond the pale, an instant taboo. That you would give that act to me, allow me to turn it into something sacred, communion between the two of us?” He drew Chenco’s back to his front and pressed a long, soft kiss to Chenco’s hair. “I don’t have words to tell you how pleased with you I am right now. I can only hope I’m able to show you.”

  Chenco sank into Steve’s embrace, his breath coming short now as it took everything in him not to cry. Steve held him while he gathered himself, not rushing him, only comforting and supporting.

  Eventually Chenco slipped out of Steve’s arms enough to lean forward and, without so much as a tremble in his fingers, checked the box for yes.

  Steve drew him back into the backward hug and nuzzled Chenco’s ear again. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I truly am honored, pleased by your trust. When we decide it’s the right time, I’ll make it something special, something worthy.”