Debug

by R. J. Moray

  Better to think about Nate, who said he would never do that. Nate was safe. Nate was reasonable, except when he was being totally unreasonable. Was he being reasonable now?

  Ewan had never agreed to Nate setting rules outside of the playroom. Sure, he’d agreed to orgasm denial, but he’d thought that meant edging and cock cages, not this kind of prolonged chastity. He resented it fiercely, especially when it was a punishment for doing exactly what Nate had said.

  Except. There was a name for what Ewan had done in biting him. Malicious compliance. One of the many reasons a normal Dom would refuse to scene with a brat, because when brats weren’t looking for a way around a rule, they’d follow it to the letter, knowing it was the opposite of what the Dom actually wanted.

  Ewan was a brat. He was damaged goods. He knew that. He knew it made him unappealing to most, but Nate knew that about him and wanted him anyway, he said. So Nate had known it was a risk, and the abstinence punishment was just a game.

  A stupid game. One Ewan didn’t want to play.

  So he told himself Nate wanted him to break the rules, just for an excuse to punish him, and had a resentful wank.

  It was ultimately unsatisfying, definitely not worth it. He lay sweatily in bed, feeling grumpy and guilty and angry with Nate for putting him in this fucking position in the first place.

  As a start to the week, it was a bad one. Work sucked, largely because Simon had in fact decided that Ewan got the lead on the skunkworks project because he was sucking Nate’s dick. He hadn’t said as much out loud, but Ewan could feel it lurking in Simon’s throat every time he looked at Ewan.

  It went largely unnoticed by the rest of the team, but by Thursday, Ewan had had enough. He decided the best way to deal with it was to ignore Simon entirely.

  This seemed to drive Simon crazy. He kept walking up to Ewan and whoever he was talking to and just stood there, glaring, willing him (Ewan) to acknowledge his (Simon’s) existence. Ewan just pretended he wasn’t there, but the whole thing was intensely annoying.

  At lunch on Thursday, Ewan headed into the break room and spotted Simon at the coffee machine. Nope, he thought. He skirted around Simon, grabbed his lunch from the fridge, and made a beeline for the door, only to walk directly into someone coming in.

  “Sorry! Are you okay?”

  Ewan blinked. The wall of beefcake he’d run into turned out to be Channon, looking adorably apologetic. “Sure,” Ewan said, flustered and awkward. “I’m fine.”

  Channon visibly relaxed. “Hi. Um. You’re having lunch?”

  “Yeah?” Ewan wondered what, exactly, Channon was asking. Of course he was having lunch. It was lunchtime and he was holding a plastic container of leftover pizza. What else would he be doing?

  “Me too,” Channon said unnecessarily. Ewan squinted at him as he faltered, and then— Oh.

  “Wanna have lunch with me?” Ewan offered. Channon beamed at him, this beautiful, white-toothed smile that was almost blinding. God, he was a cliché. All-American corn-fed hunk. Disgusting.

  They sat at an open table. Ewan hadn’t bothered heating his pizza, but it was only pepperoni, so it was fine cold. Meanwhile, Channon unpacked a lunch cooler with some kind of wholesome-looking wrap, an undressed salad, macrobiotic yogurt, and a tub of apple slices. It was distressingly healthy. Ewan decided Channon was a health freak and took a significant number of points off his potential friend tally.

  “How’s your old man?” Ewan asked to make conversation.

  Channon stiffened, eyeing him warily. “He’s not old.”

  Privately, Ewan thought he was. Maybe Nate was the same age, but he didn’t act it. Jack Nash was too together, too business-suits-and-acquisitions. And Channon was too young, which only made the age gap loom all the more.

  Aloud, he said, “Naw, I mean your mister. You two good? You okay?”

  Channon gave him a bewildered look. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  Oh, I dunno, because you look like you just hatched, and that old chicken hawk could chew you up and spit you out before you even knew what was happening. But what he said was, “That’s a lot of fucking salad. Figure you must have scurvy, or something.”

  It took a moment, but Channon grinned. “You want some? Or are you not eating vegetables right now?”

  Ewan glanced at his pizza and wrinkled his nose. “Tomato’s a vegetable.” Sure, it was tomato paste, but same-same, right?

  “Isn’t it a fruit?”

  “Only if you’re a pedantic wanker,” Ewan said, enjoying this far too much.

  As if on cue, Channon frowned, looking at something over Ewan’s shoulder. “Uh, there’s a guy just staring at the back of your head. Is that okay?”

  Ewan made a face. “White guy? Pasty? Wearing a fuck-ugly shirt?”

  He saw the way Channon’s eyes flickered to Ewan’s own shirt, but all Channon said was, “Yeah. He kinda looks like that guy from Big Bang Theory. Only short.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know, I only saw ads.” Channon leaned in, conspiratorially. “Is there a problem? He’s really glaring at you. Or me. Whoa, is he your ex?”

  “He’s not my fucking ex,” Ewan spluttered. “Christ, does he look like my type?”

  Channon shrugged. “No? Is Nate your type?”

  Physically? No. If Ewan had a type it was ‘guys who could push me around’, and while Nate did do exactly that, he didn’t look like a bully. Not by a long shot.

  Channon, though…he was bigger than Ewan, clearly stronger than him. In school, Ewan would have avoided him, tried to stay off his radar. And then quietly stalked him, in a noncommittal sort of way. If Channon was an arsehole, maybe Ewan would have gotten himself knocked down in a corridor or thrown up against a wall. If he were especially lucky, he might have been thrown up against a wall in an entirely different way. If Channon had been the kind of bully Ewan liked, which he really didn’t seem to be.

  Ewan breathed out. “Nate does all right. He’s a mean bastard when he feels like it.”

  “And you like that,” Channon said, looking doubtful.

  “Don’t you?” Ewan asked meaningfully.

  Channon hesitated. Then he nodded, his cheeks reddening. “Yeah. I do.”

  It was the closest they got to talking about their kinky secrets, and even that seemed to make Channon deeply uncomfortable. Ewan chalked it up to how new he was to it all—only eighteen, he said, and it made Ewan’s teeth hurt to hear it.

  He was so young. Ewan hadn’t been that young at eighteen. He’d made terrible choices but he’d known they were terrible choices. Channon seemed blissfully unaware of the dangers of being a wealthy sadist’s kept boy, seemed in awe of Jack Nash and painfully in love with him. Ewan decided it wasn’t any of his business, but knowing that and actually ceasing to think about it were two different things.

  By the end of lunch, Channon had gone back to glancing over Ewan’s shoulder. “He’s still glaring at you. Is that something you should tell HR?”

  “Naw,” Ewan said, pretending to care less than he did. “He just thinks I got team lead on a project because I’m fucking my boss.”

  “Oh. Um.” Channon looked embarrassed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s how people think I got a job here, so.”

  For a moment, Ewan thought he meant Nate. Then the pieces clicked into place. Jack Nash was a co-owner of the company, so… “Well, did you?”

  “Pretty much,” Channon sighed. “But I don’t… I mean I’m sure Nate wouldn’t…”

  “He wouldn’t,” Ewan agreed. “He cares too much about his precious code to fuck it up over a roll in the hay.”

  It was true, he thought later at his desk. Whatever insecurities Ewan had about what Nate thought of him, he knew he was good enough to be here, and he knew Nate thought so too. Imposter Syndrome be damned, he was a good fucking programmer. He was far less certain that he was a good fuck. And a good submissive?

  No. No, he wasn’t that. Masochist, sure, but as a sub he w
as…substandard.

  As if to rub that in, Nate pinged him with a snapchat of an unbruised hand. All better, baby boy.

  His gut clenched. He’d already fucked up Nate’s stupid ‘no orgasms’ rule. But Nate had meant him to, right? He didn’t really expect Ewan to be good. How could he possibly?

  So, what are you doing tonight? Nate sent.

  Ewan chewed his lip, conflicted. If he told Nate no, Nate would know. If he spent the evening with Nate, he’d either have to lie or avoid the question, and while that was fine for some things, he didn’t know if he could for something like this. Lying to Nate about play stuff felt wrong. And he had a feeling Nate would take that very, very badly.

  Trapped by indecision, Ewan sent back, What have you got for me? and hoped for the best. If Nate was mad, he was mad. If he took it out on Ewan, then at least Ewan would know exactly what kind of an arsehole he was. It would be worth it to find out, he told himself. Better to know the devil, right?

  Chapter 5

  “Come to my place.”

  Ewan shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I’ll give you a lift after work,” Nate said, looking pleased with himself.

  But Ewan didn’t want that. “I’ll need a shower and a change of clothes. I’ll come over after.”

  Nate eyed him for a moment and then nodded. “Don’t eat anything. Have dinner with me.”

  It seemed reasonable, but it made Ewan itch. So domestic. They weren’t supposed to be domestic, and every time they spent the night together their lives got a little tighter, a little more entwined.

  Still. “All right,” he said.

  At seven he was on Nate’s doorstep. The weather was cold but dry, and when Nate opened the door the light and warmth that spilled out of his house welcomed Ewan in like a hug. Nate had changed into soft denim jeans and the blue cashmere sweater that brought out his eyes, and his hair hung damp and clean around his temples, the color of wet straw.

  “Hey,” he drawled, grinning like a maniac. “Come on in.”

  Ewan did, stopping to unlace his shoes because he knew Nate preferred it, and for some reason, he didn’t want to piss Nate off any more than he had to. That was why he was on time, why he’d made a special effort to fix his hair, to make his clothes clean and neat, and had not even a trace of eyeliner. It made him feel weird, untethered from himself, as if this person Nate wanted him to be was someone else entirely, and that by giving in to it he lost a part of himself he could never get back.

  But that was ridiculous, so he squared his shoulders and joined Nate in the kitchen.

  Nate’s two-story house was light and airy, all vaulted ceilings and wood finish, scattered with greenery spilling out of tall planters. Nate had confided that his housekeeping service took care of the plants for him, which Ewan thought was just typical. His kitchen was bigger than one person needed, the appliances expensively dark chrome, and now the air overflowed with some excruciatingly eighties ballad Ewan recognized but couldn’t name.

  He opened his mouth to demand to know what the fuck Nate was listening to, and checked himself. He was being good, wasn’t he? Nate didn’t need to be poked tonight. Tonight would be bad enough without making it worse.

  It’s not a big deal. What’s he going to do—flog me? Ewan could take whatever Nate threw at him. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  “How’s your week been?” Nate asked, dishing out soup, rice, ginger-scented chicken. He handed Ewan a bowl, and Ewan put it on the kitchen table, working on an answer that gave nothing away.

  “Okay. Simon’s being a dick.”

  “Did he say anything worth firing him over?”

  “Naw, he just looms like a great bloody lumpus.” Ewan fetched chopsticks and flat-bottomed soup spoons and arranged them as nicely as he could.

  “Anyone else giving you trouble?”

  “Nope. Bianca bought me a latte, from the good coffee shop on Dyson Street.”

  “Sucking up to the boss?”

  Ewan shrugged. “I’m not anyone’s boss. You said, ‘The skunkworks project is a nonhierarchical work system.’ I’m just accountable.”

  Nate chuckled and ran a hand up Ewan’s back. “Yeah, but you’re still the lead. Don’t worry, if you have any problems I’ll help.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Life’s not fair.” Nate squeezed his shoulder. “You’re tense. Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” Ewan said, feeling thin as paper.

  “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re not fine?”

  “I’m just tired, all right?” Ewan snapped, turning away from Nate to hide his lying face.

  For a moment, Nate said nothing. Then he moved past Ewan to set a pot of jasmine tea on the table. “Hungry? I got the green sauce you like so much.”

  The food looked good and smelled better, and Ewan felt like he didn’t deserve it. But he washed his hands and sat down, and let Nate pour him tea.

  “My week has been great,” Nate said mildly. “Since you asked. Jack’s got a bee in his bonnet about expansion again. I don’t get it. Is there any point in taking up a bigger market share? Like, I couldn’t spend the money I already have in a lifetime. It’s ridiculous.”

  Ewan didn’t say anything. Nate didn’t talk about money often, except to reassure Ewan that he didn’t have to worry about Nate paying for him. He knew, though, that Nate was obscenely wealthy and did fuck all with it.

  “Cameron called, by the way. He wanted advice on asking boys out.”

  That made Ewan snort. Nate’s nephew was sixteen and possibly bisexual, but definitely trouble. Or, really, he was just a cute kid who was curious about stuff and had no brain-to-mouth filter. Ewan liked him okay. “What did you tell him?”

  “That it sounded like his friend might be straight, so best to test the water on that first.”

  “What, like, just go, ‘Robert Pattinson’s well fit, aye?’”

  Nate grinned. “Something like that. How’s the chicken?”

  Ewan had barely tasted it. He dipped a piece in green sauce and put it in his mouth. Tender, tangy, perfect. “Good,” he said, unable to manage more enthusiasm than that.

  Nate eyed him intently. “Okay, that’s it. Whatever you’re not telling me, now is the time.”

  Fuck. “It’s just—”

  “Did you punch someone at work? Or is your bank account overdrawn again?”

  “I never punched anyone at work,” Ewan protested. “My account is fine. I just—”

  Nate gave him a Dom look. “Out with it.”

  This was it. Ewan took a deep breath. “I broke your stupid ‘no orgasms’ rule.”

  Nate blinked. And then his mouth spread into a nasty grin. “Did you now.”

  “It was stupid! And totally unfair! And I don’t care if you’re steamed about it,” Ewan lied, feeling terribly reckless, “give me your worst.”

  Nate took all this in with alarming equanimity. “Oh, I will. Don’t you even worry.”

  “So what, then? What are you gonna do?”

  He gestured with his chin. “Eat your dinner. Have some salad. No, not just cucumber slices.”

  Somehow, this made everything so much worse. “So you’re not going to do anything?” Ewan scoffed. “I thought actions had consequences.”

  “They do, believe me.” Nate scooped rice into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “But I’m not interrupting my delicious dinner for you. So dig in. But don’t overdo it,” he added ominously, “I wouldn’t want it to come back up later.”

  Shit. Nate looked smugly satisfied. So he had wanted Ewan to break his rule. And he had something planned that Ewan wasn’t going to like.

  A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe everything was going to be okay, after all. And maybe he was going to regret this bitterly before the night was through

  ⁂

  In reality, Nate didn’t care about the ‘no orgasms’ rule. It wasn’t a serious rule. It was one of those arbitrary rules that were almost made to be broken.
And, in the breaking of them, Nate got to do all the things to Ewan that Ewan pretended he didn’t like.

  It was tricky to find the balance between making sure Ewan was actually okay with what they were doing and not annoying him with the details. Nate needed to know he wasn’t going to fuck Ewan up in some permanent, relationship-destroying way. Ewan defied help and disdained negotiation, but Nate was pretty confident in his ability to read Ewan’s moods, all the same.

  Tonight, Ewan was twitchy with nerves. He seemed to be fighting some kind of shame in himself that Nate was sixty percent sure had to do with the ‘no orgasms’ thing. This was the second time he’d given Ewan an order not to touch himself while they were apart; last time Ewan had bitched and moaned but kept the rule intact. What was different this time to make him break it? What had changed?

  It was clear Ewan had broken it deliberately. Was that something Nate needed to address before he punished him for it? And how, precisely, could he punish Ewan in a way that actually felt like a punishment, instead of a reward for bad behavior?

  “Do you need to wash up?” Nate asked, knowing full well that Ewan had showered and changed before coming over. Ewan shook his head, poking the last of his rice around his bowl. Nate considered making him finish off every last grain, and decided against it. He wasn’t in that kind of mood. “Do you want to tell me about how you fucked up now? Or do you want to wait until I have you restrained?”

  Ewan’s chin jerked up. There was a flash of hurt in his eyes before he shored it away behind stubbornness. “I told you. I broke your rule. What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you break it?”

  “Because it was stupid.”

  “So you broke it deliberately.”

  Ewan rolled his eyes. “My dick didn’t wank itself.”

  “So you jerked off. When was this?”

  “Monday.”

  Nate leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “And you waited until now to tell me because…?”