by Onley James
“Daddy Dom,” Gideon said. “No. No, that’s not why.”
“Is it true you lost somebody and that’s why you never use the same boy twice?” Cal asked, his voice one step above a whisper.
There was a sharp pang behind Gideon’s ribcage. “Is that what they say about me?”
Cal shrugged, picking up Gideon’s hand and playing with his fingers. “They said you seemed lonely but guarded. Did you? Lose somebody?”
Gideon surprised himself by answering, “Yes, my husband.”
Cal squeezed Gideon’s hand, the sorrow in his voice unmistakable. “Were you his Daddy?”
Gideon sighed. “No. He was mine.”
Cal sat up and turned around, causing the water to slosh along the sides. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”
Gideon swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. It was such a shitty condolence, but he could see the boy truly meant it, which somehow made it seem like it just happened yesterday and not six years ago. “He was much older than me,” he said before clearing his throat. “Still, I thought we’d have more time.”
“What happened to him?”
The boy’s questions seemed endless now. “He was in a car accident,” Gideon said before clearing his throat. “Now, let’s get out of this tub before you get any wrinklier.” He kissed the boy’s lips to stave off whatever question he might lob next.
Cal snorted a laugh as he stepped out of the tub. “Like I’m the one who has to worry about wrinkles.”
Gideon snapped the towel, catching the boy’s thigh. “Watch it, brat. You’re still mine for another thirty minutes. I could squeeze in another round of spankings.”
Cal’s eyes went round as saucers. “No, Daddy. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of fake fear.
“Yeah, yeah. Go get dressed.”
Gideon padded to his dresser and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and sat on the end of the bed while he watched the boy dress. He was dragging his feet. It was clear he didn’t want to leave. If Gideon was honest with himself, he didn’t want him to go, might never want him to go, which was reason enough to send him away.
Once Cal dressed, Gideon opened the drawer to the credenza just beside the front door, pulling his wallet free and handing the boy ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. The boy didn’t take it, just stared at the money in Gideon’s hand like he’d never seen it before. “What’s that?”
“It’s yours.”
He shook his head, his conscience at war with his survival instinct. “I can’t take that. That’s twice what you paid Hillary.”
Gideon took Cal’s hand and pushed the money into it. “Hillary wasn’t here tonight. She wasn’t in my bed. You were.” Gideon lifted his chin and gave him a lingering kiss. “And you were perfect. I’d give you ten times this if I had it.”
Cal looked anywhere but at Gideon. “And you never see the same boy twice? Never?”
Gideon could see what he wanted, knew what he asked, and for the first time in years, the thought of breaking his one and only rule tempted him. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Especially not for this barely legal boy with his big green eyes and broken life. “I’m afraid not. But if I could make an exception, you would have been the one I made it for. I don’t know if that brings you any comfort.”
“Does it matter?” Cal asked, his lower lip trembling enough to twist something deep in Gideon’s chest.
“I guess not.”
Gideon opened the door, and the boy turned to go. He snagged his arm and turned him back toward him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Be careful getting home. Don’t forget to text Hillary that you’re safe.”
The boy didn’t speak, just nodded and left.
Gideon closed the door and leaned against it, forcing himself not to chase after the boy. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but by the time he locked the door, he was certain he might have made the biggest mistake of his life.
Cal yawned and stretched his arms overhead, his fist gently connecting with Bastian’s shoulder before falling to the armrest. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against his balled up uniform jacket, which served as his makeshift pillow. Echoes of laughter and footsteps filled the auditorium along with the smell of overly expensive aftershave and hastily applied shoe polish. He did his best to ignore all of it. None of these people were his friends anymore.
Bastian was his only friend and even that sometimes seemed fleeting. As Roosevelt Prep’s only scholarship kid, Bastian had fought hard to fit in, and Cal figured it was only a matter of time before Bastian decided he didn’t also want to be Cal’s only ally if it made Bastian public enemy number two. He tried to pretend that it wouldn’t matter when Bastian finally ditched him, but the truth was, Bastian and his mother were the only people keeping Cal from being totally homeless. If it wasn’t for the sleeping bag on Bastian’s bedroom floor, he would be in big trouble.
“Boys! Put your feet down and sit up straight. This isn’t your bedroom,” Mr. Pierce snapped, kicking Cal’s chair. Cal and Bastian both grimaced at the eleventh grade Latin teacher before dropping their feet to the ground, sitting up a bit straighter.
“Oh, cut him some slack, Mr. Pierce. It’s probably hard to sleep when you live in a cardboard box behind Del Taco,” Micah St. Clair quipped from two rows ahead, craning his head back until Cal could see his perfect unblemished profile and part of his floppy blond hair.
Pierce rolled his eyes and kept walking, but the boy’s weren’t done. Before Cal could open his mouth to retort, Matteo Cruz chimed in, “Now, that’s not true, St. Clair. You know he’s slipping little Bastian that good dick in exchange for sharing that roach infested apartment. But I guess when your parents breed like Mormons, what’s one more mouth to feed. Right, Abercrombie?”
The surrounding students erupted with laughter. Bastian flipped off Cruz who smirked and returned the gesture, but Cal wasn’t willing to let it lie. “Oh, don’t be salty, Cruz. I know you’ve just been dying for a real taste of this good dick since you saw me naked in the locker room after lacrosse practice last year. It’s okay. You can be honest. We’re all friends here.”
Some students snickered, some sucked in a breath, but most of them just stared at Matteo like they wondered if the lacrosse team captain would allow Cal to say something like that. Of course he wouldn’t.
“Salty? How about you lick my salty nuts, Whyte?” he said, his laugh tinged with a tiny bit of panic. “Hey, you think your dad’s taking it in the ass in prison? Kind of ironic that he hated you for being gay, but now, he’s the one who’s afraid to drop the soap. Life’s funny that way, huh?”
Cal went perfectly still at Matteo’s words, his entire body flushing with heat as the sound of rushing blood filled his ears. He clenched his fists, but neither boy paid him any attention, instead high-fiving each other as though they’d somehow won this battle of wits.
Cal launched himself over the empty row of seats, snagging Matteo by the tie and dragging him backward over the seat, getting the boy in a headlock. Chaos erupted as students stood, some yelling, some cheering, and all of them reaching for their cell phones. Bastian jumped into the fray, but Cal lost him in the crush of bodies. He got at least one good hit to Matteo’s face before the loser sucker punched him in the nuts.
Everybody froze as a shrill voice pierced through the roar of the students. “What is going on here?” Evelyn Abernathy shrieked. “Stop that. Stop that this instant. Sit down, all of you. Phones off. Is this how you want to introduce yourselves to your interim headmaster? You’re embarrassing the school.”
Matteo shook himself free of Cal’s grip. “Cal started it, like usual, Mrs. Abernathy. Him and that street urchin they let in.”
“I don’t care who started it,” she said, glaring at Cal as if he’d wronged her whole family. “You will all sit down and give the man the attention and respect he deserves or I’ll talk to Coach Keller about benching both of you.” She pointed a finger at Cal. “And you, young man, you’ll be
going to see the new headmaster right after assembly. I’ll make sure he knows what a troublemaker you are.”
Matteo pushed himself off Cal. “Keep your hands off me, fag.”
“How original,” Bastian quipped.
Cal snorted. “That’s not what you said after homecoming. You begged me to finish you off after Alyssa Holland left you high and dry for—who was it? Oh, that’s right. Micah.”
“Fuck you, bitch. That never happened,” Matteo fired back.
Micah’s brows went up, and Bastian cackled. “Whatever you say, Cruz. But I’m pretty sure that was you and Cal I saw fogging up the glass of your Maserati.”
“Enough of this filth or I will have all of you in detention until graduation. You’re all degenerates. I expected better from you two,” Mrs. Abernathy fired at Matteo and Micah.
Oh, but not Cal and Bastian. They were just trash. Bastian was there to fill a quota, and Cal was there because they hadn’t found a way to kick him out…yet. But maybe he’d just ruined that. This new headmaster was likely a plant from the board, sent to toss Cal out on his ass in retaliation for his father’s crimes. The notion sat heavy in Cal’s belly like a lead weight. He couldn’t afford to get kicked out. Not now. He had a full-ride waiting for him if he could just hold on until graduation in six weeks.
But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the taunts and abuse. The money he’d earned from that night with Gideon had barely covered half of his monthly insulin dose and having to ration his medication made him feel sick and edgy. His highs were getting higher and his lows were causing crashes that grew scarier every time they happened.
The sound of feedback through the overhead speakers had the auditorium falling silent, all eyes swinging to the podium on the stage at the front. A spotlight clicked on from the sound room directly behind Cal and Bastian, and the man behind the podium held his hand up as he went temporarily blind from the unexpected beam of light.
Cal took in the man’s broad shoulders and well-cut gray blazer, the slightest tickle of something—foreboding… Anticipation, maybe?—sparking a memory that seemed destined to stay just out of reach…until the moment the man dropped his hand and Cal got his first look at their new interim headmaster. Except, it wasn’t his first look at all. Cal was familiar with their new headmaster.
Intimately familiar.
Bastian began slapping the back of his hand against Cal’s chest, his gaze glued to the man on the stage. “Holy fucking shit, dude. Is that…”
“Yeah,” Cal said, breathless. “Yeah, it totally is.”
“May I have your attention please?” Gideon asked as if every single person in that auditorium wasn’t staring at him like he was the only man alive. “My name is Dr. Leopold Gideon, and for the next six weeks, I’ll be here to oversee the day-to-day tasks of Roosevelt Prep while Mr. Leighton recoups from his surgery. Your headmaster has assured me that you are all fine young men and that I won’t have the least bit of trouble with any of you while I’m here.” There was a tittering of nervous laughter. Gideon smiled, revealing those perfect, perfect teeth. “If you have any questions or concerns, I have an open door policy. Feel free to stop by the office and let Mrs. Abernathy know you wish to speak to me. I’ll make the time. That’s all for now. All of you get to class.”
People were up and moving from their seats before Gideon even finished his sentence. All but Bastian and Cal who stayed where they were, hidden in the shadowy corner in the very back row.
Cal didn’t speak, just swallowed hard, his heart slamming against his ribcage until he was dizzy. Gideon, his Gideon—Daddy—was right there, would be right there for the next six weeks. Cal shivered. He’d thought of little else since their night together and still had yellowish-purple bruises on his ass from Gideon’s punishment. He pressed his hand against them when he jerked off, thinking about it in the shower, thinking about how he’d been Daddy’s good boy. But the ache from Gideon’s cock had disappeared after a couple days, and Cal had missed it—he’d missed the spike of arousal that had shot through him each time he sat down or pressed his own fingers inside himself just to try to pretend Gideon was still behind him, inside him, invading every part of him.
Cal didn’t know how to explain it, but it was like Gideon had…infected him somehow, awakened some dormant virus inside him that was overwhelming his system. No, not a virus, a drug. He’d shot him up with a drug so potent Cal couldn’t imagine anything else giving him the same rush Gideon had. He’d used him, hurt him, punished and fucked him without mercy, and, God help him, Cal needed more. His cock was half hard and pressing against his zipper just thinking about it. It had to be a sign, right? Some sort of cosmic green light telling Cal that Gideon was meant to be his.
When they were finally alone, Bastian looked at him. “What do we do?”
“What do you mean?” Cal asked, startled, like Bastian could read all his innermost dirty thoughts about their new headmaster.
“I mean, Mrs. Abernathy said you have to go meet the new headmaster. She’s totally gunning for you. She’s going to use your fight as an excuse to finally expel you. You know what you have to do, right?”
Cal frowned. “No. What?”
“Uh, dude. He’s a headmaster who just fucked a student. I mean, you’re nineteen so it’s not illegal, but it could get him fired if the wrong people found out,” Bastian reminded him.
Cal’s eyes went wide. “You want me to get him fired? Hillary would shit a brick.”
“How are you so smart about trigonometry but so dumb about life? Blackmail him. Threaten to tell the board or the newspapers or his day job about his canoodling with a student so they can’t expel you.”
Cal chewed on the inside of his cheek. The idea of blackmailing Gideon was terrifying. He wasn’t the person Mrs. Abernathy wanted people to think he was. There was a time when she’d fallen all over herself to get two minutes alone with Cal’s father, but that was before his father had ended up in prison.
“Do you think I could get him to do it again?” Cal asked, his tongue darting out to lick over his suddenly dry lips.
Bastian frowned. “What do you mean? Do what again?”
Cal flushed. “Do you think I could get him to be with me again? Like he was that night?”
Bastian stared at Cal for so long he started to fidget. “You fucking let him kiss you, didn’t you? I swear to fuck, you never listen. I don’t think you want to do that. It’s not a good idea.”
Cal wasn’t listening any longer. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this was meant to be. “It’s perfect. I get six more weeks of school, and he gets six more weeks of being my Daddy.”
Bastian was shaking his head. “Dude, you’re delusional if you think Gideon is going to thank you for this. He has a lot of fucking baggage. He needs to inflict pain just to get himself off. I heard from Hillary that he was into all kinds of heavy BDSM shit back in the day, like when he was married and shit. You’ve only gotten a little taste of what that life is like. You aren’t ready for that kind of lifestyle, and forcing a Dom into that kind of situation is just asking for retaliation of the painful kind.”
Cal shivered at the thought. Sure, there’d been pain…a lot of it even. But with that pain had come this blissful foggy feeling of floating that had made Cal forget about his shitty fucking life for a while. He wanted that feeling again. He needed it. He was going to make Gideon give it to him, and when he did, Cal would repay him by being the sweetest, most attentive boy. He’d do anything to hear Gideon rumble ‘Good boy’ into his ear, to feel his arms around him, his cock filling him up, to relive the way he’d held him and taken care of him afterwards.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Cal lied. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll just make sure that I can finish out my six weeks of school and find some other guy to play with.”
“Yeah, maybe somebody your own age.”
“Can I still blackmail him for money?” Cal asked. Bastian’s mouth fell op
en before Cal smiled. “I’m kidding, dumbass. You should probably get to class before they find a reason to kick you out too.”
Cal watched Bastian sling his book bag over his shoulder and head out the east door into the hallway. Cal headed west to the office. Abernathy waited for him behind the giant mahogany counter. “Sit,” she barked, pointing to a seat by the door. Cal did as she asked, dropping his backpack into the chair beside him. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Mr. Whyte. Today is probably your last day here with us at Roosevelt Prep.”
“Is it?” Cal asked, forcing himself to keep his tone conversational.
“Mm,” she said, lips flattened into a thin line of superiority.
“Well,” Cal said, “if that’s the case. Let me take this opportunity to tell you, from the bottom of my heart, that you are a miserable hag.”
Her face split into a nightmarish grin. “You seem to forget that nobody cares about your opinions anymore. Tonight, I’ll drive my fancy car home to my great big house where I’ll sit down and have dinner with my husband and loving children, while you, Mr. Whyte, you’ll be begging for spare change to buy a dollar burrito from the corner bodega before you crawl back into your rat infested cardboard box under whatever overpass you’ve made your home.”
Cal didn’t give her the satisfaction of letting her know that her words had hit their target. He just leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t count me out just yet.”
Gideon leaned back in the leather office chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, his gaze on the clock. Twenty minutes into his first day as the acting headmaster at Roosevelt Preparatory Academy and he was already regretting his decision. He’d only agreed to this stint as a favor to the head of his department over at the university, who was the golfing buddy of Bernard Leighton, the school’s actual headmaster, who was still recovering from hip replacement surgery and wouldn’t return for six weeks. The last six weeks of the year. The most important weeks. Gideon didn’t think the timing was an accident.