Saturday, July 31, 2010

A Starry Night

It was raining by the time I got off the bus. It had been cold, but still a little sunny, only twenty minutes prior. I stepped out into it, wishing I had thought to bring more with me. At least an umbrella or something.

But then, why bring an umbrella when it's supposed to be sunny?

Damn unpredictable weather.

I slung my messenger bag over my head and slipped under the covering of the bus stop to call Dominic.

By my calculations, his apartment should only have been about a five minute walk from the stop I was at. But even still, I knew he would ask me what in the hell I was thinking if I didn't at least try to call him to pick me up. He’d gotten so much more protective the last few weeks. I leaned hard against the glass of the enclosure and sifted my hands through everything in my bag. Everything. Then searched all the pockets of my jeans and the front pocket of my sweatshirt before realizing I'd left my cell in the window sill at Gareth's loft.

And yes, it was only Gareth's loft.

Cursing myself at that point, but desperate, I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt, braced myself and set out bravely for Dominic's apartment.

For a fleeting moment, the masochist in me grinned. He would pay me quite a bit more attention if I were frozen and wet. And... having thought of that, I figured it wouldn't be entirely out of the question to walk just a little bit slower. I mean, shivering couldn't hurt. Or turning my lips a pretty shade of blue. To match my eyes?

-------

By the time I got there I was more than a little ready to kill my inner masochist. I did end up reasoning that killing a piece of yourself is really rather masochistic in itself and so….

But being as I was a little out of sorts right then, any philosophical standpoint on the issue was entirely lost on me.

And to make life just that much more exciting, it was still raining. I was soaked to the skin, dripping, my ears ached, my lips and fingers were numb and I was a little too close to tears.

He wasn't just going to pay me closer attention, he was going to kill me.

I had to buzz up for him to let me in because he lived in one of those really secure buildings.

Something about "safety issues". I think that was the phrase he used.

Yeah, in the real world, we call that "paranoia".

Personally, I liked the loft Gareth and I shared in China town. It was eclectic, conducive to my artwork and had an air of adventure about it.

Besides, the Asian boys were hot and always walking past our window where we could cruise them without anyone really noticing. Which pissed Dominic off. But the look that it put on his face made both of us laugh so hard that we saved all our cruising exclusively for his visits.

"Graayyer," Gareth would turn around from the kitchen window and grin at me, lasciviously. "That hot guy from the video place is walking home from work again."

"The one with the 'fuck me' eyes?" I'd ask, casting laughing eyes at Dominic who would undoubtedly be ready to strangle both of us.

He still gets that look sometimes. And it still eggs me on.

"Yes?" the voice over the intercommy thing ground out. He sounded tired. Work stuff probably.

"Dominic?" I mustered in my most pathetic voice. Which wasn't hard at that point, considering the state of my being.

"Who is this?" he asked. Like maybe I was some sort of vacuum cleaner salesman holding a midnight sale.

Fuck, it had only been two weeks. Not some kind of eternity. Had he forgotten my voice already?

"Graeme?" I ventured, carefully, suddenly not at all sure he'd even want to see me. "It's Graeme."

"Graeme?" He was silent for a moment. "Grayer? Gray?"

I laughed nervously in spite of myself and nodded before realizing he couldn't hear physical gestures.
"Uh huh," I said. "Can I come up? Please? It's cold and--"

"Get UP here," he said. "It's freezing! What in the hell are you doing out in this weather?" He didn't wait for an answer.

Above me, I heard grating and saw a window open, then Dominic's head. The first I'd seen of it in what seemed an eternity right then.

"I have a good excuse?" I called up.

"Well, now really isn't the time for that, kiddo," he said, not necessarily annoyed... not really very pleased. He dropped something. I moved to catch it. The key. "The buzzer's broken. Get your butt up here. Right now," he said. Like I was five and he'd just gotten my report card in the mail with three D's.

I fumbled with the key at the lock, my hands stiff and cold, but somehow managed to twist the thing in there and turn it.

On my way up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, I further evaluated the tone of his voice. Angry? Annoyed? I mean, it had been two weeks and we.. were.. kind of. Boyfriends. Kind of. If you go for those sorts of things. Bothered? In a bad way or a good way? Had he stopped liking me over the course of two weeks? It is a long time...

I guess I hadn't thought much about that before then. I'd just known that I needed him, in spite of myself. And anyway, all of my friends were stuck in cramped dorms, had ten roommates already or were still at home with their parents. I couldn't stay with any of them. Still, I hadn't even considered until that moment that he might not want to take me in.

I ascended the last flight of stairs slowly, anxiously aware that I should have come up with a Plan B. I stopped in front of his door and leaned back against the opposite wall.

What if he never wanted to see me again and this was all a huge, gigantic, awful mistake? What if he told me to leave and shoved me back out into the rain? But, no... he'd just told me to come up. That had to mean that, at least on some level, he wanted me in his apartment. Right? And, I supposed, if worse came to it's very worst, I could sleep here in the hallway tonight, where it was warm, and find something better tomorrow.

I'm well known for my rationality under pressure.

For now, however, I focused my attention on the door and willed it to open without my having to knock. It must’ve worked too, because just as I moved to knock, it swung open.

I stumbled into him.

"What took you so long?" he demanded, taking me by the shoulders and righting me. "I was worried you were in some sort of danger, just showing up like this. In the rain and so late? I have been so worried about you, Graeme Evan Kinney. What is the matter with you, young man? You haven't returned my phone calls, you stood me up at everything we had planned last week. Look at me."
But I couldn't. I was too busy crumbling into tears. "I'm sorry," I babbled. "I'm sorry. I'll go. I didn't mean to, I just- Gareth and I-"

"Hush..." he drug me into his chest and hugged me, all wet and miserable, then pulled me inside and shut the door behind us. "I'm not angry. Gray? Grayer, take this off." He lifted my bag off my shoulder for me with a grunt at how heavy it was. I'd forgotten it was even there.

I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my palms in an attempt to compose myself and then looked up at him. A shivering, wet mess of tears, emotions and now a trickle of snot finding its way out of my nose.

"Come on, let's get you out of these. You're freezing." His voice was gentle and smooth. He smelled good. And most importantly, right now, he was warm.

"I just needed- well, Gareth and I- I um.." I sniffed, my breath hitching.

"One thing at a time, Graeme. First, we'll get you out of these clothes and then into the shower. There will be plenty of time to talk after that. And believe me, we will be." He was already peeling off my sweatshirt.

I toed my shoes off. "I'm sorry..." I sniffed again, lifting my arms for him to pull my T-shirt over my head.

"What were you thinking walking out in that rain?" He was towing me to the bathroom.

"It's wasn't that far," I shivered visibly and wrapped my arms around my damp body. "Just from the bus stop."

"That's ten blocks away. How long were you out there?" He bent and turned on the taps, adjusting them and waiting for them to get warm.

"L-longer than I'd f-figured," I shrugged through chattering teeth. "Dunno. I forgot how f-far... it was." I gulped for air and leaned against him.

He turned me toward him and unbuttoned my jeans. I looked closely at him for a long moment as he slid the rest of my clothes to the floor. Nothing in his demeanor to suggest that I shouldn't have come or that he was annoyed about the abruptness of it all... he seemed somewhat upset about the whole avoidance thing. But... I guess that was to be expected.

After a nine month relationship, I suppose it isn't all that nice to just up and stop talking for two weeks, explanations withheld.

You should note that that was his fault though. In... a manner of.. speaking.
One that may be a little biased. On my part. Maybe.

He turned the shower on and stood up, bending slightly to kiss my forehead. "I missed you," he said, softly then nudged at me. "Now get in there. Warm up." He pulled the curtain back and I stepped in.
Dominic does everything like he's had years of practice. Like nothing is new to him and he's done all it all a thousand times before. There's this calming ease about him. It's really very comforting and normalizes even the most awkward of situations.

He was applying that ease here in heavy doses.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, over the hiss of the shower spray.

"No," I lied.

Of course I was hungry. In fact, I was starved. But I was also well aware of Dominic's vegetarianism and even more disenthralled. I, for the record, ate only GOOD food. None of this vegetable, health food crap he forces into me now. Dominic Food consisted then, and still does, of things I hate touching even with a ten foot pole. Carrots, lettuce, and... tofu. The ultimate vegetarian atrocity.
I maintain that making human beings eat wet, slimy bricks of gelatinized soybean by-product is far worse torture than any animal has ever endured at the hands of a slaughter house. Though, Dominic doesn't listen anymore when I say so.

"I'll make you peanut butter and jelly and some warm coffee. We'll see if we can't find a hole in your stomach for it. Then we're going to talk for a while, Grayer."

"I'm sorry, I just-Gareth and I-"

"No," he interrupted me. "Shower first. I'm going to make your sandwich. Toasted or plain?"

"Toasted?" It was more of a question. I was aware toasted took more effort and I felt pathetic, I felt sorry for myself, I wanted to be babied in whatever form that took. Regardless of how I usually felt about toast. Which was not fondly.

But peanut butter and jelly actually did sound pretty good. And so did coffee. Thinking about them made me feel a little hungrier and I set to work scrubbing myself as I thawed out.

So, with food in mind and a growing ache in my stomach, I was out of the shower in fifteen minutes.

A feat for me.

I had nothing to wear, so I just wrapped the towel around my waist and folded it over to hold it there. I'd wear that and sleep.. naked or something.

He was in the kitchen, listening to the BBC on NPR while the coffee perked. I could practically smell all the warmth that the kitchen was radiating and walked straight for the table.

"Pajamas," he said, simply, and motioned to the back of one of the chairs. There were flannel pants and one of his gigantic sweatshirts, topped off with socks and a wife beater tank top.

I grimaced a little and looked at him. "Who wears pajamas?" I asked, skeptically.

He smiled at me, raising his eyebrows as if I were challenging him to a duel. "You do. As long as you're sleeping here. You've risked enough illness for one day, kiddo. Put them on."

No suggestions ever made with Dominic. Even since the beginning. If he thinks something should be a certain way and he's really, really convinced... then that's how it is.

Infuriatingly, he's always right.

"Pajamas," he said again, when I hadn't moved. My mind carries me off a lot, but he knew that already and I didn't feel like I needed to apologize.

"All of these?" I asked, skeptically, eyeing the clothes neatly folded over the back of the chair.

He smiled at me, looking me in the eyes and challenging me right back. "Just you try it," those eyes said. "All of them,” he said aloud. “Now, please."

I grimaced one more time at them, but somehow managed to get them all on. All of them. I felt mummified, but rationalized that if it got me a warm bed, it was pretty much worth it.

"D’you do your apartment?" I asked, conversationally, pulling on the socks. It was a nice place I noticed, now that I was a little calmer. Lighter colors than I might have chosen, but nice, matching ones at least.

"Decorate it, you mean? Yeah, I did." He set a plate down in front of me.

Wheat bread. My arch nemesis. But it was cut diagonally, I had to give him that. And since I hadn't seen him in so long and was still trying to feel my way back into things, I refrained from telling him how much I loathed wheat bread. I don't refrain anymore, but I have a feeling that even if I had then, I would have gotten the same response I do now.

"Eat it anyway."

"Warmer?" he asked, taking the pot out of the coffee machine and pouring black-black coffee into two mugs.

Black-black. The way I like it. If I hadn’t before, that was when I decided he was a keeper. The whole pajama and wheat bread thing could be dealt with as long as he made good coffee.

Not that I was sure we had anything going here that I would keep him for... but minor details like that are to be left ignored at all times.

I nodded, in answer to his question and he handed me a mug that said "Denny's" on it. I looked at it for a moment and had to wonder if he - the ever sensible, moral, upstanding Dominic - had stolen it from the restaurant. But I filed that question/remark away for later use and took a bite of sandwich.

"Cream? Sugar?" he asked, going to the fridge.

"Chocolate syrup?" I asked back.

"Is that all you ever eat?" He peered at me over the top of the fridge door and smiled good-naturedly. "Junk food?"

"Junk food?" I said, incredulously. "I eat from every food group, thank you."

He was laughing as he backed out of the fridge. I noticed he carried no chocolate syrup to the table. "First of all," he was saying around an amused smirk. "I have no chocolate syrup. Though if you'd wanted hot chocolate, you could have said so. Secondly," he sat down across from me. "Cheetos do not qualify as cheese or vegetable just because they're made of corn and covered in orange powder. Nor is milk chocolate a dairy product in spite of the name. Ketchup is also not a vegetable. Tomatoes are fruit anyway. Everything McDonald's makes practically comes out of an EZ-Bake Oven and frozen pizza and ramen simply have no nutritional value whatsoever." He took a deep breath, looking proud of himself.

Well. All right then. I quickly saw how it was going to be and began weighing my options.

But not before arguing.

"Ramen is a grain!" I said, defensively, around a mouthful of peanut butter and strawberry jam.
He shook his head and put his coffee mug down on the table. "Hardly by the time they get through with it. And eat that, don't talk through it."

I rolled my eyes.

We'd been together one month. Which may sound like a long time – I mean, it does to me, Mr. Non-commitment – but up until that point it had been almost painfully casual. We ate dinner together on Wednesdays and took drives on Sundays. Sometimes he would show up at my studio with coffee or I would drop by his office "just to say hi".. but that was about it.

It was kind of weird because I actually saw him a lot more when we weren't together. Off-hand visits whenever he happened to be with Gareth at the loft or when he came by and Gare was two hours late. Which actually happened fairly frequently, but I think, in part, that could have been... well, I mean maybe, maybe because I translated a few phone messages wrong... which could have been, maybe, so that Gareth would think he was supposed to be there two hours late. Which was, I guess, a little conniving with maybe a twinge of evil thrown in, but nothing I felt too bad about. I mean, they weren't that serious anyway, right? And all of my careful scheming played a part in us getting together. Which is definitely a good thing.

Seriously though, it had been 2.5 weeks since I had last seen him and two since I'd last spoken to him.
I'd gone out for a drink with some of my friends from this gallery - the one that gave me my first showing (how could I not consider them friends?) - and we'd ended up on Rochester Avenue (kind of the city's gay district), at Corky's, a little bar that positively everyone hangs out at. We got a bit tipsy as we were celebrating the first real showing of my friend Andrew, and on our way back home, we weren't really paying attention and got a bit discombobulated down by the questionable end of the street.

I call it the questionable end because it houses both the leather bar, Chains, and the supposedly-secretive-but-not-so-much-anymore S&M club, The Gash. Two places I avoid with a vengeance. Mostly because I look all too the part of a blonde boy slave and every time I find myself in that general area, I get all sorts of weird come-ons. Like, "Hey, little boy, do you need a daddy?" And what is that supposed to mean? Do I look completely untamed or what? I am SO obviously an angel.

Okay, so it turned me on. Not THAT much, but a little.

What did not turn me on, however, was when I saw Dominic walking into The Gash with another guy.

And then when he saw me.

It was like one of those TV scenes or in the movies, when somebody sees their lover doing something hurtful and the camera flashes from one set of eyes to the other. Pain crumpling the gaze of the one and shock and bewilderment flashing across the other.

"Fuck!" I heard behind me as I started back down the road at as quick a pace as a pretty tipsy man can manage. "Graeme! Graeme Evan Kinney! Fuck, stop!"

But he told me later that he lost me in the crowds. It was a Friday night, after all, and things get crazy around there on Friday nights. He said he looked all night and I believe him because he woke me up at 4:00am, pounding on my door.

I refused to let him in or speak to him. Gareth tried to overrule me and open the door, but I threatened to splatter paint his bed in primary colors on a background of white when he went to work. He got Dominic to go home. Probably by telling him he'd “talk to me”. Because for the next four days, all I heard from Gareth was, “Are you sure you don't want to call him?”

Sometimes I wonder now what possessed Dominic to let me in the door out of the cold and rain after how I'd treated him, but I didn't wonder at the time. I always just took for granted that I could get my way with anything I whined at enough. Because up until that point, it had worked out pretty well.
Little did I know how immune Dominic is to whining.

Still, I was marveling at his ability to fall right back into step without missing a beat. It was as though we'd known each other for nine years instead of months and like we'd never been apart at all.
Like I said, he's very at ease with himself and the people around him. He's completely unafraid to say what he thinks when it's appropriate, regardless of who he's talking to. Still, his skyrocketing level of comfort when talking to me and being around me, caught me off guard.

Through my entire sandwich, he sat there, in what to me was painfully awkward silence, just reading the paper and drinking coffee. And it didn't bother him one bit.

Feeling really uncomfortable and weird, I made a couple of efforts at lame conversation, but he always left them for dead after a few, short replies.

I was coming under the impression that he was not appreciative of my being there. Granted, I got the occasional glance-from-the-corner-of-the-eye type thing every few minutes. But this guy was sending out major vibes of annoyance.

I mean... wasn't he?

But then there was the undressing, the kiss on the forehead, the sandwich...

What was he trying to do here, confuse me half to death? Drive me out of his home by means of indecipherably mixed signals? Was he amusing himself at my expense?

That didn't sound very Dominic-ish, but still... I ate the last half of my sandwich, in a growing state of irritation.

And now we should take The Way Back Machine for a ride really quickly. There are a few things you should know.

---------

First, the story of Dominic and Gareth. In short, of course. If I'm at all capable of those sorts of things.
From what I've gathered, they met at some sort of press conference thingy. Dominic is a writer for The Weekly. Gareth was there almost illegitimately with some pass he got who-knows-how. Through some friend at school or something. It's possible that Gare is even more conniving than I am.

So, Dominic was standing there in the press room, listening to the governor or some congressman or something, rambling on about whatever it was that was pertinent to local politics nine months ago. And all of a sudden, up pops this guy from the crowd of reporters, shouting.

Sweet Gareth.

Whenever they retold the story, Gareth would vehemently swear never to tell me what the whole thing was about. Even Dominic still won't tell me anything, though I've repeated to him over and over that promises you make to ex-boyfriends have no bearing once you've broken up. He's just entirely too conscientious for his own good.

However, I have it on fairly good authority that the whole fiasco involved a Gay Straight Alliance Gareth was a part of and had quite a bit to do with the fact that the guy holding the conference was a Republican, adamantly opposed to everything homosexual.

Anyway, Gareth was shouting and the story goes that the Republican political guy made a complete idiot out of him until he shut up. But Dominic was interested in what he was saying. So, after the conference, he tracked Gareth down and found my poor best friend/ex-roommate (Whom I still love dearly, you should note. Now that we've straightened out a few minor details and I paid for the professional refinishing of his floor. He's so picky sometimes.) in a dark corner, down a side hall of the state capital building, sobbing.

To make Gareth feel better and because he was intrigued by anything that would make this kid present himself as such a fool in front of people who could easily take his picture and record the entire event, Dominic took him out for lunch and then... they just kept going out, I guess.
Dinner, the movies, the theater, operas, long walks in The Common. All those sorts of sappy things that couples do.

I met Dominic about two weeks after Gareth, when he came to the door on a Saturday afternoon carrying flowers he'd picked himself to surprise our lovely darling with a picnic lunch. Of course, that would have been the Saturday that Gare decided to drive out into the country with his friends and get drunk at this weird little bar off the highway that they liked a lot (too much?). So, when Dominic came to the door, well... I couldn't just say, "Sorry, Gareth's not in, I'll tell him you stopped by," now could I? I mean, he had flowers and a picnic lunch out in the car and everything. So I told him Gare had run to the grocery store and was due back in five or ten minutes.

That was the first time I witnessed his supreme comfort in social situations. He had me buried deep in conversation immediately. Not the annoying, chattery sort either. And I am a social cripple, to say the least. Almost entirely incapable of carrying on a decent, interesting conversation. Therefore, it was quite the accomplishment on his part.

Over the next two months, I saw him quite a bit, considering he was Gareth's boyfriend and I don't think I'd ever even met one of them before in the two years I lived with him. He said they existed. I'm skeptical. I tend to believe he just wanted a good excuse to go to that weird bar without having to explain himself. Not that I would have minded. Or even asked for an explanation.

After a month and a half or so, things looked like they were going really well for them. There was even a little talk of permanent arrangements and moving in together.

Which, of course, was the precise moment at which Mark came back along. Gare always said he had the most perfect timing.

Cataclysmic timing sounded more like it to me.

When I moved into the loft with Gareth, it was straight after Mark had moved out. Straight after. As in, he'd forgotten everything in his underwear drawer and it was all still there.

And Gareth... Gareth was a wreck. I mean, they'd been together three years. Which is a pretty long time, you know? There were some major attachment issues there. And since we were sharing a loft... which, by nature, has basically no privacy whatsoever... I was also dealing with his attachment issues.
He did a lot of venting those first six months or so. A lot. I practically know what went on between them from the day they met until the day Mark left him for some twinkie with a tighter ass.

Don't think I'm complaining though, I'm really not. What happened in the beginning is what cemented our friendship. We knew each other better than probably any of our previous partners ever had. Including Mark.

It was just a really odd situation. I went into it completely oblivious and got drug into the middle of a hurricane. The very first week, I repeatedly found myself getting up in the middle of the night to wrap my arms around his shaking shoulders and make him tea.

And I still couldn't remember his last name.

So, without meaning to be self-righteous, it was me who walked him through all of that. I was there when Mark wasn't and before Dominic was.

Therefore, if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that Mark had fucked Gare up. Really badly. And something else I knew for sure was that I didn't like the bastard. Seeing him just sweep back in after over two years and steal away the heart and mind that I had spent ages trying to mend... made me incredibly angry.

Also, I knew right away that it was the end of Dominic and Gareth. And I knew it wouldn't be clean cut. Not by a long shot.

It wasn't.

It was awful and bloody and involved lots of repeats of our first nights together. Waking up to find Gareth sobbing at 3am. Lots of comforting him, lots of laying there in bed with him until he fell asleep.

In the end, Mark got him. Gareth felt so bad about having fucked Mark that he ended up telling Dominic. And when Dominic asked where his loyalties laid, Gareth said that he had to say Mark. Because that's what he felt.

Which still sounds stupid to me. But what can you do?

And so Dominic kissed him, rubbed his thumbs over both their tears and left him there. Outside our building.

Which was where I found him three hours later when I was on my way out to get some midnight coffee. Huddled on the steps, tears dried on his face. It was, perhaps, the saddest I've ever seen anyone that I love.

We'd grown somewhat close, too, Dominic and I. And I was sad as well, thinking I wouldn't see much of him anymore, if any at all. Though I'm sure it didn't compare to Gareth's sadness.

That was the only time I let anyone see the sketches I'd done. Until Dominic and I moved in together, that is. But Gareth was the first.

I ditched midnight coffee and towed him back into the loft with me.

All of those times when Gareth had been late because I'd screwed things around on purpose, or because he was genuinely a rather late person in general, Dominic and I would sit and talk for sometimes, up to two hours. He would lay on the couch and complain about Gareth's always being late, wander around looking at my paintings, or find something else to entertain himself. But all of those times when he was there and thought I was sketching the cat or the street or some cheesy still life, I'd capture him. Sometimes just the way his shirt hung over his shoulders or the way his hair fell into his eyes at the end of the day when he was tired. But I have so many of these little sketches. Moments frozen in time.

I showed them to Gareth.

Who got pissed. Which I hadn't figured in.

I meant them to comfort him. Obviously, I didn't think it through. Yeah. At all.

I was obsessing over his boyfriend, after all... which made him, oh.. a bit uncomfortable. And once I put it all together, it made me very uncomfortable.

We avoided each other for five days. After that, things went back to normal as though nothing had happened and I think that he's convinced Dominic and I fucked. But we never spoke about it again. Mostly, I think that's because he just wants to believe that Dominic cheated and that I was weak and thoughtless enough to hurt him that way. So that he can feel marginally better about leaving a fantastic guy for one who has now left him twice.

And we let him think that.

Because he has a right to believe whatever he wants. And more because we love him.

------
He took my plate from in front of me and laid it in the sink before sitting back down. "So then," he crossed his arms and took a deep breath, looking at me intently. "What happened with you and Gareth?"

"I-"

"The whole story," he interrupted me. "From the top."

I sighed and slumped back in my chair. "You'll only be annoyed."

"Well, what's the worst I can do to you?" (That he said this makes me laugh now. Now that things are so, um... different.) "I'm not sending you back out on the streets. So, I guess you'll just be stuck with a talking-to and bed."

A talking-to? He could not be only 32.

I sighed again and rubbed a hand over my face. "The tip top?" I asked, tiredly.

"The tip top."

"All right, don't kill me then. I know what you think already, you've told me. But you weren't there! And anyway, it was my loft too!"

"The beginning, Gray. I know you know what that means." He smiled, waiting.

"Fine," I relented. "Fine. I painted the floors green. All of them. While Gareth was out w.. working."
I'd almost inadvertently said, "with Mark".

I squenched my eyes shut tight directly after I said it and waited for him to be supremely annoyed.

And waited.

After a moment, I tentatively opened one eye to look at him.

He blinked at me, then shut his eyes for a long moment and drew in a very deep, very deliberate breath.

"It looked NICE," I defended myself. "Really. And I didn't get any on the couch this time!"

"Is that the point?" he asked, calmly.

"Yes? I was TIRED of black! It was boring. I couldn't stand it anymore. It was squelching my creativity."

"I see. So whenever someone else's property makes you uncomfortable, it's all right to irreparably alter it?"

"What do you mean, 'someone else's property'?"

"You know exactly what I mean, don't play dumb. That loft is Gareth's. He owns it. You pay him rent. Do you know what that means?"

I glared.

"It means," he said, oh-so helpfully. "That you can't screw with it. Because it doesn't belong to you. Even if you do live there. If you want so badly to redecorate everything, Graeme, you need to get your own place."

"I didn't screw with it!" I said, angrily. It seemed such a mean way of putting it.

"All right, all right," he said, more gently. "Whatever you want to call it, the gist is the same. You can't change other people's property whenever it fails to meet your artistic standards."

"But I'm an artist! I have... artistic license!" I whined.

Dominic laughed. "Barbers don’t get barbaric license to shave old women’s hair into permed Mohawks if it so pleases them. Do they?"

Ha. Ha. Ha. You are SO not funny.

Barbaric license? Please.

But as he sat there, staring at me, it became increasingly apparent that he was actually waiting for an answer. That hadn't been a rhetorical question. How weird.

"No," I answered, sullenly. "But that's entirely different! A floor is NOT the same as someone's hair."

He sighed. "You’re right. Because hair grows back.”

“And you can paint back over a floor!” I shot back.

“Grayer,“ he said, in a tone that suggested I shut up. “The principle remains the same. You simply cannot do these things, there is no good excuse." Running a hand through his hair (which was really hot, by the way and took my mind off his lecturing me for a couple of seconds), he stared me straight in the eye and thought for a moment. "Did he finally kick you out then?" he asked, when I was getting really uneasy about the silence. "Like he should have more than a year ago?"

"Heyy..." I whined, hurt this time. "That's not fair." I could feel the emotions from earlier just beneath the surface and tears burned in my eyes.

"Oh, listen to me," he leaned forward on his elbows to be closer to my face.

I didn't want to listen. He was being mean and unfair. I folded my arms on top of the table, dropped my head onto them and burst into tears.

"Grayer," he reached across to touch my hair and I jerked away. "No, you don't," he said, coming around the table and pulling my chair away. He lifted me to my feet by the underarms and turned me around into a strong, bone-crushing hug.

I fought him at first, but he trapped my arms smoothly and efficiently between us and held me tightly enough to his chest that escape was a hopeless endeavor.

"You're MEAN," I sobbed into his shoulder, finally giving up the fight. Something gave me the feeling that would definitely not be the last time I'd say that.

"Hush," he said, making me feel all of five years old. Which... made my stomach do a half flip. And confused the hell out of me.

"Don't touch me," I groused, not moving at all to prevent him.

"Too late," he yawned. "And I think you need sleep. I'll pull out the futon in the bedroom. You can have either that or the bed. Whichever you want."

"The bed," I said, tearily, then paused to consider something before decidedly acting upon it. "Me and you in the bed?" I lifted my head and looked at him, hopefully.

He kept refusing to have sex with me, saying he wanted to make sure this was serious before we got that involved. I think he was less worried about damaging any potentially long lasting relationship we might be on the verge of and more worried about irreparably damaging our friendship.

His eyebrows raised at me like they had about the pajamas. As though he knew I were challenging him and, furthermore, knew I hadn't a chance in the world. "No," he said, quietly. "That's not the way it works. You take the bed, I'll have the futon and we'll talk about the rest of it in the morning. I haven't seen you in a long while, remember, and the last time I did, it was not on very friendly terms. There is a lot of explaining to do."

I slumped back against him. Explaining? About what? And why couldn't we have make up sex? Anyway, I didn't want to talk about The Gash thing. It didn't matter anymore, whatever. What I wanted to talk about – If we had to talk -- was the way he'd been looking at me all night. Like he was perfectly aware that I'd just been waiting for an excuse to show up on his doorstep for ages.

"You also need to pick your things up from Gareth's tomorrow and then we need to find you somewhere more permanent to stay."

I sniffed, still disappointed about the bed thing and even more so now about the "somewhere more permanent" thing, which seemed to imply that his apartment wasn't open indefinitely.

"I think he hates my guts," I said, pathetically. "I should wait a couple days."

"You're not sulking around here like a puppy for a couple of days. You're going over there, apologizing to him, and getting your things so that we can find you another place to live. You and he mean too much to each other to lose your friendship over a silly floor. Things happen. People do thoughtless things. Life moves forward. Everything will be fine, kiddo." He stood me upright and looked me squarely in the eye.

"I am NOT apologizing," I said, resolutely. Okay, maybe a little petulantly.

"Yes you are," he smiled. "And Graeme?" he lifted my chin. "If you ever pull anymore painting stunts on anyone again, you'll be one sorry little boy. And don't think for even one second that I'm kidding you or that I'll forget we had this conversation."

I bit my lip and stared at him in shock for a moment, wondering what he meant. I'd be sorry? That didn't sound nice.

Was he still that loyal to Gareth? Or just really, really upstanding and opposed to anything remotely bad or questionable?

"Is that clear?" he asked.

I continued to just stare at him for a moment, stunned.

"Gray, is that clear?"

"Yes.. yes." I nodded for good measure, not wanting to find out what he meant by that whole spiel just yet. I'd save all that for later.

"Good. There's an extra toothbrush under the sink in the bathroom. Use it and then get into bed. I have a deadline and I'll be up a little later."

He was telling me to go to bed? Telling me. Like I was a kid who had to get up for school tomorrow.

"But it's only—" I tried to protest.

Protests. The only things I could get out of my mouth tonight.

"Go on," he said and pushed me gently toward the bathroom. "And get into bed, Graeme. Do not pass go, do not collect—"

"Two hundred dollars, I know." This time it was me who interrupted. Yeah. I felt good about that.
But I was still being given a bedtime. Which sucked.

"Go," he pointed. "I have to work." And he leaned down, kissed my forehead again and pushed me, a little more firmly this time, toward the bathroom door.

And this time, trying to conceal a grin, I went.

------

It's been five years since all of this happened, so I'm not really sure I remember everything as clearly as I make it sound. Still, the important parts are all here. Conversations paraphrased, but the same general gist.

Dominic woke me the next morning at the ungodly hour of 8:00am with more amazing coffee and his EVIL good morning song. Mostly he only uses it now as his secret weapon (and to amuse himself, I'm sure of it), but I was so difficult in the beginning that he used to sing it nearly every morning.
We had a very long conversation about our relationship and The Gash thing. Complete with my bursting into tears when he told me it was a story he was working on for The Weekly about what motivates leather slaves to so willingly submit themselves to sometimes horrific acts of violence. And that the twinkie he was with was an interviewee. Apparently, they wanted the "inside scoop" written from the standpoint of a "real gay man". Regardless of whether or not said gay man was into leather. Because all gay men are the same, right? Doesn't matter; chocolate.. vanilla... they're both flavors.

Right.

Makes me laugh too because... fuck all Dominic knows about the leather scene. Even since he did the story. He is so anti-clubbing that it's a riot.

But things started getting better.

I stayed with him for, oh, about a week. Until his friend offered me his guest room. Until Dominic begged his friend to offer me his guest room, no doubt.

Liam is Dominic's closest ally (next to myself now, I am quite proud to say... except when it comes to matters of discipline anyhow...). Sometimes it seems that they're actually clones of each other, but Liam is even more painfully honest than Dominic. If you can imagine that. And though he still subscribes mostly to the rule of appropriate timing, he sometimes slips up a little. Which can either be incredibly embarrassing or incredibly hilarious. And he's British. Other than that though, I could swear they were separated at birth or something.

Liam lived with his partner, Murray, who was closer to my age. Only maybe a couple years older. And that made the whole thing sound a little more tolerable, so I agreed. Though no one ever actually asked me... But I never planned on refusing, I guess.

It was almost directly after I moved in with Liam and Murray that I was finally hit head on with everything. The reality of the situation. The situation I had so blindly stepped into.
At first, it scared me out of my mind. But that wasn't for very long. An hour at most. And then I was just constantly annoyed and severely irritated for weeks. Actually, you could say that I still am. Though, not so much anymore.

The story.

My very first day there, I woke up midmorning and wandered downstairs, still in pajamas (as I had been told the night before that I would be wearing them just as consistently at Liam's as I had at Dominic's. What was WITH these people and their all-encompassing mandates?), to scavenge for food.

It was a Saturday and Liam was home because I saw his car in the drive, but I didn't actually see him anywhere. Murray had mentioned some sort of hiking trip the night before so I assumed that was where he'd gone. I mean, I figured I was safe. For breakfast at least.

I had been rummaging through cupboards, taking things out, leaving doors open and I had a half gallon carton of milk halfway to my mouth when Liam walked in from the garden.

He just looked at me for a moment, blinking. I was frozen, unsure of how I could turn this around to look like I hadn't just been putting his milk carton to my lips when he fixed me with a Look that could terrify a hardened criminal. One I recognized, but hadn't seen since I'd graduated high school. It was very, um, authoritative.

"Uhmmmm..." I stammered as he looked around at the chaos I'd just instated.

How do you FIX a situation like that?

I lowered the carton and tried to look appropriately contrite.

"It seems we have some rules to establish," he said, not meanly, just matter-of-factly. Then he walked to me, took the carton from my hands, put it back in the fridge and beckoned me into the living room.
What was it with these two? Just one look from either of them and I felt like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Scared, guilty and nervous. It was very disconcerting. Especially as it continued and seemed to get worse.

I followed him, as there really was no other option, and sat where he pointed on the couch. He stood.
If that's not menacing, I don't know what is.

I had known him for approximately 48 hours and the man was already ordering me around and preparing to lecture me on proper manners. Two things Gareth may have done, but never in seriousness! Unless we were fighting, I guess. But even then!

The difference here was that though this man looked rather perturbed and I wanted to tell him to bugger off (I figured maybe he'd understand it better if I put it in British-speak), there was no fight going on. Because he was obviously in control, leaving no room for me to argue. He wasn't going to put up with it. And fucked up as it felt, as angry as it made me, as much as I refused to admit it... I kind of liked the feeling of security it gave me. I was not in charge. I was not expected to be in charge. I was supposed to pay attention and do what I was told. And that was basically it.

However, I was not at all used to this sudden change in dynamic.

"Dominic called about an hour ago and we had a lovely chat," he was saying, leaning back against the radiator. I was too nervous to move.

Lovely chat? I wanted to ask. And what was it about? But I kept my mouth shut. Tight.

"He was surprised you were still asleep. Said he'd been waking you at 8:00am every morning for the past few days and that perhaps it might do you some good for us to continue the practice? Today was Saturday though, so I thought it would be all right."

Whooaa, hold on there, buddy. I did NOT sign up for this. This is where I draw the line. THIS is where I put my foot down.

"Um, that really isn't necessary. I'm an artist, just running my own little pseudo-business, so I have no reason to be up at any certain time. Y'know?"

He gave a long, thoughtful nod and I was SO sure I'd won at something when... "Sleeping through the afternoon is hardly healthy and breeds laziness, my boy. So, 8:00am it is." He smiled antiseptically.

I wanted to throw a couch pillow at him. There was no WAY I was waking up at 8:00am every morning! And no way he could make me!

Hahaha... I am so naïve.

"Anyhow, Dominic said you were a good boy and that I should treat you well - which I have every intention of doing - but he also said that a short set of ground rules might be beneficial."

Ground rules? Dominic had said that? Well, well. Dominic and I were just going to have to have our own "lovely chat" later on.

"It's all very simple and easy to follow. In fact, there are only three rules. Though perhaps I should mention right off that drinking straight from the carton of anything is strictly forbidden," he smirked in very, very slight amusement. I saw it and took note. He drew a long breath. "Did you and Gareth ever have guidelines?" he asked.

I shook my head no. "Well, I mean, not really. None that we both, um... kept anyway."

"Well, here we keep them," he said. Again in that matter-of-fact way that was beginning to drive me up the fucking wall.

And what happened if we didn't follow the rules? What then?

Something told me that I didn't want to know.

"The first is simply to clean up after yourself."

That was the second time he'd used the word "simple". But thus far, I was not convinced that any of this was truly simple.

"Which means," he continued. "That you wash your dishes, keep the bathroom and your room clean, make your bed, don't leave your things lying about. All of those sorts of things."
How was that simple? It was a list of like twelve things! And making my bed?! What was this, reform school?! Fucking boot camp?!?! This HAD to be a joke. A really mean one.
I had never seen the use in daily fixing something that I would nightly ruin. There was no logic to it. What was he going on about? What had happened to normal roommates? Suddenly, I missed Gareth fiercely.

"Second," he said. "The doors shut at midnight and if they have to open again, no one will be happy."

MIDNIGHT?!

But wait...

"You can absolutely stay out later..."

Oh, thank God. There is a tiny bit of decency in this old toad.

"...if you're wanting to be made unhappy when you finally turn up or if you're staying with Dominic. But, of course, common courtesy dictates that if you won't be coming home, you call to let me know by 10:00pm."

What the FUCK?! I'd stumbled into the fucking Twilight Zone!

"If you're out past midnight and you come home to locked doors, you're going to reckon with Dominic to roust him out of bed and come get you. Which will inevitably end sorely.”

Umm.. what was that about Dominic and soreness? Between that and his threat that I'd be sorry if I did anymore painting without owner consent, I was wondering about these people.

“I want you to feel like family and I want to treat you like family, Graeme," he said, his gaze softening, seemingly in response to my expression of complete shock. "And I don't want to be worrying all night about where you are. What if something happens?"

I don't know. Nothing ever happened before! Why would things suddenly start happening now? Is there some sort of curse that I am unaware of? A curse that requires a ridiculous amount of ridiculous rules in order to avoid wrath?

"Third, and this is the last - though I reserve the right to add more as things come up - I cannot allow you to swear."

Cannot allow me? To swear?

"My last partner, Paul, and I had two children together - Aidan and Hazel - of whom I have part-time custody. And I will not tolerate them being exposed to vulgarity in their own home."

Fine. So make a damn rule that says I can't cuss when they're here. THAT makes sense. THAT I can handle.

And as though he were capable of mind reading, "It just makes more sense to rule it out all together than to create fuzzy lines around things. Besides the fact that I, personally, have no appreciation for any of it and don't allow to Murray to speak that way either."

Don't ALLOW him? It was starting to sound to me as though we were entering into controlling and abusive right about then. At that point it didn't even occur to me to consider that perhaps Murray wanted it this way. I just started thinking, "poor thing."

Seriously, this was INSANE. All of it.

"So, I think that's all. Do you have any questions?" He sat down, elbows on his knees, and looked at me.

He and Dominic were officially fucking twins. Oh, sorry. Just twins.

"What did you mean?" I asked, dumbly. "That it would end sorely if Dominic had to come get me in the middle of the night?"

"I meant that you'll get yourself into more than you want to deal with, young man. And if you want a more detailed explanation, I suggest you speak to Murray. Or I suppose you can find out the hard way if you have your heart set on it. But if not, just keep to the rules and you'll be fine.

"I'm late for Aidan's hockey match. Think about what I said, Graeme." And he gave me what looked like a forced smile, grabbed his jacket and keys and was gone with a good-natured wave through the window.

What the HELL had I gotten myself into?

--------

"Anyone home?" Murray called as he came in, back from hiking earlier than I'd expected.
I heard him shut the door and glanced around myself at the state of the kitchen I'd been painting in all afternoon. It just had... such a great view.

However...

Fuck. It was a disaster.

"Fuck!" I heard behind me in a disbelieving gasp. I jumped and turned toward him in the doorway, giving him a look sure to let him know he'd just ruined my entire afternoon.

"That word isn't allowed," I said, piously.

He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I know that. But you're going to be in far worse trouble than I will for cursing if you don't get this cleaned up. Fast." He dropped his backpack on the floor.
I didn't think that was allowed either, but didn't mention it. There were bigger fish to fry.

"What IS all of this about trouble?" I demanded, loudly, throwing my paintbrush onto the palette on the table.

Murray looked at me, gauging, perhaps, how much I knew.

NOTHING, I was trying to say. I know NOTHING.

"You don't know?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing. No, how could you tell? "You lived with Dominic for a whole week and you don't know?"

"Do I sound like I know?" I asked, rudely. "Am I being unclear?" I didn't care about niceties. I wanted the TRUTH. "TELL me! They said to ask you."

He laughed. "I suppose I would be the one to know."

"Then tell ME."

"The question is," he was going on without stopping, "Do you want to know?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then let's get this straightened up and I'll tell you. Otherwise, you're about to find out first hand. Which will not make for a pleasant second night here."

"Stop being cryptic!" I glared, refusing to get out of my chair to help. He was already capping paint jars and collecting brushes.

"Listen," he said, calmly. "I don't want to have to deal with your uh.. 'initiation' tonight, okay? Because if we don't get this done, it will be your ass on the line, not mine."

"Swear word number two," I said, oh-so helpfully.

"Would you just help me out here? Liam is due home in like fifteen minutes. Is that what you want?"

"Tell me what the fuck you're talking about!" I shouted, standing abruptly. My easel fell and I stomped my foot. "Shit!" I shouted, even more loudly, as the piece I'd been working on for three weeks fell with it.

"Curse word," Murray smiled. Then sighed at me in complete annoyance. "Stop being a brat and help."

"If you do not tell me..." I threatened. It came out... less than threateningly.

"Spankings," he said, stilling his hands to look at me, squarely. "Dominic and Liam. They spank." And then he smirked, apparently enjoying my reaction. "They spank bare bottoms of little boys who don't do as they're told. And you, my friend, are one of those little boys. Especially in the midst of.. all this." He motioned at the disaster around us, then paused for a moment. "As.. am I." His face was straight again when he said that last bit, his eyes focused earnestly on mine. "One of the little boys," he clarified. "In a manner of speaking, that is." He cleared his throat, seeming somewhat uncomfortable.

I waited for another grin to erupt and to hear an amused, "just kidding!" followed by laughter.

I got neither.

I waited longer.

Nope. Still nothing.

I blinked, completely stunned.

"You heard me and that's exactly what I meant," he said, when I didn't move. "Now, we can talk more later. Right now, CLEAN."

And this time, I did. Fast. Because even if he were kidding, I'd rather hear him laugh at me than risk.. That.

We got the kitchen clean and everything back into my bedroom closet with about thirty seconds to spare. Just as soon as we fell onto the couch out of breath and turned on the TV, Liam walked in.

He was carrying his jacket and a small boy, asleep, in his arms.

"Hey," he whispered, taking the remote from Murray's hand to turn the television volume down and bent to kiss his forehead.

Murray smiled. "They win?" He nodded at the boy I assumed was Aidan.

Liam nodded back in confirmation. "Played hard, too," he whispered.

"Looks like it," Murray replied.

"So listen," Liam was still talking softly. "You take him on up and put him into bed, would you? And then go get out of those clothes and shower. You're going to get your fresh mountain dirt all over the furniture."

Murray laughed quietly and got up, easing the little boy out of Liam's arms, into his own. He stirred only slightly before settling against the smaller frame.

"I'll be up in a minute," Liam said after them.

Then he turned to me.

"How was your day, Graeme?" he asked. Kindly. Maybe.

"Uhh.. good," I said, hesitantly. "Yeah, good."

Okay, repeating my answer twice was not helping.

He eyed me.

I decided saying everything just one time would be enough. For future reference. File that one away under, "Helpful Tips for Dealing With Volatile, Suspicious Old Toads".

"Good," he said. "Dominic's coming over for dinner in a little while and we'll eat. I don't imagine you've had much of sustenance all day?" He smiled. More genuinely this time. Maybe.
But I decided that he looked nice enough right then and told the truth.

I shook my head.

"Well, he's cooking. He always ends up having to do it whenever we get together. We don't know the first thing about cooking vegetarian and since it's all he'll eat, well..."

I nodded, smiling back because it seemed appropriate.

"Well, make yourself at home, my boy. Dominic is usually here by 6:00." And he smiled. Again. And went upstairs.

So, one conversation successfully endured. Ten bazillion more to go.

But hey.. score one for the Graeme Kinney Team.

--------

They were both still upstairs when the knock came at the door. Knowing it was Dominic and suddenly remembering that I lived there too, which gave me door answering rights, I did so.

"Gray," he smiled and came in, kissing my cheek and tousling my hair. As well as he could with so many bags in his arms anyway.

So much smiling around here.

"How are you doing?" he asked as I followed him to the kitchen.

He looked up at me from the groceries he was pulling out of bags. His eyes were such a warm brown. I tried not to melt.

"Something happen?" he asked.

"Well, no... I mean... kind of. No. Yes. I don't know, can we talk after dinner?" I slurred out unintelligibly.

He chuckled and put out his hand to me. When I only looked at it reluctantly, he reached for my wrist and drew me to his chest, holding me there. "We'll go for a walk, kiddo," he said, comfortingly. "Now, look at me." He lifted my chin with two fingers. "I trust Liam and Murray. I've known them both a long time. So whatever happens, I'm telling you that you're safe with them. Entirely as safe as you would be at my place. Do you hear me?"

"Then why can't I BE at your place?" I asked, softly.

"Because we're not ready for that yet." He's always so reasonable! It's irritating. "We haven't even had the inevitable, 'What am I to you?' talk. And it's only been a week. Let's give it some time, shall we?"

"We can have that talk tonight!" I argued. "And it's been longer than a week and you know it."

"Graeme," he looked down at me, his face showing enough firm resolve for the both of us. Something I still admire about him. Most of the time. "No. We'll talk more about that tonight, yes. But we're only talking. Only. Talking."

I sighed and slumped back against him in defeat. I hated that he could shut me up. It bugged me.

"They said I was a brat," I whined. "I don't think they like me."

"Liam did not tell you you were a brat," Dominic said, matter-of-factly, giving a sigh of mock exasperation.

"Murray did," I pouted.

He expertly pushed my bottom lip back in but continued listening patiently to my complaints.

"And Liam gave me all these rules," I sulked.

"Oh, he did?"

"Rules he said were your idea."

"Oh, he did?" I heard the grin in his voice.

"Yes."

"In part," he chuckled.

"He does not like me," I said again.

"That's not true. And we're going to talk about it later, okay? I need to get dinner done." He pulled me away and kissed the top of my head. There had been a lot of that sort of thing going on lately.

"Be good during dinner," he said, looking at me with big, smiling eyes.

"I will," I said, absently and leaned back against the counter with a sigh.

“Where's everyone else?” he asked, casually, pulling out ghastly things from his grocery bags and preparing to chop them up.

“Who knows,” I sulked, trying to be surreptitious. Not succeeding. “Probably upstairs fucking each other's brains out.”

He turned and cocked an eyebrow at me. I think I was growing to recognize that as a warning. A warning to watch my mouth. "What?" he asked, very deliberately.

I slumped down to the floor, curling to a lotus position and sighing melodramatically. This was stupid. He'd let me cuss at his house. He cussed at his house.

"I said..." I debated quickly whether to repeat myself verbatim or the way he wanted it. "They're probably fucking each other's brains out."

"Rethink your word choices, please," he said, mildly, not bothering to turn around.

"They're not even down here!" I whined. "And anyway, Murray does it. Even though Liam says no."

"I am perfectly aware of that. But Murray doesn't do it in this house."

"Does so."

"All right. Then he knows better than to do it when Liam and I are here."

"Well, how come you let me cuss at your house and not here?"

"Because there are no kids at my house and because I never made a rule about it. However, now the rule exists. And that means that you never do it. Never. That's what you agreed to."

"Dominic! You cuss!" I said, petulantly. "This isn't fair!"

"Stop it. Don't escalate this any further. If you aren't cussing, then neither am I. I'm not going to torment you that way. Liam and I have different ideas, but as long as you're here, you're to obey his rules. Not cussing is hardly that difficult and if you're not allowed to do it, I'm not going to either. So calm down."

"But you let Murray when he's not at home?" I whined, pouting.

"Murray's language isn't my responsibility,” he told me, his voice entirely too calm. He could at least engage in some level of argument. Just to appease me for once?

Oh, seriously, you would think after this long I would have learned something.

“But you..." he continued, before I cut him off.

"I am yours?" I widened my eyes, disbelieving of my own ears.

"We're going to discuss this later, Graeme. Now is not the appropriate time."

"Can't we just do it right now? Really quick? Or can't Liam come down and cook and we can talk? It's important!"

"Graeme," he said, in such a way that made me stop pouting to look at him. "Did Murray tell you anything?" he asked, finally turning to look at me.

Correction: LOOK at me.

"He.. well, yeah, I guess.."

“Enough that you know what I mean when I say that I'll take you outside if you keep this up?"

I froze.

Murray had been serious. For reals serious. And now I was being for reals threatened with it. I wasn't at all sure how to react, so I just went with natural instinct. The instinct that had gotten me through childhood, I guess.

I muttered a, "yes, sir," and then shut my mouth.

"Okay then," he said. "All of this is overwhelming at first, I know, but we'll talk about it. It will be fine. Stop stressing out, okay?"

I nodded, mutely, tears welling in my eyes from the harshness of his voice before. And from sheer manipulation. I wanted him to be NICE to me.

He reached down to press my head to his leg for a moment, stroking my hair, then just left me leaned up there while he stood by the stove, stirring some tofu thing. Didn't say anything, just let me cry quietly and went on cooking.

I wasn't sure whether to think that was really nice or really mean.

I figured I'd just wait until our walk.

----------

Dinner was friendly and dull.

Food sucked.

Conversation... ehh...

They've all known each other so long that I felt like an outsider, you know? Dominic and Liam met in college and then Murray came along like six years ago. Aidan had woken up just in time for dinner and even he fit in better than I did. And he's only seven. He calls Dominic “Uncle Nicky”. And there I was, Dominic's sort-of-halfway boyfriend of one fractured month ½ or something, trying to pry my way into things.

Weird and totally uncomfortable to say the least. Like I'd just joined a frat house and had to be initiated.

And that was the word Murray had used earlier too. "Initiation". It all felt scary, awkward. And, contrary to what Dominic had said, it felt very unsafe.

But things went smoothly, for the most part.

I was quiet. In part because my eyes were still red and puffy from having been crying which embarrassed me, but mostly just because I'm really bad with conversation.
Once the dishes were in the dishwasher and the horrible, meatless leftovers (that I didn't so much as make a foul face at, thankyouverymuch) were in the fridge, Dominic took my hand.

"Our walk, my darling?"

I was more than a little relieved and let him pull me along toward the door.

"We'll be back in a while!" he called up the stairs. Liam had gone up when Aidan woke from a nightmare and hadn't yet come down.

"And we'll still be here," Liam called back in that long time friend tone that means, "You don't have to be telling me this."

"Where you going?" Murray asked, not prying his eyes from the television screen.

"Why do you care?" I asked, blithely, before Dominic had a chance to answer him.

"Well, sorry, Mr. Selfish With His Boyfriend," Murray stuck his tongue out at me, good-naturedly. "I just wondered."

I was not feeling good-natured.

"We," Dominic gripped my wrist and jerked me toward him, quickly. "Are going out for a walk." I think that was body language for "Straighten up. Right now."

"Ooh.. are you gonna have The Talk?" Murray asked, eagerly, his eyes suddenly bright and interested.

Dominic laughed.

"What's The Talk?" I asked, warily.

"That's it, isn't it?" Murray grinned like he knew something I didn't. And he did. "It's either The Talk or a 'talk'. Which?" He looked intently back and forth between us.

I didn't have any idea what they were referring to, but both of the options Murray had mentioned sounded uncomfortable to me.

"WHAT is the The Talk?" I demanded, impatiently.

Dominic tightened his hold on my wrist. "Maybe we'll have both. If Mr. Kinney here doesn't decide to stop being so sullen," his voice was entirely too cheerful and he shot me a Look, disguised with a smile. But Murray and I both knew what it was. He got the same one from Liam all the time, I was sure.

Dominic.. hmph. Condescending troll.

I glared at the floor.

Murray just laughed again and nudged at my leg with his foot. "Hey. Dominic's not all bad. He's reasonable most of the time." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And I think he likes you." Then he cleared his throat. "Anyway, he doesn't even know how to spank. It barely hurts. Trust me. I've gotten it from him. Twice." He nodded.

"Oh, I've spanked you," Dominic said, hands on his hips, holding back a smile. "And it was more than twice.”

"I'm always GOOD!" Murray laughed and curled in on himself as Dominic bent to tickle him.

"Liam and I are going to have to have a serious discussion about your discipline regimen, young man," Dominic grinned, straightening and pulling me back to him. I wasn't sure I wanted to be so close to his body at that very moment, but I think I still trusted him. Even with all of this spanking talk. Even with what I hoped was only joking about my getting one.

But mostly, I was just ready for he and Murray to be done flirting mercilessly right there in front of me so that we could be alone. And sort this stuff out. Or just fuck. Either way.

"We're leaving," Dominic shook his head, both of them still laughing, and towed me out the door.

"Liam, you'd better come down here! And bring the cane!" he called as he shut the door behind us.

"What if Aidan heard?" I asked, elbowing him in the ribs.

"He'll live," Dominic laughed harder. "I should be more careful. Don't let me get away with things like that, you." He pulled me close to him and kissed my hair.

"You're just a brat, I guess," I said, quietly. "What's a top to do?"

He poked me in the ribs until I cracked a smile.

"So, what's up, kiddo?" he asked, smiling as he wrapped an arm around my waist and started walking us down toward a nearby park.

Unlike Dominic and Gareth, Liam and Murray actually live in a neighborhood. In a real, live house. On a little residential street. If you can imagine.

I hated it.

But I was still being good! I didn't say anything.

"I don't know," I sighed.

"Of course you do."

"Well, do I have to bring it up?" I asked, softly, pausing to look up at his face. He looked down for a moment, smiling again, then tugged me onward.

"What did Murray say to you then?" he chuckled.

"Not enough for satisfaction." I was staring at the ground with great intent.

"Well, then what to you want to know?" he asked. I thought he looked over at me, but I wasn't sure.

"Dominiiiic," I whined. "Just TELL ME."

He squeezed me, comfortingly. "I've never had this talk before. I don't really know exactly how it goes either."

"Not even with Gareth?" I asked. "After that long?"

"I like taking care of the people I love," Dominic said, slowly. "And I think... it's important for people to be in relationships that mold to their specific needs. Some people need to be very tangibly held accountable for their actions. Gareth never needed that from me. Not during the time we were together anyway. He needed other things. Just not so much of that."

"But it's important for.. me?" I asked. Almost a little hurt. Did he think so little of me that he thought I needed spanked? And what did Gareth have that I didn't? I mean, I like the guy and everything. But I guess I always thought we were pretty much on the same level... ish...

"It's not a fault, Grayer," he said, gently.

I was silent. Unconvinced. Completely.

"It's not," he said, firmly. "It's just who you are. People need various forms of accountability. It's a matter of personality and specific character type. Not some sort of flaw to be fixed. Do you know what I mean?"

Various forms of accountability? What the flying fuck? Did he have to speak in jibberish terms all the time?

I shook my head.

"Everyone has things they need to work on. And when you're in a relationship, sometimes your partner can help with those things. Whether it's the knowledge that someone else is going to know if you don't do what you're supposed to or if it's actual, physical discipline. It's different for different people. Because everyone needs something unique to them."

"You think.. I mean, you want.. you want.. to beat me?" I asked, widening my eyes.

He looked a little annoyed at that and promptly dragged me to a park bench. "Sit," he pointed.

I did.

He sat down too. "Listen to me," he said, firmly. "I know this is a big step for us and if it's not what you want, I'm not going to force you into anything. It's important that you tell me the truth about what you want to do, too. Because once you consent, kiddo, that's it. That's the end of it."

"What do you mean?" I was getting confused, tired and not just a little nervous.

"That you can't back out when it hurts. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right. And that means that when you do something we've agreed that you shouldn't, you'll be punished. Regardless of the excuses. Regardless of the pleas you come up with. When I say you're going to be disciplined - in any way, shape or form that I see fit - it's simply going to happen. There's no opting out." He paused. "Are you listening to me?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed. "But it sounds so... weird! And not fun."

"Is any relationship full time fun, Gray?" He pulled me to his side and I laid my head on his shoulder.

A tear dribbled down my cheek. I was exhausted.

"Shh..." he whispered. "I know it's scary at first. But nothing gets decided until we talk about it. And no, I do not want to beat you. This isn't about me having power over you. It's about both of us trusting each other enough to let this work. I love you, Graeme. I don't want to lose you. And I think the way for us to keep each other is to create a relationship that works for us. Not for other people. This isn't about anyone but us."

"I hate this," I sniffed.

He reached up and thumbed a couple of tears off my cheeks, then tucked my head under his chin.
"I'm not asking for any split second decisions. I definitely don't want those. You need to think this through. But it's more than spanking, Gray. And you should talk some to Murray about that. He likes you and I think he's kind of excited about the prospect of someone he knows, someone his age, finally sharing in this um... lifestyle. He'll be honest with you."

He was stroking my jawbone with his thumb while I tugged at buttons on his work shirt.

"Will I still get my own decisions?" I asked, pouting.

"Mostly." He pushed my bottom lip in without pausing to really recognize it. "We'll talk and come up with some rules."

"I hate rules," I whined.

He laughed. "I know. And you know that they're good for you. So don't whine."

"Everything good for me tastes bad, or feels bad. Or IS bad."

"Just the way it is, kiddo." He chuckled, kissing my hair again.

"But... I won't be allowed to do things? For reals? And you'll for reals spank me?"

He heaved me up onto his lap then. In the middle of the park. One thing I've always loved about my Dominic. He's not afraid of PDA.

"Sometimes," he said, matter-of-factly. "Other times, you might have to write lines, or I'll ground you, give you chores, send you to the corner..."

"The corner?" I asked, incredulously.

"It works," he smiled.

"Well..." I was feeling sick and strangely secure all at once. "What kinds of things will you, um... not allow me to do?" I asked tentatively.

"It's all in what we come up with, Grayer," he said, patiently. "We'll talk a lot and figure out what it is you want to change and what we can both live with and set some reasonable rules from there. Oh, one thing though. Unauthorized redecorating is OUT," he chuckled.

I made a face.

"If I agree," I said, hesitantly. "Can I back out? Like... if I say I'll give it a month? At the end of that month can I say no more if I want to?"

"Two months. Give it two months. One isn't long enough. We'll still be adjusting and you won't have settled enough into things. But yes, if you want out after that, you can do it. Just know that it will be hard at first. Really hard at first. But it gets better. Ask Murray about it, Gray. He'll be helpful, I think."

I nodded. "Can I say I'll try then? Try?"

"You want to make that decision right now?"

"Well, w-what if... what if it hurts too bad? Do you stop? Do I get a safe word?" I'd heard about safe words from some of my gallery friends who were brave enough to actually take the scary Gash guys up on their bad one-liners every once in a while. I felt so smart using the term in conversation.

"This isn't play, kiddo,” he smiled down at me. “It's the real thing. When it gets to the point that I need to spank you, you will have done something legitimately against the rules and you will be legitimately punished. Until you are legitimately sorry. In more than word only. But it will never do real damage. That's not what it's about. It's about what works for us. In the end, it all goes back to trust. You trusting me enough to know what you need, when you need it, and how to give you what you need. And letting me decide when you're done being punished falls under the heading of trust, too. Because you may be a little biased at that point."

"Oh," I said, softly. "Can I give you an answer whenever I want?"

"Whenever you want within reason."

"Okay... Okay. So, for two months?"

"Yes. Two months. Sixty days.”

"Not just thirty?" I tried again.

"No," he confirmed, very matter-of-factly. “We'll do this right or not at all, hmm?”

"Okay,” I sighed deeply. “And I can talk to Murray? And call you? Tomorrow? Can you come tomorrow? And get me?" I buried my face in his chest, embarrassed at my apprehension.

"Of course. Or the next day or the next. As much time as you need. We'll talk more about it whenever you want." He squeezed me tightly.

-------

"What do you want me to tell you about it?" Murray asked, turning to me from his email.

I was sketching in the window seat, propped up against the bookcase.

Dominic had gone home an hour or so earlier and Paul had come for Aidan not too long after. Paul was weird, I had decided. Good thing Liam broke up with him. Murray may have been slightly annoying, but in comparison, I was thrilled with him.

"I don't know," I said, trying to sound preoccupied and not nearly as interested as I was. "Just tell me what you see from your angle, you know?"

He laughed. "I see a lot of Liam's calves. Upside down," he smirked at me over his shoulder.

"Murray, I'm serious," I said, dropping my pencil to look at him, menacingly. "Don't fucking scare me anymore than I already am."

"Graeme!" Liam called from upstairs. "One more time and I'll come down there."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so picky.

"Sorry," I called back, halfheartedly. "I didn't mean to?"

"You'd better pay closer attention," he said, sternly. "If I have to come down there, I'm bringing soap and a timer.

He's such an eavesdropper.

I sighed and tried to roust some sympathy from Murray, who gave me nothing but a knowing shrug.

"Yes, sir," I said, obediently.

Murray continued. "The only thing that's really scary is right before you tell them something that you know will get you spanked and right before it actually happens. You know you're about to get it, but they're still lecturing and going on about the whole thing. Not that you're listening at that point anyway," he said the last bit loudly. Presumably so that Liam would hear.

Laughter came from upstairs. "Don't get yourself into trouble!" Liam chuckled.

"Yeah.." Murray stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the stairs. "Anyway, that's the only really scary bit. And once that's done, everything's okay again. They don't hold it over your head and nobody's angry. Everything's forgiven and what isn't fixed with the spanking is fixed afterward. Which is sometimes uncomfortable, but never unbearable. Thus far, anyway." He smiled. "And there are lots of benefits. I promise."

"Like what?" I asked, skeptically. This is what I'd wanted from the beginning.

"Like... I'm safe," he said, earnestly, swiveling his chair toward me. "No matter what I do. If I wreck the car, screw something up at work, come home late. I get punished and it's done. We never fight. We don't have to. I'm better at a lot of things, too. Because I have a reason to be now. Like.. I don't procrastinate as much and smoking is extremely off limits. Which sucked at first, but I'm glad now. Liam won't let me do a lot of things. And for a while, I thought it was really mean and controlling, but now I appreciate it. To an extent, you know. I still hate that he butts into things sometimes and that the last word is always his, but he sets me straight. And a lot of the time I like it, even. I really do. I hate being punished, but..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "If you don't tell Liam and Dominic, I do know that it works. It does. It's not always easy, but it always works and it's always worth it. It keeps our relationship thriving. And this is coming from the guy who just got paddled four times last week. So, you should believe me. My butt still hurts and here I am giving you a list of benefits."

I stared intently at my sketch.

"Bottom line," he said. "Is trust. We trust each other. I don't always know the right things to do. Liam is good at that. And he's kind of boring on his own," he laughed. "I'm good at that. It evens itself out. The hardest thing to do at first, and the most important thing... is to trust him to know what's good for you. And to trust him to be able to give that to you. Even if it hurts for a while. You have to. It's vital. Dominic is a good man, Graeme. He loves you dearly, he will do what's best for you. I know it's hard, but it's worth the leap." He smiled at me, triumphantly. "How was that for a sappy speech?"

"Bed, Murray!" Liam called. "You too, Graeme!"

"One more email?" Murray asked, in something akin to a whine.

"No, come right now."

"Please? Just one?"

"Murray, do I have to count?"

"Liam," he sighed and rolled his eyes, then turned back to me. "See? The benefits must be worth it if I'm willing to put up with an enforced bedtime."

"One," Liam was saying loudly. "Two."

Murray ran up the stairs. "I hate it when you count," he whined, the sound muffled by the distance. Then there were a few swats.

"Brush your teeth," Liam said. I heard him walk to the edge of the stairs. "Graeme!" he called down again. "Bedtime. This minute."

"But I-"

"Graeme, don't make him count!" Murray warned. And I thought I heard just a couple of tears in his voice. "This one's not worth it."

Maybe I could like these two. Maybe.

Or maybe just Murray.

------

Dominic and I spent a lot more time together over the next couple weeks. And when I didn't bring up the issue of our Talk - and made sure I stayed on my BEST behaviour - he didn't say anything either.
Of course, Liam and Murray did. But Dominic would just casually fend them off of me like nothing was wrong with the fact that it had been two weeks and I still hadn't made any concrete decisions.
Anyhow, it should be quickly noted that when I met Dominic, I was working in my own little studio most week days. In China town, just a couple streets over from the loft. Right then, of course, what with Liam being all over me like a skin rash, I went in every single weekday. And very strictly from 10 until 6.

Thank you, Dominic, for having such a nice, friendly chat with Liam, giving him so many helpful pointers.

I was used to going in around noon and staying until 8 or 9 at night, so it was a little shocking to my system. At first, they almost insisted on 9-5, but somehow I slithered out of that. Still, they said I had to be around for ah, "family dinners". But then, that just meant I'd get an extra couple of hours with Dominic every night. And how could I honestly complain about that?

Of course, it also meant vegetarian dinners. But sacrifices must be made for love, I suppose. And believe me, they were. They still are.

Though having real, good "family" was nice for once.

The highlight of the week was Saturday. It seemed that both Murray and Liam always had something or other to do. Murray went hiking or mudding in one of his friend's SUV's (how that is entertaining I have yet to figure out). Liam usually had a kid's game or just took them out somewhere. Which left me perfectly unadulterated alone time for up to eight hours. And with the great view through the kitchen window, I loved dragging out my easel and paints and totally wrecking the kitchen. I'd wait until the very last minute - usually whenever Murray got back and chided me into it - to clean it up.
Only, this particular Saturday... I was bored. All of my pieces were getting old and my friends were busy.

When a BRILLIANT idea hit.

All right, brilliant may be slightly overstated.

Stupid and manipulative could more accurately describe the actual thought process. But it seemed so brilliant at the time.

Doesn't everything?

I mean, but when you think about it now, you can kind of follow my line of thought.. you know?

It would avoid my actually having to give Dominic answers one way or the other. He would have to make the final decision. It would relieve me of practically UNBEARABLE boredom, at least temporarily. And... I'm not exactly sure when the yearning to feel safe - the kind of safety Murray had spoken of - overrode the apprehension I felt, but somewhere along the line I had realized that I wanted - that I needed - to try this.

Maybe I would finally lose that fear of failure that constantly plagued the back of my mind. And.. there was other stuff too. I don't know. My mind was scattered all over the place. I couldn't make sense of what I felt. I just knew that right then, at that moment, I wanted Dominic in control. I was tired of spinning around in my self-depricating havoc and chaos. And I was really tired of constantly being scared of myself. Somewhere, though I wasn't fully ready to admit to it out loud, I wanted to trust him. With everything.

The somewhat sudden roundabout may also have had something to do with the fact that I'd heard Murray getting spanked the night before...

------

I was watching a movie in the living room, distinctly aware of Liam driving ruts into the kitchen linoleum with his pacing.

Murray wasn't home and he'd been due back at 7:45 from a work meeting.

I was a little worried myself. Though maybe more for his butt than with the thought that he'd actually been hurt or was in trouble somewhere.

It wasn't until long after Liam had called all of Murray's friends at least twice, and Dominic was on his way over just for damage control, that Murray finally walked in. That was 10:30. Two hours, forty-five minutes past when he was due back. He looked sheepish and exhausted.

Liam was out of the kitchen like a shot at the flash of headlights on the drive.

He opened the door before Murray could, his voice ominously low. "Where have you been?"

Murray shrugged. He mumbled something unintelligible.

"I asked you a question," Liam said, fiercely.

"I don't know!" Murray snapped.

Liam nodded like he does sometimes when he doesn't believe a word you're saying and he's just trying really, really hard to keep himself from saying something evil. "Oh," he said, still nodding. He can keep it up for hours, I swear. Or, what seems like hours, anyway. "You're almost three hours late, Murray. And you're just not quite sure where you were?"

"I-"

"Go to the kitchen."

"Liam!" he whined.

"Right. NOW." Liam pointed at the doorway.

Murray went and I tried to make it look like I wasn't, but I watched him stumble into the corner and lean against it.

"Stand up straight, young man," Liam called into the kitchen.

From the way his shoulders quivered, he was already beginning to cry. But he did what Liam told him to.

"It's time for bed, Graeme," Liam said, turning to me.

"But it's only 10:30," I pointed out, oh-so calmly.

"Did I ask for a time check, Grayer, or did I tell you it was bedtime?" he asked, softly.

"Bed," I replied, dutifully. "But Dominic's coming!"

"And he can come upstairs and roust you out if that's what he's going to do. But for right now, I want you in bed."

"IN bed?" I asked, tentatively, chewing at my nails and staring at him wide-eyed.

"Put on your pajamas and get into bed. That is what I'm telling you." He put out a hand and I took it, resignedly. Liam is not one to be reckoned with. Period. "Stop the pouting," he sighed, pulling my head toward his and kissing my forehead. "Now, go," he pointed toward the stairs. "And don't let me catch you up."

Scandalized, I glared and sulked toward the stairs.

He reached out and swatted me - HARD. "Don't give me that look," he said, his voice still gentle and reasonable, not angry.

"Sorry," I said, chewing my lip. I turned to look at him. "Can you tell Dominic-"

"I'll tell him you're in bed and that he can go up," Liam said, kindly. "Now, not another word. Go."
A few minutes later, in bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, I heard it.

Lecturing, lots of lecturing, then pleading.. and finally, spanking. And louder pleading. Then crying.
And silence for a long time.

Against all better judgment, I crept out of bed and silently down the old, creaky wooden stairs (it had taken me a full three days work to master all of the creaks in those damn things. Just in case I ever needed to... sneak out. To evade thieves or something. You know.). The door at the bottom was open only a crack, but enough. I sat down on the last stair and peered out, uber cautiously.

Murray was curled in a blanket on Liam's lap, his face buried. His shoulders still shivered a little with shaky breaths and Liam rubbed his back. The television was on softly and Liam whispered things in Murray's ear that I couldn't hear, but they seemed nice because Liam smiled when he said them and rubbed his fingers through Murray's hair.

They both just looked so... calm. Murray was a little ravaged, perhaps, but not without cause. If he'd scared me as badly as he had Liam, I'd probably think it justified to have done the same thing. It was just like, suddenly, the rationale for all of this hit me.

Murray had come home late - very late - and in any "normal" relationship that probably would have provoked a fight. Especially once he'd said he didn't know where he'd been. But in this relationship, there was no room for fighting. They didn't need it. When Murray pushed, Liam stopped him. They kind of stabilized each other. And once things were taken care of, that was it. Murray curled up in Liam's lap. No anger or spite or unnecessary hurtfulness. It all ended.

I crept back to bed when I heard Dominic's car crunch into the driveway and lay awake thinking. Maybe that was when I decided I had to say yes.

I heard Dominic and Liam's muffled voices beneath me. There was creaking on the stairs. Murray stuck his head in my door and just looked at me a minute, rubbing his eyes. I didn't say anything but I scooted over in my bed and looked back at him. He smiled weakly and glanced over his shoulder before clambering under the covers beside me.

"Hurt?" I asked, yawning.

He laughed, softly. "What do you think?"

"I think it sounded really, really traumatizing. That's what I think." I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"I think I traumatized Liam first," Murray sighed.

"Maybe," I nodded. "Are you okay?" I looked up at his face, still a little red and splotchy, even in the dim light of my bedroom.

He looked at me and smiled again, more convincingly this time. "Of course."

"Really?" I looked at him, skeptically.

"He didn't murder me, Gray," Murray chuckled. "I was three hours late."

I nodded.

More creaking on the stairs and then Dominic's head in my doorway. I smiled. He looked haggard and sleepy but really damn good.

He sighed. "Murray, where are you supposed to be?" he asked, gently.

"Not here?" Murray offered.

"Up," Dominic said, coming in and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"It's warm here..." Murray whined.

"I can see that. And a very specific bit of your anatomy is going to be even warmer if you don't get yourself ready for bed."

"Ha, ha, ha," he wrinkled his nose.

Dominic gave him the patented Look. "It's not funny, Murr. Go. Liam has had enough for one night, don't you think?"

Murray got up, grumbling.

"Come here," Dominic said, holding out his arms.

Murray eyed him cautiously, but went and let himself be hugged. Then swatted. He scowled. Dominic kissed his forehead and then walked him to my doorway and gently pushed him out.

"I don't love you anymore!" Murray called over his shoulder as Dominic shut the door.

"I guess I'll just have to take back your birthday present," Dominic replied, holding back laughter.

"You never buy birthday presents on time, much less early!" Murray pointed out, grumpily.

"Murray!" Liam called from upstairs. "BED. And don't make me tell you again."

Dominic and I were both laughing as he came back to my bed and fell on top of it, his head resting on my chest.

"Hi," I smiled down at him, running fingers through his hair.

"Hey," he smiled back.

Yeah. I think that was when I knew.

-------

Still though, actually saying yes was a little too much. It was just so.. I don't know, too hard. I couldn't do it.

Therefore, to my way of thinking, an alternative was of definite necessity.

DEFINITE necessity.

Only, I knew what it was going to get me. So, it took a little self-convincing, but I managed. Or maybe, I just tried really hard not to think about it. I'm good at ignoring the obvious.

And I set to work building my own gallows immediately.

Figuratively speaking, that is.

Mostly.

-------

When Murray got home, he never made his way to the kitchen. Thank God. I didn't want to have to deal with his chastisement too.

"Liam's on his way!" he called to me on his way to the stairs. "You'd better hurry, Gray. I have to shower or I'll be in trouble. Can you do it by yourself?"

"Sure," I told him, biting my lip hard to keep from thinking about what was on the verge of happening.

"Dominic'll be here in half an hour too," Murray said.

That, I knew.

"How was hiking?" I asked.

But he was already upstairs.

------

My project was well underway by the time Liam got home. It wasn't done. But then, finishing wasn't the objective. Shock value and outrage were.

I'd been straightening up a little - after all, the outcome would be the same regardless of the mess in the kitchen - when I turned around to put a handful of paintbrushes into a jar and... there was Liam. Standing in the doorway, mouth agape. Just staring at me.

I froze.

Why the FUCK had I EVER thought this was a good idea? Why had I DONE this?! Stupid, stupid, stupid. STUPID.

I flinched as he wordlessly pointed at the floor directly in front of him. Automatically, I got up and found myself standing where he'd pointed.

He whirled me around to face the far wall and held me by the shoulders. "WHAT is this?" he asked, gravely, shaking me.

The tone of his voice rendered me terrified and dumb.

"I-I don't... know?" I stammered, helplessly.

He let go of one shoulder, grabbed my arm tightly and I winced instinctively, knowing exactly what was coming.

"This is not okay," he said sharply, swatting me in time with each syllable. Then, "Look at me, Gray," he said. "Look at me," his voice gentled a little and he turned me to face him, lifting my chin.
Tears burned in my eyes.

"No," he said, firmly. "You're not pulling that on me. Stop."

I knew what he meant and obediently rubbed at my eyes, nodding. It hadn't been blatant manipulation, but close enough I figured. How he can so immediately figure me out is still a mystery, but he's nearly an expert at detecting manipulation. Sometimes better than Dominic.

"Now, listen to me." He still held my chin firmly in his grip. "You get this kitchen straightened up and then I want to see you in that corner." He pointed to the one I'd seen Murray standing in the night before. "And you can stay there until Dominic gets here to deal with you."

I dropped my eyes.

"No, look at me," he said again.

I did, though hesitantly.

"I know you didn't want to give him any direct answers because it puts you in a very compromising position and that's frightening. But decimating my kitchen wall in a ploy to get his attention is hardly acceptable. Do you understand me?"

I nodded. Damn, he's good.

He sighed and shook his head, then dropped a kiss on my forehead. "When you want trouble it's no holds barred with you, isn't it?"

I didn't answer and he patted my back. "If you ever use my house for any of your schemes again, Graeme Kinney, I will spank you myself. And then hand you over to Dominic who will absolutely spank you again. Are you listening to me, Grayer?"

"Liaaamm, I'm sorry..."

He swatted me lightly. "Grayer, I asked if you were listening to me."

I nodded but couldn't keep my lip from quivering. In earnest now. "Yes. Yes, but I'm sorrrryyy..."

"Not nearly as sorry as you're going to be, young man," he said gently. "Now get this mess cleaned up. Dominic will be here soon." He swatted me toward the disaster I'd created.

I put everything away, suddenly entirely too aware of the situation I'd created for myself, and walked slowly to press my nose into the corner. Where I had to FORCE myself to stay, thinking; terrified of the moment He would walk in.

-----

He came in about twenty minutes later.

"Honeys, I'm home!" he called into the house in his best falsetto. Falsettos, even really mock falsettos, do not suit him.

Lucky me, he headed straight for the kitchen.

And there I was. Sheepish, nervous and very regretful, shifting from foot to foot.

And there It was. Bright and actually very lovely, if it hadn't been on someone else's non-consensual kitchen wall.

I heard him stop short and he was silent for a moment. Then I heard slow footsteps behind me and felt a warm hand on my shoulder. He turned me around. "I presume this is yours?" he waved at the wall.

I didn't look at him.

"Well, I like 'A Starry Night'," he began, conversationally. Then, "Look at me." He lifted my chin.

I met his eyes hesitantly, but dared not pull them away. His gaze can fix you so that even if you tried you'd be perfectly incapable of averting it.

"It's a beautiful mural," he said. And he meant it.

Did that mean I was getting off? Because, damn, that was too easy.

He kissed my forehead as ominously as one can kiss another's forehead. "What did we talk about?" he asked me. "Do you remember?"

Of COURSE I remembered. What, was I stupid now?

Oh. Yeah. I was, actually. In fact, this whole thing pretty much felt like The All Time Stupidest Thing I'd Ever Done. EVER. And what with everything I've pulled in my short lifetime, that's really saying something.

I lifted my fingernails to my mouth, nervously and chewed at them, shaking my head no.

No, I didn't remember. Of COURSE I didn't remember.

"Stop that," he said, brushing my hands down and holding them in one of his. His other went back to hold my chin in place. "What did we talk about, Graeme?"

Damnit, the full name.

"And don't lie to me," he was saying. "This was obviously an attempt to get my attention." He thumbed hair out of my eyes, behind my ear. "Which means that you knew it was the wrong thing to do. So, kiddo, you've got my attention. Though let me tell you, negative attention seeking only gets you negative attention. Every single time."

I stared at him, blankly. I kept losing everything he was saying in the pit of fear that was deepening in my stomach.

He seemed to gather as much. "What did we talk about in regards to defacing the property of other people?" he asked again, patiently.

The ever-patient Dominic.

No, believe me, it is far more annoying than it is admirable.

I thought, chewing my lip, trying to form something coherent.

"Come on," he pressed. "You've had more than enough time, I'm sure, standing in that corner."
"Yeah, I was there like two hours," I muttered.

"Try not even half an hour," Murray smirked from the living room. He has super-sonic ears, that Murray. Another annoying trait. The people I love are just chalk full of them. Isn't that the way, too? You always love the folks with the most annoying habits while the ones on television and in the movies, those perfect ones, you never even get to meet. Life is SO unfair.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Murray?" I asked, glaring at him over Dominic's shoulder. "Fucking yourself or something?"

Dominic swatted me so hard I gasped and reached back to cover the offended area. He pointed a finger at me and I got a Look. "Do not dig yourself in any deeper, young man. At the rate you're going, you don't need it, believe me." Then he called into the living room, "Upstairs for a few minutes, please, Murray."

"It's MY house!" Murray whined.

"UPSTAIRS, Murray!" Liam's voice gets deeper when he's annoyed. "Come up here. RIGHT. NOW."

And he went.

A few swats resounded along with a couple of whining yelps and apologies.

Confident that we were alone again, Dominic sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I wish we'd had some time to discuss this. Or was that the intent? Making me decide for you?" He gave me a very pointed look.

I shrugged.

"I see," he said, nodding. Ew, that was a Liam nod. All, I-don't-believe-a-word-you're-saying-to-me-ish. "Well, I suppose this is as good a yes as any."

Was it?

Damnit, I wasn't sure I really wanted to say yes now. Maybe this was moving a little too fast. Could we back this truck up just a little? Couple feet maybe.

"What happens if I say no now?" I asked, softly.

"You knew you were making your decision when you painted this wall and now you're going to be held to it,” he said, quietly, trailing his hand to the nape of my neck where he rubbed, comfortingly.
"Maybe I don't want it anymore though..." I said, eyes going wide with fear.

"You're a big boy, Van Gogh. I guess you should have thought about that before you let your 'creativity run away with you'."

"I'm not a big boy. I'm 23. Doesn't that make me a man or something?" I asked, admittedly very whiny. I wouldn't have admitted it then.

Dominic studied my face for a moment, then the wall behind me. He nodded again. "You're right, Graeme. You're not a big boy. In fact, in some aspects you're a little boy. Look at yourself, young man. You just colored all over the wall like a two year old. So don't go expecting grown-up treatment. Besides which, we talked about this not one month ago, and before that countless times. Every time you did something to Gareth's apartment without his consent. Don't drop your eyes. Look at me."

I sighed this time. Already more than tired of all this. "I know we talked about it," I said, frustrated. "I
just... forgot or something. My creativity ran away with me! You said it yourself!"

"Fix your tone," he said, sternly. "And I don't believe that. Not for one second. It's far-fetched and holds no basis in reality."

"But it's true! You know how artists lose their minds and everything..."

"So you're pleading insanity?" he asked, incredulously.

"Will it help?" I asked, leaning into his stomach. All rules of body language dictated that he should wrap consoling arms around me.

Which he did. But I didn't get out of shit.

He pried me off his chest. "Go get in the car. I have things to talk to Liam about. I'm taking you home with me."

Fuck, yeah! A night at Dominic's!

Then I remembered what for.

Damn. It.

"Am I getting a spanking?" I whispered.

He untied a sweatshirt from his waist and pulled it over my head then straightened it. "Get in the car," he said into my ear.

I ran the back of my hand across wet eyes and he tugged me into the living room, planting one last, solid kiss on my lips before opening the screen door for me.

"Dominic!" Murray yelled from upstairs. "Grayer's clothes!"

Okay, so someone had been eavesdropping.

"I'll get them..." I turned toward the stairs.

Dominic caught my arm. "The car," he said, firmly. "Listen, I love you. And we're going to work this out. Don't worry about that. Nothing is yours to worry about unless I say it is. All you need to do right now is get yourself into the car and stay there. I'll be out in a minute. Hurry up now before you get into more trouble."

I blinked at him for a moment. I felt scared and little and out of control. Like everything was spinning around me and I couldn't stop any of it. Like I'd started this, but I didn't have the power to end it. I wanted to push him, to gain back a little ground. He couldn't DO this to me, could he? But he was. And furthermore, I could still feel his handprints on my bottom. Was this worth it? It hit me that I'd probably be asking myself that a lot for a while.

"GRAYER'S CLOTHES!" Murray yelled louder. We both glanced in the direction of the stairs.

"Grayer," he said, reeling me back into reality. "Car. Now. Don't make me tell you again, young man."

"I'm sorry..." I ventured.

"Not yet, you're not," he told me softly, tugging his sweatshirt straight on my chest again.

They kept saying that. It was terrifying. Couldn't they have just a little mercy?

"I am..." I said, quietly.

He swatted me and my eyes stung almost as badly as my butt. "You had time to think about this before you did it. And you had time to talk to me about it then. But you chose not to. I'm not talking with you about it anymore right now. This is neither the time nor the place. If you make me tell you to get into the car again, Gray, you'll regret it. Move."

He didn't look angry. But he looked serious. And I went, hurriedly, closing myself in the car and watching the front door. Half wishing he'd hurry up and half wishing I could get out, run into my room and lock the door.

He appeared about five minutes later, my messenger bag slung over his shoulder and clothes in his hands. I watched him making a profusely apologetic speech to Liam while taking lots of deep breaths.

Liam smiled, hugged him and bent, kissing him lightly on the lips. A quiet gesture that would have, under normal circumstances, made me somewhat jealous. Had I been of sane mind at that moment. But I figured Liam was probably just about as happy with the mural on his kitchen wall as I was with him kissing MY boyfriend, so it all evened out.

From the corner of my eye, I caught the curtains at the picture window moving and saw Murray giving me a sympathetic wave. To which I wrinkled my nose and lifted a hand.

"You'll be okay," he mouthed (at least that's what it looked like) before Liam pulled the curtains shut.

"Seatbelt," Dominic said, opening his door and startling me.

I didn't argue.

"Dominic?" I asked, keeping my voice very soft and bewildered. The way I undeniably felt.

"Yes?" He gave me a good, strong look before backing out of the driveway.

"Can I-- Can I take back my yes?"

I was serious!

"You never said yes," Dominic pointed out.

A MINOR point. Did he have to be so particular?

"This isn't play, Grayer," he said, pulling out onto the road. "You really painted Liam and Murray's kitchen wall in a giant reproduction of 'A Starry Night'. A well done reproduction, yes. But after I specifically told you to neither paint nor alter what was not your own, it doesn't matter how good it was. You really disobeyed me, Gray. And that is no longer acceptable."

"Disobeyed?" I asked, blinking. Maybe it was a little incredulous. Maybe.. a little too incredulous?

"If I have to remind you about your tone one more time, I'll pull the car over. And don't think for even one minute that it will be pleasant."

"But.. but I don't know what to do!" I whined.

"You don't do anything unless I tell you to. And right now, I'm telling you to watch yourself. Carefully."

Be a little more cryptic why don't you.

"Okay," I relented. "Sorry. But... I don't know what's going on. I don't know what to... do."

"I'll tell you what to do when it's time, kiddo," he said, gently. "And right now, it's time to be quiet. No more talking. No more questions. If you would have thought this through a little more carefully before now, you wouldn't be feeling quite so unsure of the whole situation. Because we would have been able to discuss all of this at length." He rested a hand at the base of my neck and rubbed at specific knots he was beginning to learn by heart.

"But Dominic-"

"I can pull over, Grayer," he said. Not unkindly. "It would be easy to take you into the back seat and get a few things straightened out before we get home. Is that what you want?"

I shook my head and turned toward the window.

His fingers trailed up my scalp, into my hair. "Then stop talking," he said. "The time for that is later."

------

He parked the car on the street and came around to get me out, correct in his assumption that I wouldn't have done it on my own.

I quietly let him lead me up the stairs and tow me inside the apartment.

He turned me toward him. "Kitchen corner, Grayer," he said, calmly. "Find it and stay there. I'll be in in a minute to start dinner."

"I just got OUT of the corner!"

"And now you're going back. Perhaps next time you'd like to consider your actions a little more carefully?"

I huffed and pouted. A combination that got my arm grabbed. He swatted me twice.

"I didn't ask for your input. Now, go. Quietly."

Tears welled up in my eyes again and he didn't give them a second glance. I went to the corner. Quietly.

I hate corners. And he leaves me in them for centuries. Millenia. It's totally unfair and unreasonable.

------

"Stop fidgeting, Graeme."

"I'm just supposed to STAND here in silence and do NOTHING?"

"No, you're supposed to stand there and think. And who was it, kiddo, that jumped the gun on all of this, hmm? If you would have talked to me, I could have explained to you in greater detail the full consequences of your actions. As it is, you'll just have to do as I say."

"You mean you won't tell me what you're gonna do to me?" I whined, turning around in defiance, arms crossed over my chest.

"Turn around," Dominic said, mildly.

Infuriatingly.

"No!" I stamped my foot and looked straight at him, giving him such a blatant, ‘What are you going to do about it?’ look that I was sure he couldn't ignore it.

I mean, if I'm already screwed, I may as well go the whole nine yards. Right?

He didn't ignore it.

Walking to me quickly, he grabbed my arm, jerked me to the chair at the head of the table and sat down. He threw me headlong over his knees and before I knew what had even happened, he was spanking me. HARD.

I kicked and shouted and protested.

That was what he chose to ignore.

My eyes stung and I threw a hand back without thinking. At that point, the only thing I could register properly was that this HURT. And I wanted it to stop.

He pinned my arm to the small of my back and landed a few more before roughly righting me and pulling me down to his lap.

I wasn’t crying hard, but there were a couple of tears on my cheeks and the surprise of the whole thing had scared me a little. I wanted to be angry with him, but I felt too vulnerable and moved for the safety of his chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, tucking my head under his chin. It sounded like he really wanted to know. But I certainly had no idea. And since he wasn’t going to TELL me…

I kept my mouth shut.

He sighed. “Dinner is almost done,” he said, calmly, his arms around me. “I want you to set the table and eat something because when we’re finished, you’re going straight to bed.”

It was only 7:30, but by that time, I knew what would come of my whining and continued to keep my tongue under control. Something I wasn’t all that aware I was capable of before.

I started to say something. I wasn’t even sure what at the time, but it seemed like I should say I was sorry or something.. Apparently he didn’t think so. His forefinger pressed against my lips as soon as they opened and he dug my head out to look at him. “Ah, no. I believe you’ve said enough for now, young man. If you aren’t going to think in the corner, you can think through dinner. No more talking.”

More tears welled in my eyes. No more talking? Again? That wasn’t fair! And I couldn’t even TELL him so.

“Set the table,” he said, quietly, standing up, which forced me to stand also. He straightened my clothes and rubbed my neck before nudging me off toward the dishes.

----------

“You can’t push that around all night, Grayer. Eat it. And if you make me tell you again, you’ll be sorry.”

He never quits! There is no reprieve from the wrath of Dominic Engle. Not even when there’s an impending spanking already on the books. Not even when there are five. I still have to obey.

And, although under duress, I did eat it. Whatever it was. I was too upset to pay attention. I just know that no matter how slowly I chewed, the plate cleared itself far more quickly than I would have liked. And when there was nothing left I tried to discreetly pick at my plate and chew on my fork, but after approximately thirty seconds of getting away with that, he took my plate and tugged me up by my hand.

“Don’t make me go upstairs. I don‘t want to be alone…” I whispered, just barely audibly.

“Hush.” he squeezed my hand and led me along behind him, stopping to drop my plate in the sink. He’d finished eating and had washed all of his dishes ten minutes earlier.

“No, Dominic.. Noo…?” I begged, as loudly as I dared, which still didn’t break a whisper.

“Stop, Graeme,” he said, his voice gentle and very stern. It cut me off, pulling me back into line. Dominic was in charge, and however strange that felt, the overwhelming security of it outweighed everything else. I followed him as led me upstairs and into his bedroom.

“No futon tonight?” I asked, tentatively.

He Looked at me for a moment before lifting the back of my shirt and giving me a smack on my bare skin. It stung. Not too much, but enough. “Stop, Grayer. I mean it,” he said.

That right there got me. All my life, people had told me that they “meant it”. My parents, my teachers, the fucking school principal. And all my life, no one ever had. Not really. They’d tried maybe. They’d said I’d be in trouble, or that this was the last time, or “Watch your step, mister. I mean it.” And then they would forget, or throw me in detention for fifteen minutes, maybe send me to my room or half-heartedly ground me for all of one full afternoon. But how is that punishment when my friends are all in detention with me and the teacher never pays attention? When my room houses all the video games and movies any kid could ever want?

When Dominic said it though, I knew it was true. He did mean it. He was serious. I couldn’t back out or pull away or plead myself out of this. He was going to make me deal with it.

And with that, relief that I couldn’t explain washed over me. It didn’t really calm me down, because I still didn’t want spanked and was still willing to do almost anything to get out of it, but it made me realize that regardless of what I did, I was still getting spanked.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he said, quietly, but with what seemed to be enough resolve for the both of us.

I shook my head weakly, my lower lip quivering. It was less defiance and more fear and pleading with the little communication he‘d left me.

“Come. Right now.”

I burst into tears and stomped my foot, screaming nothing in particular, just making any noise to keep myself from going crazy.

“Stop that,” he said, gently, getting up from the bed and wrapping strong arms around my shaking body. I screamed into his shirt and clutched at his back until his hand found it’s way to my bottom and rested there, unmoving. That silent gesture still straightens me up pretty quickly. “Stop, honey,” he said again, still quietly and gently.

“I can’t not talk!” I spat around snot, tears and hiccups. It sounded far more petulant than I’d meant for it to.

“Is that the way to tell me something?” he spoke into my hair while he rubbed my back.

I shrugged.

“Come over here and we’re going to talk about this for a minute.”

“I can talk?” I whimpered.

“If you adjust your tone and choose your words respectfully.”

I nodded.

He kissed my forehead, pulling me after him toward the bed. The walk of death. I wanted to resist but I knew better. He sat me down on his lap facing him, my legs on either side of his.

“Why are we going to do this, Grayer?” he asked me, quietly, brushing hair off my cheeks and lifting my chin so that I looked at him.

I blinked my eyes and thought for a minute. “Because I.. I.. disobeyed you,” I whispered. I hated the “disobey” word and yet, that’s what it was. He had told me no, he had told me I’d be sorry. And I did it anyway. And boy, was I sorry.

“What did I tell you about painting other people’s things?”

“You said no,” I swallowed.

“Why did I say no?”

“B-because it’s not my wall..”

“So why did you mural Liam and Murray’s kitchen if I’d told you no and we’d talked about it?”

That was a harder question. I dropped my eyes to my hands and twisted my fingers through each other, pulling and rubbing at them until he stilled them with one of his own.

“It’s time to talk now. Look back up here at me. Why did you mural the kitchen wall?”

“I had to.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raised.

“Umm..?”

“Try again.” He scooted me closer to his chest and locked his hands behind the small of my back, leaning his forehead against mine to look directly into my eyes.

“I don’t know..”

“Yes, you do. You know exactly the answer I’m looking for.”

“Because I was scared..” I offered, softly.

“Scared of what?” One hand unlocked and trailed up my spine to rub my neck.

“Scared to.. to say yes. I couldn’t just say yes… it was silly…”

“How is committing to a strong, trusting relationship silly?” he asked, his voice tender, if demanding.

Well, when you put it that way…

“It’s not, I just…” I trailed off.

“Just what?”

“I just didn’t want to say yes. You know.. out loud.”

“So you thought this would accomplish the task rather nicely without the discomfort of having to discuss it?”

I shrugged again.

“Well, we’re discussing it tomorrow,” he told me, softly. “And this isn’t going to happen again, is it?”

“Painting other people’s walls?”

“Altering other people’s property in general.”

“No, sir.”

“Stand up,” he said, pushing me back and helping me set my shaking feet on the floor. I closed my eyes tightly while he unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off of me. Then he pulled his sweatshirt off of me, followed by my T-shirt and then my underwear.

“Down you go,” he said, gently bringing me across his lap and positioning me until I stopped squirming quite so much.

“Do we have to?” I asked, starting to cry again. I laid my head on my arms and hid my eyes.

“You need to be more careful, kiddo. This will only happen when it needs to -- when you’re not doing what you should be.”

“Am I gonna cry?”

“Probably. It will be over soon.”

“How soon?”

“We’ll be here as long as it takes.” He rubbed his hand up my back. “One more time, honey. Why are we here?”

“I painted Liam and Murray’s wall without permission and screwed up their property.”

I started to sob as soon as his hand landed the first time.

I don’t know how long it lasted. Hours, it seemed like. But then, it always seems like hours. The first time seemed worse though, because I didn’t know it could hurt that bad. It really did. It hurt like hell. Like the burning fires of Hades. Times five million.

No, I am not exaggerating.

I went from sobbing to kicking and begging, to screaming bloody murder, to just lying there limply over his lap and crying into my arms, hopelessly. All I could think or feel or hear was the pain and the sound of the pain.

When he stopped, he lifted me and pulled me straight into his arms. I struggled for a few moments when I realized he was trying to sit me on my butt -- the butt that was currently on fire -- and he had the gall to chuckle. But he laid down on the bed and pulled me on top of him, cooing soft, sweet things into my ears. Things I never hear, but he says anyway. Just the cadence of his voice soothes me, even if I’m not listening.

“It’s okay now, Grayer. Honey, you’re okay.”

“I AM NOT,” I sobbed into his neck.

“As long as you’re alive enough to protest, I think you’ll probably make it through the night,” he smiled.

“I’ll DIE and it will be all your fault!”

“Do I need to pull you back over, honey, or are you going to be good?”

I cried louder.

“Grayer?” he pressed, pulling my wet face from his shirt. “Be good.”

I nodded penitently and pushed against his hands until he let me nuzzle back down into his body. “I’m sorry…” I mumbled, shakily, tears subsiding.

“I hope so. I don’t want to have to repeat this any time soon.” He kissed my hair and squeezed me once before sliding out from beneath me.

I clung to him, frantically, and burst back into tears, begging him incoherently not to sleep on the futon.

“I caaaan’t sleep by myseeeelf,” I whined, through hiccuping sobs.

“Who said anything about sleeping alone?” he asked, gently, cupping my face in both hands. “I’m just putting on pajamas. Get on up for a second and go brush your teeth. Your toothbrush is right in there where you left it.”

I swallowed hard and gave him a pleading stare.

“Teeth, baby. Right now. Go on.”

“Do I need to wear ‘jammas?” I asked, pathetically.

“Yes. Murray packed you something. Up. Teeth. Now.” He held out his hand and I decided not to reckon with that tone of voice. It sounded risky. And risks weren’t something I felt like taking at such an.. um, vulnerable juncture. I took his hand and he pulled me up from the bed, delivering a sound swat to my already blistered rear end as I walked past. It made me jump and I clutched at the offended area, turning around to give him my best attempt at a glare. Though it turned out in more of a pout due to the state of my face. I let a tear slip out, mostly for effect, and he sighed at me, shaking his head.

“Oh, come here,” he said, softly, dragged me to his bare chest, our skin pressing together in a very warm, very nice sensation. One that was still fairly new to us. “Enough,” he whispered. “That’s enough for one night.”

I sniffled and nodded, obediently, beginning to feel a little less indignant and more genuinely sorry.
“Good boy,” he smiled, pulling away at arms length and looking me over. I rubbed my eyes and nose and he brushed my hands down to kiss me firmly and thoroughly. Then, pulling away again, he patted my back. “Teeth, Grayer. Move.”

I went, and even made sure to do a halfway decent job at cleaning my teeth so that he wouldn’t make me come back. Something must have been sinking in at that point.

When I got back, he was in a grey undershirt and flannel pajama bottoms, lying on top of the covers, reading some book. I crawled in next to him, gingerly avoiding touching my bottom to anything. I still had nothing on and was hoping he’d -- at least temporarily -- forgotten about the pajama rule.
He smiled as I sidled up to him, pushing his book out of the way so that I could lay my head on his chest.

“Don’t get comfortable yet. Pajamas first,” he kissed the top of my head.

“But I hate--”

“Hmm?” he interrupted me, patting my bare bottom. He looked up from the book and raised his eyebrows, challenging me.

I backed down, sighing. “Yes, sir.”

“Atta boy. They’re on the radiator.”

“How come you get to wear a T-shirt and I have long sleeves?” I whined, pulling up the pants Murray had packed me and wincing as the waistband scraped against sore skin.

“Because I love torturing you unnecessarily,” Dominic rolled his eyes, not looking up from the book. “Get in bed.”

Still sniffling a little, I pulled the shirt on and climbed onto the bed with him, cuddling closely to his side again and nuzzling kisses into his stubbly chin.

“Dominic?” I ventured, throwing a leg over both of his.

He grunted and gave me a sideways glance away from his book and a slight smile.

I took the opportunity to throw the rest of my body on top of his, grabbing his book and tossing it to floor, but covering his mouth with my own before he could protest. I grabbed his hands and, reaching behind me, slapped one onto my back and one, without even thinking, straight onto my ass. I gasped at the pain, but it caught between our mouths and got lost.

“Graeme…” he pushed me up and looked at me, a little stricken with the sheer surprise at first, before softening his gaze as I stared back at him, wide-eyed.

Then it was him who grabbed me first and stuck our mouths back together, locking them there but for periodic, desperate gasps. He trailed his hands up my spine, bumping slowly over every vertebrae. And then I was on my stomach, out of breath and he was fumbling in the bedside table.

“Now, Dominic,” I breathed, heavily. “HURRY.”

“Shh...” he slid back over me, sucking my ear in this way that makes my eyes roll back in my head. “Be good, or else,” he whispered.

I nudged my butt up against his thighs anxiously. “Or else wha-at?” I whined.

“Lay still,” his voice gave away his smile.

I started to ask why, but he was pushing his way in before I could and after that, well... all coherent thought was lost.

-----------

Sleepy and sore, but more than satisfied, I lay sprawled half over him, my head tucked under his chin, his arms securely wrapped around me. The room was dark, we'd somehow burrowed under the covers so everything was soft and warm.

“Dom'nic?” The first “i” in his name tends to lose itself to my exhaustion sometimes.

“Mmm?”

“I'm sorry I... painted the wall,” I said, so softly even I barely heard it.

“I know,” he ran light fingers over my back, tracing lazy figure-eights and circles. “That's over now. We dealt with it. Tomorrow, we'll make plans for you to repaint the kitchen wall. And then we'll just never do anything like this again so that we won't ever have to worry about it.”

“Mmn,” I grunted, chewing my lip. He'd said “we won't ever do this again,” not just “you”. Did that mean we were like an official – OFFICIAL official -- “we”?

“Are we a 'we'?” I asked, hesitantly, lifting my head to look him in the eyes.

He chuckled and kissed me before firmly pushing my head back against him. “Of course we are, honey.”

There was a peaceful few moments of silence. And for once, I didn't truly hate it. I lasted like a full ten seconds. Practically a record.

“I like you fucking me,” I said.

Where it came from, I have no idea. I was just trying to fill the silence! He sure as hell wasn't doing anything. What was I supposed to do? Just lie there and sleep? Hah. Not likely.

No, I had to dig myself a hole instead.

Immediately, he smacked my exposed ass.

“Ow! That was a good thing! It was nice!” I whined, jerking up to give him an indignant look.

“And what's the rule about that word, Gray? I know you haven't forgotten it.”

“Yeah,” I pouted. “You won't let me.”

“Right. I won't. Now, what is it?”

“No cussing. I know, I know. But we're not even AT Liam and Murray's!”

“Are there exceptions to the rule?” he sighed, obviously too exhausted to be doing this.

“Exceptions?” I thought for a moment. I wished there were exceptions. “Wellll... no, but--”

“So, if there are no exceptions, why do you think you won't get in trouble regardless of why or where you use such language?”

What I wanna know is WHY the “no interrupting” rule applies only to ME?

“I don't know...”

“So the rule is?

“No cussing...” I muttered.

“The rest?”

“Umm.. no matter where I am?”

“And?”

“Why I'm saying it?

“And who you're saying it to. It doesn't matter, Grayer. Those words are not for your mouth. Period. Understood?”

I nodded, mumbling a sheepish, “yes, sir.”

“Good boy. No more trouble now. Sleep.”

Five minutes passed and I knew he was hanging onto his last shreds of consciousness waiting for my breath to steady.

“Dominic?” I whispered. “Ow!”

“You are the pushingest little boy I've ever met.”

“I'm not little!" I protested, smirking at his grammar. Sometimes Dominic makes up words when he can't be bothered to think of what he really means to say. I think he was too tired. It amuses the hell out of me. Especially when he means to be serious and it just doesn't happen. "Pushingest, Dom'nic?” I smirked.

“You are pushing, little boy,” he said again, sternly, ignoring my amusement and punctuating every other syllable with a smack to my bottom. The smacking, slowed up by blankets and exhaustion, didn't really hurt so much as it just pushed me closer to his warm body and when he stopped, I snuggled deeper under his chin.

I was pushing. Less because I really made it a point to do so, and more because it just felt so damn good to feel him stop me. Maybe it was subconscious at the time, but someone was actually putting up a hand and saying, “This is where it ends.” Which felt crazy and so.. utterly.. satisfyingly.. safe. One of those things that you hate at the same time that you fucking love it.

Mostly, right then, I fucking loved it.

“Sorry,” I whispered and felt one more smack that made me wince before he tightened his hold around me and gave a grunt.

“Sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

1 comment:

  1. I love this story and all of the characters. With the exception of Mark of course. I am reading it for the second time. I hope you continue writing. Thank you.

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