By His Rules (21 page)

and stroked Aiden’s cock, increasing his pace until

Aiden couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Keaton—”

“Are you ready to come for me?”

“Yes!”

Keaton fisted Aiden’s cock once more, running his

thumb over the slit, and Aiden’s cum shot across the

sheets as Keaton arched and shuddered against him,

coming with a shout.

They lay there for a few minutes, breathing

together. Then Keaton pulled out of him, stripped off the

condom, and tossed it onto the floor. He pulled Aiden’s

trembling body against his and dragged the covers over

both of them. Aiden rolled over so he could bury his

head in Keaton’s chest. Keaton trapped Aiden’s legs

between his own and whispered into Aiden’s hair. “All

right?”

“All right?” Aiden laughed shakily. “That was

fucking incredible.”

Keaton chuckled. “No kidding.”

Aiden wound his arms around Keaton. “Thank

you,” he said softly. He didn’t know what he was

thanking Keaton for, exactly. For the sex, for not hurting

him, for letting him stay here.

Keaton kissed the top of his head again. “Sleep,” he

said.

Aiden set his pen down and looked over the list

he’d just written.

THE RULES

1. I will behave respectfully and maturely at all

times. This means no lying to, cursing at, manipulating,

or back talking my partner.

2. I will eat three balanced meals per day.

3. I will be in bed by midnight each night, and sleep

at least eight hours.

4. I will not bite my nails or pick at hangnails.

5. I will talk to my partner if I feel afraid, confused,

angry, or overwhelmed.

A fairly simple list—except that as Aiden read over

rules one through three, he absently bit his thumbnail.

He reached number four and quickly sat on his hand. He

grimaced at number five. He appreciated Keaton’s

concern, but no way was he going to bother Keaton with

every little mood swing he experienced.

Simple rules. And the consequences for breaking

them were decidedly silly. Having his mouth washed

out, or having to write lines wasn’t going to do anything

but make Aiden feel a little foolish. And he had a feeling

Keaton was probably a gentle touch as far as spanking

went. Corner time was the only thing Aiden really

dreaded. But Keaton had promised to stay in the room

with Aiden anytime Aiden was assigned corner time. He

stuck the list on side of the refrigerator facing the wall so

that he’d always know where it was, but guests wouldn’t

see it. He had a hard time taking this domestic discipline

thing seriously. But if it made Keaton happy, what the

heck?

He was biting his nail again. Damn it. He felt a flash

of annoyance. What business was it of Keaton’s whether

or not he bit his nails? Scott’s rules had made sense. They

were all designed to make sure Aiden was a good sub,

that he pleased his dom. And Scott’s punishments were

true punishments. These rules, except for number one,

had nothing to do with Keaton, or Keaton’s pleasure. So

why did they matter so much?

“You don’t have to sleep there,”
Keaton had said last

night when they went upstairs and Aiden headed for the

guest room.
“Unless you want to.”

Aiden had attempted a smile, though his heart was

pounding.
“I thought the reason I was here was to appreciate

the guest room?”

Keaton had laughed.
“I’m relieving you of your duties.

If you’ll accept my invitation to share the master bedroom with

me.”

Aiden had accepted, closing the guest room door

and following Keaton into his room.
Their
room? Aiden

still wasn’t sure what he and Keaton were. Partners,

Keaton had said. But what exactly did that mean?

Aiden sat back down and listened to his stomach

try to digest the cereal he’d eaten for breakfast. Was it

possible that Keaton
really
cared about him? Cared

whether he was healthy, happy—safe? He’d spoiled the

thrill of being asked to share Keaton’s bed by leaping up

in the middle of the night to throw up his dinner. Keaton,

of course, had woken and come into the bathroom. Aiden

had tried to explain to Keaton afterward that he didn’t

need
help or comfort while he was throwing up, that all

having Keaton there did was embarrass him—but

Keaton wouldn’t listen. And fine, maybe it did help a lot

to have someone rubbing his back while he puked. That

still didn’t make Keaton’s intrusion acceptable.

Now he was supposed to start brainstorming for his

personal statement. He slid a fresh sheet of paper in front

of him and picked up the pen. Keaton had told him to

freewrite for fifteen minutes about his dream role as an

actor—the lead in the play he and Keaton had discussed

the other night on the way back from the gym. Why did

he want to play the role? What drew him to the character,

to the play? What unique interpretation of the part could

he offer? What skills did he want to master before taking

on the role?

Aiden stared at the paper. The thoughts that had

flowed so freely in the car with Keaton were now hiding

in the shadows of his mind. He didn’t know
why
he

wanted to play the part, beyond the fact that it would be

fun. But he was too weak an actor to play it well, and he

didn’t have anything unique to bring to the role, so why

bother writing about it? How was this supposed to help

him write a personal statement?

He scribbled a few bullet points.

* The role would be cool.

* I’m a shitty actor

* Who fucking cares?

Keaton had said Aiden didn’t need to show him

what he’d written; it was for Aiden’s personal use. Aiden

sat there until fifteen minutes had passed; then he went

to find Keaton in the studio.

“Hey,” Aiden said, standing in the doorway.

“Hey there,” Keaton said. He was arranging coils of

clay in an off-kilter tower. “How’d the writing go?”

“Good,” Aiden said. A flash of guilt tore through

him at the lie. He ignored it. “I think it’ll help with my

statement.”

statement.”

“That’s great. What you told me the other night

about that play and that role really shows your passion

for theater. That might be a good starting point for your

statement.”

“Yeah. How’s your stuff going?”

“Good. I’m getting a little frustrated with this vase.”

“It looks—crooked.”

Keaton grinned. “It’s supposed to be. Trouble is,

it’s not quite the kind of crooked I want.”

“You look like you could use a break.”

Keaton wiped his brow with the back of his hand,

smearing a little clay onto his forehead. “Maybe so. Want

to take a walk?”

Aiden shrugged, stepping closer. “I had another

kind of exercise in mind.” He put his hand against the

front of Keaton’s pants.

Keaton’s breath hitched. “Oh really?”

Aiden grinned. “Really.” He dropped to his knees

and undid Keaton’s fly.

Keaton groaned softly, and the sound sent electric

waves through Aiden.

He was about to take down Keaton’s pants and

underwear when Keaton pulled him up by the

shoulders. “Hold on.” He kissed Aiden thoroughly, until

Aiden’s face was flushed and his breathing was rough.

“There.” Aiden’s legs trembled as he sank to his knees

once more and uncovered Keaton’s bobbing cock.

During the next ten minutes, Aiden heard sounds

he’d never imagined coming from someone as collected

and dignified as Keaton Hughes. He finished, wiped his

mouth, and grinned up at Keaton. “Good?” he asked.

Keaton tugged him up and kissed him again, hard,

backing him against the workbench. A cup of water

tipped over. Aiden struggled for purchase and put his

hand on a soft, cool mess of unmolded clay. “It was

okay,” Keaton said. But he couldn’t keep a straight face

for more than a few seconds. He unsnapped Aiden’s

pants and let them fall, tugged his briefs down. “It was

good. So good I’d like to show my gratitude.”

He reached around Aiden and picked up a large,

clean paintbrush. He dragged the bristles against Aiden’s

cheek.

They were unbelievably soft. “What are you—”

Aiden began.

“Shh,” Keaton said. He grinned devilishly and

brought the paintbrush between Aiden’s legs, letting the

fine, silky bristles glide over Aiden’s balls.

“No,” Aiden said, squirming desperately. “You

can’t.”

“I am,” Keaton said, brushing Aiden’s balls again.

He dragged the brush up the shaft of Aiden’s cock, then

back down.

“Oh God.”

Keaton increased the speed of his brushstrokes,

going up and down and back and forth, covering Aiden’s

cock, balls, and the skin behind his balls. Finally Keaton

focused his attentions on the head of Aiden’s cock. Aiden

yelped and came, his cum collecting in the bristles.

Keaton swept sticky wetness over Aiden’s belly and

inner thighs, painting him with it. Aiden clutched the

workbench, gasping. “Did I ruin your brush?” he asked

finally.

Keaton burst out laughing. “That’s all you can

say?”

Aiden blushed. “I mean, that was—I just—”

“It can be cleaned,” Keaton said, kissing him.

* * * *

Aiden brief writing assignments to help generate ideas

for his personal statement. Aiden continued to brush

them off. The deadlines for the applications were now

less than a month away. He’d arranged to audition

privately for Case Western in mid-December and would

be sending a video audition to Irvine and to State. He

worked on a couple of short monologues each day while

Keaton was teaching, and felt more discouraged each

time he practiced them.

I suck. I absolutely suck. I’ll never get in. Why waste the

program directors’ time—and my own?

The stress made him irritable. Keaton had had to

warn him a couple of times already this week to Be

Respectful, and to Talk to Him if There Was a Problem.

Fuck respectful. And fuck talking to Keaton about

his feelings. Sex was the only thing that took his mind off

the stress, and he sought Keaton out as often as possible

for it, until by the end of the week his cock and asshole

were both sore and raw.

Thursday night found him sniping at Keaton as he

struggled to sort through the mess of feelings inside him.

“Something wrong?” Keaton asked as Aiden

chopped onion for supper, slamming the knife against

the cutting board.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aiden muttered.

“Y—”

“If you’re going to start on that ‘share your feelings’

bullshit, you can save it. I don’t want to talk. I just want

to fucking cook”—SLAM—“in”—slam—“peace.” The

cutting board tipped, and the onion rolled into the sink.

Aiden was about to throw the knife in after it when

Keaton took his wrist and removed the knife from his

hand.

“That’s enough now,” Keaton whispered. “Go sit

down. I’ll take care of dinner.”

“You sit down!” Aiden shouted, trying to pull

away.

Keaton held on, neither tightening his grip on

Aiden nor losing his temper. “Come on, now.” He led

Aiden, cursing and pulling, to the kitchen table.

“I’m not going to sit down! I’m not going to fucking

sit down! Let go of me, you bastard!”

Keaton spun Aiden so that his back was pressed

against Keaton and he was trapped by his own arms.

“No!” Aiden stomped one foot.

“I’d think twice before you kick me,” Keaton said

calmly.

Aiden thought about it. Twice.

And decided to do it.

Keaton evidently anticipated the kick and moved

his leg.

“Fuck!” Aiden thrashed until he was exhausted,

and Keaton never budged.

The next thing Aiden knew, he was slumped in a

chair, head resting against Keaton’s stomach. Keaton was

stroking his shoulders, murmuring to him. Aiden heard

his own sobs as though they were someone else’s. He

didn’t want to be here; he refused to be here. He wanted

to be far away. This was someone else losing control,

someone else being a coward and a jerk.

“Aiden?” Keaton’s voice was loud as though he’d