By His Rules (28 page)

Tuesday night—not a lot of shows on, probably. Besides

he didn’t want to watch truly talented actors the night

before he got up and made a fool of himself auditioning

for Case’s program.

He remembered Little Italy was close to the

campus, and caught a bus toward that area. He walked

around for as long as he could stand in the cold, enjoying

the smells, the Christmas decorations in the small shops.

He went into a bakery and bought a lemon bar, which he

ate most of, then got a coffee, which he knew was a bad

idea. He tried not to think about Scott or about how

much he missed Keaton. He tried not to think about the

fact that he and Keaton were probably operating on

borrowed time, or about how little this seemed to faze

Keaton. The man hadn’t said one word about what

they’d do if Aiden got into grad school.

Probably because you won’t do anything
.
He’ll let you go,

and that’ll be that.

Maybe he should have stayed Keaton’s houseguest,

friendly but detached, then moved back into his old

place as soon as the subletter left. Instead he’d thrown

himself at Keaton, desperate to be rid of Scott’s memory,

and insisted Keaton have sex with him. Then he’d agreed

to the crazy discipline thing…

I need the discipline thing. And I love Keaton. What’s so

crazy or confusing about that?

He gulped his coffee.

The fact that it can’t last. That one of us will leave. Keaton

apparently goes through boys like tissues. If I do compromise my

future to stay with him, I’ll regret it. He’ll get sick of me and kick

me out. And then where will I be?

Aiden finished his coffee, trying to ignore the

anxious churning of his stomach. He left the bakery and

took the bus downtown.

It isn’t healthy for me to rely on Keaton, or on someone

else providing me with discipline. I’m an adult. I need to make

my own decisions. Look out for myself.

A fine job I’m doing of that
. He shook his head, lost in

his argument with himself.
So I skipped a couple of meals.

Big deal. Adults do that sometimes. They also stay out past their

bedtimes, and—

Bite their nails, apparently. Aiden glanced at his

hand gripping the bus pole, and saw he’d chewed the

skin around two of his fingernails bloody.

He ought to spend as much time sitting down as

possible, while he still could.

Downtown Cleveland wasn’t much fun to walk,

though he did enjoy seeing the buildings decked out for

Christmas. He went to Tower City to people watch for a

while. The enormous shopping center was crowded and

noisy, but Aiden didn’t mind. He wondered fleetingly

what he and Keaton might do to celebrate the holidays,

picturing the two of them in robes and slippers, drinking

hot chocolate and opening presents. He rolled his eyes at

his own domestic-bliss fantasy. He didn’t even own a

robe.

He left Tower City and wandered into the House of

Blues, a jazz club, where he listened to some music he

didn’t really care about while he had a whiskey sour to

calm his nerves.

Somehow the next time he looked at his watch, it

was almost two in the morning. He was slightly to pretty

damn drunk and had come to like jazz
a lot
in the last few

hours. He clapped unsteadily for whoever had just

finished playing, paid his tab, and went outside. It was

bitterly cold, and suddenly all he wanted was to be at

home, in bed, with Keaton. He shivered, trying to

remember where his bus stop was.

He had an audition in six hours. Shit.

And he was going to throw up. Double shit.

He vomited in a nearby trash can, feeling dirty and

pathetic.

Cleveland was not a safe place at night, he knew

that. He needed to get back to the hotel. He needed

Keaton.

He was definitely overwhelmed.

He called Keaton, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad

about being woken up. Keaton answered after two rings,

and his warm, “Hey,” made Aiden close his eyes to hold

back tears.

“Hey.” Aiden tried to sound cheerful.

“You doing all right?”

“I’m a little drunk,” Aiden confessed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I threw up.”

“Where are you now?”

“Um, downtown.” His voice trembled. “I broke

every rule. Except number one. I’ve been resp-respectful.

Except calling you now isn’t very nice, I guess. You were

sleeping.”

“I’m glad you called me. Can you get a cab back to

your hotel?”

“A cab! That’s a good idea. I can’t find the bus.”

“Get a cab. You know which hotel?”

“Yeah.” Aiden’s elation at the idea of the cab

evaporated as he remembered all the things he had to

confess. “I’m not in bed,” he said. “And I didn’t eat,

except junk food. I’m really nervous, and I thought I

might get sick. But I got sick anyway because I had some

whiskey—but it was just to calm my nerves. And I bit my

nails! I don’t even remember, but I did.”

“All that matters right now is that you get back to

your hotel and get some rest. Did you request a wake-up

call?”

“A wake-up ca… ? Oh! Yes.”

“Good. It might be tough getting up tomorrow.”

“I’ll get up. I won’t fuck this up.”

“I know you won’t. I’m glad you called.”

“Me too. I miss you. I love you so much. I wasn’t

even scared to call you and tell you what I did, even

though I know you’ll spank me.”

“I’m glad. You should never be afraid to call me.”

“Yeah. I have a cab now.” Aiden waved at the taxi,

which pulled over to the curb.

“Stay on the line with me until you’re back.”

“Okay.” Aiden gave the driver the name of the

hotel. “You’ll probably spank me hard, huh? All the stuff

I did.”

“We’ll talk when you get home.”

Aiden snorted. “Talk. I know what talking means.

Me over your lap.”

“Don’t scare your poor cab driver.”

“Okay. I’ll be quiet. You can be quiet too. I just like

knowing you’re there.”

“I’m here.”

Aiden rode in silence. The cab pulled up in front of

the hotel, and Aiden paid. He kept the phone to his ear

as he took the elevator up, loving the sound of Keaton’s

movements on the other end. He went down the hall,

fumbled with his key card, and entered his room,

relieved. “I’m back.”

“Good. Now climb into bed, and close your eyes.”

“Not in my jeans!”

“Undress then.”

“You’d like to be here to see me do that, huh?”

Keaton chuckled. “I would.” His voice was low and

scratchy.

Aiden wished there was a way to kiss that voice.

“You’re tired, huh?”

“A little.”

“Me too. You going to sleep now?”

“Are you?” Keaton asked.

“I’m hard,” Aiden replied, looking at his

burgeoning erection.

“You know what I’d do if I was there?”

Aiden’s heart sped up. “What?”

“How wet is your cock?”

“A little. On the end.”

“I’d spread your precum over your cock with my

thumb. Then I’d wrap my fist around the whole thing so I

could feel how hard you are.”

Aiden took his cock in his hand and began to stroke

it. “Oh shit.”

“I’d start pumping it. And I’d watch you while I

touched you, so I could see how much you enjoyed it.”

Aiden gulped and pulled harder on his throbbing

dick.

“Are you touching yourself?” Keaton asked.

“Yeah.”

“Does it feel good?”

“It’d feel better if it was you.”

“It is,” Keaton whispered.

Aiden closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“Let me hear you.”

“I can’t.”

“Come for me.”

Aiden panted, feeling himself edge closer and

closer to orgasm as he imagined Keaton’s hands on him,

Keaton’s voice in his ear, Keaton’s eyes locked with his

own. He moaned.

“That’s beautiful. I love listening to you.”

Aiden let out a small whimper, and his hips rose off

the mattress.

“I need this,” Keaton said. “I need to hear you

come.”

Aiden squeezed his eyes shut. His body stiffened,

and he came with a sharp cry, collapsing onto the bed.

He lay on the sheets, his breath leaving him in rushes

until it finally evened out and he curled under the

blankets, exhausted.

“So good,” Keaton said. “Can you sleep now?”

“Yeah. You too? We can go to sleep together.”

“All right. Hang up, though, so your battery doesn’t

die.”

“I miss you.”

“You too. Call me after your audition. Call me

anytime.”

“Anytime. Okay. G’night.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

Aiden hung up, and fell asleep smiling.

Aiden Cole was happy.

He couldn’t remember feeling this content for any

sustained length of time, but for the last two months, life

had been good. He had a job; he was done with grad

school applications; his body had filled out, and he

looked great. He tried not to fret as he waited to hear

back from MFA programs. He hadn’t botched his Case

audition back in December, despite delivering his

monologues with a slight hangover. He’d shared a

perfect first Christmas with the man he loved—Keaton

had given him a robe for Christmas, and they had indeed

drunk hot chocolate in robes and slippers. They’d also

had Hera, Kim, Sloane, and a couple of Keaton’s friends

from the school over for dinner and a poker tournament.

Aiden had recently been cast in another play at the local

theater, and Keaton had already bought a ticket for

opening night.

Aiden wouldn’t have gone so far as to say things

were perfect. He still worried sometimes about his and

Keaton’s future. And Scott continued to text and e-mail

him. Sometimes Aiden deleted the messages without

looking at them; other times he glanced at them and saw

invitations, suggestions that made him blush and

squirm. He ignored every single message, but it

bothered him that they kept coming. Aiden considered

talking to Keaton, but doing so would mean confessing

how long this had been going on.

Aiden stretched, enjoying the warmth of his and

Keaton’s bed. Keaton was downstairs in the kitchen,

making waffles. It was Saturday, and Aiden had nowhere

to be until six thirty, when they were going to Hera’s for

dinner. He rolled onto his back, wiggling against the

sheets, and reflected that it had been a while since he’d

earned himself a spanking. In the two months since his

post-Cleveland punishment—which had been so

thorough that Aiden sometimes swore he could still see

the red blotches from Keaton’s hand—his behavior had

been exemplary. And while he was proud of this, he

occasionally craved the high drama and catharsis of

acting out and being punished.

There was something else that had been nagging at

Aiden, something he hadn’t quite figured out how to

bring up to Keaton. When Keaton had spanked him for

breaking the rules while he was in Cleveland, Aiden,

though thoroughly ashamed and sorry, had felt oddly

disconnected during the punishment. He’d lain quietly

over Keaton’s lap, accepting what he was given but not

really feeling it. The spanking had been one of the most

severe Keaton had ever given him, yet Aiden’s mind had

wandered as the swats fell; he’d resisted the catharsis.

He’d continued to feel distracted, detached when Keaton

helped him up and held him. He hadn’t cried or clung.

He’d offered a simple apology and slid off Keaton’s lap.

He hadn’t really been spanked enough since then to

know whether the change in his discipline mind-set was

permanent. A spanking he’d received last month had had

him kicking and “ow”ing, but the sense of complete

surrender definitely wasn’t as potent as it had been in the

past. Keaton continued to spank him occasionally for

pleasure, and that experience was as powerful as ever.

But Aiden wondered if disciplinary spankings were

losing their effect, and if so, was the problem the

punishments themselves? Did he need Keaton to punish

him harder, with something more severe than his hand?

Or was Aiden simply outgrowing the discipline

relationship, now that he had himself under better

control?

He groaned, turning his face into the pillow. He