By His Rules (11 page)

Keaton here. He was almost disappointed when Keaton

got up and walked away.

Like you know anything about him, Cole. Or want to. He

could be a total asshole, for all you know.

Aiden hugged himself as an icy gust blew back his

hair.

Keaton was worried. This boy didn’t look at all like

the Aiden Cole who’d caught his eye at Obey. This

Aiden was far too thin—bony arms clutching his middle,

as though he could prevent some of the late fall chill

from entering through the thin fabric of his long-sleeved

T-shirt. This Aiden was wary, withdrawn. He was also in

pain. It showed in his eyes and in every stiff, shuddering

movement of his body.

Keaton reached his car, unlocked it, and grabbed a

jacket from the backseat. He liked the jacket—it was a bit

small on him, but it was warm and sturdy. Still, he didn’t

mind giving it up for a good cause. He tried not to rush

back to the pier. No need to spook the kid with his

enthusiasm.

Aiden glanced up only briefly when Keaton

returned. “Here,” Keaton said, holding out the jacket.

“For my peace of mind.”

Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want it.”

“Please.” Keaton said it sincerely, and Aiden

looked at him as though unable to comprehend why this

mattered so much to Keaton.

Then Aiden shrugged again and took the jacket.

He couldn’t get it on—his fingers were numb, and

he shivered so hard he could barely raise his arms.

Keaton reached out to help him, and Aiden shied

violently from his hands. Keaton stopped moving.

“Shit,” Aiden muttered. He shook the jacket off and

thrust it at Keaton. “You keep it. I have to get going

anyway.” He stood and hurried away, leaving Keaton no

time to decide whether to call after him.

* * * *

Night
. He’d come to look down on community theater

while he was in college, especially the shows put on in

this dump of a town. But he missed acting and was

thrilled for the chance to play Malvolio. In productions at

school, he had inevitably been cast as the romantic lead.

Now finally he got to play a character part: the priggish,

joy-despising steward who turns out to be far more

complex than he initially seems.

Having rehearsals to look forward to each night

brightened his mood considerably. He ate more

regularly and had an easier time sleeping through the

nights. He practiced his lines while Scott was at work,

and, as opening night grew nearer, tried to persuade

Scott to come.

“I hate plays,” Scott said.

“Don’t you at least want to support me?” Aiden

asked, trying for the charming grin that had served him

well in the past. He often faltered when he smiled now,

afraid Scott would think he was being fake or

manipulative.

Scott snorted. “Like you need any more support

from me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scott shrugged. “Maybe instead of wasting your

time with this play, you should be out looking for a job.”

“I’ve tried. You know I’ve been trying.”

“Have you? How hard can it be to get a job as a

cashier somewhere?”

Aiden bit his lip. “Well, I don’t just want to be a

cashier somewhere. I want to think about my future.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t think about it on my

dime.”

Aiden’s face burned. He struggled to keep his voice

steady. “Joe’s was good because the hours were flexible.

Serving’s a great day job for an actor. If I could get

another job as a server, I could make sure my evenings

were free to pursue more theater opportunities.”

“So you can be a waiter for the rest of your life, but

not a cashier?”

“It’s not for the rest of my life. It’s just until I can

start making a living as an actor. Or—I don’t know, if I

get into grad school… ”

“This all sounds like fantasy to me. I mean, how is

acting a viable career? Unless you’re a movie star?”

“People make money at it. Not a lot, but—”

“How does that contribute to society, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how does being an actor benefit anyone?”

Aiden’s mouth fell open. “People
need
theater. It’s

part of… of culture; it’s part of what makes us human. It

teaches us about ourselves—”

“Look, don’t have an aneurysm over it. Theater’s

just not my thing. So enjoy your show, break a leg or

whatever, then buckle down and find a real job when it’s

over.”

Aiden stood, fists clenched at his sides. Scott was

being completely unfair and condescending. “There’s a

party closing night for the cast and crew. I was gonna ask

you to go with me. But forget it.”

“When’s closing night?”

“What do you care?”

Scott caught his wrist as he turned to leave. “When

is it?”

“Next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday I need you here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have something planned. Part of your training.”

“Well, I can’t miss the cast party.”

“You’ll have to.”

“No.”

Scott quirked an eyebrow. “What did you just say

to me?”

“I said
no
.”

Scott jerked his arm. “Do you need a reminder of

who’s in charge around here?”

“I know who’s in charge,
Sir
,” Aiden spat. “But I

also know I have my own life outside of being your sub.

And the cast party is part of it.” Aiden’s heart thudded,

but he forced himself to keep his gaze locked with

Scott’s. He didn’t dare fight Scott’s grip on his wrist; Scott

would win. He simply waited.

Scott stared at him for a long moment, eyes black

with fury. Then he thrust Aiden’s arm away from him.

“Go then.” He left the room.

Aiden stared after him. Was it really that simple?

He’d surely pay for this later, but he’d gotten what he

wanted—Scott’s permission to attend the cast party.

But I didn’t need his permission. It’s my life. Isn’t it?

He lived in Scott’s house. Scott supported him.

He’d agreed that his body belonged to Scott. That he

existed to please Scott.

But that’s a game, no matter what Scott says. No matter

how hard-core it is, it’s just a scene. What’s real is my career,

my future, my friends. If Scott were my partner, not just my

dom—if he cared about me as a person instead of just caring

whether I obey him—then he’d be part of that reality too.

Aiden bit the last remaining nail on his right hand.

I could leave
. The thought wasn’t new, but it came to

Aiden stronger than it ever had before.
I don’t have

anywhere to go right now, but I could make something work.

Without a job, there’s nothing keeping me in this
town
, let alone

this house. I could move somewhere I actually want to be, find

the relationship I deserve…

Another voice, softer but more insidious, spoke:

But maybe Scott is what you deserve. If you deserved love,

you’d have it by now. If you worked hard, you’d be where you

want to be, you’d have a job, you’d be surrounded by friends.

But you’ve been lazy, a slacker, a lousy excuse for a friend.

Scott’s trying to build you up, but you’re not buildable.

He gathered his materials for rehearsal, feeling the

heaviness in his body and mind that had grown all too

familiar in the last few weeks. His stomach growled. His

head throbbed. He wished he were someone—anyone—

else.

* * * *

to himself while Scott was at work. He went over his

lines, his spirits high. Hera called to tell him to break a

leg and promised she and Sloane and Kim would all be

in the audience to cheer him on. He hung up glowing.

The performance went well, and Aiden drew loud

applause during his curtain call. The performances for

the rest of the week were solid. They had large crowds

most nights. The director said it was the theater’s best-

selling show in years. The party after closing night was a

blast. It was great to hang out with Hera again. Aiden

hadn’t seen much of her since he’d left Joe’s. There was

free wine and dessert, a live DJ, and a dance floor.

Aiden’s cast mates complimented his performance, and

he complimented theirs in return, and they told him he

absolutely had to audition for the next production.

Aiden promised he would.

Hera, Kim, and Sloane left around one, and Aiden

stayed an hour longer, until the party started to wind

down. He accepted a ride home from Stacy, the girl

who’d played Viola. They listened to music at full blast,

singing along as they sped down deserted streets. When

he got out of the car, he was still singing.

“Shh,” Stacy said, giggling. “Your neighbors are

asleep.”

“Thanks for the ride.” Aiden kissed her cheek and

bounded up the walkway to the house. The door was

unlocked. He pushed it open and entered the dark

hallway, trying not to make too much noise. A light was

on in the kitchen. He went in to grab a drink of water.

Scott was sitting at the table.

“Hey!” Aiden said enthusiastically. “You’re still

up.”

“You’re out late.”

“Not too late.” Aiden retrieved a glass and filled it

in the sink.

“How’d it go?”

“Awesome. The show was great, and the party was

a blast. I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Scott stood.

“How was your night?” Aiden asked uncertainly, a

little of his enthusiasm waning in the face of Scott’s

coldness.

“Dull,” Scott said. “Completely boring.”

“Aw. I’m sorry.”

“But now you’re here. And I’m horny.”

He approached the counter. Aiden set his glass

down, noticing the empty wine bottle near the sink as he

did. This morning it had been unopened. “I’m not really

in the mood.”

Scott reached out. Aiden flinched. Scott laughed, an

abrupt bark. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t want—”

Scott reached out slowly and cupped Aiden’s jaw.

“You’re so jumpy lately. Not like a good sub. A good

sub accepts what he’s given. You act all scared when I

come near you.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Am I scary?”

“No.”

Scott laughed softly. “Good.” He let go of Aiden’s

jaw and took hold of Aiden’s left nipple through his

shirt.

“Let go,” Aiden said quietly.

Scott tugged him forward.

Aiden gasped and followed him to the table.

“Bend over.”

Aiden hesitated, then pushed a chair aside and bent

over the table.

“I’m surprised you didn’t fight. You’ve been

fighting me a lot lately.”

Aiden didn’t answer.

“I like it.” Scott swatted his ass through his jeans.

Aiden winced as the slap reawakened old pain—

bruises that hadn’t healed, welts that were still raw. Scott

reached around to undo his jeans.

Aiden tried to stand up. “I don’t want to,” he

mumbled. His head felt blurry from the wine, from the

whirl of the evening. “I’m tired.”

“Too bad. It was your choice to stay out late. I’m

not going to bed unsatisfied. Bend over.”

“No.” Aiden tried to pull away, but Scott caught

him.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, little boy,” Scott

murmured. “Right over this table.”

“Scott—”

“
Sir
!” Scott barked, clapping the side of Aiden’s

head with one palm.

Aiden reeled. Scott reached for Aiden’s fly again,

unsnapping it.

Aiden pulled back. “I mean it! I’m not doing this

tonight.”

“It’s not your choice,” Scott said quietly.

“Mushroom,” Aiden said, falling back on his safe

word.

Scott stared at him. “What’s the matter?” he taunted

finally. “Can’t take a fucking, little boy?”

“I don’t want to right now.”

Scott grabbed his jaw again, squeezing until Aiden

cried out. “Do I care what you want, Shithead? Your job

is to serve me.” He shoved Aiden facedown over the

table. When Aiden struggled, Scott picked up both of his

legs so that Aiden was half-suspended, his torso

supported by the table, his legs by Scott’s arm.

Scott brought his other hand down across Aiden’s