By His Rules (18 page)

listening to you moan about your future—or lack thereof.

He pictured Keaton in his studio—long, thin hands

kneading clay, brushing on glaze, stepping back to cast a

critical eye on what he’d created. Aiden thought he’d like

to watch Keaton work sometime.

Keaton had said he liked Aiden. Liked him as a

friend? Or as more?
“You need time to heal,”
Keaton had

told him last night. What was there to heal from? Aiden

thought bitterly. Scott had turned out to be too intense

for Aiden. Their last night together had spooked Aiden,

but it had been his own fault for coming home drunk, for

not being stronger, for not repeating his safe word.

I’m not fragile. I’m not broken. Keaton doesn’t need to

treat me like I am. He can fuck me, hurt me, punish me…

What would it be like, to be punished by Keaton?

Keaton didn’t seem very tough. But maybe Keaton was

holding back because he saw Aiden as delicate. The

more Aiden thought about it, the angrier he got—at

Keaton for holding back, and at himself for showing such

weakness around Keaton. No wonder Keaton thought he

was fragile—he’d spent last night weeping in the man’s

arms. He needed to be tougher, show Keaton he could

handle anything.

He needed to force Keaton to reveal his dom side.

The next couple of days were rough. Aiden was

moody and irritable, snapping at Keaton whenever

Keaton tried to make conversation. He couldn’t sleep

and threw up everything he ate—discreetly; he didn’t

want Keaton to catch him in such a vulnerable state

again.

He waited for Keaton to get fed up, snap, punish

him. It didn’t happen.

“I rented a couple of movies if you’re interested,”

Keaton said on Saturday night.

“I’m not,” Aiden said.

“Okay then. Do you mind giving me a hand with

dinner?”

“I’ve got some stuff to do. I’m not eating, anyway.”

“You sure? Homemade pizza. My specialty.”

Aiden wrinkled his nose. “Yuck.”

Keaton stood in the foyer, sorting through the day’s

mail. “One of my students is making a ceramic pizza for

her final project. It’s pretty cool looking.”

“Why do you teach at a community college?”

Keaton looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Are you not qualified to teach at a real school?”

Aiden asked nastily.

Keaton looked more surprised than offended. “I

guess I fail to see how community college isn’t a ‘real

school.’ Part of the reason is that the job was available—

it’s tough to find work in this economy. You’ve got to

take what you can get. Also, major universities tend to

breed a lot of departmental politics. I feel like I deal less

with the political side of academia at Florence.”

Aiden wasn’t sure how to respond in a way that

would provoke Keaton. He flopped back on the couch,

letting his legs sprawl open. “I fucked a college

professor once. Not one of my professors, I mean. But he

taught somewhere near here, and he was in town for the

weekend. He wanted me to pretend I was a student. Are

you into schoolboy scenes?”

“Can’t say I am.” Keaton tossed an envelope onto

the side table.

“Have you fucked a lot of guys?”

Keaton looked pointedly at Aiden. “That’s really

not your business.”

“Just asking.”

“I’m going to go start dinner. You’re welcome to

help.”

“Why should I help with something I’m not going

to be able to eat without getting sick?” Aiden

complained. “Then when I puke, I’ll have to worry about

you barging into the bathroom and watching me.”

“Settle down.” Keaton started toward the kitchen.

“Make me,” Aiden said.

Keaton stopped, turned.

Aiden’s heart pounded, but he pressed on.

“Fucking
make me
settle down.”

“Aiden,” Keaton said quietly.

“Keaton,” Aiden mocked.

“I’m not going to ‘make you’ settle down.”

“Why not? Because I ‘need time to heal’? Or

because you don’t know how to be a goddamn top?”

Keaton looked like he was trying to hide a smile,

which infuriated Aiden further. “Well, here’s the truth—

there’s nothing you could do that would make me

behave. I can take a lot of pain. You’d have to beat the

complete shit out of me to get me to do anything.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Aiden snapped.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to do that.” Keaton

turned again to leave.

Aiden walked to the foyer table, grabbed the twigs

out of Keaton’s spiral vase, and hurled them at Keaton.

They landed on the floor between them.

Keaton paused.

Aiden waited, chin lifted defiantly. His heart

thrashed against his chest like a caged animal, and fear

snaked around his wrists and ankles, binding him where

he stood. But he continued to send out his silent plea to

Keaton:
Please stop me. I need you to stop me.

“All right,” Keaton said.

“All right what? You’re going to beat the shit out of

me? I’d like to see you try, you fucking asshole. If you

fucking touch me, I’ll—”

Keaton dragged a high-backed wooden chair that

sat against the living room wall over to a corner, looked

at Aiden, pointed to the chair, and said, “Sit down,

please.”

“Why should I?” Aiden asked, starting to panic.

Keaton took a step toward him, and Aiden jerked

back, bumping the table. Keaton’s vase wobbled. Keaton

held out a hand.

Aiden eyed the offered hand. Keaton didn’t grab

him. Didn’t shout or swear or strike. He just waited.

Cautiously Aiden put his hand in Keaton’s.

Keaton led him to the chair and sat him down. Then

he picked up the chair with Aiden in it and turned it to

face the corner. Aiden held his breath. Keaton’s lips were

almost against the back of his neck; the other man’s

warmth and sweet smell were so close that Aiden ached

to throw his arms around Keaton and just inhale for

hours.

Except now you’ve pissed him off. Now he’ll show you

what he’s really like as a top.

He had a wild urge to leap up from the chair and

run away. Keaton put a hand on his shoulder. “Just sit

here. Relax. I’m going to go make dinner.”

Aiden couldn’t speak. How long was Keaton going

to leave him here? Was he just supposed to sit in the

corner like some naughty kid? What would Keaton do to

him when he came back?

He watched Keaton leave the room, wishing

suddenly, desperately that he could take the last ten

minutes back. He wished he was in the kitchen chopping

vegetables, talking to Keaton about his day. He wished

he hadn’t been such an asshole. What if Keaton never

forgave him for the things he’d said?

“Shit,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. Was

Keaton going to do what Scott had done that night at

Obey—put Aiden in the corner and then yell at him, call

him names, point out everything that was wrong with

him? Aiden hated that. He hated it worse than Scott’s

beatings.

The idea of Keaton physically disciplining him

made Aiden nervous, but it would be a hell of a lot

better than this—this limbo, this waiting, this…

loneliness. Even Scott at his cruelest had at least engaged

with Aiden.

“Shit,” Aiden said louder, half hoping Keaton

would hear him and come into the room, even if it was

just to tell Aiden to shut up.

What right did Keaton have to leave him here?

What was to stop Aiden from getting up and walking out

of the room? Who was this cowering deadbeat sitting in a

chair in the corner of a stranger’s house? What had

happened to the Aiden who had graduated from State

last year, soaring high on dreams of the future?

To his utter humiliation, he began to cry—
for what,

the eight hundredth time this week
? He wiped his eyes

furiously, trying to turn the emotion into anger at

Keaton.

But he didn’t hate Keaton. Only himself.

* * * *

calming him. He didn’t want to admit how much Aiden’s

outburst had bothered him—not that the boy’s words

had offended him, exactly. It was just difficult to witness

someone in so much pain. Aiden’s tantrum had been

motivated by fear, self-doubt, mistrust, anger, and stress.

If Aiden were an ordinary brat, Keaton would have

settled things with a few sharp swats to the seat of the

boy’s pants. And for all he knew, that might have done

the job for Aiden. Aiden seemed to crave physical

reinforcement and reassurance. But Keaton couldn’t risk

spooking him any further. They still didn’t know each

other well, and Aiden needed to know he was safe here

—from abuse, from force.

Keaton hoped the corner time would chill Aiden

out, give him time to reflect in private while still offering

him the boundaries he needed to feel secure. He was

pleased with his handling of the situation until he heard

a thud from the living room. He rolled his eyes, hoping

things weren’t about to get out of control. He put the

pizza in the oven and went to check on his brat.

Aiden was still sitting in the chair, but he was

kicking the chair leg, hard, every few seconds. Keaton

walked to the corner and stood behind him. “Aiden?”

Aiden kicked the chair leg.

“Aiden, look at me please.”

Aiden didn’t move, so Keaton picked up the chair

and turned it so it faced the room. What he saw shocked

him. Aiden’s eyes were red and swollen, the pupils

dilated with fury. His cheeks were wet, his nose runny,

and he looked at Keaton with such loathing that Keaton

almost took a step back.

“Are you done with me?” Aiden demanded before

Keaton could speak. “Or is there more?”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keaton said, striving to

keep his voice calm.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to know if I can get

up.”

“As soon as you tell me what’s upset you.”

“What’s upset me?” Aiden shouted. “What
is
this

shit? You left me here. I didn’t know what to do!”

His face was red, and tendons strained in his neck.

Keaton wanted to put a hand on him but was afraid to

touch him.

“Is this your idea of punishment? Because it’s

fucking torture.”

Keaton shook his head. “Not punishment.

Discipline. I thought this would help you relax, and—”

“
Relax
?”

“I’d like you to help me understand why it was so

bad for you.”

“I don’t
get
it! I’m just supposed to sit here? And

then what? Are you going to call me shit?”

“Call you… ?” Keaton was confused.

“Call me names or whatever? Yell at me? Tell me

how stupid I am? How no one will ever want me?”

Aiden’s voice broke.

“Is that what he did?”

“Fuck you!” Aiden yelled. “You’re no different than

him. You get off on being in control. You think you’re

some kind of fucking god, and that I should just listen to

whatever you say, and you
don’t
—
know
—
anything
!”

Aiden kicked the chair leg again.

“Aiden, I’m listening,” Keaton said. “Please stop

kicking the chair.”

Aiden kicked the chair.

“Last warning.”

Aiden kicked as hard as he could. The chair leg

creaked in protest.

Keaton moved fast. He had Aiden out of the chair

and bent over his arm in seconds, and before the boy

could struggle or protest, delivered two firm swats to

Aiden’s jean-clad rump. Hard enough to be felt, but not

hard enough to hurt or to compound the pain of any

bruises or welts that hadn’t healed yet. Keaton

immediately pulled Aiden upright and settled the boy

back against his body, wrapping his arms firmly around

him. Aiden struggled for a moment, then went limp,

sobbing. Keaton held him while he cried himself out.

“You
spanked
me,” Aiden choked finally.

“Mm-hm,” Keaton said. He dropped a kiss on

Aiden’s hair.

“I hate you.” The statement was halfhearted, and

Aiden sounded completely relaxed.

“I know.”

They stood in silence for another moment, Keaton

refusing to let go, Aiden not trying to get away. “I don’t