Young Milton 2

Young Milton II

“You need to get ready for dinner,” Landon said walking into the room without knocking and taking the book from Milton’s hand.

“I was reading, and haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“You have no privacy here; get used to it, boy.” The words should have inspired anger, but Landon’s face broke into a disarming and broad smile. It was hard to sustain anger at someone who was so easy and natural. “Did you already get into it with the master of the house?”

“He hit me.”

“Don’t pout; it’s not becoming in a dominant.” Landon ruffled Milton’s hair and flopped down on the bed. “He only had the itty-bitty cane. It couldn’t have been too awful for a sturdy farm boy like you.”

“What is this place?”

Landon waved at the books scattered on the floor and the bed. “You’ve been doing the research. You were raised by Andrew and Doug. You tell me.”

“They never did anything like this. Those men…” Milton flapped his arm at the books.

“Yes? Go on. We’re not shy here. You’re a teenager. You have sex on your brain every minute, and here you can talk about it.”

“I’m not a freak.” Milton raked his hand through his dark curls. This conversation was surreal. He felt like he was in some crazy movie that everybody would pan as being insane.

“No, you’re not. You’re a Brown man and a dominant. Andrew’s not much of a talker, but I knew he told you that much. I know you’ve seen a few things, whether you want to admit it or not. Andrew and Doug are discreet; they’re not invisible.”

Milton had seen. He’d seen Doug one step behind Grandfather; he’d seen Doug drop his head at the slightest sharpness in Grandfather’s tone. He’d seen and heard Grandfather take the strap to Doug as Milton had huddled on the far side of the screen door, afraid to be discovered, horrified and fascinated at the same time. He could still here Grandfather’s words the time he was found in the barn.

“You’re the dominant. It’s your duty to protect your friend. You scrambled to safety and left him.” It was the only time Grandfather had ever struck him. He’d taken the strap from the drawer and lashed Milton’s ass as he leaned across the table. “Your responsibility, Milton. I care little that you were with another boy, but I will not have you abandon him.”

“Milton, I know Andrew has spoken with you,” Landon said, rubbing his hand down Milton’s back.

“Once.”

Landon groaned and smiled. “I forget that it takes all day for Andrew to say ten words.”

“He’s--”

“Boy, it’s not an insult. Andrew is a good man, and I understand his reticence. His life has not always been easy. He’s done well with you. They both have. You’re gorgeous and smart and well together for such a youngster. I know Gordon went after you.”

“Good cop, bad cop. You two are playing me.”

“Some.” Landon smiled again. “You’re far too clever, boy.”

“I don’t play games with crazies,” Milton said, staring directly at Landon. “I’m not intimidated.”

“No, you wouldn’t be. Curious, I bet.”

“My curiosity doesn’t include being hit by a stick,” Milton said frostily.

“Oh, it can be fun.” Landon kissed Milton’s forehead. 

“Fun?”

Landon stood up and reached for the tie hanging over the back of the chair. “Turn around. I’ll get this.” He knotted the tie with deft fingers. “As for the other, I’m Gordon’s submissive. I enjoy the cane. You may never enjoy it, but you will understand it. I know this is overwhelming and less than fair, but Gordon will not hurt you, not for real and before he does more than tap you with a little toy, you will understand. You are one of us. Let yourself enjoy it.” Landon took Milton’s hand and pulled him from the bed. “Your first dinner as a Green Mountain Boy. Have fun.”

The dining room was vast with crystal chandeliers and bay windows that overlooked a garden that was covered in snow. Gordon was already at the table, surrounded by men close to his age. Gordon nodded at Landon and pointed to the seat next to him. 

“Sit. Bread?”

“Please.” Milton shook the starched napkin over his lap and tried to look around without appearing too interested. He was used to eating in the kitchen and helping himself from a pan. Linen napkins were for holidays, not every day, and ties were for funerals and weddings.

“He’s exquisite,” someone said from the end of the table.

“He’s off limits, Jack” Gordon said and took a sip of water.

“It doesn’t mean a man can’t dream. Look at those shoulders and those hands. I can imagine a whip in his hand. Stupendous.”

“Jack.” Milton heard a sharp swat. “The boy just arrived this afternoon. Try to find some manners.” 

“Manners are overrated, especially when there is a gorgeous boy at the end of the table. Can’t you see him in leather?”

“Collin, Jack is sitting far too comfortably,” Gordon said sternly.

Milton spread the butter on his roll. It was soft and flecked with herbs. He wanted to stare, but staring was bad manners. He wanted to shout a thousand questions or to grab a car and return to the quiet farm. He was the one who had been restless. He’d wanted to leave home, but this was crazy. Adults didn’t act this way. His grandfather would never condone this behavior. Maybe the rich had different rules.

“White. My ass is white, most disgraceful.” Jack sprang to his feet, his hand reaching for his belt. “Should I demonstrate?”

“No,” Milton growled. “I suspect you want to impress me. I can’t imagine the reason, but I’m not impressed by behavior that would reflect badly on a toddler. I thought this was dinner: china and linen and ties. I am told the young have bad manners, but I wouldn’t flaunt my backside.”

“Wow!” someone shouted from the opposite corner of the table. “Can we say dominant? Where did you find him?”

“I’m Milton Brown, and I understand the Brown name means something here. I come from a few hours down the road, and I’d like to eat dinner in peace. I am hungry.”

“You heard the man,” Landon said with a grin. “Eat before he pummels you. I’m sure he’s more than capable.”

“Not without my permission.” Gordon’s voice carried easily across the table. It wasn’t loud, but the authority swirled overhead in an invisible cloud. 

Milton stared. He stopped considering if it ware rude or not. He wasn’t threatening to strip off his pants, and in this crowd that passed as acceptable dinner behavior. He could feel the power and charisma that vibrated off the man in a suit at the end of table. This was a power that made him catch his breath, the power that the stupid would always be envious of and never understand. 

“You want it, lad, don’t you?” Gordon said under his breath.

All Milton could do was nod. He was trapped in that dark and steady gaze. He knew there were people around him, clinking glasses and spreading butter on bread, but he only saw Gordon, the perfect tie, the flash of silver at his wrists, the unbreakable severity in his features.

“Someday, boy. You have to survive my whims first.” 

“I don’t like your whims,” Milton said, enunciating every word slowly. It worked with teachers and the idiot school head who’d suggested that Milton should stay in school and take shop and home economics and some math course the average chimp could pass. Talking slowly and carefully made adults listen. Staring at them with the serene hardness of his grandfather’s eyes added to the picture. He’d never admit he’d practiced the right look for hours. He was seventeen, not six; being told by every Good Samaritan what his life plans should be stopped being entertaining in kindergarten. 

“I see your grandfather in you. You’ll have to work far harder to intimidate me. I’ve had practice. Eat. I expect you’re still growing.”

A plate of food was placed in front of Milton. He didn’t bother to look, but he was sure it was quality; everything else here was. 

“I’m not a fool who threatens to undress at the dinner table.”

“I would hope not. I can only manage one Jack in an evening.”

“He belongs in a zoo.”

“Do not insult those you don’t understand. You hide yourself behind a demeanor suited to someone two or three times your age; Jack hides himself on the opposite end of the scale. Neither honest--both understandable.”

“You’re an expert on someone you just met.” Milton rolled his eyes dramatically. “Another self-proclaimed expert telling me what to do. You may have lived longer, but it doesn’t mean you know a damn thing. I find most of your generation remarkably easy to deceive. I’m the quiet, polite young man who does well in sports and school, who works hard on the farm, who sucks it up and survives when sent off with crazy strangers. I don’t get pushed around.”

“I see,” Gordon said gravely, a faint trace of a smile on his lips. “I suspect you’ll find me far harder to deceive than most, and I will push you around. You will yield to me, boy, not because I’m older or because I’m your current employer, but because I have the keys to the kingdom. You want what I have.”

“Ugly chandeliers and a big house.”

“Don’t pretend to be less intelligent than you are. I have a man who kneels for me, a man who hurts for me, a man who gives me everything, a man who forges my fire into warm and comforting flames.”

“So romantic.”

“Real.” Gordon tapped the table with his finger. “Eat, boy. I won’t win this conversation in an evening, but I will win.”

Milton smiled to himself. The old folks were always confident. They were so easy; smile and nod at the right places and they would believe everything. Most of his teachers at school were useless. They missed half the true pieces of work because the nasties with half a brain would smile nicely and hand their work in on time.

“You’ll believe me eventually,” Gordon said and most irritatingly tousled Milton’s hair. “You will be fun.”

“You’d call me a brat and beat me black and blue,” Jack complained through a mouthful of food.

“Chew then talk,” Collin said, slapping at Jack’s hand as Jack stretched across the table for another piece of bread.

“You’re just mean to me.” Jack ignored the slap, grabbing the rolls and the butter.

“Jack,” Gordon growled.

“Enough.” Collin pointed to the floor and clicked his fingers.

“Noooo. Please.” A tear dripped from enormous green eyes. Jack leaned against Collin and rubbed his head against the starched shirt.

“Now.” 

Collin’s voice was flat and even, but somehow Milton knew the man wouldn’t budge from his position. He’d heard that sort of voice from his grandfather and from the history teacher who had returned to his family farm to take care of his aging parents. He’d taught in one of those high powered preparatory schools. He’d tried to get Grandfather to send Milton to his old school, but Grandfather had been equally stubborn. They’d stared at each other across the scarred kitchen table, the polite cup of coffee left un-drunk. The teacher hadn’t begged or pleaded; he’d stood up and taken his leave, dignified and slow.

“It’s your mistake,” the teacher had said as he shrugged into his coat.

“His education is here right now,” Grandfather had said, reaching for his own coffee. “I won’t chain him here, but there are things he must learn about himself before he belongs away from this safety. Thank you for your interest.”

The next day in history, Mr. Baird had held Milton after. “Your Grandfather will not budge, and I recognize a man who is not open to persuasion on the topic. He’s the first.” Mr. Baird raked his fingers through his already messy hair, leaving chalk dust clinging to brown curls. 

“My grandfather is the most stubborn man in the history of the planet. I’m used to his ways.” Milton had shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I’ll live.”

“I suppose you will. You’re remarkably philosophical about being stuck out here.”

“I won’t be here forever. He’s promised that after high school I can go away, and he keeps his word,” Milton had added after a short pause. “It’s not all bad.”

“Being a man of his word is admirable, even if I don’t understand his reasoning.”

“He doesn’t explain. He liked you enough to let you in the door. That was a long conversation for him.” 

Milton and Mr. Baird never spoke of prep school again. The man’s parents died within a month of each other over the summer. Grandfather, Milton, and Uncle Doug had gone to both funerals, and Mr. Baird had returned to his world of brick buildings and ivy.

Jack must have recognized the tone that meant no compromise and no wiggle room was allowed because he slid from his chair and sank to his knees. He placed his hands behind his back and lowered his eyes to the floor as color flooded his face.

“Good boy,” Collin said gently, running his fingers through Jack’s hair. “My good boy.”

Collin fed Jack, one bite at a time. Collin held the water glass for Jack to take a sip. He wiped the small bit of lettuce from Jack’s mouth.

“We can do that sometime.”

Milton startled at Gordon’s words. Milton had been staring. He turned his attention back toward the last potato on his plate, trying to hide his embarrassment. He couldn’t keep his eyes off those two men. He threw them darting glances as he reached for his water or asked for another roll.

No one else was paying attention. They were eating and talking. Snippets of conversation floated overhead: world politics, tax policy, some business selling shoes. Someone told a story about his new car.

“Milton, help clear,” Gordon said. “You may have dessert in the kitchen.”

The kitchen was ordinary enough in a vast industrial sort of way. Milton had never worked in a restaurant, but some of his friends earned extra cash in the summer at the local cafe. The stainless steel and the oversized bowls were familiar enough. Someone at the stove waved a hand at Milton, bracelets clanking on his wrist.

“Stack them over there. I’ll get them.”

“I was told to eat dessert in the kitchen.”

“Did you get into it with the dragon?”

“Do you mean Gordon Lewis?”

“Who else?” The man turned from the stove, his smile wide and showing the gap between his front teeth. Colorful ink sprouted from the open neckline of his shirt and more ink peeked out on his bulging muscles below his shirtsleeves. 

“Um…” Milton mumbled. 

“Don’t incriminate yourself. I’m George by the way.” The man wiped a beefy hand across his jeans and reached out to shake Milton’s hand. “You the new kid? The Brown boy?”

“Milton Brown.”

“Andrew’s a good man. Maybe now that he’s not raising you full time, we’ll see him occasionally. He and Doug are very devoted to you.”

“You know him?”

“A long time ago. You look like him, same eyes, same coolness.”

“He wouldn’t do these things.”

“Kid, he raised you. We’re different as parents. My little girl had no idea; my wife had no idea. This is a safe place. You can find out what’s inside you before you go out there and fuck it up. Most of us have fucked it up big time. Here you don’t have to be bland and pretend to fit the neighbors’ stereotype for upstanding citizens.”

“Someone knelt at the dinner table?”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

“To be expected. He’s lots of work, but Collin adores him and is up to the work. You want to kneel?”

“No,” Milton snapped.

“You’re awfully interested,” George drawled. “It ain’t wrong, you know?”

“I’m not doing it.”

George smiled, his face suggesting the outcome would be different. “I wouldn’t bet anything important on that.”

“I’m not interested. Do you want help with this?” Milton flicked his hand to indicate the pile of unwashed pans.

“Are you offering to do the dishes?”

“I think I just did.”

“Well, I’m not asking a gift horse too many questions. Get cracking.”