By His Rules Read online

the fifth time. He finished and plopped down on the

  chair in the basement. This was awful. He couldn’t make

  himself feel the character’s struggle. He just felt like a guy

  in a basement saying words in a loud voice. He was

  going to fuck up the Case audition for sure. At least with

  the video audition, he could keep trying until he was

  satisfied. With the Case audition, he had one shot to

  impress them.

  They’ll probably kick me off the stage three lines in.

  He heard the basement door open, and Keaton

  called down, “On my way to school. Don’t forget lunch.”

  Aiden made a face. “Okay. Bye.”

  Keaton was making him keep track of every meal

  he ate in a food diary. Aiden had tried to express the

  foolishness of the idea in what he’d thought was a

  perfectly reasonable manner—by hurling the diary

  across the kitchen—and had ended up red-tailed and

  repentant. Well, temporarily repentant. He still thought

  the diary was stupid. He just wasn’t in any hurry to fling

  it again.

  It seemed like he’d spent more time over Keaton’s

  lap in the last two weeks than he had on his feet, but he

  had to admit, the butt-to-brain connection was working.

  His nails weren’t bitten to the quick, his cuticles were

  smooth. He wasn’t throwing up after meals—to the

  contrary, he’d been constipated for the last three days.

  Not something he was eager to share with Keaton. It was

  still tempting to skip meals, though somehow Keaton

  knew instantly when he did. Keaton didn’t need

  gingerroot to torture a confession out of Aiden—he had a

  grim, unyielding look that made Aiden spill instantly.

  Getting eight hours of sleep each night was hard,

  especially with auditions on his mind. He wasn’t having

  as many nightmares now that he slept beside Keaton, but

  he was having a hard time falling asleep. He didn’t see

  what the big deal was if he got up at three to check his e-

  mail or run his monologues in a whisper in the living

  room. But Keaton inevitably found him out, upended

  him, and delivered a rapid spanking that effectively

  demonstrated his displeasure at having to get up in the

  middle of the night. Pointing out that Keaton didn’t

  technically “have to” only made him spank harder.

  Aiden had felt better the last couple of weeks than

  he had in a long time. He wasn’t sure how that worked.

  He spent a good deal of time sobbing apologies over

  Keaton’s knee, or else writing out a broken rule two

  hundred times—and somehow this translated into a

  feeling of contentment? He’d had a couple of job

  interviews late last week, and was still waiting to hear

  back. He had another one tomorrow at a local pizza

  parlor.

  He heard a knock on the front door and hurried

  upstairs, curious. Even if it was a couple of Jehovah’s

  Witnesses, Aiden could use a distraction from his

  disastrous monologues. He opened the door and was so

  surprised that it was a few seconds before fear set in.

  Scott Runge stood on the porch, wearing jeans and a

  black jacket and holding a small box.

  “Hey,” Scott said.

  “Hey,” Aiden said, heart pounding. Scott looked as

  sexy as ever, but his presence here seemed like

  something out of one of Aiden’s nightmares.

  “You left some stuff at my place.” Scott handed him

  the box.

  “How did you know I—”

  “Someone at the club said he’d seen you cruising

  Keaton Hughes a while back. Then I ended up in line

  behind your girlfriend at the coffee shop and heard her

  on the phone talking about ‘stopping by Aiden and

  Keaton’s’ on her way home. So I figured you and Mr.

  Hughes must have shacked up.” He peered around

  Aiden, into the foyer. “Nice place. You gonna invite me

  in for a drink?”

  “No,” Aiden said.

  “Oh come on. I came all the way out here to give

  you your stuff, and you won’t even give me a glass of

  water?” He stepped past Aiden and into the house.

  “Hey,” Aiden protested, following Scott to the

  kitchen.

  “You really didn’t do too bad for yourself, did

  you?”

  “You should go.”

  “Please? I’m thirsty.”

  Aiden grabbed a glass and filled it in the sink.

  “Here.”

  “Got any ice?” Scott went to the freezer. As he

  pulled the door open, a magnet clattered to the floor, and

  the piece of paper that had hung on the side of the fridge

  facing the wall fluttered down. Scott reached around the

  side of the fridge and retrieved the paper. Held it up.

  “‘The Rules,’” he read.

  “Stop—” Aiden rushed over.

  “One.” Scott jerked the paper out of Aiden’s reach.

  “I will behave respectfully and maturely at all times.”

  “I’m serious. Put that down and get out.”

  Scot shook Aiden off and read through the list,

  laughing. “This is too cute. Three balanced meals a

  day?” Scott reached out and pinched Aiden’s stomach.

  Aiden jerked away. “How’s that working out?”

  “Get the fuck out of my house. I’m warning you.”

  “Your house? Do you pay rent? A mortgage? Or are

  you freeloading?”

  Aiden flushed. “Just leave.”

  “I didn’t know you were into this shit. So what,

  does he stand you in the corner and put you over his

  knee when you’re naughty?”

  Aiden grabbed Scott’s arm and tried to haul him

  out of the room.

  “All right, all right. I’m going.” Scott shook Aiden

  off as though Aiden were no more than a pesky bug, and

  headed for the foyer. “But if you ever get tired of being

  Daddy’s boy and want to do something real again—call

  me.”

  “Get lost.”

  “Or I guess the more likely scenario is that Daddy’ll

  get sick of you.”

  “Why is that more likely?” Aiden demanded.

  “Haven’t you heard the rumors about Keaton

  Hughes? Goes through boys like condoms. And

  someone like you—spoiled, willful, needy—I doubt he’ll

  be able to keep his patience with you for long.”

  Aiden wished he could fly at Scott, pummel him,

  scream at him. But he was shocked by what Scott said

  about Keaton.

  Scott gave him a smile and a wave. “Wouldn’t want

  to keep you up past your bedtime.” He left.

  Aiden fumed. The rules he followed really were

  ridiculous, childish. But they helped. Now he felt like an

  idiot for needing that kind of guidance.

  Who cares what Scott thinks? He’s an asshole and a

  sadist.

  Who knows where I live.

  Aiden tried to imagine telling Keaton what had

  happened. Keaton would probably be pissed he’d let

  Scott in—might even punish him. And there was nothing

  Keaton could do about the situation. Scott probably

  wouldn’t be back, anyw
ay, now that he’d given Aiden

  his stuff.

  Aiden opened the box, curious as to what he’d left

  at Scott’s. He pulled out a couple of shirts, a book, and

  his 365 Shakespeare Quotes calendar. He paused. At the

  bottom of the box was the wide leather collar Scott had

  often made him wear. He lifted it out, the leather heavy,

  stiff in his hand. The two large steel rings flipped back

  and forth. He inhaled it briefly. Why had Scott given it to

  him? Why not keep it for some other poor sub who had

  the misfortune to go home with Scott Runge?

  He went to his and Keaton’s bedroom, put the

  shirts in a drawer, and stuffed the book and calendar

  onto a shelf. He hesitated with the collar in his hand,

  finally placing it back in the box and taking the box to the

  guest room, where he shoved it under the bed. Then he

  went downstairs and ate lunch.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That night Aiden had terrible dreams. He woke at

  two a.m., Keaton snoring softly beside him. He got up

  and went downstairs, where he watched infomercials on

  the couch, waiting for Keaton to come down and wallop

  him. Keaton never came. Aiden felt disappointed, alone.

  He didn’t like being spanked, but he hated getting away

  with breaking the rules. You just want attention, he told

  himself. Like Scott said, you’re needy. Finally he went

  back to bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

  He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder. He

  murmured and buried his face in his pillow. “Rise and

  shine, sleepyhead.”

  “Go away.”

  “You’ve got an interview this morning.”

  Fuck. The pizza place.

  Keaton left the room. Aiden went back to sleep,

  only to be roused what seemed like seconds later. “Hey,

  kiddo. Up,” Keaton said.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Excuse you is right. I’m not your kiddo. I’m sick of you

  acting like I can’t take care of myself. I managed just fine before

  you or Scott.

  “I said leave me alone.” Aiden rolled onto his side.

  “Rough night?”

  “It was fine. But I’d like to sleep a few more

  minutes, if that’s all right with Your Majesty. I’ll get to

  the damned interview on time.”

  “You still have to eat breakfast,” Keaton said,

  ignoring Aiden’s rudeness.

  “Not hungry.”

  “You still have to eat.”

  “Fuck you! I’m an adult. I know when I’m goddamn

  hungry.”

  “Last warning. Lose that attitude. Get up.”

  “I’m not your fucking slave, you—” He didn’t get a

  chance to tell Keaton Hughes what he was, because

  Keaton took him by the ear and pulled him out of bed.

  Aiden twisted, using both of his hands to try to remove

  Keaton’s, but it didn’t work. “Ow! Let go!”

  Keaton swatted him smartly across the seat of his

  pajamas. “That’s quite enough. Come on.”

  Aiden didn’t move, so Keaton swatted him again

  and continued to swat him into the bathroom, Aiden

  fighting every step of the way. He finally let go of

  Aiden’s ear, and Aiden rubbed his ear with one hand, his

  butt with the other. Keaton opened the cabinet above the

  sink. While he was occupied, Aiden attempted to leave

  the bathroom, but Keaton turned and effortlessly caught

  his wrist, bending him over one arm and giving him half

  a dozen sound smacks on the butt. “Don’t move,” Keaton

  instructed.

  Aiden stood in the bathroom, fuming, while Keaton

  retrieved a bar of soap from the cabinet and unwrapped

  it. He ran the bar under the water for a few seconds,

  rubbing it until it began to lather. Aiden’s stomach sank.

  Surely Keaton wasn’t going to…

  “Rule number one,” Keaton said, his tone mild,

  practically cheerful. “Behave respectfully and maturely

  at all times. That means no cursing at me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aiden muttered. “I really didn’t mean

  to curse at you. I was just pissed off.”

  “Words like that hurt, whether you mean them or

  not.”

  Aiden flushed and stared at the floor. He glanced

  up every few seconds to see what Keaton was doing. The

  bar of soap was slick and foamy. Aiden remembered

  Keaton had said something about mouth soaping as a

  punishment, but Aiden had thought that was more of a

  joke than a credible threat. He’d never had his mouth

  washed out before, even in role-play. It hadn’t sounded

  like a big deal when Keaton mentioned it, but now,

  looking at the bar of soap, Aiden felt his stomach twist.

  Keaton

  turned

  toward

  him,

  and

  Aiden

  automatically stepped back. “Hold this in your mouth

  for five minutes,” Keaton said. “You can stand here,

  unless you prefer a corner.”

  “Fuck no,” Aiden said, aware he was digging

  himself deeper. Yesterday had been such a rotten day,

  with Scott’s visit and the lousy monologue practice, then

  not sleeping, and now this interview… Not to mention

  the fact that he was still constipated, and every time he

  moved he felt the weight inside him. It wasn’t his fault

  he’d lost his temper.

  But he couldn’t tell Keaton about Scott, and he

  couldn’t blame anyone but himself for being a shitty

  actor. And this interview was at a pizza parlor, for God’s

  sake—why was he so stressed about it?

  “Open your mouth, please.”

  Aiden debated another refusal. Or possibly a full-

  scale tantrum. He glared at Keaton, then opened his

  mouth. Keaton put the bar in.

  “Bite down.”

  Aiden did. It wasn’t so awful at first—the taste of

  the soap was bitter but not unbearable. The bubbles

  seemed to multiply by the second, clinging to his teeth,

  his tongue, the roof of his mouth. The foam mixed with

  his saliva, and he wanted to swallow but couldn’t. He

  felt a moment of panic, which quickly turned to anger.

  He lunged forward and spat the bar into the sink,

  spitting foam after it. Keaton quickly and efficiently

  turned him around and delivered another six whacks to

  the seat of his pajamas. Aiden hissed, shifting his weight

  in an effort to lessen the sting as Keaton retrieved the bar

  of soap and rinsed it thoroughly.

  Aiden kept his mouth resolutely shut as Keaton

  approached. Unfazed, Keaton reached out and pinched

  Aiden’s nose shut. Aiden opened his mouth, as much in

  shock and protest as out of necessity, and Keaton

  slipped the bar in and pressed Aiden’s jaws shut.

  The bitter suds flooded Aiden’s mouth once more,

  and he decided it might be best to get this over with

  rather than prolonging his suffering. He glared at

  Keaton, who leaned against the bathroom counter and

  watched him calmly. He felt ridiculous, standing in his

&nb
sp; pajamas in front of Keaton with a bar of soap in his

  mouth. A glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror

  confirmed that he looked as foolish as he felt—red-faced,

  grumpy, and thoroughly humiliated. Aiden folded his

  arms. If Keaton thought this was going to change Aiden’s

  behavior, he was wrong. It was an idiotic punishment,

  not cathartic like a spanking, but designed, it seemed,

  specifically to piss Aiden off.

  The collection of saliva and soap bubbles in his

  mouth was growing intolerable. He tried not to let his

  tongue move in case it brushed against the bar of soap.

  He shut his eyes. It had to have been five minutes by

  now. He couldn’t go much longer without spitting or

  swallowing.

  He tried not to think about what he’d said to

  Keaton. Keaton never cursed at him, never said anything

  nasty or rude, no matter how awful Aiden was to him.

  He definitely hadn’t deserved what Aiden had said.

  I never had a problem controlling my temper before Scott.

  What’s wrong with me? How does Keaton put up with my

  bullshit? Scott was right; Keaton was going to be sick of

  him in no time, if he wasn’t already.

  Aiden sagged a little, no longer angry but

  miserable and sorry. He winced as a new flood of

  bitterness took over his mouth. To his surprise, Keaton

  reached out and put a hand on his arm, the touch firm

  and reassuring. Aiden leaned into him for a moment,

  then faced the wall. He needed to not see Keaton, or

  himself. He needed a physical boundary in front of him.

  Keaton seemed to understand; he didn’t make Aiden

  turn around.

  “Okay,” Keaton said finally. He spun Aiden gently

  and removed the bar of soap from his mouth, then led

  him to the sink. Aiden spat over and over, accepting

  Keaton’s offered cup of water.

  “I’m sorry,” Aiden said between rinses, glancing at

  Keaton in the mirror. “Really.”

  Keaton rubbed his back briskly. “I’m on your side.

  There’s never any need for that kind of language with

  me.”

  Aiden blushed. “I know.” He finished rinsing and

  entered Keaton’s embrace gratefully. He’d come to trust

  these strong arms, to rely on them. It scared him to

  imagine that they wouldn’t always be here for him. He

  breathed in Keaton’s scent, wanting to memorize it.

  “I don’t have to teach today. I’m just going to

  campus for office hours. What do you say I pick you up

  from your interview and take you to lunch?”