Bound and Determined (41 page)

Just do whatever you'd do if I weren't here, and I'll keep myself busy.”

“Well…” Owen bit his lip. “I always have work, but I'm damned if I'm

creating syllabi the day after Christmas—and I don't want to entertain you like

if you're a visitor or something, but I
do
want to spend time with you.” He

spread his hands helplessly. “I just don't know what you like to do.”

“I think I owe you a movie, but this doesn't seem like the best time to be

out on the roads,” Sterling said just as another plow went by, lights spinning

yellow circles through the gray-white outdoors. “I don't know. Do you have any

board games? Or we could see if there's anything on TV. Or, um…”

It would have been so easy to step forward and kiss Sterling, taking them

back to the emotionally charged state they'd been in before they went out to

shovel snow, but Owen didn't like easy, and if he and Sterling were going to

turn this into something lasting, they needed more than sex to hold them

together.

Michael and he had been friends first, which was probably why they were

still close; they'd shared a love for the same music, they read the same

books…with Sterling, the age gap did bring problems. Insurmountable? Owen

hoped not.

“Let's watch a movie,” he decided.

He let Sterling go through his shelves of DVDs and choose one, which took

longer than Owen would have thought. Then they curled up on the couch,

Sarah's basket of cookies on the table in front of them, and watched
Life of

Brian
, a movie Owen could quote chunks of but which Sterling had never seen.

Halfway through, Owen, feeling chilled, reached to pull down the blanket that

was draped over the back of the couch, spreading it over his lap and Sterling's.

“Thanks,” Sterling said and turned his head to smile at him.

Owen realized that their mouths were very close together. “You're

welcome,” he said and kissed Sterling slowly.

Sterling's mouth tasted like the peppermint candy cane-striped cookies

he'd been eating, and his hand settled on Owen's knee as he made a soft,

happy sound against Owen's lips.

After the indulgences of the day before and the physical exertions of

earlier, Owen was in the mood to be lazy and languid. As the movie played on,

he kept kissing Sterling, sometimes his neck and throat, sometimes his hair,

returning over and over to Sterling's mouth. If he had to choose a word for

Sterling right then, it would've been “edible,” and he couldn't get enough of the

way Sterling tasted. Too drowsy to want the sharp, invigorating edge of arousal,

he put an arm around Sterling and settled them in the corner of the couch,

Sterling sprawled over him, the two of them kissing like teenagers, eyes closed,

hands drifting over each other without urgency.

Bound and Determined

175

“You make me happy,” he said, whispering the words like a secret, a

confession, into Sterling's hair, his lips finding the curve of Sterling's ear

through the strands. It had been a while since he'd spoken, his mouth

occupied with contented murmurs and kisses, and it felt strange to shape his

mouth to form words. Kisses made simpler shapes. “Is that…is it something

you want to hear from me?”

Sterling's answer was soft and warm, like his hand on Owen's waist where

his shirt was rucked up. “God, yes. Of course it is. Why wouldn't I want to hear

that?” The tip of his tongue found the corner of Owen's mouth and licked it. “I

want to make you happy,” he breathed.

“I want you to
be
happy,” Owen said. The distinction seemed important,

but he couldn't think clearly when he had Sterling in his arms, utterly relaxed

and so very fucking sweet. God, so sweet…under all the insolence and sneers,

all the sass and spark that had gotten Owen so on edge and tempted, Sterling

was just so—

The repetitive loop of his inconsequential thoughts was abruptly snipped

in two by an unfamiliar ring tone. Owen jerked, startled and not at all pleased

to be disturbed. “Is that your phone?”

Stupid question, really, and he sounded way too snappish—it wasn't

Sterling's fault that his phone had rung—but the invasive, insanely chirpy

jingle was as welcome as being doused by ice water would have been.

“Crap—that's my mom,” Sterling said, struggling to a sitting position and

contorting himself so he could get his phone out of his pocket; he came close to

elbowing Owen in the stomach and muttered, “Sorry,” as he flipped open his

phone. “Mom? Is everything okay? Yeah.”

He was quiet, listening to his mother on the other end of the line. He'd

straightened up, which had pulled the blanket half off Owen's lap, but Owen

stayed still.

“Well, that doesn't mean you have to—okay, but… Mom, can you at least

try to—but—” Sterling stood up, flipping the blanket back over Owen's thighs

before walking away and finding a place to pace between the living room and

the hallway. “Okay, fine, but can you tell Justine I'm—”

Sterling stopped, shoulders slumped. Then after a few seconds he turned

around, an unamused, blank smile pasted on his face. “She hung up on me.”

“Your
mom
—” Owen stopped himself before he could complete his

sentence and schooled the incredulity from his expression. From what little

Sterling had said, he was close to his mother, so that rejection would have

been as unexpected as it was hurtful. “So why did she call? What's happened?”

He pushed the blanket away but stayed where he was, unsure if Sterling

wanted to be held and comforted. Sometimes it was irritating to be hugged

when you wanted to rage and stalk around, and Owen couldn't read Sterling

very well right then.

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“She just wanted to let me know that my father made a new rule that

she's not allowed to call me, so that's why I haven't heard from her. She wanted

to make sure I was okay.” Sterling didn't seem to be having a hard time

believing this, which was odd, but maybe it hadn't sunk in yet. “It's fine. He's

always been like this. I should have been expecting it. Let's just watch the rest

of the movie, okay?”

He came back over and sat down, letting Owen tuck the blanket back over

his lap, then curled into the same position he'd been in before and put his arm

around Owen's waist.

Sterling couldn't see the movie with his head resting on Owen's shoulder,

but Owen didn't think it mattered. He held onto Sterling—
his
boy,
his

Sterling—and tried not to let his anger at two people he'd never met

communicate itself to the man in his arms.

So William Baker liked to make rules and to dictate to his family. Owen

supposed that to an objective onlooker that made them similar, but he didn't

feel any kinship with the man. William struck him as a bully, petty and vicious.

Owen had never quite worked out what it was about control and the precise

deliverance of a certain amount of pain that appealed to him so powerfully, but

it didn't feel like cruelty to him, and it didn't feel destructive. What William had

done was both.

He stroked Sterling's hair and back, measured, slow caresses, and

wondered if Sterling would let go of the rigid control he was showing enough to

cry. Not that it mattered if Sterling found that too difficult to do; if Sterling

wanted that release, Owen would give it to him.

With pleasure.

* * * * *

a window, unable to understand why he couldn't get through what looked like

clear air but refusing to quit trying.

Sterling had slept poorly, alternating between clinging to Owen and

tossing restlessly, taking up most of the bed. After only picking at his

breakfast, he'd started to eat cookies, dipping into the box Sarah had brought

over until all that was left were crumbs and, Owen noted with a wry twist of his

mouth, the chocolate ginger cookies he himself had claimed.

Owen was close to imposing some discipline on the sulky teenager Sterling

had regressed to, but he wanted to see just how far Sterling would go. If this

bad mood blew over by itself, he'd prefer it; Sterling was being tiresome, but it

was understandable. If it was a cry for attention, well, fine, he'd give Sterling all

the attention his ass could take, but part of him disliked the idea of associating

anything he did with Sterling with the absent father who'd caused the cloud

over Sterling's head.

Bound and Determined

177

“Would you like to go for a walk into town for lunch?” he asked around

eleven, putting down the book he'd been trying to read. “Or call Alex and see if

he wants to meet us for a coffee?”

“Not really,” Sterling said. He'd been alternating standing at the window

looking out at the bright blue sky and huge mounds of white snow with

walking around the first floor of the house, occasionally picking up some

random object and looking at it before going back to his aimless pacing. Now

he picked up a wooden bookend that was supporting a few books on top of a

side table. With their support gone, the books tumbled to their sides, a few of

them sliding to the floor. “Oops.”

Enough was enough. Letting Sterling's behavior go unchecked wasn't

doing anything for the dynamic of their relationship, and Sterling in brat mode

wasn't particularly attractive.

“Oops indeed. Pick them up, please.” For a moment he thought that

Sterling would disobey him, but with a faint, defiant smile, Sterling

meticulously tidied the books, fussing with them until they were perfectly

straight, with an attention to detail that bordered on insolence given that

persistent smile.

Owen leaned back in his chair. “So you want to play,” he said pleasantly.

“You could have just gone to your knees and waited for me to notice you; I'd

have gotten the message, trust me.”

Sterling's impertinent smile faltered, and he stood where he was for a long

moment before he came over to Owen's chair and went heavily to his knees. He

leaned in until his temple touched Owen's knee, the back of his neck seeming

pale and vulnerable in the sudden quiet of the room.

Reaching out, Owen laid his hand on Sterling's neck, resting it there.

“You've had a very hard few days, but that doesn't excuse your rude behavior.

You need to figure out another way to express your feelings.” He smiled. “Or I'll

do it for you. That's what you want me to do, isn't it?”

He could hear Sterling swallow. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Owen agreed and let the silence build between them until Sterling

shifted position enough to convey impatience, not stiff muscles, a sigh escaping

him. “And now you've misbehaved when you're on your knees, and that's

something that I'll never overlook, never let pass.” Sterling glanced up at him,

and there was profound relief in his eyes now. He needed consistent,

understood limits—but what sub didn't?

“You've pushed me all morning,” Owen said, his voice empty of anger

because that emotion was never part of this, ever. “Been restless, noisy,

clumsy…none of that pleases me. We'll begin with an apology, I think. Make me

believe you, or you'll spend some time in the corner waiting for me to give you a

second chance.”

Sterling pressed his mouth to Owen's knee and shivered, then looked up

at him again, meeting his eyes steadily. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I didn't

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mean to—I couldn't help it. I wanted to stop, but I didn't know how, and I

didn't know that I could ask…for this. I'm sorry, Owen. Please forgive me.”

Sometimes he forgot how new to this Sterling still was. “You can always

ask,” he said, cupping Sterling's face, a gesture that was familiar between them

now, a silent message. “I won't always give you exactly what you want, but I'll

give you something. I'll never leave you hungry, I promise.” He patted Sterling's

face. “You're forgiven—which doesn't mean you're not going to have

consequences to deal with, but you knew it wasn't that easy, didn't you?”

“Yes. I know I deserve whatever you choose as punishment—I've been

driving me crazy too, not just you. I
am
sorry.” Sterling closed his eyes and

leaned against Owen's thigh again. “I kind of feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm

so fucked up, Owen. Sometimes I don't know if I can be fixed. Or, if I can, it's

going to take so much…”

“I don't want you fixed,” Owen snapped. “There is absolutely
nothing