Part 3

Sterling took the bus to Owen Sawyer's house. Doing so felt wrong somehow, increasingly aware as he was of his own nervousness. For a while he'd been convinced that Sawyer didn't want anything to do with him, and as much as he'd wanted to change the man's mind, he hadn't thought he'd be able to. He still wasn't sure what the deciding factor had been in the sudden change of heart, which bothered him; he would have preferred to know why, mostly so that he could use the knowledge to his advantage in the future.

The bus stopped two blocks from Sawyer's house, the address of which G****e had helpfully provided. Sterling walked up one street and then down another, noting that the houses were older, but well kept up. No peeling paint or unmowed lawns. Did Sawyer cut his own grass or pay someone to do it?

Sawyer's house was big and kind of old like the rest of them, with a wide porch and some tangled bushes lining the path that led up to the front door. Some of them were roses, Sterling thought, but he didn't know what the other ones were. He hoped Sawyer wouldn't expect him to know. And of course that thought set off a cascade of others, thoughts that made him even more anxious about how this was going to go.

Luckily Sterling knew how to pretend he was confident and self-assured, even when he was feeling anything but. It was a skill he'd perfected in years of living with his father—one of the few things he'd learned from his father that he actually ought to be grateful for, now that he thought about it.

He walked up the path slowly, aware that he was a few minutes early and assuming that knocking on the door before eight would be as frowned upon as being late. His cock, which had been at a state of half-mast all day, ached a little bit as he went up the stairs and checked his watch—7:59. Surely that wasn't too too early? He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and rang the bell.

Sawyer didn't keep him waiting for long, but the gap between when he rang the bell and when the door opened still seemed endless. The door was dark wood, with three stained-glass panels set high up, letting in some light without compromising privacy. Sterling had time to notice that the rose motif had carried over to the glass and time to count the panels on the door (six) before he was staring not at wood, but Sawyer, a phone to his ear and an exasperated look on his face.

He beckoned Sterling inside with a flick of his fingers and, when Sterling stepped over the threshold, gave him a nod of greeting. “I have to go, sorry,” he told the person on the other end of the phone. “Don't worry; I'll take care of it… Yes, I know where you keep your lesson plans… No, don't mention it; you'd do the same for me… Yes, I know you already did… See you soon.”

Sterling didn't want to ask questions, but he didn't need to. Sawyer turned the phone off and tossed it onto a table against the wall, then gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry about that. Part of academic life is the endless swapping of favors, and that was one I owed just getting called in.” The smile faded, replaced by pursed lips as Sawyer looked him over. Sterling tried not to fidget and did some staring of his own. Plain green shirt and faded jeans with a thin leather belt…casual, but like the man himself, a perfect fit. Sawyer always seemed so damn sure of himself, wherever he was. He wasn't good-looking enough to turn heads, his neatly trimmed hair an unremarkable dark brown and his eyes, now that Sterling was close enough to really notice them, a clear light gray. It didn't matter; he'd still get a second look in any crowd without even trying.

“Shoes,” Sawyer said unexpectedly and gestured at a built-in closet to Sterling's left. “Take them off, and your jacket, please.”

Trying to reconcile the apology for being on the phone when he'd arrived with the verging-on-curt order, Sterling obeyed. Maybe that was how you could tell if someone was a good Dom—they ordered you to do something, and you just did it. Sterling took off his shoes and lined them up neatly with the other pairs that were there, not seeing the running sneakers Sawyer had been wearing at the track. He wondered where they were as he slipped out of his jacket and hung it up on one of the empty hangers, then stepped back into the entry hall and closed the closet door.

“Okay, here I am,” he said, spreading his arms slightly. “All yours.”

“I'm sure you are,” Sawyer said with more than a hint of the sarcasm that had driven Sterling nuts in class, “but might I suggest toning down the attitude until I've decided that I want you?”

That was a little too much like a slap in the face for Sterling's liking, and as usual, that kind of vitriol directed at him made him defensive. Okay, more defensive. “I don't know why you wouldn't,” he said. “I'm great in bed—I know, I know, you're going to wait until my birthday to find out, but that's your decision, not mine—and I know I'm good-looking. I'm smart. I have a great sense of humor. And I follow orders: here at eight, no drinking, had dinner at the dining hall, and I haven't touched my cock all day.” That last was a slight exaggeration, since it was next to impossible to take a piss without touching his dick, but he'd followed the spirit of the rule.

“In other words, you did as you were told,” Sawyer said. “I expect that; it doesn't get you any brownie points. And as for your self-proclaimed success between the sheets…” Surprisingly, instead of an eye roll, Sterling was treated to a grin, flashing so quickly across Sawyer's face that he wasn't sure he'd seen it. “I'll allow you that illusion for a while.” Sawyer led them into a large room that was a mix of formal and casual, as if two people had decorated it. Or maybe it was all Sawyer and the guy had a split personality.

“Sit there,” Sawyer said and pointed at one of two armchairs beside a lit fireplace, crackling away and throwing out a moderate amount of heat and a little smoke. “You may have some water if you're thirsty.”

Sterling sat. “I'm fine, thank you.” It was easy to speak politely when dealing with everyday niceties—his parents had drilled that much into him. Then he waited, trying to stay relaxed because being tense wasn't going to do either of them any favors.

“You seem a lot happier about the idea of no sex than you were this morning,” Sawyer said, which was jumping in at the deep end as far as Sterling was concerned. “Of course, it's not strictly true that it's out of the equation altogether; that's impossible. There's a sexual element to something as trivial as me telling you that you're allowed to have water to drink instead of asking you what you'd like.” Sawyer's lips lifted at the corners in a faint smile. “Because I do have more than water in the house.” He raised his eyebrows. “So what changed? Is it a price you're willing to pay? Or do you think that I didn't mean it and you'll get me to change my mind?” The timbre of his voice changed from conversational to something with a bite to it. “And no, turning to a friend for a quick fuck to bleed off your frustration wouldn't be allowed, and yes, I'd know.”

“I agreed to today,” Sterling pointed out, not letting himself be baited. “I'm a man of my word—if I say I'm going to do something, I do it. If you want me to go longer, you'll have to convince me it'll be worth it.” Okay, so maybe he was getting riled up. He knew what this felt like, struggling for control, desperate to come out on top.

Wait, he thought, remembering.

“Wait.” He said it fast, before Sawyer could come back at him, which, again, wasn't the point of this whole thing, but he needed a minute to work this out. The fire popped loudly. “Sorry. I—this is harder than I thought. I've spent my whole life doing the opposite of this. And being miserable because of it. I want—I want something else.”

Sawyer frowned. “Explain that to me a little more,” he said and yes, that was definitely an encouraging look, even an expectant one. Maybe Sterling wasn't fucking this up as much as he thought. “You seemed adamant about you being the one to choose a Dom to control you, which makes me wonder if you've been in a situation where that choice was taken away—but you said that this was all new to you, so”—he spread his hands—“talk to me.”

“My father,” Sterling started out. “We've always had, I don't know, a difficult relationship.” He smiled ruefully. “That's the nice way to put it. He wanted me to be like him—I'm named after him, even, which is why I go by my middle name. Because I don't want even that much connection with him, you know?”

Sawyer nodded encouragingly, which made Sterling feel better. He'd done a lot of thinking, but he hadn't tried to put any of this into words yet, so he took his time. There were a lot of pauses between sentences; it made him feel slow and stupid.

“At first, when I was younger…I tried to make him happy, you know? Proud of me. But everything I did was wrong, everything I wanted was wrong. When I figured out I was gay—I guess I was about twelve, maybe thirteen—I knew that was the end of it. There was no chance I was ever going to live up to what he wanted from me, so I decided I wasn't going to try. We fought every day. I can't think of a single conversation that didn't turn into a fight.”

He wanted to get up, to pace the room. But Sawyer had told him to sit. God, this was hard. He could feel his stomach knotting up with the effort of explaining things he'd rather not think about.

“Anyway, I hate it. I'm so sick of it I want to scream. It's so much work. Why can't I just have what I want without it being such a struggle? Why isn't what I want enough, just because I want it?” Sterling bit his lip and looked up at Sawyer's face. “I don't know what I'm supposed to call you.”

“I suppose you don't.” Sawyer pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then said, “For now, please call me Owen. It's enough of a change from Professor Sawyer to remind us both that this is a new situation, and I don't think that you're ready for something more traditional.” He nodded slowly, never looking away from Sterling. “So you fought his authority because it was imposed on you, wanting the control, wanting to submit, but not to him, never to him… And you tried to be him because you thought that you had to be to stand a chance of winning.” Sawyer's—Owen's—hand slashed sharply through the air, a gesture of dismissal. “That's over. Done. And I can promise you that I'll never bully you, but it will be a struggle, and it will be hard work.” Owen stood and walked over to stand in front of him, his hand cupping Sterling's chin so that their eyes met. “And it will be worth it,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

Sterling's sinuses prickled, a warning that emotion was threatening to get the better of him. It wouldn't; he'd mastered it years ago, determined that he'd never let his father see him cry, and the habit had become permanent as far as he could tell. Even knowing that it was stupid and pointless to think that there was anything wrong with crying didn't change things. He could hold friends while they cried in the aftermath of a relationship gone to hell or the death of a parent and not think any less of them, but it wasn't something he could or would allow himself.

Now, with Owen's gentle, slightly calloused fingers touching his face, Sterling almost wished he could.

“I do,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I trust you. And I don't—I don't want you to think I'm looking for some kind of replacement father. I don't need that. What I need is someone I can…be myself with, I think. I'm just… I'm so tired of fighting, Owen.” Saying the other man's name felt right. Safe.

“That's good,” Owen said, his voice a quiet murmur that Sterling couldn't help contrasting with the strident tones his father had used, as if volume made what he said true. “I don't like fighting, either. It wastes time, and you don't have much of that.” Sterling frowned, not sure what that was supposed to mean. Owen patted his face and then let his hand drop away. “You might have forgotten that you're in your senior year; I haven't,” he said and sat down again, crossing his legs and looking very much at ease. “I'd like a copy of your schedule as soon as possible so we can see just how much time you have free at the same time as I do.”

“I can do that. I have a part-time job too, but the schedule for that varies.” Sterling felt strange, a combination of relieved and anticipatory. Was this really happening, or was it all a dream? “So… Um. What happens now?”

“We talk. For longer than you'd probably like. Normally, I'd know you better than this, you see,” Owen said. “I'd have seen you around the club, watched you perform, possibly discussed you with your Dom. It isn't usually this…rushed, and it's been a long time since I took on someone as inexperienced as you.” Owen ran his hand through his hair and looked fleetingly harried. “Not to mention the ethics of getting involved with a student.” He gave Sterling a bemused look. “Tell me again why I agreed to this?”

“Because I'm incredibly hot?” Sterling suggested. He knew it was true, but he also wanted to think it wasn't the only reason. “Actually—and I probably shouldn't admit this, because maybe it'll give you an excuse to change your mind, but—I don't know why you agreed. I didn't think you would. I was imagining weeks of 'accidentally' turning up where you were.”

Just looking at Owen was making Sterling hard, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wanted Owen to kiss him. Just that. He thought he could wait weeks for sex (if not the months Owen was proposing), but waiting that long for the press of Owen's lips to his own… He didn't think he could wait that long. He didn't want to.

But, he tried to remind himself, this wasn't only about what he wanted, and the idea of relinquishing control was such an incredible relief that it made him relax things inside him he hadn't even realized were tensed.

“Am I allowed to ask questions? About you, I mean?” he said.

“You can ask, but I can't promise I'll always answer if it involves someone else,” Owen said, which was reassuring in a way. “I won't discuss other subs I've been involved with and until I know you better, I won't share every detail of my past, either, unless I feel it's relevant. Questions about what we're doing or what I ask of you—yes, as many as you like, always.” He smiled, another of those small quirk of lips that Sterling was starting to get obsessed about. “Unless you're gagged or I've told you not to talk, of course.” He gazed into the fire, which allowed Sterling a small breathing space; Owen staring at him was pretty intense. “Why I agreed to take you on… Partly to save myself from being pestered, and partly because, yes, you're very attractive, although maybe not for the reasons you think.” He gave Sterling a sidelong glance. “And maybe for the chance to deliver the spankings you did such a good job of earning freshman year. Did you consider that possibility when you chose me?”

“Not…consciously,” Sterling admitted. The thought of it made his jeans feel even tighter, and he shifted again, trying to find a better position in the chair that had seemed perfectly comfortable when he'd first sat down in it. “I guess I'd like to know how you got into this, and if you've had a lot of, um, partners.” What he really wanted to ask was if Owen had ever hurt anyone, like, really hurt them, because as much as the idea of being spanked was turning him on, he wasn't too crazy about the thought of having broken bones or needing stitches.

Although a few weeks ago he'd probably have laughed if someone had suggested he'd like to be spanked, so who knew how he'd feel in a few more?

“I always knew this was what worked for me,” Owen said, “and when I got old enough, I went looking for it. I honestly couldn't tell you an exact number of casual partners, but people like you…” His eyes got distant for a moment. “Six. One long-term, the rest for a few months or so, none longer than a year. I'm a little hard to please, and I get bored easily.” Owen's eyes sharpened, and Sterling tensed up again. “Now ask me something that you really want to know, please, because evasions fall into the category of things that both bore and annoy me.”

Sterling's instincts insisted that he tell Owen off, make it clear that he didn't care whether Owen was bored or annoyed or both.

But it would have been a lie, and he didn't want to lie to Owen, so instead he forged ahead and asked his question even though he wasn't sure what kind of response he might receive. “Will you hurt me?”

“Is that a request or something you're worried about?” Owen asked, a frown appearing that was at least a familiar expression. “Nothing will happen to you that you haven't agreed to beforehand, and during a scene you can make it all stop with a single word. You should already know that.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you think that I won't do this unless you agree to everything I say, no matter how extreme? Sterling, it just doesn't work like that.” Owen sighed. “I'd be insulted if you weren't so damn naïve.” He leaned forward, his hands loosely clasped on his knees. “Pain is incredibly useful as a shortcut and, yes, under certain circumstances it's an effective punishment. If you think that because getting spanked arouses you, I can't use it to punish you, you'll soon discover how wrong you are. If you think that I'll leave you bleeding and scarred—” Owen's face twisted in a grimace. “No. That goes well beyond my limits, and they're not likely to move much after all this time.”

The air left Sterling's lungs in a rush. “Oh. Good. I mean—I wasn't trying to insult you.”

He sounded more eager than he could remember hearing himself, so fucking earnest and young, which was exactly the thing Owen didn't like about him and therefore something he needed to stop himself from expressing.

“There's a lot of stuff online,” he explained, since Owen seemed willing to listen and probably wouldn't hesitate to tell him to shut up if that changed. “It's hard to know how much of it's an expression of reality, and how much was written by somebody trying to sound cool. Or whatever. I just want to make sure I know what I'm getting myself into.” He sighed and looked down at his hands, wishing they were sitting next to each other and that Owen would touch him again. “And I can't promise I won't be uncooperative as hell sometimes. This is all new.”

“I know it is,” Owen said matter-of-factly. “And that's why we're talking, and why you're still fully dressed and sitting over there instead of naked and kneeling where I can touch you.”

“God.” The word slipped out before Sterling could stop it, set free in the powerful surge of desire that swept through him. He didn't try to stop the next words. “I want that. So much. Could—please. Do you think—could we…?” He couldn't ask, too afraid that the answer was going to be no.

“You have no idea how different you look now,” Owen said, and Sterling didn't think that he was imagining the connection he could feel between them, with his own desire mirrored in Owen's eyes. “Open, needy, everything right there for me to see. You're naked now, Sterling. You wanted to know what I saw in you? This. Just this.”

Sterling stood on legs that trembled and took an uncertain step toward Owen. “Please.” He said it very softly, part of him ashamed of the person he was letting himself be in that moment, in the person he was hoping to become.

God, this was so fucked up.

Still, he took another step closer before sinking down to the floor at Owen's feet; it wasn't kneeling as much as it was collapsing, his legs no longer able to support him. He didn't touch Owen, unsure whether that would be acceptable, but gave him such a look of anxious devotion that it might as well have been a physical caress. “Please. I need—this. You.” He was shaking, his heart beating so fast it felt like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings.

“I can see that,” Owen said, and his voice was rock-steady now, which was just what Sterling needed. Someone who knew what to do, someone who understood how he felt, because even if they were on opposite sides, somehow they balanced each other. “Stand up, please.”

Owen saying please was so different from Sterling's stammered, pleading use of the word; it was coolly courteous and totally unnecessary, because Owen wasn't asking, he was telling. Every time he said it, Sterling felt a flicker of heat race over him. “I'm going to undress you,” Owen continued when Sterling had gotten to his feet with an effort of will that took everything he had. “Then I'll allow you to kneel for me and show you exactly how I want you to do it—and you're going to remember and do it perfectly the next time you're told to take that position.” Owen stood, so close that Sterling could feel the whisper of air from each word he said brush his face. “Aren't you, Sterling?”

“Yes.” His vocal cords were so tight that it was hard to give his reply enough force to be heard, but Sterling was sure that Owen had heard him. He made himself repeat it, though, just to be on the safe side, and it was only as he said it that he realized he was breathing way too fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Yes, Owen.”

Sterling took a deep breath and let it out slowly—he didn't think he was imagining Owen's look of approval. He hoped he wasn't.

“Relax,” Owen advised. “I know this is overwhelming, but the only way that you can disappoint me is by not trying, and that's not going to happen. I won't permit it. So you can relax and enjoy this.” He cupped Sterling's face again and ran his thumb slowly across Sterling's lips. Sterling couldn't stop the helpless push his mouth made, chasing the drag of that thumb and trying to keep it touching him for as long as possible. “You're getting what you asked for here, and there's been a little too much of that, I think, so we need something that you have to wait for, something you'll go home wanting so much that it's all you'll be able to think about.” He began to unbutton the shirt that Sterling had chosen to wear because it hadn't seemed right to show up in a T-shirt somehow, his fingers deft and unhurried as they worked the buttons through the small, tight slits in the fabric. “Any suggestions?”

His whole body was trembling, and he couldn't keep his eyes from darting back and forth between Owen's face and Owen's hands, so close. “Touch me,” Sterling said. “I mean, that's what—that's what I want you to do. I want you to touch me. Run your hands over my skin.”

Incredibly aroused as he was, his brain couldn't help but provide brilliant, Technicolor pictures of what it would be like. Stretched out on a bed, naked, with Owen sitting next to him. One hand would slide up along his bare thigh toward his dick… Sterling moaned, his cock giving a heavy throb inside his jeans, as Owen slipped another button free.

“Hmm, yes, I suppose that would do,” Owen said with something a little rueful in the words. He stepped back. “You'd better finish undressing yourself, then, and look at me as you do it, please. I want to see your face as well as the rest of you.”

God, he hurt with wanting, but he could do this. Owen had told him to do it, so he would. The thought that something could be that simple, that uncomplicated, was enough to get Sterling's hands fumbling at the front of his shirt, even though his fingertips were numb.

Somehow, he managed to undo the last two buttons, then remembered that he was supposed to be looking at Owen. Where had he been looking? He wasn't sure, but Owen wasn't reprimanding him and didn't look angry, so it must be okay.

Sterling slid the shirt down off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, eyes locked on Owen's. Owen was watching him as he undressed. Owen was watching him, and he'd never been so turned on in his life.

With still-trembling hands, Sterling undid his jeans, slid down the zipper. His cock was a constant, determined ache, and he could feel the wet spot that marked the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. He licked his lips and pushed down his jeans and briefs in one—Owen hadn't specified that any of this had to be slow, and Sterling was breathing quickly enough that he wasn't sure bending twice would be a good idea, not with the way his lips were tingling. He was definitely hyperventilating.

He got his pants below his knees, then kicked them off, and his socks, and straightened, never taking his gaze off Owen's incredible gray eyes. Weirdly, he wasn't even slightly tempted to put on attitude—just spread his hands to his sides a little bit and stood there.

Here I am. Look at me.

For a moment, there was something unguarded in Owen's expression, like he was tempted to forget all the carefully constructed rules and instructions he'd built around them and just reach out and take what Sterling was offering. Sterling caught his breath, but the moment—a panicked moment, he realized, because the support of those commands was about all that was keeping him standing upright—passed, and Owen just nodded at him. He did that a lot, as if he expected Sterling to add the words to go with the nod. In this case, they'd probably be flattering; Sterling knew he looked good naked, and now Owen did too.

In a silence that felt heavy, thick, muting the distant sound of passing traffic to a hum but magnifying the small sounds inside the room, Sterling waited as Owen looked him over, an unhurried appraisal lingering not on the obvious places, like his dick, straining upward, begging like the rest of him, but his mouth, his hands…

It didn't get easier to bear that scrutiny when Owen walked behind him.

Actually, what that did was send him back into fantasy. He could almost feel Owen's hands on him, smoothing down along his spine to his ass. God, Owen was going to want to fuck him, wasn't he? That was something he'd never considered—stupid, stupid, maybe he really was stupid, maybe that was why he insisted he was smart so often, to convince himself that it was true when it obviously wasn't. Because of course a man used to dominating his partners would expect to fuck his newest toy. How could Sterling not have realized it until now?

The thought made his whole body tense up in a way that Owen couldn't possibly miss.

“You might not have a safe word arranged with me yet, but until we take care of that, just stay 'stop' if you need a break,” Owen said, and God, the words were spoken almost into his ear because even if Owen wasn't touching him, he was standing so close now. “Do you?”

Sterling shuddered and shook his head. “No. No.” But he'd gone from turned on to almost nauseated in a split second. He couldn't do this, not if it meant having Owen fuck him, even if that was weeks, months down the line. God, he was so stupid. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “Stop. I just—I can't.” He turned so that Owen wasn't behind him and bent to scoop up his clothes, holding them in front of him like protection. “I'm sorry.”

Owen shook his head, his face tight with exasperation that sent a chill over Sterling, making throwing up seem like a very real possibility. He hated seeing that expression on Owen's face, directed at him, but when Owen spoke, some of his misery abated as he realized just who Owen was annoyed with. “Don't be. I'm the one who fucked up here, not you, and I'm the one who's sorry. I let you rush me, and that's unforgivable, but it's so easy to forget—never mind.” He gestured at the clothes Sterling held. “Get dressed and sit down. I'm going to get you a glass of water.”

“No,” Sterling said. “Please.” He didn't know what was happening exactly, and he didn't know how to make it better, but he did know that he didn't actually want this to stop, he just wanted to know there'd be a point at which it would stop. He was trembling like his mother did whenever she saw a spider, phobic, terrified, and he didn't want Owen to leave him there alone.

It wasn't Owen he was afraid of.

“I don't want to stop.” He'd broken out in a cold sweat. “I—please. I want to, I do.”

“You did,” Owen corrected him, “but something changed, and I need to know what it was. I don't know you well enough to work it out for myself yet, so you're going to have to talk to me.” He reached out and took Sterling's hand, clasping it in his with a brief, reassuring squeeze and leaving Sterling clutching his clothes to him awkwardly, one-handed, not sure what to do with them. Owen solved that problem for him by releasing his hand and pointing at the floor. “Drop them there if you really don't want to get dressed, and tell me if you change your mind about that.”

“I don't know,” Sterling whispered. Did he want to get dressed? Not really, but maybe he'd feel less bare if he did. That was how he felt, laid open and showing all his secrets to the world. Only he wasn't, because Owen couldn't read his mind. But he could choose to give Owen that, to give Owen everything, all of himself.

He didn't have to, but he could.

He dropped his clothes and let his arms hang limply at his sides.

“I can't bottom,” he said quietly, knowing it didn't have to be loud because Owen was listening. “I've tried, but I can't. It's too—I just can't.” He couldn't look at Owen, either.

“There's a reason I said we were going to do this without sex, at least initially,” Owen said calmly. “And it wasn't just out of a desire to see you suffer, though I admit I'd probably enjoy that more than a little.” He tapped his finger under Sterling's chin. “Look at me, please. Yes, that's better.” Sterling could feel his face heat, a blush rising as he stared at the wavering outline of Owen's face. “I think we'll continue this conversation sitting—or at least I will be.”

Owen turned and walked the few feet back to his chair and sat down, leaving Sterling stranded in what felt like a lot of space. “Kneel down beside me,” Owen said, throwing him a lifeline. “Knees together, hands behind your back, facing the fire.”

It was strange how obeying Owen's order made him feel better, and as he knelt, Sterling thought that somehow, deep down, he'd known that this was what he needed. He faced the fire like Owen had told him to, made sure his knees were together, then put his hands behind his back. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to clasp them together or what; then he remembered the way Carol had crossed her wrists, and he did that.

And waited.

“You look happier now,” Owen said and touched Sterling's hair, a light, fleeting contact. “Good.” He settled back in his chair, his elbow on the arm of it, and propped his chin on his hand, staring thoughtfully at Sterling. “I'm pleased that you trusted me enough to tell me that, and I definitely needed to know, but I'm still wondering what I did to make it so…pressing a matter. Or didn't you believe me when I said I wasn't going to have sex with you?”

Sterling let himself take his time before he answered, because there was more than one question in there and he didn't want to screw up. “I believed you. For now. But in the long run, well… When you moved behind me, it suddenly hit me that you'd want that. Eventually. And I can't. I would, if I could. For you. But I don't think I can.” The words burned coming out, burned like the flames in the fireplace, but he was left feeling better once he'd said them.

“It's something I enjoy doing,” Owen said. He smiled. “Topping, that is. It's far from the only thing though…God, no.” He leaned forward and caressed Sterling's mouth again, tracing its shape with his fingertip and giving Sterling a good idea of what one of those things was. “Yes. Exactly,” Owen said, his eyes alight with amusement as Sterling's lips parted a little. “I like giving blowjobs too…under certain circumstances, anyway.” Sterling really wanted to ask what they were, but Owen didn't give him the chance. “So tell me something that you like doing or having done to you.”

He'd been with enough guys to know what most of them liked, and most guys liked dirty talk, so he'd figured out how to get himself into the right head space to be able to do it without blushing or even feeling embarrassed. Still, this was different, so Sterling spoke carefully.

“I like blowjobs. Giving and getting. I like—uhm. Fucking. Topping.” He did blush then, but forced himself to look at Owen anyway. “Rimming. I like rimming. Someone else, I mean, not—having it done.” God, it felt like his face was bright red.

“And we're back to your ass being a no-go area,” Owen said, which did nothing to help Sterling's face to cool down though Owen didn't sound sarcastic, just curious. “Getting fucked can hurt, especially if whoever you were with didn't take care of you, but rimming doesn't… What if you're the one doing the penetrating? When you jerk off, do you use toys or your fingers in your ass to get off?” Owen sighed as Sterling struggled to answer him with anything more than a strangled whimper. “And stop looking like you're about to melt into a puddle from embarrassment; I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions like this, so get used to it, please.”

“I can't help it,” Sterling muttered. He wished he could rest his forehead on Owen's knee, or that Owen would touch his hair, or…something. Anything, really. This might literally be the most difficult conversation he'd ever had in his life, including the one where he'd come out to his mother. But Owen was waiting for an answer.

“I just…don't. Touch myself there. It's not that—I mean, I don't think it's gross or anything. I like touching other people's, um. I even like putting my tongue there. And…inside.” He swallowed, trying to get some moisture to his dry throat, and hunched his shoulders as much as he could without changing position, drawing in on himself. “The first guy I was with tried to. Fuck me, I mean. He couldn't.”

“And when he kept trying, as I'm sure he did, it hurt, which only added to your difficulties?” Owen shrugged. “I'm not a therapist, Sterling, and I don't have all the answers—but you do. You know, if you think about it, why this is an issue to you. Maybe it's something someone said to you once as a child that planted the idea that touching yourself there was wrong, and you accepted that. Maybe every time you do it to someone else, it's part of a general rebellion, but you can't go so far as to do it to yourself and don't really think you'd enjoy it. I honestly don't know, but this is more than just not wanting to bend over for me, which is something we could work around. I need to be able to touch you anywhere without you flinching, and I need you to trust me not to do anything to you that you haven't agreed to.”

Owen held up his hand, turning it slowly. “See this? If I take you on, it's going to touch you, spank you, position you. It's going to brush your hair, clean you up, hold the leather that falls across your body and makes you cry for me. It's going to be what you kiss when I've finished whipping you; it's going to be on you when you fall asleep beside me and still touching you when you wake up. You're going to want my fingers inside you, Sterling, a long time before I'm ready to give you that. And now, we're going to leave this and move on. I'm thirsty, and I would like you to go and get me a glass of water, please. The water's in a jug in the fridge, there's a glass already out by the sink because I'm a slob from time to time, and the kitchen is at the end of the hallway.”

It wasn't as much of a relief to walk into the kitchen and get away from Owen's intense scrutiny as Sterling might have expected. His mind was racing as he found the jug, poured water into the glass that was right where Owen had said it would be, and put the jug back into the refrigerator. He wished he could take a few minutes just to think, to see if it was possible to make some sense of what Owen had said. Instead, he returned to Owen and handed him the glass, hesitated, then knelt down again in the same position he'd been in before.

That felt like relief.

“Can I—say something?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

Sterling's chest was tight. “I-I don't know if you—if anyone, but if it was going to be anyone, it would be you—can touch me there without me flinching. Because I think it would take a long time, for me to—be able to do that. So if that's what makes or breaks this deal, then I don't know what to do. I can't promise that I'll never flinch. I'm—I'm willing to try to do anything you ask me to, but I can't promise that.” He searched Owen's face for some hint of what he was thinking.

“Don't make it into such an obstacle,” Owen said lightly. “A man capable of badgering me into taking him on is perfectly capable of persuading a few tense muscles to relax.” He set his glass down untasted on a small, round table beside his chair, empty of everything but a book whose title Sterling couldn't see and a coaster Owen ignored. “You probably don't look at it much, but you have a really nice ass, as it happens. It's kind of a shame; if it was covered in blemishes or flabby, I wouldn't be so interested in the idea of turning it the same color your face was a few minutes ago.”

“You'd like it better if it was unattractive?” Sterling managed to take his tone from Owen's and found that doing so made him feel more relaxed. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you're not stupid?” Owen laughed and shook his head. “No, I like it just way it is, and I'm glad to see that you're in good shape overall. Being a sub isn't all about feeding me grapes as I lounge around looking stern, you know; it can be physically demanding, and if you're in a permanent relationship with a conscientious Dom, you'll find that your diet and exercise will be monitored if you're not taking care of yourself.”

Owen glanced at the glass beside him and then back at Sterling. “Even if you are being sensible, you might have a day in cuffs when every bite you eat is hand-fed to you, every sip of water taken from a glass held to your lips. It can go from being funny and messy to incredibly intense by the end of the session.”

“I—” Sterling bit his lip, then continued on. “Is it okay for me to admit that I like the sound of that?” Owen nodded. “I do. And I am. In good shape, I mean. I run pretty much every day—the other morning wasn't just about seeing you. Well, okay, it mostly was. I used to play baseball, seriously. Not just for fun, I mean.”

He'd been hopeful about getting a scholarship to college for a few years there, until he'd hurt his shoulder badly enough to shatter that dream.

“'Used to'?” Owen asked. “What made you stop?”

It wasn't easy to talk about it, because when he did it brought back memories of the months in which he'd been deeply depressed by the realization that his plans for the future had been rendered impossible. It had been years since he'd had to discuss it at all.

“I tore my rotator cuff,” he said, hoping that Owen would know what that meant so he wouldn't have to get into the details. “Pitching. And I couldn't deal with the thought of surgery, so that was the end of my great baseball career.” It came out sounding more bitter than he'd intended it to.

Owen didn't gush all over him with sympathy and platitudes, but Sterling hadn't expected him to. Instead, he placed his hands on Sterling's right shoulder and explored the hollow of bone and muscle with careful fingers. “That's something you'll need to mention to people in the future,” he said absently, his attention focused on what he was doing. “I can think of several common bondage positions that would put too much stress on it. Let me know if anything I ask you to do hurts. The only pain I want you to feel is the good kind.”

Owen's touch, even somewhat clinical as it was, made Sterling's body react immediately; his cock twitched and started to harden. “It hasn't hurt for a long time,” he said, trying not to let himself get too distracted. “I learned pretty quick what kind of things I have to avoid, so I just avoid them. As long as you don't ask me to pitch a baseball, spike a volleyball, or swim competitively, I'm good.”

“I'll remember that.” Owen sat back as if Sterling's arousal—and Owen had definitely noticed it; hell, Sterling was starting to think that Owen noticed if he blinked more than usual—had reminded him that he wasn't supposed to be touching Sterling. Or had that ended when he'd melted down so spectacularly?

“I haven't had the chance to ask you just what works for you when it comes to BDSM,” Owen said. “It can vary so much for people… You've reacted positively to a few suggestions, but I get the feeling that they weren't something you'd considered before I brought them up. Have you read any porn, watched any movies? Did anything get you hard just thinking about it or anything leave you cold?” He grinned as Sterling gave him a helpless look. “Poor Sterling; am I making you feel like we're back in class?”

“Kind of,” he admitted. “Well. It sort of started when I accidentally—and it was an accident, I swear!—Peeping Tommed—God, that's not a verb and there's no way to make it one—on a couple of guys at a party.” Owen lifted an eyebrow, and Sterling clarified, “A regular party, not a BDSM party. Last weekend at the club was the first time I went to anything official. If that was official. Anyway, one of them was telling the other one to get on his knees and suck him off—the one on his knees was my friend Alex, who brought me to the club—and, well, it definitely turned me on. It's been the masturbatory fantasy of choice for weeks, actually.”

He tried to think of other things he'd seen. “Um. Being tied up. Spanking. Maybe whipping too, although I don't think anything really violent would be up my alley. I don't want scars.” Sterling offered Owen an apologetic smile. “Which I know you said you wouldn't do anyway, but you asked, and I want to get an A if even a tiny part of your brain is thinking about grading me. I don't know what else. Um, wax? Like, hot wax. And I watched some porn online and kind of got off on watching someone being fucked with a dildo.” He blushed again then, a little bit shocked at himself for having revealed so much.

“You didn't blush until just at the end there,” Owen said approvingly. “And you gave me a lot to work with. Excellent. You'll find an A difficult to earn, but I suppose I can give you a B for that.”

“Plus,” Sterling said firmly. “Definitely a B-plus.”

“Brat.” Owen flicked his fingernail against Sterling's left nipple, startling a gasp out of him because, while it hadn't hurt exactly, it'd stung, and the two things—being mildly cheeky and the equally mild chastisement that followed—came together in his head with a click. He was fully erect now, and he couldn't help sneaking a glance at Owen to see if he was too, under the jeans that concealed a lot more than the fresh air that Sterling was wearing.

“You're supposed to be looking at my face,” Owen pointed out. “Yes, I'm hard. I have been since you got here, but I enjoy a certain amount of anticipation. It helps that I'm the one who decides when it ends, of course, but you don't have that luxury. Whether or not you come is up to me, always.”

“Always?” Sterling blinked and looked at Owen's face like he was supposed to be doing. “I can't come at all? Do you know how often I usually jerk off?” He was whining, just about, but he couldn't help it.

“From tonight I'll know exactly, because you'll only do it with my permission and usually in front of me.” Owen made a sound that qualified as a snicker, but Sterling could—just—forgive that if it meant he got to come at least now and then. “I'm sorry; did no sex for four months make you think I meant no jerking off too? I'm going to ask a lot of you, but not the impossible.”

“I didn't think jerking off would count,” Sterling said. “I don't—wow. This is going to be harder than I thought.” Then he snickered, having heard what he'd just said.

Owen rolled his eyes but didn't comment on the pun. “You know, it keeps hitting me just how much you don't know about all this. Not jerking off without permission is fairly standard in a Dom/sub relationship.” His expression softened, which made Sterling's throat tighten just a little. “You've cannonballed into the deep end when you don't know how to swim, haven't you?”

Sterling looked at him solemnly and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Don't let me drown.”

That got him Owen's hand on his face again, tilting it up, and Owen's mouth on his in a brief kiss that felt like a handshake. This close, the eyes staring into his were all that he could see, their light gray flecked with darker shades. “I think I can promise that.” One final pat to his face and Owen stood. “I think we've done enough for one session. Get dressed now and I'll give you my personal e-mail before you go. I'd like you to send me your schedule tonight, and we'll arrange another meeting in a few days.”

Sterling climbed to his feet slowly, more than a little overwhelmed. As he reached for his clothes and started to untangle them, he hoped they weren't, between the two of them, making a terrible mistake, because he was definitely in over his head.