Time Out of Mind

  He turned to Doyle. “Can we? Please?”

  Doyle struggled against the urge to reach over and ruffle his hair. “Sure. If Tilly says it’s okay, we can come over.”

  They said their good-nights and Doyle got Mevi loaded into the car and headed back toward the apartment.

  Halfway there, Mevi fell asleep.

  Back at the apartment, he didn’t even have the heart to make him take a test. He’d been with him all night and knew he hadn’t had anything to drink other than water and tea. After getting him upstairs and seeing him to his room, Doyle retreated to his own and hit the shower.

  The first thing he did was rub one out. Then he stood there, one arm resting against the wall, his head propped on it as he let the water beat against him.

  Yeah, trying to deny he didn’t have feelings for Mevi was getting harder. But he had to stay the course.

  Even if that meant standing back and letting the man explore this lifestyle without him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Mevi was sore, but it was a good kind of sore. When he looked at his ass in the bathroom mirror, there were a few faint marks, but hardly anything.

  More important, his mind felt wide open, clear, bright. Clutter-free.

  And filled with ideas in a way he hadn’t had in…years.

  He didn’t smell coffee yet, but he wanted to get started working now, while he felt like this, unsure how long it’d last. When he checked the time he was amazed to realize it was only six in the morning.

  He was not a morning person, and last night he’d slept better than he had in…

  Ever.

  Incredible.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been working when he smelled coffee brewing. Then Doyle descended the stairs, looking half asleep and with a mug of coffee in one hand and a tester in the other.

  Mevi bounced out of his chair and took the tester, staring into his eyes for a moment as he did. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you.”

  “No worries. This is my job.”

  Once he’d tested negative, Doyle handed him the mug of coffee, which was prepared perfectly. “Thank you.”

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Incredible!” He explained, shiny-squirreling into song ideas, maybe a new theme album or even a rock opera, back to questions and comments about the night before…

  * * * *

  This is the real him.

  Doyle would stand there and listen to Mevi talk for hours if he’d just keep talking and looking the way he looked now.

  Happy.

  Truly content.

  In the brief time Doyle had known him, he’d seen a wide range of emotions from Mevi, some of them for only a moment or two.

  He’d never seen true happiness or contentment from him like he did now.

  Once Mevi paused to take a sip of his coffee, Doyle took his chance. “You want breakfast?”

  He eagerly nodded. “Please. I’m starving! Do you want me to help?”

  “No, it’s okay. If you’re working, work.”

  Still, Mevi ended up following him up the stairs, still talking.

  And talking.

  And talking.

  It had to come out somehow.

  Years of repression and self-isolation, and now Mevi needed to clear the mental paths and reach a state of equilibrium.

  Mevi kept talking even as Doyle cooked them bacon and eggs and served it up for him, finally quieting only long enough to eat.

  He was fricking adorable.

  His own personal discomfort aside, to see the man so animated meant yes, this had absolutely been the right choice.

  Mevi did help him clean up the kitchen and finally headed back downstairs to work again.

  Doyle checked his phone, which had buzzed while they were eating.

  Tilly.

  How’s yer boy? ;)

  He groaned. Of course she’d tease him.

  He’s very chatty this morning. No signs of crash so far.

  Excellent. Next Tues works for us. Same time. Leigh and Lucas will be back and can watch KC. Dinner here, then play, if he wants to.

  The sudden return of the dark, roiling cloud of jealousy startled him.

  But as he listened to Mevi playing downstairs, in a way he hadn’t heard him play before, he knew he had to agree.

  I’ll tell him.

  Excellent.

  Can I enlist your help to plan a birthday surprise for him?

  She called him. “Did someone say surprise?”

  He quickly walked to his bedroom and shut the door. Keeping his voice down, he told her what he had in mind and she checked her schedule. “I’ll be in town the week before. It’ll have to be then.”

  “That works. I’ll take him out for dinner on his birthday.”

  “Cool.” She hesitated. “You all right with me doing that?”

  “If he is, yes. And I suspect from what he’s said this morning that he will be okay.” A more formal scene, with some D/s thrown into the S/M aspect.

  “All right. I’ll feel him out next week. And, seriously, come over any time for him to use the pool and exercise. Oh, duh. Stupid me. I’ll have Cris and Landry move my treadmill and elliptical out there, too. Not much, but at least it’s air-conditioned. And the TV out there gets full cable. I’ll leave the Wi-Fi password and stuff on the counter for you.”

  Her trust in him touched him. “Thank you.”

  Her tone softened. “Hey, I could see it in him, okay? Last night broke my heart for the poor guy. Once he’s on tour…you’re really going to need to figure out little vanilla things to help keep him grounded. Now that he’s had a taste, forcing him back into that het-vanilla box might break his spirit. No wonder he self-medicated with booze and work. I would have, too.”

  “Nooo,” he drawled. “You just self-medicated with work and sadism.”

  “Potay-toh, guacamole.” She giggled. “Have fun.”

  Aaannd, Tilly was gone.

  At lunch time, he didn’t have to go down and get Mevi. He came up on his own and waited for Doyle to get him a test. He seemed a little more subdued now than earlier.

  “Can we talk?” Mevi asked.

  “Sure. Want me to hold off making lunch?”

  “No. I’ll help you.” He headed for the fridge. “I guess I need to start at the beginning, huh?”

  “You start wherever you feel you need to start. And keep in mind, don’t censor yourself. I’ll never judge you. Feelings just are.”

  He brushed at his eyes and started talking.

  And talking.

  And talking.

  By the end of lunch, Doyle knew all about Mevi’s father’s borderline abusive ways, how he didn’t accept his son’s creative side and tried to force him to be more “manly,” and Mevi’s failed attempts to “fit in.”

  Doyle also appreciated the creativity Mevi had used over the years to hide his sexuality from women while preserving his het facade.

  And Mevi felt a metric shit-ton of guilt about Bonnie, the band’s keyboardist and vocalist. How he’d basically used her over the years as his beard, usually fabricating some sort of blowup with her when he thought she was getting too serious over him. Trying to play match-maker for her with others.

  Nearly two hours later, they were still talking. Rather, Mevi was talking and Doyle was listening.

  When Mevi was talked out, he sat there for a long moment. “Can we go over to Tilly’s?” he asked. “To swim,” he added.

  Doyle believed in the carrot-stick philosophy of managing clients. He hadn’t had to use the stick to get Mevi to open up this morning, but he certainly wanted to reward him for doing so. “Let’s get our stuff and head on over. She texted me earlier that she wants us to come over next Tuesday for dinner, and if you feel like playing, she will.”

  He brightened again. “She will? Awesome!”

  It was like, in addition to the hair color, another couple of years had lifted from Mevi’s shoulders.

 
Like hell would he crush the man’s progress.

  Even if it crushed his own heart in the process.

  * * * *

  Over the next couple of weeks, Tilly played with Mevi two more times, and each time she used Doyle’s implements. Each time, Mevi went more deeply into subspace.

  It seemed to be in direct proportion to how his creative mind exploded in good ways on the back side.

  His only regret was that he wished it was Doyle topping him. Doyle always did the aftercare, and part of him wished he could crawl into the man’s bed at home and snuggle with him. He not only trusted Doyle, he felt safe with him in a way he’d never felt safe before.

  One benefit though was getting to know the triad so well. Especially hearing stories about Tilly and her vicious, protective nature regarding her friends.

  “You really punched him?”

  She nodded. “Broke two bones in my goddamned hand.” She smiled. “Terrie set me up, dammit. She could have told me they were there to get married because they’d reconciled, but nooo. She wanted to see Paul get punched.”

  Cris snorted. “I can testify Tilly can be mean.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  Mevi also found himself more able to open up to Doyle, too. And as they now talked every day during and just after lunch, before heading over to Tilly’s for Mevi to exercise, Mevi realized exactly how much of his personal life had been a carefully constructed sham.

  A wall.

  He wasn’t sure yet how he’d deal with it once he started the tour, but if Doyle was there with him, he knew the man would help him deal with anything.

  He only wished it could be more between them, because as stupid as it was, he knew he was in love with Doyle.

  Both Tilly and Doyle teased that they had a birthday surprise for him, and early one Thursday night as they gathered around the friends’ dining room table with a cake after dinner, Tilly told Mevi their surprise.

  “Doyle’s signed off on this, if you want to do it. Instead of just play tonight, I’m going to give you a full scene, as if you were a submissive, not just a play partner. A deeper taste of what it might be like for you some day with the right partner.”

  He turned to Doyle. “Really?”

  “Really. I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

  “But we won’t,” Landry said with a smile, pulling Cris in for a kiss. “I plan on doing a little play of my own.”

  “Save some for me, buster,” Tilly snarked.

  “We will, love. I promise.”

  The two men sent Tilly, Doyle, and Mevi out to the pool house, leaving them to clean up from dinner. When Tilly snapped on the lights, Mevi saw she’d already prepared. On the floor, she’d spread out a towel, and on the kneeler she’d laid out leather cuffs and collars.

  His cock throbbed in anticipation.

  Doyle put his bag down and started setting out the implements for her.

  Tilly turned to Mevi and held out her hands. He placed his in hers and forced himself to not drop his gaze.

  Her voice changed, into who he now knew was “Mistress Cardinal,” the mode she shifted into when topping. “Safewords still in place tonight, but I’m going to go harder on you, in many ways. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m going to put play cuffs and a collar on you tonight. You’re also going to get a blindfold and ball gag. For the duration of our play, unless you safeword, you’re to do everything I tell you. Understood? You either comply immediately, or safeword.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Strip. I want you to kneel on that towel and wait for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * * *

  Mevi started to do it. Doyle had agreed to stand by to silently observe, not to verbally object to anything, but to give her a hand signal if he thought Mevi wasn’t safewording when he should, or if she needed to back off because Doyle wasn’t comfortable with what she was doing.

  When Mevi knelt, Tilly stared down at him. “Knees together, heels tucked under your ass, and bow forward, arms stretched out on the floor ahead of you, thumbs touching, forehead touching the floor. Stay like that until I say otherwise.”

  He smoothly bent to do it and it was only Tilly smacking Doyle’s shoulder that got him moving again when he’d frozen.

  Mevi looked…

  Perfect.

  Gorgeous.

  He finished laying out the implements and stepped out of the way to watch, his cock now throbbing.

  “Good boy,” Tilly told Mevi, and Doyle was certain a soft moan escaped the other man.

  She squatted next to Mevi, one hand stroking his hair. “Who’s going to be a good boy for me tonight?”

  “Me, ma’am.”

  Fuuuuck.

  Even his voice sounded slurred, like he was in subspace already.

  She stood and circled him, nudging a foot with hers, tweaking where his arms lay, until he was perfectly the way she wanted him. And Doyle knew damn well what she was doing, because he’d done it himself when playing. It was a way to make sure the bottom—or sub—was in the right headspace, wanting to please, and earning praise for complying.

  “This is a formal bow,” Tilly said. “People have their own version. If I ever put you into a formal bow, this is how I want you. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now sit up, eyes on me. Hands palms up on your thighs, keep your feet tucked.”

  He immediately complied, staring up at her.

  It took every ounce of self-control Doyle had not to walk over and stroke his hands down Mevi’s body.

  Tilly made Mevi formally bow again. “Ask me to play, boy.”

  “May I—”

  “No. ‘May this boy.’ Start over.”

  “May this boy play with you tonight, ma’am?”

  “Good boy,” she cooed, leaning in to ruffle his hair again. “Yes, you may play, because I reward good boys. Up on the bench. Now.”

  Mevi sprang up and got into position immediately. Tilly had the collar and cuffs in her hands and buckled them around his neck, wrists, and ankles. Then she blindfolded him and put the gag on him. “When I ask for a color, you can still speak around the gag. If you need to get my attention, scream loudly three times. Do it now.”

  He did, and she once again ruffled his hair. “Good boy.”

  She clipped his wrists and ankles to the bench and immediately started in with her hands, settling him, lightly slapping his ass, thighs, working him up.

  Never in Doyle’s life had he ever wanted something so badly.

  To be Tilly, right now, running hands all over Mevi’s body.

  Marking him.

  And, to be honest, owning him, at least temporarily.

  * * * *

  There was something so different in her mood and manner tonight. And every time she said “good boy” it nearly made Mevi come.

  As she started playing with him, he tried to pretend it was Doyle’s hands on him, Doyle owning him.

  Doyle calling him his good boy.

  Mevi literally lost track of time, only yellowing once for cane strokes, but Tilly stepping up the play to a far heavier level than ever before.

  And he loved it.

  Craved it.

  Knew that if he couldn’t keep doing this, he was going to have serious issues. This was a part of him.

  And nothing in the world would be more perfect than kneeling before Doyle and being his boy.

  When she finished playing with him, his wrists and ankles were unclipped, but she didn’t remove the blindfold or ball gag. A throw was draped over him, and fingers caressed his hair.

  He sensed Doyle close by from the scent of his deodorant, but wasn’t sure where, exactly.

  Then he heard the door open and close and sensed someone had left.

  When the strong arm encircled his shoulders and helped him sit up, he realized it was Doyle.

  “Good boy,” he hoarsely said. He let Mevi lean on him and helped
him stagger over to the couch and got him settled, his head in Doyle’s lap as he processed and floated and let his emotions begin to settle as he softly cried.

  This time, he cried because he wished it’d been Doyle the entire time, not Tilly.

  Now he knew what he wanted.

  Who he wanted.

  And he suspected if he admitted it, he might lose Doyle forever.

  But…honesty was demanded.

  And he was tired of lying about who and what he was.

  Later, after saying good-night to Tilly and heading back, Mevi stood in the bathroom and examined his marks. When he turned, he gripped the edges of the counter and met his own gaze in the mirror.

  He couldn’t even remember what the silver hair looked like on him now unless he looked at a picture.

  This was who he was.

  Who he’d always been.

  “I’m gay,” he whispered to his reflection. “I’m submissive.”

  Immediately, he felt like his soul adjusted one cog sideways and slid perfectly into place. Like his life-long struggles had just…ended.

  Like that.

  He took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. “I’m gay, and I’m submissive.”

  The world didn’t end.

  Lightning didn’t strike him.

  He let go of the counter and stood with his spine straight, looking dead-on into the mirror. “I’m a gay man, and I’m submissive. My name is Malcolm Maynard, and I’m a gay, male submissive.”

  He felt…lighter inside.

  Freer.

  And he’d never go back to the way things were.

  Now, he just needed to figure out how to move forward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Doyle awoke the next morning, he smelled coffee brewing, and…