August

May 7: Sunday

Sheridan woke, cold and damp, to the weight of a hand touching his shoulder. He opened his eyes; it was still dark. Light flickered, and he looked up. Aaron was standing over him, looking down at him from across the flame of the candle he held in his right hand. His expression was unreadable.
"Come." he said. "It's time."
Sheridan got up, wrapping a sheet around himself.
Together, they crossed the campsite and went into the juju man's tent.

~:~

James woke to a bright light and Harley shaking him furiously in their bed.
"Harley? What's - "
"WHAT THE FUCK, JAMIE?!"
James tried to focus his eyes - Harley was angry, he knew it in his tone and in the violence of his touch. Why? he ran through a hundred reasons in his head - had he left a light on? missed an appointment? forgotten laundry? was he supposed to be making breakfast? what time was it?
Harley had stopped shaking him and was kneeling on his side of the bed now, staring accusingly at James with a face so mad he looked ready to snap at any moment.
"What. The. Fuck."
James shook his head.
"I don't know, Harley, I don't understand, babe, I didn't - "
"Don't touch me." Harley slapped away the hand James had extended. "It's not OK. Not OK at all."
James stared, bewildered, at Harley.
"What isn't??"
Harley narrowed his eyes hatefully, reached out and grabbed roughly at James' crotch. James winced in pain, but the hand was removed before he had a moment to complain.
"You got hard. You got fucking halfway hard and you hit me in the ass with your fucking dick."
James was so shocked that for several long seconds, he could do nothing more than stare across the bed at his husband.
"What?"
"YOUR FUCKING DICK, JAMES. Fuck."
Harley ran his hand twice through his hair, roughly. In the light of the bedside lamp, he looked disturbed.
James was trying to understand, he really was, but it was 3 a.m. and this was like something out of the twilight zone. His instincts told him to placate. He held up his hands in surrender.
"OK. OK. I'm sorry. I didn't - I didn't mean to touch you."
Harley was still irascible.
"Is this what you do? You - slide up against me like - like you've been humping me in my sleep or something? Like I'm some bitch in heat??"
"What?! No, I didn't - "
"Yes, you did. And it's not OK. Don't you touch me like that." Harley leaned forward, and James shivered but held his ground. Harley's eyes darkened and the vein in his neck pulsed a little. "Don't you ever, ever touch me like that."
Harley's voice was barely above a hiss, and it had a sharp edge to it - a danger that came through clearly, even in the haze of sleep disturbed. James swallowed.
"OK. OK, I'm sorry."
Harley stared at him for a moment longer, then moved forward abruptly, the aggression of the movement pushing James back.
"You're sorry?" One knee pushed roughly between James' legs and a hand yanked his neck back by his hair. Harley began to fumble at the fly of his pants. "You're sorry?" he released his cock, already thick and red with excitement. It bobbed obscenely between them until Harley caught it in his right fist and began to pump it, fiercely. The hand in his hair tightened.
"I will make you fucking sorry."

~:~

He had to lay on his back. He had to lay on his back and he couldn't move at all. Sheridan stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows lick and shudder where they were struck by the light of the fire. He couldn't move at all. The old man was coming towards him, though - Sher could hear the bracelets he wore. Presently, there was a warmth over him. The old man appeared. He looked at Sheridan, into his eyes and at his teeth, probed a finger at his cunt, and then declared him ready. Had he eaten the meal of fish and honeyed yams? Aaron answered - he had. And had Aaron made his contribution? He had. Three times? Yes. Sheridan began to tremble; the light of the fire was casting new shadows in the room and they swayed gently above him. His bare skin felt hot, suddenly, no longer chilled as it had when he'd entered. The old man was holding his hands over Sheridan's body as if warming himself at a fire. His eyes were closed. Aaron watched, silently, from the shadows.

Sheridan felt something cold touch him suddenly, far below his navel, at the line of hair where he'd been shaved. He jerked, startled. The old man chided him.
"Be still, woman. It is just the shells."
Sheridan swallowed and closed his eyes. Aaron was silent. Long moments of nothing, and then another touch of cold as a second cowrie shell was laid beside the first. Over time, a third. A fourth.
They began to form the shape of a spiral. The old man sang in a language Sheridan couldn't understand, but it was a pretty song, if a bit baleful.
The cowries kept coming down. Six. Seven. The song rose in tempo. Aaron was silent - somehow, against the rising drama of the melody, he seemed more silent than before.
The song stopped. The old man began chanting in a low, desperate voice, and Sheridan could pick out words now - he was speaking to someone. Sheridan kept perfectly still.
Then another cold weight - the stone. It rested on his belly.
Then the old man's finger, wet with some substance, made contact with his skin just below the lowest shell. He dragged the finger down, through the small thatch of hair that Sheridan had left, along the shaft of his penis to the tip. Sheridan wanted so badly to look down and see what was happening, but fear kept him from moving. It was only fear, though - no pain.
The old man was more energetic now, speaking eagerly, imploring. He began to touch Sheridan's hips, rolling them this way and that. Sheridan laid limp, let the old man manipulate his body. After a few moments, the rolling stopped and Sheridan was allowed to lie back again.
Then the old man brought a bowl of something and washed Sheridan between his legs, gently parting the skin at his entrance and laving him there, too.
When he was done, he muttered a few words, then stood, straight as an arrow (how old was the old man? seventy? ninety? Sheridan wondered in silence). The old man turned to face Aaron, but the younger man was still watching Sheridan, who lay unmoving on the altar.
"Is he - "
"He will be. Go to him now, lie with him and you will have a boy by daylight."
Aaron swallowed, emotion overwhelming him momentarily. The old man was still looking at him, waiting to speak. In his hand, he held the cloth he'd bathed Sheridan with; he held it out to Aaron.
"Take a stone from the ocean. Wrap it in this. Hang it from his waist."
Aaron nodded solemnly and reached a hand forward to take it, but the old man held fast, catching Aaron's eyes.
"There are spirits in your house that don't want him to conceive." The old man pressed the damp cloth into Aaron's hand and closed his fingers over it. "They will hurt your child. Keep them away."
Aaron nodded again, and glanced over at Sheridan. The old man stepped to the side.
"You have until daylight."

~:~

Adrian scrambled the eggs with the metal spatula and shook his head.
"I just don't think it's fair, and I think it's silly to participate in something just because it's supposedly tradition."
Ren didn't even glance up from where he was chopping onions and peppers for the omelette at the kitchen table.
"It is tradition, and it is fair, Adrian."
Adrian and Ren were sitting in the kitchen of the family house in Woodacre. Adrian was clothed in his CEC-issued sleeping attire - a black tank and shorts with the Centre's logo branded across both. Brookham Carrier Education Centre. At first, he had found the bright blue lettering tacky; now, the familiarity of it comforted him.
Ren shifted in his chair, putting both feet flat on the floor, and wrapped his hands around his hot tea. At this hour of morning, the air still had some chill to it, but the house functioned primarily on hydronic heat which kept the floor constantly warm.
Adrian set the spatular down and walked over to collect the chopping board from Ren.
"It's unequal."
"Equal isn't always fair, Adrian."
Adrian mixed in the onions and green peppers.
"Well. I still think Sean is taking it too far."
Ren sipped his tea, then rolled the mug between his hands. Under the table, his bare feet rested on the bars of another chair, pushing it slightly out from the others.
"Oh?"
Adrian made to speak, then paused. It was almost too much to tell.
"He makes me kneel."
Ren stopped rolling his mug.
"He does?"
Adrian nodded, suddenly feeling miserable and wound up and very confused.
"It's...not all the time. Just in private."
Ren took a long sip of his tea.
"OK. So that's OK."
Adrian shrugged.
"I don't know. It's...a lot. It's hard."
Ren nodded.
"Submission is hard."
There was a pause between them, and Adrian scrambled the eggs fiercely. Ren watched him, then spoke.
"Does he punish you?"
Adrian stared at the pan of eggs.
"He hasn't. He keeps saying he will."
Too late, he realized that had come out like a complaint. Ren was swift.
"Do you want him to?"
Adrian thought about it.
"No." he thought more. "Maybe. I don't know."
Ren nodded and began to roll the mug between his hands again.
"You need it."
Adrian shook his head fiercely and turned down the heat of the cooktop.
"No. I don't."
Ren sighed.
"Believe me, you do. You need to know."
Adrian transferred the finished omelette onto three plates and began cracking new eggs into the pan.
"Know what?"
"Everything. Where the limits are, the boundaries. Know how you get him to snap. Know what he'll do. Know what it will be like. Know that you'll be fine." Ren sipped his tea. "Know that he won't hurt you. That he loves you. Until it happens, you've got all that hanging over your head and that is tough. Believe me, it's worse than any punishment could ever be."
Adrian worried at his lip with his teeth and grated cheese over the eggs.
"So what do I do?"
Ren grinned.
"Ask for a spanking?"
Adrian cast a horrified glance over his shoulder. Ren laughed.
"Alright. Fine. Well, you don't have to be so blunt, but you can talk to him. Tell him what you need. That's what us adults do."
Adrian shook his head.
"Negative. Next idea."
Ren grinned mischievously.
"Well, if you'd rather act like a child...you could just provoke him."
"Bingo. How?"
Ren leaned his head back, tilting slightly in the chair and taking in the view of the ceiling.
"I don't know. What does he hate? I need to clean that ceiling fan."
Adrian glanced up.
"Yeah, you do. I'll get it this afternoon."
"Don't - you're pregnant. Kylie can do it."
Adrian nodded his accord.
"Fine. OK, how do I provoke him?"
"How do you usually provoke him?"
Adrian's cheeks colored.
"I don't know. It just tends to happen. My mouth runs away with me."
Ren laughed.
"Well, there you go - use your mouth. Tell him how silly you think Dothan traditions are."
Adrian glanced to the side.
"That might provoke him too much."
Ren raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I think you'll figure something out."
Adrian sighed and shook a little pepper into the eggs. After a minute's silence, he asked,
"So does Dad ever...punish you?"
"Yes." Ren answered, unfazed. "And I kneel for him, too."
Adrian jerked his head around.
"I've never seen you do that."
Ren shrugged.
"You don't have to. Everything we do isn't meant to be shared."
Adrian stared at his stepmother for a minute, then demurely nodded and turned back to the eggs, which were now sizzling quite a bit in the pan.
"So does - "
"I tell you what." Ren cut him off. "After chore meeting this afternoon, you and me and some of the others - we'll all meet up and talk about it."
Ren's voice held a tinge of warning, and bit of impatience, and so Adrian turned to scold him and saw exactly why. William Mackenzie was standing in the doorway. Adrian scanned his father's face for signs that he'd been eavesdropping, but his dad looked open and happy.
"My two favorite beauties. How are you this morning?"
Will made his way to the breakfast table, where his newspaper was already folded and waiting for him next to the seat across from Ren. His wife smiled.
"Fine."
Adrian turned off the stove for good and transferred the second group of eggs to two plates for he and Ren.
"Fine." he pitched in. His father looked up at him.
"Where's Sean this morning?"
"Early post."
"Ah." Ren had gotten up to retrieve coffee for his husband; he now set it down in front of Will, who smiled at him. "Thank you, dear."
Ren inclined his head and returned to his seat. Will switched his attention to Adrian.
"So I understand Sean's having you kneel."
So he had been listening. Adrian busied himself getting juice from the fridge, hoping that appearing industrious would save him from this conversation.
"Yep."
"That's a very traditional behavior."
Adrian found the grapefruit juice and pulled it out, then decided to take out orange as well.
"Yep."
"Do you understand the significance of that act?"
Adrian colored again and dug deeper in the fridge.
"Yes."
"Tell me about it."
Adrian sighed and pulled out the orange juice, but still did not turn to look at his father.
"I love my husband. I do what he tells me. He says kneel, I kneel."
Will Mackenzie stared hard at his carrier son.
"And that's all?"
Adrian sighed.
"I don't - I don't know, Dad."
Will Mackenzie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back a little in his chair.
"The kneeling is representative, Adrian. It is the physical expression of the ultimate acceptance of your roles in the universe. Commander, Obedient. Husband, Wife. Giver, Receiver. Provider, Creator. When you kneel for Sean, you show him that you accept him in all these ways. You give him much more than the childish pleasure of getting what he wants. You give him yourself; you give him your heart; you give him fulfillment."
Adrian glanced at Ren, who was looking a bit overtaken with emotion and had ducked his head down towards his tea. Adrian looked back at his father.
"Oh. I see."
"You see?" Will Mackenzie shook his head fondly and grinned at Adrian. "Well. Someday, you'll understand."

~:~

Henrik had arranged for them to take a mini-vacation - a prehoneymoon, he'd called it - and now they were cruising in Henrik's sleek black towncar through the main street of a small town that had obviously done well for itself in recent years. A lot of the construction looked old, but paint was new, and freshly stained ramps and railings added touches of color and life to the town. Henrik had been quiet most of the ride, but Phidias had been in a chatty mood, and so had been sharing some stories of his time in the Pacific. At a lull in conversation, Henrik spoke.
"This reminds me. I've done something for you, Phidias."
Phidias looked in surprise at his husband. It shifted briefly to fear, but then back to happy surprise. Henrik smiled politely.
"I met a gentleman at the wedding - Dr. Alan Long."
Phidias nodded and kept the smile plastered on his face, although he really wondered where this was going. Henrik looked out of the window at some passing horses, then turned back to Phidias.
"We spoke about you."
Phidias waited for the other shoe to drop. Was he in trouble? Should he not have invited his old colleagues? Was Henrik mad? Phidias couldn't tell. Henrik dragged a finger across the leather of the car door, smudging it slightly.
"We've both agreed it might be beneficial for you to resume your position at the Institution."
"Institute."
Phidias said it reflexively, his brain still working overtime at processing what Henrik had just said. His husband continued.
"Institute. Anyway, we thought it might be good for your health if you did so."
Phidias merely nodded, his mouth feeling clumsy and surprisingly dry.
"It - I - Yes!" he finally managed, and Henrik's face burst into a smile. Belatedly, Phidias realized that his lack of response must have had his husband worried. "Yes! Thank you! How did you come up with this? Oh, I don't care - thank you!"
Henrik smiled more broadly and inclined his head.
"Just remember that your family is your first job. This is your second."
Phidias nodded and looked kindly at Henrik.
"As if I could ever forget."

~:~

Sheridan and Aaron Soyinka had the last appointment of the day. At seven o'clock in the evening, they sat in the waiting hall of the fertility testing clinic, waiting anxiously for their results. If they were negative, they had 24 hours and only one alternative left. Sheridan fingered the little slip of paper in his pocket that had the number of the fertility counselor's contact on it. Aaron had warned him not to bring it, but he'd snuck it anyway. It wasn't like anyone would be checking his pockets.

Things had been strange all day between Aaron and himself. Aaron was surprisingly quiet - distant, almost. He seemed ever on the alert. Sheridan prayed that the ritual hadn't been the cause of it. Cure worse than the disease, he thought idly. Aaron seemed so troubled. He hoped it had been worth it - all the smoke and drama. He hoped it had worked. Aaron had seemed so confident, but in what? Who knew. Empty ritual had never held much meaning to Sheridan.

Sheridan fingered the slip of paper again. It wouldn't be so bad, if they had only that one alternative left after this visit. A son that was practically Aaron's would be just as good as one that actually was, right? A kid was a kid, no matter who the sire was. Sheridan glanced over at his husband. Aaron Soyinka had his hands folded together in his lap; his thumbs were warring each other raucously. Sheridan covered them with his hand and Aaron looked up at him.
Sheridan gave the closest to a smile he could manage. Please letmebe pleaseletme be pleaselet mebe please...
"Mr. Soyinka?"
A nurse - a pretty brown haired carrier - was standing in front of him. He was holding a clipboard. Sheridan swallowed and nodded.
"That's me. That's us."
The carrier extended his hand.
"Congratulations."

~:~