We Two Kings

We Two Kings

Quill made another cut with the blade. Even with the pattern, the horses of Cinderella’s carriage were refusing to come alive. Jake had been right when he’d said pumpkins weren’t the right surface for elaborate art work. Quill stretched his neck and continued the slow process. Next year he was going to go back to traditional Jack-o’-lanterns, or maybe he would do a harvest festival theme. Different colored squashes and cornstalks couldn’t be that hard, but they wouldn’t be all that fun either.

Over the top holidays were Quill’s style. He had always loved the holidays, and Jake, despite his verbal protests, enjoyed the fun. He oohed and aahed over the decorations and covered Galaxy Toy’s Facebook page with pictures of each holiday celebration. He’d never enjoyed big celebrations as a kid; it wasn’t that his parents didn’t adore him. They did, but they lived a quiet, unassuming life without a large and boisterous family within driving distance. Quill’s family had always followed the strategy of the more the merrier. His mother was famous throughout the little town where she’d lived since the first day after her honeymoon for caramel apples and popcorn balls at Halloween, a Christmas light display worthy of the power company, and an Easter egg hunt that took three days to lay the track. Jake could still be overwhelmed by the whole Maguire clan, but he was good friends with Stuart and Andy, and at a Maguire party Quill could usually find Jake in close conversation with one of his brothers, more often Andy as they enjoyed hashing out religious theory that left Quill wishing for a nice Monopoly game or an entire village of Legos to assemble. 

The bang of the door signaled Jake’s arrival. It was a good thing the house was sturdy and not the Three Little Pigs’ mansion of straw.

“Still working on the pumpkins,” Jake said in passing as he reached for the juice from the refrigerator. He studied the massive pumpkin perched on the kitchen table that had been converted to a pumpkin surgery. “It’s a pumpkin, not a work of art.”

“At least it’s not ice that will melt at the first sign of the sun.” Quill loved the ice sculptures at the winter festival and the giant butter sculptures at the state fair, but he couldn’t imagine the hundreds of hours of labor for a perishable statue, not that the pumpkins weren’t taking tens of hours.

“Should I get take out?” Jake asked, his eyes again falling on the table. “Unless we’re having pumpkin soup, stuffed pumpkin, and pumpkin pie, cooking’s going to be pretty tough. You’ve absolutely taken over in here,” he said with a slight scold in his voice.

“Sorry.” Quill rotated his neck and set the knife down on the table. “We’ll go out. If I sit here one minute longer, I’m going to cut a big x through this pumpkin and have slasher Halloween.”

Jake looped his arms around Quill’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do it for you when I get back. It takes an engineer’s touch.”

“I know what you like to do with pumpkins,” Quill said and gave Jake a friendly poke in the ribs.

“After Halloween. Don’t worry; I’ll wait to the first of November. Get your coat. I’m starving.”

“You did eat lunch?”

“Yes, Quill,” Jake said with a laugh and a friendly push away from the pumpkin surgery. “You do have a mother hen complex.”

“Eldest son, it can’t be helped.”

Jake kissed Quill’s mouth, a quick peck. “I like it. How else would I get a packed lunch in a Batman lunchbox? I’m the envy of everyone at the office. Only the new secretary's confused. She still thinks I must have kids.”

“The one with the hair coloring difficulties?”

“Be nice, Quill. Red’s a tough color to get right, but her hair does look more appropriate for Raggedy Ann.” Jake’s lips twitched as he fought to keep the smile off his face.

“Always the gentleman.”

“I think I’ll buy her a gift certificate to the salon. Groupon is always having good deals.”

“Behave,” Quill said with a laugh and a playful swat at Jake’s butt. “Sam is a bad influence on you.”

“He’s a bad influence on everyone.” Jake laughed.

Quill smiled and wrapped his arm around his partner. He liked Sam as long as he was with Dan. Sam was funny, ironic, and a genuinely caring individual despite his propensity for strange behavior. Quill wasn’t sure how Dan managed, but they were suited to each other. It had taken Quill months to figure out the extent the two kidded and joked in spite of Dan’s highly public position of church pastor: the grass skirt at Halloween, the song choice at the Christmas pageant, some of Sam’s bizarre ties.

“You’re quiet today,” Jake prodded. “You can get lost in thought on the way to dinner.” He grabbed Quill by the arm and hustled him to the car.

“Drive on, James,” Quill said as he shifted the scattered papers to the backseat. “These should be in your briefcase.”

“I know, but I have you to remind me. I have to give you something to do.”

Quill looked over at his lover. Jake was calmly staring ahead, his hands balanced on the wheel, his shoulders down and relaxed. Quill could remember two years ago. It seemed like a century ago, the guts of the pumpkins strewn over the steps, the shouts, the anger radiating off Jake. 

“Where are we going?” Quill asked. He wasn’t picky. Jake was the gourmand, probably all his years of living with Lawrence. At first he had denied his taste for fine food, devouring greasy, fried and prepackaged food as fast as he could swallow. It was as if he were making a statement. They had eaten their way through every street fair, church festival, and sporting event. The monster truck smash hadn’t even escaped their attention. Quill liked that sort of thing, but even he had been tired of DayGlo nacho cheese sauce when Jake had suggested a small Vietnamese restaurant hidden away in a corner of town they rarely frequented with an offhand comment about having eaten there a few times. The food had been incredible, not that Quill could identify any of it by name or sight. Jake had done the ordering. 

Quill was surprised when they pulled into the parking lot of the pizzeria cum greasy spoon Italian restaurant near the toyshop. This wasn’t Jake’s type of food. It was convenient, and Quill ate lunch there more times than he liked to admit, but the pizza did often have a grease pool on the top, and the salad consisted of head lettuce, anemic tomatoes, and jarred peppers.

“I felt like pizza,” Jake said as if to preempt any questions.

There was far better pizza in town. Quill knew Jake was partial to the place with the wood fired pizza and toppings Quill had never eaten on a pizza as a boy. Banana peppers and fresh tomatoes were an exotic topping for this place. Goat cheese wasn’t on the menu.

“Come on; I’m hungry,” Jake said scrambling out of the car with too much force, the little Honda rocking as he slammed the door.

Quill raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything as he exited the car and closed the door without denting force. Jake hadn’t seemed agitated at home; he’d been relaxed, teasing Quill about the pumpkins. “Is there something I should know before I order the pizza? Like I should get it to go?”

“No, I’m fine.” Jake shoved his hand in his pockets, a sure sign he was fidgety and worried.

Quill racked his brains as far as he knew nothing was amiss at home or at work. Stuart was a useful spy and typically spilled the beans about work. Neither of them much liked the new secretary, but Quill hadn’t thought that had gone beyond Jake hinting that he might like to borrow one of the more diabolical toys, and Quill never thought it would go beyond words. Jake wasn’t a Sam. He could plan and kid about going to work with purple hair or putting a tack on a chair, but he’d never do it. He was Midwest sensible when it came right down to it which was damn good. Quill wouldn’t have been able to survive a Sam.

The restaurant was dark, slightly too dark in the corners for family restaurant comfort, and the ever present odor of pizza hung in the air. Jake asked for a booth in the back in a quiet corner away from the family with the restless toddler and the group of college kids devouring an impressive number of pies.

“I have to keep you from entertaining the kid with Tiddlywinks or Pick-up Sticks,” Jake said as he reached for Quill’s hand.

Jake didn’t touch in public or at least not like this. He might bump his shoulder into Quill if he felt in strong need of reassurance, but he frowned on public displays of affection, and even hand holding fell under his definition of a public display of affection.

Jake ordered, neither consulting the menu or Quill. It was the same pizza as their first night, a large with pepperoni and extra cheese. Jake didn’t like pepperoni; he called it processed heart attack. The Cokes and the terrible bread sticks came quickly and without Jake making his usual sarcastic comment about serving bread and then more bread. They were awful breadsticks, even Quill didn’t eat them. Jake took a deep swallow of Coke and reached for a breadstick in its plastic basket with a red and white napkin.

Quill stopped Jake’s hand before it reached the bread. “I know you’d rather eat Cheez Whiz than those breadsticks. What don’t I know?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You would have to be suffering from clinically detectable malnutrition. Now spill it.”

Jake looked up, his eyes big, innocent, and with a slightly hurt expression. They really had been watching too many Disney movies. With that expression, it was all Quill could do to keep from smoothing Jake’s hair and kissing his forehead. The Disney animators would love it for a model of a woeful puppy.

“Jake,” Quill tried to growl. Dan could growl; he sent shivers up Quill’s spine, and Quill was supposed to be a top. “The crystal ball is at the toy store, and I don’t have a divining rod or magic dust either. You’re going to have to tell me.”

Jake glanced over his shoulder, and Quill fought the urge to grasp Jake’s chin and force eye contact. They were in public. “You haven’t spanked me in months,” Jake muttered and snatched his hand away from Quill. He grabbed one of the breadsticks.

“Put it back in the basket.”

Quill must have put the correct amount of authority in his voice because Jake dropped the bread like it was scorching hot from the oven; the breadsticks were never hot here. “Take this.” Quill handed Jake a loop of string. “Can you still do the witch’s broom?”

“You taught me that right after we met.”

“Hmm.” Quill nodded. “Are you feeling nostalgic? You did choose here,” Quill said, letting his eyes roam over the pictures on the wall of common Italian tourist sites: the Colosseum in Rome, the Spanish Steps, a famous fountain which Quill didn’t know the name, and the Tower of Pisa. Quill was pretty sure the owners had about as much connection with Italy as he did; they’d heard of Rome and new Italy was the boot on the map of Europe.

“I thought it might be easier.”

What might be easier? Jake hadn’t played twenty questions like this in months. He enjoyed long evenings chatting with Dan over religious stuff that reminded Quill too much of the horrors of catechism but which those two or three if Andy was there could discuss for hours over a beer and the noise of a football game. Dan had no patience for hints and unspoken ideas; Jake had learned to state his point and defend it to what to the outsider looked like near bloodshed.

“Jake, make the witch’s broom, and then you’re telling me why we’re here. I’m not guessing.”

Jake dropped his head and pulled the strings into proper position; his engineer’s mind grasped the geometry of the shapes and saw the needed moves three steps ahead. “When’s the last time you spanked me?”

Quill couldn’t remember. Last spring maybe. No summer. It had been hot, and it hadn’t been a true spanking, only a couple of swats. “July?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question.”

“That’s Dan’s line,” Quill said with a forced laugh. He feverishly wished that he had another piece of string in his pocket. This conversation was heading into uncomfortable territory. He’d tried to get more comfortable with the idea; he’d even in part been responsible for convincing Andy it was OK. He wasn’t actually sure Andy was convinced. It was more that Andy had compartmentalized it and that he liked and respected Dan and loved Quill. It couldn’t be as horrible or terrible as Andy thought it was or they wouldn’t do it, but Quill knew Andy didn’t speak of it, and while Dan was far more open about his relationship with Sam, Andy turned his head away and pretended not to see.

The pizza came, hot, bubbly, and smelling of cheese, tomatoes, garlic, and the mystery spices of the pepperoni. Quill was glad for the brief diversion of passing the plates and cutting the pie. They both ate the first piece in silence.

“Do you want a spanking?” Quill asked, judging no one was in earshot. Jake had picked a good restaurant for this conversation if they weren’t going to have it at home. They were backed up to the wall, and from their position no one could sneak up on him. Jake would have to look over his shoulder, but Quill had a clear view of the entire dining area.

“You don’t like to spank.”

Talk about not answering the question. “I love you. You can always ask me.” Quill put his pizza down and reached across and caught Jake’s wrist. “I love you, and if it’s part of loving you, I’m game to do it.”

“Dan and Sam get off on it.”

“I know.” How did you respond to such a statement? Quill was a good Catholic boy; he didn’t find talking about sex easy, and he found talking about kinky sex nearly impossible. Dan had forced Quill a few times with his steady gaze and impossibly probing questions. Quill preferred not to remember those moments. Jake wasn’t more forthcoming on the subjects. Sam had, after much wasted effort, given up on encouraging Jake to venture to one of “those” parties. Jake always shook his head, looked pale, and stayed hidden behind Quill until Dan put a stop to the pestering.

“I’ve never lived in a relationship that didn’t involve corporal punishment. Lawrence was my first serious boyfriend,” Jake said and poked his straw around in his glass.

“Jake, where’s this going?” Quill had thought Jake wanted to be spanked, but now he wasn’t sure. “I can’t guess here; it’s too important.”

Jake smiled, not his full force smile but a slight turn of his lips. “That’s why I love you. You’re direct; you’ll tell me to answer instead of being polite and pretending not to notice or stomping off in an offended cloud of spittle.”

“Cloud of spittle?”

“You know what I mean.”

“About that, yes, but the other no. Do you want a spanking? Is this why we came here? Was this a fit of nostalgia? You wanted a spanking that first night, and I misread the signals.”

Jake grabbed another piece of pizza and started removing the pepperoni with slow precision.

“You’re the one who ordered it with pepperoni.”

Jake shrugged. It wasn’t a relaxed shrug of “so what” or the teasing shrug that Quill had seen Sam do so many times with Dan that suggested he wanted a spanking. It was a shrug that spoke of tension and unsaid thoughts. 

Quill leaned across the table and whispered, “I’m not taking you into the bathroom and spanking you. If that’s what you’re planning, count me out.” That brought a smile to Jake’s face and a definite and swift shake of his head. “So what are we playing at? I don’t think I can do that Dan pin you with his eyes look, so could you please tell me.”

“I didn’t know this would be so hard. Why don’t we forget it and eat the pizza?”

“Jake, I didn’t come out to eat semi-bad pizza with you--”

“You eat here all the time,” Jake interrupted. “I cleaned the napkins out of your car last week.”

“And why were you cleaning my car?” This was ground that Quill could walk safely. They both paradoxically enjoyed and dreaded the pack of cards they kept in the kitchen. Some of the cards had changed over the months with silly additions of three hundred lines of don’t climb on the roof when it’s icy after Quill’s adventure last Christmas. That was always an amusing card to draw in a heat wave, and they added seasonal cards. The October set had cards about not eating Halloween candy and cleaning any toilet paper from trees. Quill had never been toilet papered; he figured that was a safe free pass.

“Swearing,” Jake said with a smile and a faint flush. “I still think I had an excuse. I burnt my fingers on the pan.”

“We do have hot pads.”

“No sympathy. I didn’t want to burn the dinner.”

“We’re not here to talk about burned dinner, are we?” Quill asked. “Can I do anything to make this easier for you? Would Dan or Sam help?”

“No,” Jake said sharply.

Quill studied Jake. Had something happened between the three of them? Periodically Jake would get fed up with Sam after some public display of craziness, but Dan was good at patching that up, and Quill didn’t interfere. Dan had a unique combination of being both charismatic and genuinely caring about people. The majority of charismatic people Quill had met during his lifetime had been self-centered bastards; Dan wasn’t. He was as genuine and friendly as they came whether he was in worn jeans, his official vestments, or the frightening leather pants that Quill had only seen in pictures.

“Is this about Dan or Sam?” Quill asked.

“Peripherally. I talked to Dan some.”

Quill blew out a breath of air, trying to hold back his exasperation. Quill liked guessing games; he would even play twenty questions on a boring car trip, but this was getting ridiculous. “Should I have brought a pack of Tarot cards or the Ouija board?”

“Do we have a Ouija board?”

“Attic. In my grandmother’s attic there is a Ouija board, pink pajamas, and a quivering quail,” Quill joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“I don’t want to be spanked,” Jake said rapidly and buried his face in the oversized glass of soda.

Quill grabbed for his soda, wishing it was a beer. He had expected Jake to say he wanted a spanking. He’d been showing all the signs since they’d climbed out of the car: restless, nervous, uncommunicative, almost rude.

“Why?” That was an unimaginative question. Quill should have felt relieved, but instead he felt only confused. He’d never heard of a discipline relationship until it had been thrust upon him by his love for Jake. Quill had always been bossy, the one who held the pieces together, but spanking wasn’t something that came naturally for him. Dan had schooled him to set aside his automatic objections, to remember his partner was a competent adult of nearly the same size and weight, to remember his partner had asked him for this service.

“You hate it.”

“I’m OK with it when it’s for you,” Quill said softly, wishing he was in the privacy of their home where he could wrap an arm around Jake, where they could both lean into each other.

“It bothers Andy.”

“I’m not Andy.”

“That’s good because I don’t think men are Andy’s thing.”

“Jake, don’t be flippant.”

Jake dropped his eyes and a slight flush crept up his neck. “You know Lawrence would have spanked me for that remark.”

Quill stopped himself from responding as flippantly as Jake had earlier. It would be easy to dismiss Lawrence as a bastard and move on. Even after two years, Jake rarely spoke of Lawrence. It was like he had wiped it from his memory. The majority of what Quill knew about Lawrence was from Dan. Dan had tracked Jake’s former partner down and made sure there had been absolutely no abuse. Dan’s conclusion had been that Lawrence was rigid and unimaginative, but not abusive.

“Yes,” Quill said cautiously, still trying to figure out the direction of the conversation. He felt like he was playing a complicated game of strategy where his fellow players were changing the rules after every move.

“You don’t like it. I want to try a relationship without it.”

“It meaning corporal punishment?” Quill found the formal term far easier to say aloud than the informal term of spanking.

Jake nodded. “It’s been months since we did it, and I don’t miss it.”

“Are you sure?”

Jake stared at Quill for a moment, his hand smoothing and folding the napkin. “Don’t tell me to make a paper crane,” he said with a sudden grin and clasped his hands together on the table. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It’s not a sudden whim. I’m not Sam. He’s a submissive, or at least I think he is.”

“I think so, but I’m not interested in such thing. So does that matter?”

“Yes,” Jake burst out and quickly lowered his voice. “They both enjoy it. It’s part of their sexuality.”

“And for you?” Quill couldn’t believe they were having this conversation in a public restaurant; at least the server was inattentive, and the place was empty in the middle of the week. Jake fumbled with his glass, and Quill reached across the table and took it. “Answer me,” he said, keeping his hand on the glass. “And I did learn this trick from Dan.”

“It’s not for you.”

“First you and then we’ll talk about me.”

“I don’t know.” Jake looked longingly at the glass.

“A few more words and I’ll give it back.”

“The friendly cow all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart.”

“Brat, those don’t count.”

“You shouldn’t keep children’s poetry books by the bed.” Jake raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Is that a good enough answer? I don’t know; I’ve never done it any other way.”

Quill handed Jake his soda back. “I wish it wasn’t fall. We could go have ice cream. I always think better with ice cream.”

“Now who’s dodging the question?”

“Me,” Quill said with an attempt at a smile. “You know I don’t much like to spank you. Scratch that; I hate it, but I love you, and I do think I understand your need, or I like to pretend I do.”

Jake crushed ice between his teeth, a habit Quill detested. “You’re going to make me explain. Can’t we just not do it?”

“No,” Quill said with more firmness than he felt. Putting his lover over his knee always made him pause, but he loved Jake too damn much to take the easy way out. 

Jake folded his napkin precisely into a perfect square, folding and refolding before tearing the extra bits off. He unfolded it and started on the crane base. “I like this. I don’t want you to stop doing this. I like the string; I like the silly games. I like how you are with your family; I like being watched out for.”

“But you want to try it without the spanking?” Quill forced himself to say the word. This was a conversation where the generic pronoun wasn’t adequate.

“You hate it,” Jake said fiercely, his eyes still on the paper crane as he made the final folds.

“It doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m not a sadist; I think that’s the correct term. Dan tried to explain it. He’s a dominant, and Sam is a submissive or at least I think that’s how he explained it.” Quill took a drink of his Coke. “Give me a complicated board game with the directions only in German over this any day. But Dan also said punishment can be a means of communication and the acceptance of it an act of contrition and a way toward redemption. He went on about the imagery and religious texts and lost me.” Quill wiped his hands with his napkin. “I will always try to give you what you need.”

Jake sat very still, the paper crane flat and lifeless on the table. “I don’t think I need it anymore. It’s been months.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“You still do the other things.” Jake picked up the crane. “This works for me. And you’ll still do the other stuff?”

“Of course,” Quill said quickly. “You’ve seen me with my brothers. I can’t help myself. But are you sure? I don’t want you to give up a part of yourself for me.”

“I’m sure,” Jake said firmly with the voice Quill was used to hearing. “This is not a half-cocked idea.”

“You’ve talked about it?”

“With Dan, Sam, and Andy.”

“With Andy?”

“Not in the specifics. I just talked about his discomfort with the whole idea. It’s so hard for him. You were his idol, and you do things to me he can barely bring himself to name. He knows it’s against your nature.”

“Jake, this is about you, not me.”

“No, it’s about both of us. Our relationship must work for both of us. I want to live without spanking.” Jake stared intently at Quill. “You always said I could call this off, and I’m doing it now. Please don’t make me explain anymore. I know I want to do this; I’m just no good at explaining my feelings.” Jake gave Quinn a self-deprecating grin. “It makes me a nervous wreck.”

“Three months,” Quill said. “We’ll reevaluate after three months.”

“I can do that.” Jake pushed the remnants of cold pizza away. “Ugh, I’m over my nostalgia. Let’s go home, and I’ll make a cake, pumpkin cake.”

“Brat.” Quill smiled. They’d be OK. Jake was talking; they understood and loved each other.

“No. Lover, partner, torturer of all superheroes, and expert dish breaker, but not brat.”

“Home, Jake. You’re driving.” Quill stood up from the table and took Jake’s hand. They loved each other; they’d figure out the new twists and turns of their relationship, and Jake was right he wasn’t the same man who had wandered into the toyshop a little more than two years ago. “We’re still smashing the pumpkins on the first of November?” 

“You bet.”