Chapter 3
Adrian
“Damn it.” I’d known it was mean the moment it’d left my mouth, but I hadn’t been able to stop myself. It was like we were kids all over again, with him so cool and me always ending up looking like a loser.
Owen had just been standing there in the door frame looking so confident and smug, and I’d spoken without thinking.
I glanced down at the toys and sighed. He wouldn’t have been researching and planning. He would have jumped right in, shoved the tail up his ass, and discovered what it was like to be a puppy.
“And you’ve been staring at sexual enhancement products for far too long today.”
It was time to put everything away when that image wouldn’t get out of my head.
I started picking up the toys and getting up off the floor. “Besides, he would clearly be the master in that situation, not the pup.” Arranging the lube and toys carefully in my bedside drawer, I looked down at my cock. “And what was up with you? Being watched was not the fetish we decided to explore.” I hadn’t been able to figure out a way to research that without involving too many other people, but evidently, my dick hadn’t gotten the memo.
Owen was going to think…
“Hell if I know.” Cursing was starting to feel more natural by the minute. I guess I’d just had to find the right catalyst. Owen walking in on my research project definitely qualified.
Picking my laptop off the floor, I carried it over to the bed and went to grab my clothes from my desk chair where I’d folded them earlier. Keeping things neat made me feel calmer, more secure. It was also something else Owen lorded over me. He didn’t need things picked up to feel relaxed. He could ignore the clutter and still have a good time.
Once I was dressed, I felt a little safer… less vulnerable. I’d never been watched like that, like he could see right through me and knew what was going on in my head. He’d probably been shocked and horrified at what I was doing, but I’d never been able to read Owen very well.
I wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but it couldn’t be good. I knew he was even more sarcastic and mocking when he was angry or upset, so judging by the comments he’d made, I had to have pushed him too far. Was I supposed to apologize?
I knew I owed him one for the comment about his love life. It shouldn’t have been any of my business, and I wasn’t even sure why I’d said it. There had just been something about the look on his face and the mocking way he’d asked to help…
There was no excuse. I would have to explain how sorry I was about that.
But what about everything else?
If he was that angry about walking in on me — because what else could it have been — then did I owe him another apology about that? I’m sorry you walked in on my research project probably wouldn’t cut it. I’m sorry you saw me getting ready to shove a tail up my rectum probably wasn’t appropriate either, but for different reasons.
I heard a door slam and a car start. The rattling sound of Dad’s old car let me know it was Owen and not one of the neighbors. He was always the one who got to stomp off when we argued. Even when we were little, I was the one who had to stay and pick up the toys that he’d thrown on the floor when I’d accidentally knocked over his tower. I was the one who had to stay and finish cleaning the kitchen when he’d stormed out saying that I’d insulted him.
I was always the one who had to stay and clean up the mess.
Only this time, I wasn’t sure how to do it. This mess just seemed to be getting bigger as time went on. After the funeral, everyone had said that it would get better, that we’d figure out how to move on, but I was starting to think they’d lied.
How was I supposed to move on when I was living with a person who barely tolerated me on the best days? How was I supposed to move on with a growing mountain of student loan debts and no idea how to hold things together? I was the oldest, the robot or the automaton, as Owen liked to say. I should have been able to see a way to make things better… make us better.
He was all I had left.
Sure, we had a few odd relatives and some friends of our parents who’d stop by every couple of months or so to soothe their guilt, but that was it. Owen was all I had in the world, and I was losing him. Everything I did made things worse between us.
When I tried to talk about his plans for the future, he said I was belittling him. When I asked him about bills for the house, he said I was checking up on him.
Was I? I just couldn’t see it through his eyes. He was a puzzle that didn’t make any sense. There were so many pieces missing, and it always seemed like two or three different sets had gotten all jumbled together.
I always felt lost when I was around him.
I was tired of feeling lost, of the endless emptiness of trying to keep things from falling apart, all while knowing nothing I did would make a difference. I was going to end up alone, in debt, and with a house that had years of bad memories. How was that fair?
I’d done everything anyone had asked of me. Clean your room, get good grades, nice boys don’t argue, don’t hit, use good manners… I’d done everything right, and he’d been free to do whatever he wanted.
When a bully pushed me to the ground at the Playplace in McDonald’s, I was supposed to figure out what I’d done wrong. Someone shoved him down the slide, and he got to give them a black eye and be congratulated for standing up for himself. Yeah, he’d only been three, but still, I’d never understood why they loved him more for disobeying.
Everyone loved him even more for doing his own thing. He wouldn’t have taken days combing through fetishes and trying to follow the guidelines to the letter. Owen would have known exactly what he was going to do, and no matter what, the teacher would have loved it. She’d say she loved his ingenuity, or his drive, or his passion for the subject.
I, on the other hand, was going to turn in a mess. I was going to end up completely oversharing about how I couldn’t manage to get a tail in my ass, so I wasn’t sure how the puppy felt. I had to get some credit for finding a fetish to research and trying, right?
Looking down at the computer, I told myself to pick it up and start doing my other homework if I wasn’t going to get the practical part of my research done, but I just couldn’t. Everyone else got to slack off once in a while. I was going to take the rest of the night off and ignore everything that was waiting for me.
Glancing out the window at the darkening sky, I wondered what Owen was doing. Would he be home for dinner? Eating dinner together wasn’t something we’d done since I’d had to move back in, and I’d avoided the house for so long once I’d been able to escape that it’d probably been years since we’d sat down together.
Would he like that?
Would it make the house feel like a home again?
I wasn’t sure anything would ever be able to make it feel that way for me, but maybe it would be different for Owen. He probably had tons of happy memories of our parents and the things they’d done together, of things like family dinners where they’d sat down and talked without the awkward silences and judgmental looks that always happened when I’d been around.
I’d make dinner for him.
I’d make him something nice. Even if it was only ramen noodles with spices in them, there had to be enough in the kitchen to make him something decent. That would at least show him I was trying to make things right. Then I’d apologize and stay the hell out of his business.
I shouldn’t care who he slept with.
I mean, I didn’t care who he slept with.
Heading toward the stairs, I looked over at his closed bedroom door that seemed to mark the status of our relationship. Closed and off limits. I was going to apologize, and that would make it better.
At least, I hoped it would.
****
The slam of the front door made me jump, and I spilled some of the sauce before I could dump it into the pot with the noodles. It didn’t look anything like the picture, but it was edible and didn’t taste too bad, so I hoped that would count.
I’d been right about the meager state of our pantry, but there had been enough odds and ends to make a real meal. Spaghetti and jarred sauce probably wasn’t much, but there had also been a random package of frozen rolls at the back of the freezer that didn’t look freezer burned so I was pretty impressed with how it had turned out.
Owen was such an unknown variable that I wasn’t sure if he would notice the effort I’d made or just lay into me for being callous and thoughtless. He’d be justified, but I needed to tell him how wrong I’d been. I just needed to apologize. It wouldn’t turn back the clock and keep me from saying those things, but hopefully, we could just forget that I’d been mean and that he’d seen me…
Well, naked with an anal plug in my hands.
“Owen?
I heard him hang up his keys, but I didn’t hear his footsteps. Was he standing there at the door, like he thought I’d just go away if he ignored me long enough?
Finally, he appeared in the doorway, and I couldn’t read the look on his face. One thing was clear, though — his hair hadn’t been that tousled when he’d left, and he hadn’t looked nearly that disheveled. He didn’t look smug, though, or gleeful.
“What?” he asked shortly.
One-word answers weren’t usually a good sign when he was pissed off. Great. Not sure what to do, I stood there awkwardly and not realizing I had the spoon for the pasta sauce in my hand until it was dripping everywhere.
“I… Um… I… One sec.” Great. I looked even more like a loser.
Turning around to put the spoon back in the pot, I gave myself just a moment to breathe. I’d apologize, then everything would be fine.
But as I turned back around, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
Owen’s face was still unreadable, and if anything, it felt colder than when he’d left.
“I’m sorry I… I’m sorry I was mean. I don’t… I don’t think that about you. And your personal life is not my business. I’m also sorry that I made you uncomfortable. It really is research but… but I’ll work on… things when you’re not home.” I was rambling and making a mess of the apology I’d planned out so well. In my head, it had sounded articulate and reasonable. That had been anything but. As the jumble of words came to an end, I just waited to see what he would say.
He was quiet for a moment, quiet enough to make me even more nervous. I didn’t think he was even going to reply at first.
But a smirk cracked the mask at last, and he replied, “Oh, don’t hold off on masturbating on my account.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “We all do it, Adri.”
Fuck. Yup, that worked very well as a response. “I… I…” How was I supposed to respond to that? “It was research. I wasn’t… I wasn’t…” I wasn’t sounding reasonable. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “I’m taking a human sexuality class. It was supposed to be easy, but the big assignment is a research paper about… about, well, a sexual topic of our choice. I picked… I… Mine is about puppy play.”
“Puppy play,” Owen repeated, tilting his head to the side. The motion reminded me uncomfortably of the pup from the video — but his voice was far different, smoother and confident.
He didn’t think I’d been… Had I been? I couldn’t remember where my hands were when he’d walked in. I’d been turning on the video and I’d had the… tail in my hand. Had I been masturbating to the video?
Getting turned on was kind of the point. I had to experience the sexual play to be able to describe it and explain it in the paper. I didn’t think I needed to apologize for that if I was. “I have to research the topic.”
Maybe if I said it enough, he would understand. Maybe it would make more sense to me if I kept saying it too.
“How can you research puppy play by yourself?” Owen asked almost… innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the look in his brown eyes.
“Well… I… I had to go through different options and potential topics and while some were… interesting, they had to have other people involved. The puppy… I thought… I don’t think that I have to… I don’t think that it will require another person. I can adapt my research.”
That sounded almost reasonable and was mostly sentences, so I thought I was doing pretty well. It wasn’t really what I wanted to talk about though. I was supposed to be apologizing, not discussing… research.
“I… I’m sorry about what happened, Owen. I really didn’t mean it. And I’ll make sure to lock the door before I… Well, research.” There was just one problem. As soon as I’d said it, I knew something was off.
The doors didn’t lock.
“I… um… I think I’ll go get new door knobs at the store… Um, tomorrow or when I get paid again, maybe.” Money was too tight for random purchases, especially when I didn’t have any idea how much something would cost.
“How many times are you going to say the word ‘research’ tonight?” Owen asked, like I hadn’t spoken at all. “Because I think we’re into the tens or twenties now.”
“But… it… It is…” It was research. But now he was making me uncomfortable again. The cool kid and the geek. “I… I want to make sure you know I’m sorry about everything.”
That was a safe topic. I knew how to apologize. I’d been doing it forever. He just needed to stay on topic, and everything would be fine.
Owen shrugged, strolling over to stick his finger into the sauce and stepping into my personal space. He licked it clean, watching me.
I felt like a bug beneath a microscope.
“I’ll just remember that the closed door means happy fun time—” He paused, deliberately. “Oh wait. Research.” He grinned.
Everything was spinning. I couldn’t keep up. One minute he was angry, and the next he was teasing me about my… research. And I wasn’t even sure he’d accepted my apology.
“Are you hungry?” I needed something safe. There were too many mixed signals coming from him.
“I don’t know. Are you going to put it in a bowl on the floor for me?” he instantly replied.
My mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.
“Oh, wait,” Owen said with a grin. “You’re probably the one who wants the bowl, huh? Did you get one of those for your class, too?”
“No, just the collar and tail. Anything else would have made the project too expensive.” I’d done the math on my budget three times, and even if the professor was disappointed, I just couldn’t see a way to buy anything else for the project. “Besides, any bowl from the kitchen would work. I don’t think I need to eat from one, though.” At least, I hadn’t thought about it.
“You don’t want the full experience?” Owen asked. He met my eyes, and there was a challenge in them.
The pup in the videos didn’t eat on camera. The mask would have made that difficult. Those had been too expensive too, but I’d looked and made notes. I’d even picked one out, just in case that needed to go in the paper.
Owen reached into the cabinet, grabbing two of the cheap bowls. He shrugged. “Well, dish us up some food, puppy. I’m hungry.”
That wasn’t the way the master in the video had talked to his pup, but saying that to Owen probably wasn’t the right move. A master needed to be loving and warm, two things Owen had never been to me.
Ignoring the nickname, if I could even call it that, I pointed to the table. “I’ve got some rolls on the table already. Um, would you go get some silverware?”
Maybe if I could get some space from him, I’d be able to think.
Owen gave a shrug, but it didn’t feel casual, more like I was being given a short reprieve. He kept watching me as he walked over to get the forks. I tried to get my thoughts together while I had the space, but I felt scattered and broken.
Dishing up the spaghetti, I kept telling myself I was being paranoid. Of course he was watching me. There was nothing surprising about it. He’d walked in on something weird earlier. I wanted to make him understand, but I clearly couldn’t find the words. Maybe we could just ignore it.
He was quieter than usual during dinner. I half-heartedly made small talk, and he just as half-heartedly replied to me. At the end, I was more than ready for it to be over. I got up, grabbing my bowl, but his eyes flicked to me.
“Leave it,” he told me. “I’ll clean up after dessert.”
“I… Thanks.” I was the one who usually ended up cleaning the kitchen, not that it was much. Cereal bowls and throwing away ramen containers mostly. Was it his way of saying he’d forgiven me? That he could forget what I’d said? “There are some chocolate chip cookies in the pantry. I saw them when I was digging around. I think they’re still good. Should I… Does that…”
He was looking at me funny. I fought the urge to look down and make sure I wasn’t covered in sauce.
“I thought they sounded good.”
Now I was just grasping for something to say. Why wouldn’t he answer?
“Sounds good.”
That was it. Nothing else. No smile or nod. He just kept watching me. Paranoid. I was clearly still worked up from everything that had happened earlier. “Great.”
I stepped back from the table, trying to look calmer than I felt. But I ruined it when I sent the chair flying. Shit.
“Shoot, I…” I looked like an idiot.
Owen tilted his head, and one eyebrow went up as he watched me pick up the chair. It was clear he thought I was an idiot too. At least it was something we could both agree on.
By the time I’d grabbed the cookies and brought them over to the table I was feeling less nuts and… not calmer, exactly, but more myself. I just needed to get through dessert, then things could go back to normal. He’d start ignoring me again, and I’d go back to pretending we were a family.
Having those few moments, even though they were too quiet, and we were like strangers staring across at each other, was nice. Not perfect and not even that good, but it was almost like things were the way they used to be before everything changed.
“Here you go.” I opened the package and shoved it across the table. Part of me wanted to ask if he wanted milk with them, but then he’d just accuse me of hovering or treating him like a kid, so I kept my mouth shut.
I was learning, but it always felt too late, like I only figured something out after I’d screwed up so badly people didn’t forget.
Owen paused for a long moment, so long I thought he was going to dismiss me all over again. Instead, he gestured to the floor beside him. “Kneel here,” he said, his voice quieter and gentler than it had ever been — and yet, there was iron in it, too, something that demanded obedience.
I looked around for a moment, not realizing at first that he meant me. I probably looked stupid, but it just hadn’t connected.
“I… It’s not… I don’t think I need to research that.” Maybe it wasn’t the best answer, but it was the only thing that came to my mind. Was he trying to help? Was he trying to make fun of me? The project hadn’t been my idea, so I didn’t know why he kept messing with me over it. “But thanks.”
That was a pathetic response too. I just didn’t know what to say to him. Thanks for offering to help me be a pup, but I think I’m good… Yeah, that sounded weird too.
“C’mon,” Owen coaxed, taking a cookie from the package and breaking it in two. “You’ve had a long day. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He quirked a brow, his expression somewhere between a challenge and… What? Interest?
“That’s what the master online says.” Realizing it didn’t make sense after it came out, I kept going. “I found a blog in my… research. It’s a master and his pup, a guy who’s his puppy. Like… roleplaying. The master says things like that.”
That made sense, right? I couldn’t tell from Owen’s face. I knew he didn’t like me talking about the research, but I had to explain.
He nodded to the spot beside him on the kitchen floor. “It doesn’t always have to be sexual,” he remarked. “Sometimes it is, but not always. People think BDSM has to be about whips and chains, but it’s more than that.”
My mouth fell open.
I’d read similar words on a variety of sites, but they hadn’t made sense. The professor had even talked about giving up control, and submission, but everything I could think of with BDSM was rough, scary things.
It was why the puppy play was appealing. It felt safer and less overwhelming. It was weird, but no one was yelling at the pups or telling them they were stupid or not good enough. They got told they were beautiful and special and got to be cuddled.
“How do you know that?” That wasn’t what I’d meant to say. I wasn’t supposed to talk about his personal life. Would he think I was insulting him again? “I’m sorry, it’s not my business.”
“Because I haven’t been living in a bubble,” Owen replied dryly. “Are you going to be a good boy and obey, or should I start cleaning up now?”
If those were my options, hiding under the bed sounded safer. He was talking to me, and even though I wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, it was better than being ignored. But could I kneel on the floor? What would he say after it was over?
“For research?” I should have left the room. He could just be mad at me. “You’re not going to… laugh at me? I need a good grade in the class.”
“No.”
For some reason, I believed him, even though I had no idea why. We’d just gotten into an argument. My little brother was acting like he hated me, but he seemed dead serious about this. It didn’t make any sense. “Why?”
Owen shrugged. “You tell me why you’re so interested in puppy play — and don’t fucking say research, because research doesn’t get your cock that hard — and I’ll tell you.”
I wasn’t sure I had an explanation. “The professor said to look at some of the different fetishes and topics we’d covered in class and then to browse online until we found something intriguing. I… I did what she said, and I stopped when I found something…” Safe, kind, loving, beautiful. “That wasn’t overwhelming. The puppies were happy, and the masters were nice.”
I wasn’t sure I could explain anything else. I also wasn’t sure if trying to was a good idea. Giving him more ammunition against me didn’t seem like it would be in my best interest. I was probably going to be constantly reminded about how weird I was for months or years if he spoke to me that long, so making myself a bigger target was stupid.
“I liked that it was nice.” I was pathetic.
“Because you don’t ever relax,” Owen replied slowly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re so afraid of letting go that you’re twisting yourself in knots.”
That wasn’t what I’d been expecting to hear. I’d thought he’d mock me or laugh, but those words threw me.
“I’ve tested the waters a few times,” he went on when I didn’t. “But…” He trailed off.
I wasn’t sure what he was hinting about. He’d tried BDSM? I had a hard time picturing him in those situations. The doms I’d seen were all confident and in charge… And well, that was Owen, but there had also been this underlying layer of… concern and compassion — at least with the nice ones, the doms and masters that looked more like real people.
Like the puppy’s master.
“As… like a… as a Dominant?” Warning lights were flashing, but pulling back seemed impossible. I was asking too many questions. At some point, he was going to get angry with me, but it just… I couldn’t leave it alone.
“Both,” Owen said. “We’re about to cross into TMI territory, big brother,” he said, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
I couldn’t understand how he could be so casual about it. Here I was, terrified and anxious, and he was as calm as if we were talking about the weather.
“Both? Never mind, I’m sorry.” Talking about his would have been easier if my brain could have kept up. Both meant he’d been submissive to someone.
Sexually?
He’d said that BDSM didn’t have to be about sex, but I still couldn’t imagine him relaxed and open like the submissives online were. Everything was rolling around in my head, and it was like I was having to relearn who he was.
“You know what your problem is, Adri?” Owen asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. “You think too much.”
I liked knowing what to expect. I liked knowing the rules and working in the lines. I didn’t try and cheat the numbers in accounting, I didn’t bring my own candy into the movie theater. I liked clear expectations. He was changing everything, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep up.
Owen looked at me, then glanced back down at the floor.
I knew what he wanted, but there were so many ways it could go wrong. He’d said it didn’t have to be sexual, but the tension in the room made me feel like I was doing something wrong.
But he’d finally started opening up to me. He’d talked me and… Was he really asking that much? He was trying to help. With what, I wasn’t sure, but he didn't seem angry or mocking. So that had to be a good thing.
If I walked away, would we get another chance? Another opening where he actually talked to me and shared? I knew I was basically just an unwanted roommate to him, but he was looking at me like I mattered — and I didn’t want to lose that.
Stepping around my chair, I looked down at the floor by his feet then back up to his face. It was still as unreadable as ever, but he wasn’t laughing at me and he seemed so serious.
But what if he wasn’t?
Could I handle it? Could I see him every day knowing what he thought of me…? What I’d done? Probably not, but I wasn’t sure I had a choice. If I walked away without at least trying to open up to him or to show him that I was listening to him, I’d lose without even trying.
I took another step.
Walking away was looking better and better.
Suddenly I was there, too close and in his space as he just nodded and pointed down at the floor. “Kneel.”
He said it like it was so easy. But his voice was still calmer than usual, warmer — or maybe that was just what I wanted to hear.
I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wanted to understand it, to really be able to get what was going through the guy’s mind as he knelt in front of his master. This was my chance. I wasn’t the type of guy who had kinky men falling at my feet. If I walked away, there was a good chance I’d never have that kind of moment again… that sharp, clear point in a relationship where a man pointed down at the floor and told me to kneel.
Did it matter that it was Owen? Yes. Was I ready to walk away from it forever? No.
I knelt.
I wasn’t as smooth as the men I’d seen in the videos, and I felt weird and clumsy. But one moment I was looking down at his face, and the next I was looking up at this expression. It was guarded and careful, but there was something else behind his usual mask.
I just wasn’t sure what.
“Good boy.” The sound of his voice startled me at first, and I almost didn’t recognize it as my brother’s. It was soft, every bit as gentle but firm as the master in the movie.
I felt a chill run through me, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
His fingers brushed the top of my head, then smoothed through my hair like he was petting me.
“Good boy,” he repeated, then offered me half of the cookie from his hand.
I froze. He expected me to eat from his hand?
If it was for research, I had to try. If it was for Owen… I still needed to try.
I opened my lips, and he slid the cookie into my mouth. I felt his fingers brush against my lips as I closed my mouth around the cookie. His fingers were softer than I’d thought they would be. And there was that underlying smell that was Owen, a homey mix of comfort food and a spicy smell I couldn’t identify.
He’d fed me.
Owen just watched as I chewed, then brought the other half up to his mouth. I couldn’t drag my gaze away from him, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. I’d knelt, and I’d eaten the cookie. Now what?
He drew his finger along the seam of my lips, considering me for a moment before turning back to the cookies. It was oddly intimate, especially considering these were store-bought chocolate chip cookies we’d both forgotten about. He took another, again breaking it in half.
He offered it to me, murmuring, “You’ve earned your treat today, Pup.”
How? We’d gotten into an argument, and he’d left. It made me nervous all over again.
“Such a good dinner you made for your master,” he went on, and it was surprisingly like… praise.
Coming from Owen, it felt especially strange — but it felt especially valuable, too, like it was something so rare I needed to clutch it in my grasp and never let go.
I took the treat… from my master… and that time, his fingers lingered longer so I tasted the cookie and his skin. It felt…. He’d said it didn't have to be sexual, that BDSM didn't have to be sexual. I must have been doing something wrong because it felt intimate and my insides were churning. He was going to hate me. He said it wasn’t sexual.
I just wished my cock had gotten the memo.
If he was going to hate me, I wanted it to be because I’d changed my mind or because I was stupid, not because everything was clearly wrong in my head. Before he’d reached for another cookie, I was already standing, praying he wouldn’t see what I desperately needed to hide.
“I have to go. Homework. And the paper. Thanks for… the help… I think I understand.”
I could practically feel Owen’s eyes on my back as I fled.
This time, it was my turn to leave. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe to escape to, no one who would understand.
Was it really escaping if walking away made me feel even more trapped?