Learning Curve-Disciplinary Action #2 - ch. 3 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited. I wasn't sure I was going to release this yet but I'm sick as fuck and I wanted you guys to have something to read while I slog through my latest mini-fic. It's kind of raw but here you go. Some words edited to avoid the patreon bots. Just in case.MatteoMatteo wiped his sweaty palms on his borrowed black trousers. He should have chosen something other than Micah’s red silk shirt, but he’d wanted to look his best, and red was his color. It hadn’t occurred to him that nerves might betray him. There was nothing sexy about sweat stains.What the hell was he doing? The plan had seemed so much easier before he’d been skin-to-skin with Evander. He’d been too caught up in the feel of veins bulging in Evander’s forearms, clinging to him like a lifeline. This wasn’t the sweet little dork he remembered. There was something sharp, almost wolfish about this Evander. He’d responded exactly how Matteo imagined, and yet Matteo’s lizard brain kept screaming that the hunter–him–was actually the prey.He rolled his eyes at his own overheated imagination.“Can you turn up the AC, please?” he asked the Uber driver, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked–objectively–pretty. Evander had to see he’d make an excellent trophy husband. A quick Google search had already proven Evander was out and proud, the kind of bleeding heart who donated to every LGBT charity in the city. Bleeding hearts. Plural. Matteo couldn’t think of do-gooders without his mother’s ghost slipping in.When Evander said his mother was back in Germany with Amalia, Matteo had almost cracked. How humiliating that Evander knew more about his mother than he did. Was he the son Amalia bragged about? Had she and Melinda set up a cozy little home where Matteo didn’t exist and Evander was their real son?He shook off the sinking in his chest. What did he care? He didn’t need her. He didn’t need his father. He didn’t need any of them. He just needed Evander. Or, more accurately, Evander’s wallet. Despite his blunders during their brief meeting, when Evander tipped his chin up and asked if he was still a brat, his brain had gone fizzy. That had never happened before.It was almost like Evander wanted him to be a brat. Did he? Maybe he was one of those guys who paid strangers online to be mean to them. Or maybe he was into fin-dom, like those men desperate for humiliation. Wouldn’t that be handy? Nobody was meaner–or more desperate for money–than Matteo. But somehow, deep down, he doubted it would be that easy.Evander was probably as vanilla as they came. Not that Matteo minded. His own experience was limited, and someone with wild appetites or complicated kinks would probably grow bored of him fast. Was his lack of sex with men really a selling point, like Micah claimed? Did it matter? How did you even slip that into dinner conversation?Once more, his stomach clenched, panic clawing at his tender insides. What if this didn’t work? His original plan had been simple: seduce Evander into letting him stay the night. At least then he’d have a roof over his head. He’d already pulled one scam, convincing a former classmate’s mother that her son–studying overseas–had given him permission to crash in his room.The woman had been so lonely she hadn’t even questioned it. She’d spent two hours talking his ear off while making him dinner, then escorted him to Simon’s room and told him to make himself at home. It had been heaven to sleep in a real bed, but he couldn’t go back. By now she’d probably called her son to gush about Matteo’s visit.What if he couldn’t seal the deal with Evander? What if he gave up sex and got kicked out anyway? Revenge sex and a quick dismissal. No less than he deserved. Maybe if he pretended to drink too much, Evander would let him crash on the couch.It was selfish, wanting Evander to take care of him, when Matteo had spent years trying to crush him. But the truth was, of everyone in his life, Evander had never treated him harshly. He’d never called him names, never begged him to be kinder. Even that one time Matteo made him cry, he’d never pushed him away.That was the irritating thing. No matter what Matteo did, Evander always came when Matteo called. As a kid, he’d assumed it was obligation, Evander playing the dutiful housekeeper’s son, afraid of getting in trouble.Now he knew better. Evander hadn’t owed him anything. He’d never had to show up every time Matteo crooked his little finger. He’d done it because he wanted to. For some reason–masochism, loneliness, maybe obsession–he’d wanted to be close to him.And Matteo–though he’d never admit it–had wanted him close too. For the most selfish reasons imaginable.It was nice to have someone just look at him, to give him their undivided attention, to baby him, to sneak cookies into his room after nightmares when everyone else ignored his cries. Evander had always been a light… and Matteo had always hated him for it. Matteo was the dark, always trying to choke it out. And everyone who got close saw that eventually. If he wanted Evander, he’d have to keep the mask on. He’d have to make him believe he’d changed.What would it be like to live as Evander’s husband? Work functions, parties, endless networking, chairing a charity or two for optics. All things Matteo could juggle between shopping trips and vacations. Would Evander micromanage his spending? Make him sign a prenup? Or would he turn into the same kind of husband Matteo’s father had been?Would Evander actually want to spend time with him? Or would he grow tired and leave him with nothing but time and money, like Matteo’s father had done to his mother? His lungs spasmed at the thought. Nerves. Just nerves. He had to keep his head in the game. Seduction. Marriage. A divorce settlement big enough to keep him safe, to buy him time, to finally figure out who he was without his father.“We’re here,” the driver said as the car slowed to a stop.Matteo nodded, stepping out of the Uber and looking all the way up. According to Google, Evander had bought the top floor for about forty million dollars just three weeks ago. The article hadn’t mentioned the address, but Matteo had recognized the building the second Evander’s text came through. No greeting, no pleasantries. Just an address. As if Evander already knew Matteo would come.He had been tempted to text him back, flirt a little, but without an excuse, it would seem forced. And this had to be flawless. Which meant starting with something Matteo had never done before.Apologize.He grimaced at the word. Okay, maybe not apologize. Would Evander even believe an apology from him? Would anyone? He’d have to settle for just being nice. He’d just fake it. How hard could it be? He’d taken drama in his freshman year. Mrs. Schwartz had called him a natural.As he approached, a man in a maroon uniform with gold trim swept the door open, gesturing toward the lobby desk where two guards sat, engrossed in conversation.They looked up, taking him in with interest. Maybe they thought he didn’t belong. Maybe they could already smell the desperation clinging to his skin.“Matteo Cruz for Evander Frost.”The man on the left ran a finger down the list, then stabbed it on Matteo’s name. He took a swipe card and handed it over. “This will get you to the top floor. Mr. Frost will bring it back down on his way out in the morning.”There was no missing the smirk on the guard’s face. The one that said they had this exchange often. Something soured in Matteo’s stomach. How many people had Evander brought here already in the few short weeks he’d lived there? “Thank you.”He kept his spine straight, forcing himself to walk slowly, like it was no big deal, like his entire future wasn’t hanging on this one night. Once inside the elevator, he swiped the card and pressed the P at the very top. Only then did he sag against the wall, gulping deep breaths, trying to convince himself Evander was still in love with him after all this time.Micah was right. He was delusional. What did two children know about love, anyway?The doors dinged open, and Matteo snapped upright. He’d expected a lobby. Instead, the elevator opened straight onto Evander. Waiting. Watching.Matteo gasped, then let out a nervous laugh when Evander smirked.“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to just be standing there,” he murmured.Evander moved in, lips brushing Matteo’s cheek before he could even gather his bearings, lighting up his insides like fireworks. “You look nice,” he purred against his ear. “Red is definitely your color.”Heat rushed into Matteo’s cheeks. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”And he did. Black pants clung to strong thighs and the curve of his ass, his cream sweater unzipped just enough to show a sliver of chest. Matteo forced himself not to stare. It was just a little skin. Not like he was some repressed Victorian glimpsing his first ankle.He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this: a cavernous, echoing space with stark white walls, construction-grade lights, and one lonely painting, violent colors splattered on canvas. Was that…an actual Jackson Pollock?“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Matteo teased before he could stop himself.Evander’s answering laugh left him a little breathless. “I’ll hire a decorator eventually. Or Julian will. Someone. Anyone who’s not me. I have zero aesthetic taste.”Matteo’s mood soured again at the mention of Julian, but Evander only chuckled at his obvious reaction. “What’s wrong? Not a fan of his? Weird. Most people love Julian.”Matteo’s mouth twisted. “Well, I’m not most people.”When Evander didn’t fill the silence with the question Matteo didn’t want to ask out loud, he did it for him.“Are you two…” Matteo asked, trying for casual but failing miserably.He sounded jealous.No–he was jealous. He’d never liked sharing his toys as a child. He didn’t like it now.“Me and Julian? God, no. We’d murder each other. Pretty sure he’s low-key in love with my PR manager. They’d make an odd couple. But a frighteningly powerful one.”Matteo forced a laugh, relief flooding his system.Evander led him into a sprawling kitchen, stopping at a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He uncorked it, sniffed, then poured a respectable amount into each. He held a glass out, then tugged it back. “You are old enough, right?”“Should I be offended you don’t remember how old I am?” Matteo teased, taking the glass and swirling the contents.He wasn’t trying to look sophisticated. He was honestly afraid he’d throw up red wine on an empty stomach.“You’ve had the unfair advantage of hearing my age tossed around the news,” Evander said. “Meanwhile, I haven’t seen you in years.”“Would it make you feel better or worse if I told you I only heard about your reversal of fortune after we ran into each other yesterday?” Matteo lied smoothly.Evander leaned against the counter, sipping his wine, amusement curling his mouth. His eyes stayed fixed on Matteo, unblinking, like he could see straight through the lie. “And what did your sleuthing tell you?”“That you’re still the same selfless person you were as a kid.” That much wasn’t a lie. “It doesn’t surprise me at all that you do things that make the world better.”“And what about you?” Evander asked.“Me?” Matteo’s voice came out too tight to sound sexy.“You are the only other person here,” Evander teased. The joke landed sharp, not soft–an invitation wrapped in a dare.Matteo let his gaze drag from Evander’s eyes to his mouth and back again before asking, “What do you want to know?”Evander closed the distance, not touching, but caging him in with both arms braced on the counter. Matteo dry-swallowed, throat clicking, close enough to breathe in the rich spice of his cologne. The air between them thickened, dangerous and heady.Evander’s voice dropped, soft and razor-sharp. “Are you still the same selfish boy you were back then?”Matteo’s pulse thundered. “If I said no…would you believe me?”Once more, Evander caught him under the chin, tilting his head back, forcing him to meet his steady gaze. “Should I believe you?”Matteo knew he should lie. But something in the way Evander studied him pulled the truth loose. “Probably not, no.”He braced for Evander’s retreat, for disappointment. Instead, Evander said, “Good.”“Good?” Matteo echoed, brain scrambling. “Why is that good?”Evander’s slow smile sent a sliver of unease skittering down his spine, like a rock skipping over still waters. “Because it’s more fun this way. Don’t you think?”Thinking had never been Matteo’s strong suit. If it had, maybe he’d notice all the red flags waving in front of him. Instead, he smiled back. “Sure.”“Are you ready for dinner?”Matteo’s stomach growled loudly. Heat rushed to his cheeks, but Evander’s eyes widened in surprise before both of them broke into laughter.Evander shook his head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”“I was too nervous to eat earlier,” he said as Evander guided him to a balcony table. Another lie. He was really good at them. If only he could make a career of that.Evander’s eyes caught and held his. Matteo felt pinned in place, a butterfly under Evander’s glass. “Nervous about me?”This is where Matteo should have lied, played it cool, coy. But instead, his body betrayed him, his breaths coming fast and shallow, like his body thought he was running a marathon. “Yeah, a little.”A lot.“Cute,” Evander murmured, lifting the covers from the dishes.Matteo moaned outright at the sight of steak and mashed potatoes, his stomach hollow with hunger. Evander didn’t touch his utensils. He just watched in that cold, calculating way, like a scientist observing a lab rat. Matteo didn’t even care if he was the rat. He was starving. He carved off a bite, and another moan slipped free when the steak melted perfectly against his tongue.“How did you find a restaurant that can deliver steak without overcooking it?” Matteo asked, still chewing as he started cutting another piece.“I didn’t.” Evander’s gaze lingered as if cataloging every twitch of Matteo’s mouth. “I made it myself.”Matteo froze, fork halfway to his lips. “You cook, too? You must have men beating down your door.”Evander finally cut into his own steak, chewing with unhurried precision. When he swallowed, he said, “Other men don’t interest me.”Other. Other men. Was that supposed to mean Matteo did? Or was he just desperate, reading too much into it? “Oh?” he managed.“Mm.” Evander’s gaze never wavered, sharp as glass.“Careful, you’re going to give me the wrong idea,” Matteo said, aiming for flirty but landing closer to breathless.“We wouldn’t want that,” Evander replied smoothly. “I don’t do ambiguity.”Matteo gave a wobbly smile. His chest tightened. What the fuck does that even mean? He hid behind another sip of wine.“You really have changed,” Matteo said.“More than you could ever imagine,” Evander offered, tipping his own glass to his lips. “You, however, haven’t changed a bit.”Ouch.“Why do I feel like that’s not a compliment?” Matteo muttered.“That’s a question only you can answer,” Evander said. “I don’t mind that you’re still the same after all these years. In fact, it makes this whole reunion feel a bit like…kismet.”Matteo gave a sharp, slightly shrill laugh. “You’re starting to sound like you’re contemplating locking me up in your basement.”“Don’t be silly,” Evander said with another alarming smile. “I don’t even have a basement.”Matteo gave another awkward laugh that died too quickly. “That’s a relief…”“What’s wrong? Scared?” Evander asked, seemingly amused by the prospect.“Of course not,” he lied.Evander gave him a dark, appraising look. “Perfect.”A slow burn coiled in Matteo’s stomach, equal parts dread and desire. Had anyone ever looked at him like this before? So certain, so claiming, like Evander had already decided something about him Matteo hadn’t even agreed to. Age-wise, they weren’t that different, but somehow Evander seemed decades older. Maybe it was a maturity thing. Nobody had ever accused Matteo of being mature.The rest of dinner blurred past with Matteo volleying questions at Evander, his college years, why he’d studied when he could’ve just run his company. He’d started the barrage of questions in an attempt to keep the focus off himself. It took him far too long to realize he was enjoying himself. Gone was the intense, calculating Evander. In his place, a charming doppelganger, who laughed easily and looked at Matteo like he actually enjoyed his company. But which one was the real Evander? Matteo dodged and deflected until Evander finally cleared the dishes and guided him toward the godawful gray wrap-around sofa.“Did your place come furnished or did you…actually pay someone to do this to–for–you?” Matteo asked, two glasses of wine loosening his tongue.Once more Evander’s lips twitched. “Not to your taste?”“Is millennial gray anyone’s taste?” Matteo asked. “Aside from millennials?”Evander shrugged. “I don’t care about taste. I care about functionality.”“You can do both,” Matteo teased, settling himself on the butter-soft leather. The space had so much potential. “I know you know how to do that. I’ve seen your prosthetics.” He looked around. “But here, it’s like you’re allergic to color.”Another shiver ran through him as Evander sat beside him, giving him another slow, appraising once-over, not even trying to hide it. “I just prefer to put all my energy into molding things into something both beautiful and functional. Furniture is just…not something I’m passionate about.”“What are you passionate about?” Matteo heard himself ask.Evander swirled his wine but didn’t take a sip, just set it on the weird concrete block of a coffee table. “Very few things,” he finally said, his words heavy with meaning…a meaning Matteo couldn’t quite discern. A meaning that made his skin prickle.Before Matteo could think of another question to ask, Evander beat him to it.“Enough stalling.”“S-stalling?” Matteo stammered, mentally face-palming at his own transparent nerves.Evander turned toward him, close enough that their knees brushed, sending a quiet thrill straight through Matteo’s belly. “What have you been up to?”It was a logical question to ask someone you hadn’t seen in years, but the expectant–and borderline innocent–look on Evander’s face told Matteo he wasn’t as clueless about his past as he pretended to be.“I think you probably know.” Matteo gave a rueful shrug, his tone cavalier, almost flippant. “Cheated on my SATs, lost my full-ride to Harvard, got arrested, did community service.”“I had heard something about that,” Evander said mildly. “But that was two years ago. Surely you’ve done more with your time since then?”“I traveled,” Matteo said, clinging to the parts of truth that still made him sound polished. “Valencia, Lisbon, the Algarve. A few ski resorts in Switzerland.”“And then you came home and…” Evander prompted.Matteo frowned, stomach churning, his polished façade slipping. “What is it you’re hoping I’ll say?”He sounded sulky, even to his own ears. Why was Evander pushing him like this? Why did it feel less like conversation and more like interrogation?“That your father found out you’re gay thanks to the tabloids and threw you out.” Evander’s tone dropped, all softness gone.“What?” Matteo gasped, his wine glass slipping from his fingers. Evander caught it with infuriating ease and set it on the coffee table beside his own.Maybe he should have expected Evander to know that too. Clearly, he’d been keeping tabs on Matteo over the years. The thought was dizzying, encouraging, terrifying, and humiliating all at once. Encouraging because Evander had cared enough to look. Terrifying because it meant lying his way into equality was now impossible. And humiliating for obvious reasons.“You heard me,” Evander murmured, smooth as silk, hard as steel.“Yeah, fine.” Matteo deflated. “It’s true. Is that what you wanted to hear?”Evander nodded. “Yes. I only want the truth from you.”That sounded like more than a dinner catch-up. Matteo’s throat bobbed. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. “It’s…embarrassing. Every fuck-up splashed across the news because of my grandfather.”“I don’t care about any of that,” Evander said softly.Matteo’s eyes snapped to his, confusion spinning his heart like a top. “You…don’t?”“No,” Evander said evenly. “I care about whether you can be honest with me. Can you?”No.“Yes.”Evander leaned in, gaze unblinking. “Then start now. You orchestrated our little run-in yesterday, didn’t you?”“What?” Matteo blurted. “No! Why would you think that?”Evander’s face went blank, the shutters slamming down. He huffed a humorless laugh. “You can’t help yourself. You lie even when the truth will do.”“I…” Matteo’s skin burned, his silk shirt itching like wool in July. “That’s not–”“Enough.” Evander’s voice cracked like a whip, irritation making something shrivel inside him. “No more lies.” “Maybe I should just-” “Do you want to marry me?” Evander asked, cutting him off.“What?” Matteo’s breath stuttered. It couldn’t possibly be that easy.Evander smirked. “It wasn’t a proposal. It was a question.”“Why would you–” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Why would you say that?”Matteo jumped as Evander’s knuckles caressed the side of his face; his whole body reacted at once. “You still haven’t changed.”Matteo jerked from the touch, insides curdling like milk. “What is this? Are you just fucking with me? Did you invite me here to embarrass me? So you can laugh at my expense? Figure out I’m the same rich, entitled jerk I was as a kid? Newsflash. I am. And you can’t humiliate me more than my family already did.”“Don’t be like that,” Evander said, expression infuriatingly soft. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t care if you behave like a spoiled little brat. In fact, I prefer it. It makes what comes next so much more…satisfying.” His smile was faint, unreadable. “I mean that.”He was insane. That was the only explanation. Matteo’s pulse thrashed; every instinct screamed he was being maneuvered. “What is going on?”Evander rose from the couch. “Wait here.”It didn’t even occur to Matteo to protest; he just sat, staring at the violent red on that ugly canvas. It looked like someone had been shot in front of it. Blood-splatter. That’s what this felt like. Like he was waiting for the firing squad. And Evander was the one giving the order. Judge. Jury. Executioner. He was so deep in his own morbid thoughts he jumped when Evander handed him a piece of paper. He hadn’t even noticed his return. He blinked down at the neatly typed words. Black ink on white paper. He blamed the alcohol for his slow processing skills. It was a contract.His pulse roared as his eyes snagged on the words: Exclusivity. Availability. Representation. Confidentiality. Each one landed like a handcuff on his wrists, his ankles…his throat.By the time he reached the end, his hands shook. “You want me to be your…sugar baby?”“No.” Evander’s voice was calm, almost patient. “That’s not what I would call this arrangement at all. A sugar baby has their own apartment, their own friends, their own life. They come when they’re called and trade favors for cash. That’s…transactional.”Matteo’s laugh broke, sharp and a little manic. He held up the paper like evidence at a trial. “That’s not what this says?”“No.” Evander’s eyes gleamed. “This says Party B–you–will be mine. You’ll do what you’re told, when you’re told, or face the consequences. In return, you’ll never want for anything. Roof over your head. Clothes. Food. A generous allowance. Guidance.”“This is insane,” Matteo snapped, stomach churning. “No one in their right mind would agree.”“Pity,” Evander said, plucking the page neatly from his fingers. “I’d hoped we were on the same page.”“The page where I agree to be your–your slave?” Matteo spat.“Don’t cheapen it with that word.” Evander’s tone never rose. “This isn’t about ownership. It’s about proof. That you can belong to me. That you can become who you’re meant to be. Like I said before, I prefer to put my time, my energy, my…finances into transforming things into something both beautiful and functional.”“You want me to agree to be your…sex sl-ve? House sl-ve? Because you think it’ll make me a better person?” Matteo’s chest heaved, every instinct screaming danger. “Nothing is worth that.”Evander arched an eyebrow. “Nothing? Not even a wedding ring?”The words hit like a sucker punch. Matteo’s laugh came out strangled. “You want to marry me just to lock me in while you treat me like–”“You misunderstand.” Evander leaned in, his voice soft enough to chill. “If you sign. If you abide. If you prove you’re mine and only mine–then after a year, I’ll propose.”Matteo wondered idly if he was having a stroke. For the first time in his life he was too stunned to speak.  “You’ll get exactly what your greedy little heart desires. Access to my money, my name…whatever you want. You can even rub it in your father’s face. I won’t even make you sign a prenup.”Matteo lurched to his feet. “You’re psychotic.”“Perhaps.” Evander reclined, utterly unbothered. “Text me when you change your mind. I’ll be waiting.”“Fuck you.”“I’m afraid you haven’t earned that yet,” Evander murmured.By the time he was safely behind the elevator doors, Matteo’s head was spinning. He’d run a thousand different scenarios through his mind over the last twenty-four hours, but none of them had prepared him for…that. Had Evander really believed he was desperate enough to hand over every inch of his life just for the promise of a ring? I won’t even make you sign a prenup.What a fucking lunatic. In the lobby, the doorman smiled. “Mr. Cruz? This is for you. From Mr. Frost.”Matteo muttered thanks, snagging the large manila envelope without slowing. Only once he was outside did he realize he had nowhere to go. He blinked back tears of frustration. No–humiliation. He’d lied to Evander when he said nobody could humiliate him worse than his family had. Evander just proved that. Matteo was humiliated. Nobody had ever treated him that way before. Not even his father. He tore open the envelope, planning to destroy whatever lay inside. Inside was a much thicker stack of papers. And a keycard. The Ritz-Carlton. The Presidential Suite. At first he thought –ridiculously–was that it was a bribe for sex. That he expected Matteo to meet him there. But that didn’t make sense. Matteo hadn’t seen every room in Evander’s place, but even a home as ugly as that had to have a bedroom, probably a huge one. He was most likely just showing off. Rubbing it in. He had money and Matteo was an urchin. He knew he was feeling sorry for himself but he didn’t care.His phone buzzed.Evander: You’re booked for seven days. They know everything is on me. The concierge will make sure you have clothes that fit. Don’t skip meals.Matteo snorted.Matteo: Right. Sure. You care about me.Evander: I do care. Deeply. I want you to think about my offer. You have the full contract. Read it. Weigh it. Just think about what you’re willing to sacrifice to get back everything you’ve lost.Matteo: And if I say no now? I’m out on the street?Evander: If I offered you money with no strings attached, would you take it?Would he? Part of him would rather die than take a handout from Evander. But the hungry part, the exhausted part…he didn’t know what he’d do if he were desperate enough.Evander: This isn’t about sex, Matteo. It’s about giving you what you need.Matteo: You think you know what I need?Evander: You think I do, too. You just don’t want to admit it.Matteo turned off his phone. The words clung to him like wet clothes.His fist ached when he finally noticed he was clutching the papers in a death grip. He shoved them back into the envelope, the contract heavier than it should’ve been, like a stone dragging him down.A black SUV pulled up. “Matteo Cruz?”Hart. Matteo Hart, he corrected silently. He hated hearing that name, hated the way his skin prickled when someone used it out loud. “Yeah.”The driver grinned, boyish and eager. “I’m your driver. Mr. Frost sent me. Bags?”Matteo hesitated. Bags? He had none. “Already sent them ahead.”Another lie. How many times could one person lie in a day? It was getting exhausting.“Awesome. You’ll be at your hotel in no time.”Matteo slid into the backseat, the keycard burning a hole in his pocket. The Ritz wasn’t freedom. It was a gilded cage, and the door had already closed behind him.  Matteo was almost positive he even heard the lock click shut.