Learning Curve - Disciplinary Action #2 - ch. 10 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited. Thanks for being patient with me.

Evander watched on the cameras as Matteo moved about the penthouse. He’d sat down at his desk and opened his journal, but then almost immediately closed it again. Now he was pacing the penthouse, restless. Not avoiding the task. Circling it.

He’d come home with packages. A large textured bowl that he’d set on the kitchen counter and filled with fruit. Evander had smiled watching as he’d filled it with lemons, then replaced them with apples, then oranges, then an artful arrangement of all three with a banana thrown in for added measure. He’d admired it for a solid minute, before pulling it all out and putting just the lemons back in once more. 

He’d also bought a snake plant in a pot that Evander was certain had cost ten times more than it was worth. He’d placed that on the windowsill, moving it three times before he decided he’d liked it in the center. Evander had never noticed Matteo’s attention to detail before. It was cute watching him fret over such minute details. 

His last purchase was a candle in a glass jar.   A candle he couldn’t seem to stop sniffing. Not casually. Not absentmindedly. Repeatedly. Like he was trying to memorize it. He carried it directly into his room then placed it on his desk, once more leaning in to sniff the unlit candle. What was the scent that had him so obsessed? Did it smell like him? 

His finger followed Matteo’s path around the house from the crisp, clear image of the black-and-white security footage on his phone, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. How long would he need to wait before he could go home? He was suddenly desperate to get out of there. 

“Hey, stalker. Can you focus on the task at hand for another ten minutes?”

Evander reluctantly closed out his phone and set it on his desk, giving Baxter a benevolent smile. “You do realize I’m your boss, right?”

Baxter’s brow arched, his head tilting in a way that made Evander sigh internally. “You realize I’m doing you the favor by not quitting and starting my own firm, right?” he shot back. 

“And we’re so very grateful for that,” Julian said, beaming at him. 

Baxter snorted, then rolled his eyes. “I need you to lock in for at least another ten minutes.”

“You have five.”

 You have that interview with the morning show coming up and they’re definitely going to try to pull a fast one and ask you questions we didn’t approve of.” 

“Then why am I even doing the interview? Cancel it. I thought I was done with these interviews?” 

Baxter shot an exasperated look at Julian, who shrugged. “Why are you looking at me like I have any control over him? The only one holding his leash is that little br—”

Evander’s phone rang, the name flashing across his screen without a contact photo.

Amos Kramer.

Evander answered without letting Julian finish his sentence. “Well?”

The nice thing about Kramer was he had even less interest in niceties than Evander. He imagined being a private investigator likely left little time for anything other than work. Something Evander understood all too well.

The man’s smooth rich voice filled his ears, the sound crystal clear through his earbuds. “I’m sure you already know he left the house shortly before noon and went to the open mall in City Center.”

“Of course, I do. What I don’t know is what he did while he was there. That’s why I’m paying you.” 

“You know, you seem a lot nicer on television,” Amos muttered. “He mostly just wandered around, bought a few things here and there. Seemed nervous the whole time. Paranoid. Looking around constantly, like he knew I was watching him.”

Evander settled back in his chair, fingers steepling beneath his chin. That wasn’t the Matteo he’d watched over the years. The Matteo he knew was cocky, vain, selfish, calculating…cunning. Manipulative in a way Evander had only seen in the most toxic of people. Predictable only in his unpredictability. 

Except…that wasn’t the Matteo he’d gotten last night—or any night, really—since they’d come face to face outside his office building. This version of Matteo didn’t posture. Didn’t perform. Didn’t provoke. If anything, he pouted, sulked, seemed unsure of his every move, only attacking with his sharp tongue when he felt cornered. 

Was this a new form of manipulation?

He didn’t think so.

Evander had impeccable instincts. He never failed to trust his gut. And his gut wasn’t ringing alarm bells. It was…hesitating. Did he have this all wrong? Was the Matteo he’d watched all these years the façade? Was last night’s Matteo the real one? 

Ever since he’d arrived at Evander’s place, he’d seemed quiet, nervous, uncertain even. Anytime they were together, he walked on eggshells. But he’d also pouted last night because Evander hadn’t punished him physically, and had seemed relieved when Evander had offered to start his maintenance discipline ahead of schedule. 

Evander had made the rule that Matteo spend his evenings within his line of sight. But Matteo sought him out even when he didn’t have to. If Evander was working in the living room, Matteo would sit at the kitchen table and pretend to ignore him. If he was cooking dinner, Matteo would sit on the counter and say he was only observing so he could take over cooking faster. 

It was becoming obvious he just didn’t want to be alone. Contradictory behaviors. No consistent pattern. Was it Evander he wanted, or just a distraction? Maybe he was reading too much into this. Maybe it was simply Matteo adjusting to his new life. He’d bought things for their home. Unprompted. Nesting. The word gut-punched Evander. The idea of Matteo adding bits of himself to Evander’s sterile boring life was almost enough to end him. 

One week in and Matteo was already settling into a routine of sorts. Evander had truly believed it would take months to strip him bare, to help him peel back the layers of training his family had applied. But there was no denying something had already shifted.

Too quickly. Without resistance. He just didn’t know what. And he didn’t like not knowing.

“Any press following him?”

“Not any pros. Plenty of people were taking pics. He’s easily recognizable. A quick search shows people tagging him. He’s been tagged in photos on socials but I haven’t had a chance to dig into the captions and comments to see which way the wind is blowing in regards to his popularity.”

“Did he do anything that is likely to blow back on the company?” Evander asked, watching as Baxter and Julian both sat up straighter like they were puppets on a string.

Predictable. Contained. Measurable reactions.

Matteo had a reputation, then before his father had disowned him. No, especially before then. Him and that Micah friend of his. Starting fights, pulling pranks, threatening people with the full weight of their last names for any minor inconvenience. 

He’d like to think Matteo wouldn’t be stupid enough to cause a scene the first time he left the house, but he’d proven he had no problem making a spectacle of himself the day they’d met at the restaurant to discuss terms.

Matteo had arrived in the clothes Evander had bought him just as Evander had demanded—looking gorgeous as always—but he’d tied his shirt up to show off his midriff, had played up his makeup, and done everything he could think of to try to embarrass Evander publicly.

He’d been a bit saddened to think that Matteo didn’t know him well enough to know that there really was no way to embarrass Evander. He lacked the ability to feel shame. Or at least, he’d always believed he did.

Maybe that’s why Matteo had hated him so much when they were children. Maybe that’s why Matteo’s father, Adrian, had hated him too. He’d never known his place. He’d never made himself smaller to make others feel superior, especially Matteo. It had never even occurred to him to do so. Maybe he should have tried harder. Maybe if he had, Adrian wouldn't have been so determined to turn Matteo into a monster made in his own image.

Adrian Cruz had always taken it out on Amalia, claiming her friendship with a housekeeper was embarrassing, that her treatment of them made them think they were somehow better than they were. To her credit, Evander’s mother had always pushed back on that. After all, the only difference between her and Evander’s mother was circumstance.

A variable. Not a virtue.

“Actually, no,” Amos said, dragging Evander’s thoughts back to the present. “He bought lunch for a homeless man who was busking outside a store. Sat with him for an hour. Then gave him three hundred dollars in cash.”

Evander frowned.

That…didn’t fit.

“...How do you know the exact amount? Were you that close? Were you spotted?”

Amos snorted. “Spotted? I’m not dignifying that with an answer. I know how much because I went and asked once the boy had gotten in his Uber. I knew you’d want details.”

Evander would tell Matteo about the surveillance if he asked. It was in the contract. But he was almost positive that Matteo hadn’t read it and that his attorney probably hadn’t spoon-fed him every condition.

Not that it mattered. Matteo was too stubborn to leave. He was sure that he could flip the script on Evander. That he could turn him into someone he could lead around by the nose. An assumption that was becoming increasingly…unstable.

Images from the night before flooded his brain. It wasn’t Matteo who’d lost control. It was him. He smiled, then shook his head.

“And…”

“And he said they just talked. That he was a nice kid. That he seemed to feel guilty for not being able to do more and looked like he had a lot on his mind. He told the man to share what money he’d given him with others if he wanted.”

Evander mulled that over for a moment. “Interesting.”

“What?” Baxter barked, looking back and forth between him and Julian. “What’s interesting?”

Evander absently held up a hand, dismissing him. None of this made any sense. Too many variables. Not enough data.

“Yeah,” Amos agreed. “I have no doubt it will be all over the papers tomorrow in some way or another. Public opinion is one thing, but you know the tabloids. It could go one of two ways.”

Evander sighed. “Yeah, they’ll either say he’s turned over a new leaf or that this is just some publicist’s lame attempt at a redemption arc. We’ll deal with it either way.”

“It will likely be a mix of both,” Amos said. “If the kid is sensitive to criticism, you might want to tell him to brace for impact.”

“He was raised on a steady diet of criticism and abuse,” Evander said. “He expects it far more than praise.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what he’d said. That wasn’t exactly true. Not expects. Relies on. Matteo anticipated disappointment. He anticipated criticism. That’s why he’d melted last night. That’s why he’d been so docile after just one good boy.

Amos grunted in what Evander supposed was a recognition of his statement but said nothing more. Evander didn’t care. He was lost in his thoughts again. Lost in Matteo again. 

“Anything else?” he asked. 

“Nope. I’ll keep an eye on the headlines.” 

“Report them to Baxter.” 

“What?” Baxter yelped. 

Evander ignored him. 

“You got it.” 

He hung up without a goodbye. 

Evander didn’t acknowledge the two men staring at him. Instead, he fell back into examining this new anecdotal evidence. Positive reinforcement wasn’t neutral to Matteo. It was destabilizing. It was clear Matteo had been completely at a loss. That’s why Evander had told him he was his anchor. He was his North Star, his hard reset. He would always be there to remind him who he belonged to. 

He’d thought it best to ease him into physical punishments. But if last night proved anything, it was that Matteo was touch-starved. He’d been disappointed that his punishment had only involved kneeling. Deprivation hadn’t corrected behavior. It had…unraveled him.

How would he respond to his first maintenance spanking? Evander anticipated a lot of tears and a lot of intensive aftercare. Too much too soon could fracture him further. Too little would leave him chasing escalation. He should have anticipated this. Matteo was new to all of this. He was playing expert level games with someone who’d never even heard of the game. The idea had been thrilling when he’d imagined putting Matteo in his place. When he’d thought of stripping away all that cynicism and cruelty. 

But this was different. Evander hadn’t seen any cruelty from Matteo. Cynicism sure. He was guarded. Jaded. A dog who’d been beaten enough to know when to just lay down and play dead. When cornered, he’d snap his teeth, but he was all talk. 

He was all talk. 

Evander was certain this meeting with the musician had been done simply in response to Evander’s journal prompt, but Matteo usually ignored them. Well, not ignoring them so much as used them as an opportunity to vent his frustrations with Evander in a way that felt safe to him. Evander enjoyed reading Matteo’s quips and digs. He liked that his little acts of rebellion were more like a puppy snapping at a bigger dog, then quickly wagging its tail. Some part of Matteo already felt safe with Evander and it was eviscerating everything he thought he knew. 

He was curious to see Matteo’s take on the encounter with the man he’d met at the mall and how he framed it in his journal, how he’d use it to try to turn the situation to his advantage.

Except…that didn’t align either.

He was surprised that Matteo had given into the journal prompt after a whole week of flippant answers, but maybe the threat of a more severe punishment for disobedience had motivated him? Or maybe it hadn’t been about him at all. The truth was, he had no idea who Matteo was anymore.

And that was becoming a problem.

Maybe he was more like the sweet boy he’d been when they were really little. Before his father had turned cruelty into currency. Before he’d started rewarding Matteo for being on his worst behavior. 

For the first time in decades, Evander wasn’t sure which of them had the upper hand. 

And whether it even mattered. 

He looked back and forth between the two men on the other side of the desk. “Hurry this up. I want to go home.”

###

Evander tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator ascended to the top floor. There was this electricity zinging just under his skin, this strange sense of anticipation he only felt when waiting on Matteo. He didn’t know how to reconcile the hold this boy still had on him, so he didn’t. He catalogued it instead—filed it away like an anomaly he’d circle back to later and dissect properly.

Why was this elevator so slow? For the price he paid, he should be able to teleport from the lobby directly into his living room. Finally, the car dinged and he stepped out. Once inside the house, he slipped his shoes off and placed his bag on the hook by the door. It was quiet. Jarringly so. Not the absence of noise, but the absence of Matteo. How had he already gotten so used to him in his space?

Usually, when he arrived home, Matteo was hovering near the kitchen table, chewing on his full bottom lip, looking anywhere but in Evander’s direction. Fidgeting. Waiting. Like he didn’t know whether to brace or bolt. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to bow or give him the finger. 

But today, nothing. The house was spotless, but he’d known it would be. He’d seen Matteo on the cameras, doing his chores before he’d even left home that morning. His journal was sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the bowl of lemons. Left out. Not tucked away. Not hidden. Deliberate.

Now that he was home, he could see the bowl in person. Rough, black, with gold threaded through it. He traced one of the thin gold veins that split through the matte surface. It was crude, intentionally so. Rough. Imperfect. The texture caught against his skin like unfinished cement, the gold too bright, too deliberate in the fractures—as if the damage had been curated instead of repaired.

Kintsugi.

Did Matteo know what that was? It was possible. He had been subjected to some of the finest education money could buy. But he’d also squandered that opportunity, thanks in large part to his shithead father. Not that Matteo was stupid. He was anything but. Not that he’d believe that. Not that he’d believe Evander if he said it. He wouldn’t believe anyone but the voice in his head and Evander was almost certain that voice was Adrian Cruz.

His thumb dragged over the surface once more. Matteo had impeccable taste. That went without saying. But with his generous allowance and almost no restrictions, Evander hadn’t imagined this would be something Matteo would choose. It wouldn’t be something a lot of people chose. 

Most people preferred their illusions intact. Smooth surfaces. Clean lines. Nothing that suggested something had once been broken. Matteo had bought the opposite. Had he understood its symbolism or had he found himself drawn to it without knowing why? Instinct over intention. Matteo seemed to run on that more than Evander had accounted for.

His gaze flicked toward Matteo’s bedroom, listening. Something relaxed behind his ribs when he heard the faint sound of the shower running. Matteo was still there. Logically, he knew he would be, but some part of him secretly feared he was wrong. A small, irrational tension unwound anyway, his shoulders loosening by a fraction.

He glanced back at the bowl. Nesting, he’d thought earlier. But this…He ran his thumb over the gold again, slower this time. Following the fracture like it might tell him something if he traced it long enough.

The media had always painted Matteo as untouchable. Pretty. Pampered. Polished. The golden boy of the Koch family empire. Perfectly cruel in the way only the protected could afford to be. Every sharp edge hidden beneath money and legacy and a name that made people look the other way.

But that boy had been a lie. Or maybe not a lie. A…glaze. Something fired over the surface to hide what was underneath. Evander had always suspected there were cracks. He’d seen them, even when Matteo was younger—small, fleeting fractures in the performance. A hesitation. A softness quickly buried. A flicker of something almost…hopeful, before it was stamped out.

Now, stripped of his name, his money, his carefully constructed armor—Matteo was nothing but fracture. Raw. Visible. Unprotected. And still—Evander’s grip tightened slightly on the bowl. Still trying. Still reaching, even if he didn’t seem to understand what he was reaching for.

He’d chosen something broken and made beautiful in the breaking. Not discarded. Not hidden. Remade. His mouth curved, faint and private. Perfection was forgettable. Untouched things had no depth. No history. No need. No proof they’d survived anything at all.

Evander set the bowl down carefully, returning it to its exact location. Something about the way he’d arranged the two objects he’d purchased made Evander hesitant to acknowledge them. He hadn’t just bought them, he’d put them someplace obvious but innocuous. Like he’d hoped Evander might not notice. Or maybe he thought if he had noticed he’d be punished for altering Evander’s space? Testing a boundary without naming it. Leaving evidence and pretending he hadn’t. 

That tracked. Leave it to Matteo to test his perimeter, to just quietly do something instead of directly asking if it was acceptable. He was the walking definition of the phrase ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission’. 

Evander had told him that nothing in this house held any meaning to him, not yet. It was simply a roof over his head. All of this, the clothes, the cars, the penthouse…all of it was a facade. A carefully curated image created by Julian Fairchild to help make Evander more palatable, more…trustworthy. He was basically just another property Julian had flipped. Still the same person on the inside, only now he was attractive enough to make his less desirable traits seem like assets. Pretty privilege is real. 

He looked around the large living room, so empty it echoed under the right conditions. He’d fully intended to hire some overpriced decorator to turn the space into something some digest would want to put on their cover. His gaze dropped to the bowl. But this—Matteo decorating Evander’s house, finding pieces he felt drawn to and placing them just so. Quietly. Carefully. It left Evander feeling…possessive. It made him want to put his stamp on Matteo, the way Matteo had done to his home. 

Evander didn’t want to be one of those people who looked for meaning and signs in everything but Matteo seeing beauty in a broken bowl, Matteo—his vicious little hatchling—bringing home a snake plant, Matteo buying a candle with a scent he seemed to find addicting…maybe there was something more to it. Maybe it was the perfect way to see who Matteo was when he thought Evander wasn’t looking. 

He glanced at the journal once more, unsure of why he was hesitating. After a solid minute, he opened the leatherbound notebook, brows rising when he flipped to yesterday’s journal prompt.

Name one thing you did today that made a positive difference in someone else’s life.

Instead of a long explanation of his conversation with the busker, he found one word.

Nothing.

Nothing?

Evander loosened his tie as he stared at the word. His pulse kicked once, sharp and unexpected. He flipped to the next page, finding it blank, then to the previous page, seeing his snarky paragraph from two days prior. If there was no answer, Evander could just assume he’d forgotten, but that one answer felt like a bullet fired straight at Evander’s heart. Not avoidance—choice.

Like he was telling Evander he wouldn’t be playing his game, like he couldn’t be managed. But Matteo didn’t know that Evander had him followed. At least, he didn’t think he did. He was almost certain of it. Which meant Matteo was risking a far more severe punishment for not completing his assignment. Risking it knowingly? Or blindly? That was the variable Evander couldn’t solve for.

Did he think just answering the question would be enough to keep him safe? Technically, it was. He had answered the prompt. Evander hadn’t ordered him to help someone other than himself. But Matteo had helped the man. He’d fed him. He’d given him money. Why wouldn’t he want credit for his good deed? Why erase it? Why reduce it to nothing?

Should he ask him? It would mean admitting that he was having him followed. Again, if Matteo had read the contract thoroughly he’d already know, but Matteo didn’t behave like someone who knew he was under constant surveillance. He behaved like someone who expected to be punished regardless. Like the outcome was already decided and the details didn’t matter.

Evander thunked his head against the wall lightly. Once. Twice. A controlled impact, measured, like he could knock the answer loose if he applied the right amount of force.

Was this all some master manipulation on Matteo’s part? Do a good deed knowing it would be reported back to Evander but then not acknowledge it hoping it would trick Evander into thinking he’d already changed? That he could bypass the system entirely if Evander believed the outcome had already been achieved?

That was ridiculous. Too convoluted. Matteo wasn’t that patient. Or was he? 

Evander gave a growl of frustration. He’d never been so stymied by another human being in his life. It made him feel crazy…and irrationally horny. 

He turned back to the journal, closing it softly. He walked away a moment before Matteo stepped from his room, gasping when he saw Evander. “What are you doing here?”

Evander smiled, taking in Matteo’s boxer briefs and sleeveless shirt. He had a towel around his neck and he was using it to dry his dripping hair. Water tracked down the column of his throat, disappearing beneath the fabric, leaving faint, uneven trails Evander had to force himself not to follow.

He forced himself to meet Matteo’s gaze. “I live here.”

He had the pleasure of watching Matteo flush from his neck to his hairline. It spread fast, betraying him in a way Matteo clearly hadn’t learned to control yet. “I just meant you’re early,” he muttered, glowering at him. “I haven’t even had a chance to start dinner.”

“That’s okay. I’ll cook tonight.”

Matteo frowned. “You should probably look at my journal before you go volunteering to do my chores.”

Evander shrugged. “I already did.”

“So what? Is you cooking the punishment? Are you planning on poisoning my food? Or you’re just going to pretend everything is fine until my punishment later and deal with me then?”

Evander had to fight a smile at the adorable pout on Matteo’s face. He sauntered closer, not slowing when he reached him, forcing Matteo to walk backwards to avoid their bodies colliding. When his back hit the wall, Evander stepped between his slightly open legs, giving his body a thorough once over. 

Matteo sucked in a breath as Evander crowded his space, bracing his forearm over his head so he could lean in close. Close enough to feel the lingering heat from the shower, the faint humidity still clinging to his skin. “Have you done something that warrants a more severe punishment, hatchling?”

He heard Matteo’s audible swallow. Saw it too—the delicate movement of his throat, exposed and vulnerable. “You tell me,” he’d probably meant it to sound like a challenge but it came out more like a trembling whisper, like he was begging Evander to decide.

And, dear God, did Evander want to take him up on the offer. 

“I gave you a prompt and you answered it. Technically, you fulfilled your assignment.” 

He couldn’t stop himself from running his thumb across his lower lip. Soft. Slightly chapped. Matteo went still beneath the touch, lips parting, eyes as guileless as Evander had ever seen them. He stared up at Evander, like he was transfixed, just waiting to be told what to do. Evander could feel his body reacting and tried to rein it in. 

He was the one in charge. 

He couldn’t afford to lose it again. 

“I suppose eventually I’ll have to start grading your work, gauging the severity of your punishments based on effort and merit.” 

His thumb slipped between Matteo’s slightly parted lips. So much for reining it in. Still when the pad of his finger touched the soft heat of Matteo’s tongue, it didn’t feel like a mistake. Matteo’s lips closed around it, sucking it gently, cautiously. 

Evander’s gaze stayed glued to Matteo’s full lips, unable to stop himself from working his thumb over his tongue. 

When he spoke again, his voice was a low rasp. “Tonight will be hard enough on you without any added consequences.” He forced himself to pull his thumb free, but then brushed it over his lips once more. “ So I think you should do yourself a favor and not point out any more reasons for me to punish you.”

Matteo’s eyes were big as saucers, his breathing shallow as he continued to stare up at him, like every word was riveting. Evander let his gaze drop to Matteo’s crotch, noting the slight bulge in his boxer briefs. Honest in a way Matteo himself refused to be.

He pressed his cheek to Matteo’s, using it to gently push his head to the side, brushing his lips to the skin just beneath his ear. His pulse fluttered there, fast and erratic against Evander’s mouth. “Did that turn you on?” Matteo’s breaths came even faster, a strangled sound escaping when he added, “You can lie to me but your body can’t.”

“Wo-Would you prefer I’m afraid?” Matteo managed, his slightly sulky tone unraveling Evander’s already tenuous grip on his control. 

Evander nipped his earlobe. “I don’t want you to fear me, Matteo. I want you to obey me. I want you to trust me. I want you to trust that I know what you need.” 

“And-and spanking me will make me trust you?” Matteo said, voice trembling. 

“It doesn’t have to be spanking,” Evander said softly, letting his tongue trace the shell of his ear. “I have all kinds of ways to discipline boys who don’t know how to behave. Shall we try something else? We’ve done kneeling…hmm, how about writing lines? ‘I will not disobey sir?’ Or maybe I’ll make you stand in front of the mirror and list all the things you like about yourself?” 

“What?” he asked, voice strangled. “No, no way. I’m not doing that. I’ll safeword. I’m serious.” 

Something twisted deep inside at Matteo’s adamance. He’d rather any punishment than the one that involved being nice to himself. ” 

“Would you like me to let you choose your form of maintenance discipline?” Evander asked. “Its not something I would usually offer but I’m feeling oddly generous tonight.” 

“No,” Matteo said, back to full sulk. 

“No, what?” 

“No, I don’t want to pick my own punishment.”

Interesting.

“Alright.” 

“Why spanking?” Matteo blurted. “Like, why do you want to do that to me personally? Are you one of those freaks who’s turned on by tears?” Matteo asked.

“Absolutely,” Evander said without hesitation. “Especially your tears.” 

“Because you hate me?” Matteo asked, words dripping with bitterness. 

“Hate you? That’s the problem, Matteo. I can never hate you. In fact, I think we both know I’ve always loved you.” 

Matteo gasped, but recovered quickly. “Then why do you like making me cry?” 

“Because you’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” he admitted. Too pretty. It bordered on distracting. On dangerous. 

Matteo snorted like he thought Evander was lying. 

Evander pressed a kiss to Matteo’s throat before returning to his ear, voice low and deliberate. “Don’t believe me? I can prove it.” 

“How,” Matteo asked, the word like a gasp. 

Evander smiled, teeth nipping his ear once more. “One day soon, I’ll put you on all fours so you can watch in the mirror while I punish you. Then you’ll see. You’ll see I’m right.” 

“Freak,” Matteo whispered. But he didn’t push him away.

Evander chuckled softly, pulling back enough to see his face. He could feel him trembling. Not subtle. Not controlled. Real. Usually, he’d correct him for calling him anything other than sir, but he could feel Matteo struggling to right himself. “Don’t act like you weren’t begging for this yesterday. You want me to bend you over. You want me to spank you until you’re begging me to stop.”

“Shut up,” Matteo said. If he meant it to sound harsh, he failed. It sounded more like a plea. Like he needed Evander to stop naming it out loud.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Evander warned in a low growl. “I was going to make us a nice dinner and then take you to the bedroom for your punishment but if you want to keep being disrespectful, we can start your punishment now and you can eat your dinner standing up because your ass is too sore to sit on. The choice is yours.”

Matteo’s head jerked up, suddenly meeting Evander’s gaze, all bravado stripped away, leaving a rawness that had Evander’s stomach swooping like he was skydiving. No mask. No attitude. Just fear, bright and unguarded. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much? Are you going to make me leave?”

“What?” Evander asked before he could stop himself. The question hit wrong—sharp and disorienting, another variable he hadn’t accounted for.

“If I can’t handle your punishments, is it over?” Matteo asked.

Evander sighed, dropping his forehead to Matteo’s. Close enough to feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the faint tremor he was trying and failing to hide. “What am I going to do with you?” he said on a sigh.

“That’s what I asked you.”

“You said you wanted to move up your maintenance spankings. You were the one upset that I didn’t start your physical punishments. If you don’t want to do this—if you’re not ready—you need to tell me now. I’m not going to be angry.”

“I-I don’t know if I’m ready. I’ve never done this before. I just want to know if you’re going to get rid of me if I can’t play your games.”

“If it’s too much, just safeword. I’ll never punish you for that. I’ll never kick you out for that. Listen, if this is too much…If you’ve changed your mind—”

“I haven’t,” Matteo cried. “I-I’m just freaking out a little. I just…”

“You just what?”

“I just feel so…off today.”

“Do you want to wait?” Evander asked. The words felt foreign in his mouth. 

“No,” Matteo wailed. “I just…I’m just scared.”

“Scared of the pain?”

“Scared of disappointing you,” he blurted.

Heat shocked through him at the confession. Not arousal this time—something sharper, heavier. Recognition. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that. I’m really good at disappointing people. It might be the only thing I am good at.”

Evander lifted his head, then curled a finger under Matteo’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “That’s not true. You’re not going to disappoint me. No matter what happens. We’ll just go slow. If you get to a point where you can’t take it, safeword. If I think you’re at a point where you’re just suffering to make me happy, I’ll stop it myself. We both have to want this for it to work the way it’s supposed to.” 

This wasn’t training. Not entirely. This was…something else. Something he didn’t have a name for yet.

“Alright,” Matteo whispered.

“Let’s have dinner. Okay?” Evander asked, his lips finding Matteo’s forehead without thought. A softer touch than anything he’d intended to give.

“Yeah. Okay.” Small. Quiet. But steady.

Evander’s heart squeezed like Matteo held it in a death grip. He supposed he did. 

Evander was so fucked.