Page 80 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale’s expression softened with something that might have been relief. His eyes fixed on Kieran’s lips as he spoke. “Just medical reasons. I promise.”

So Kieran followed Vale down the hallway anyway, his feet moving without conscious decision toward whatever awaited him in the master bedroom. The room was larger than expected but surprisingly sparse—just a massive bed dominating the space, perfectly made with linens that looked like they belonged in magazines.

“What are you thinking?” Vale asked, moving toward a dresser while Kieran stood frozen near the doorway.

“The bed,” Kieran managed. “It looks too big. T-too lonely.”

Vale paused in retrieving something from the dresser. His hand went toward his face again, that automatic gesture reaching for absent glasses. “Not with you there. It won’t be lonely with you there.”

The words were intimate in ways that made Kieran’s stomach knot. Vale approached with the softest pajamas Kieran had never seen—cotton so fine it felt like silk between his fingers.

“Arms up,” Vale instructed.

Kieran let it happen. He let Vale undress him and redress him like an overgrown doll. The new pajamas fit perfectly, of course. Vale had probably taken measurements while he was unconscious, cataloging every dimension for future use.

Stop thinking about it. Stop making this worse than it has to be.

Kieran positioned himself on what he assumed was his designated side, every muscle tense with anticipation for whatever came next. Instructions, positioning, the gradual escalation from comfort to something darker and hungrier…

Instead, Vale simply joined him under the sheets, settling behind Kieran with an arm draped across his waist. Close enough that Kieran could feel arousal pressed against his back.

There it is again. Why does he never—

“Comfortable?” Vale asked, breath warm against the back of Kieran’s neck.

Kieran nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady. Vale’s arm tightened slightly around him, protective rather than possessive, and for a moment the world felt almost safe.

“Eliza’s coming back tomorrow,” Vale murmured against his neck, lips barely brushing skin. “To film the new song. One take, like the others. You and the piano arrangement we worked out.”

Tomorrow. Filming. The reminder that all of this—the gentleness, the roses, the careful questions—had been leading somewhere. That Vale had plans beyond domestic comfort and music room collaborations.

“Will you—” Kieran’s voice came out smaller than intended. “Will you show your face with the p-p-piano?”

“No. The mystery is part of the appeal now. It will need to be an anonymous collaboration.” Vale nuzzled behind Kieran’s ear. “The only thing you need to worry about is accessing that anger for the performance. That raw honesty we found this afternoon.”

Terror rose in Kieran’s throat like acid, sharp and immediate.

Accessing anger to Vale’s satisfaction.

“I can d-do it,” Kieran whispered, though his body was already tensing with the memory of what Vale’s methods entailed. “I c-can access it without—without help.”

Vale’s breath was warm and steady against his neck. “I know you think you can, beautiful boy.”

23

At last I'm free to disagree with the decree that I need company…

Vale

The morning after Vale announced Eliza’s visit, he was still drunk on the sound of Kieran’s laughter and the taste of his lips.

It didn’t make sense.

He dated in college. He had sex. He tried every type of relationship in every configuration.

And he felt nothing.

But the sound of Kieran laughing played in his head like a CD stuck on repeat. It made his toes tingle and his cock ache and there was a tightness in his throat that felt like the constriction before shedding tears.