34

No matter what Jamie did to him, Ste realized, it was always better without an audience.

As they walked to Jamie’s house, the silence between them was intermittently broken by Jamie’s complaints. He rattled off a list of people who’d annoyed him during the day, outlining elaborate—and occasionally absurd—ways he planned to get revenge.

“I mean, who even wears a full Canadian tuxedo in this century?” Jamie sneered, shaking his head.

Ste nodded along, murmuring occasional agreements that were just enthusiastic enough to seem genuine. Jamie didn’t want conversation; he wanted validation. That much was obvious. Ste wasn’t sure if that made him worse than the average person or just more honest about what everyone secretly wanted—a sycophantic sidekick to hang on their every word.

He followed Jamie up the garden path, where the freshly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds stood in sharp contrast to his own unkempt yard. Jamie’s house wasn’t enormous, but it was tasteful in a way that immediately made Ste feel like an intruder. The smooth brickwork and polished windows gleamed in the dim evening light, the kind of upkeep that implied a quiet, consistent stream of wealth.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of lavender and something citrusy—fancy cleaning products, probably. Ste shuffled along the hallway, trying not to disturb anything as Jamie led him upstairs. The carpet beneath his feet was thick and plush, the kind that muffled your footsteps entirely. Ste’s own carpets at home were worn down to the threadbare weave, practically just padding on top of splintering floorboards.

He couldn’t help but feel out of place, as though the soft furnishings themselves were silently judging him.

Jamie paused halfway up the staircase and turned abruptly, motioning for Ste to follow him back down.

“Oh, I forgot to show you the kitchen,” Jamie said, as though Ste were moving in.

Ste obediently followed him into the pristine kitchen, where every surface gleamed under recessed lighting. Jamie flitted around the space, opening cupboards and pointing things out with practiced ease.

“Kettle’s here. Tea bags and mugs are there. Milk’s in the fridge,” he said, gesturing dismissively before taking a seat at the island counter and crossing his legs in that characteristically poised way of his. “Now make me a cup of tea.”

Ste blinked. “Do you take sugar?”

Jamie smirked, his head tilting slightly to one side. “Guess.”

It was clearly some sort of test. Ste stood frozen for a moment, running through his options. Jamie didn’t strike him as the type to enjoy overly sweet things, but one sugar might be too modest. After a second’s hesitation, he decided on two—a safe middle ground—and got to work. Years of brewing tea for his mum and gran meant Ste’s hands moved on autopilot.

When he placed the steaming mug in front of Jamie, he watched nervously as Jamie took a deliberate sip.

Jamie’s face twisted into a disapproving frown. “Hmm,” he said.

“Did I get it wrong?” Ste asked anxiously.

“No.” Jamie sighed, setting the mug down with a dramatic huff. “It’s perfect. I was just hoping it’d be awful so I could throw it in your face and demand another.”

Ste’s stomach lurched. “You’d… throw hot tea in my face?”

Jamie arched an eyebrow, as if offended by the question. “That shocks you? Honestly, I’d do it just to make a point, but I don’t want to waste the tea.”

Ste stared down at the floor, the weight of Jamie’s words pressing heavily on his chest. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

It wasn’t really a question. The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. Nothing he said or did would ever erase the sins of the past in Jamie’s eyes. And for some reason, that mattered more than anything else in the world.

Jamie leaned back in his chair, considering him for a long moment. “Does that bother you?”

Ste nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. He blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, hot and unwelcome as they dripped onto the polished floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

Jamie watched silently as Ste fell apart, his expression unreadable.

“Please forgive me,” Ste begged, crumpling to his knees. “I’ll change. I’ll do anything you want me to do. Just… please stop hating me.”

Jamie tapped his foot against the floor rhythmically, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you remember when you used to pin me down and flick cigarette ash in my face?”

The question landed like a slap. Ste’s stomach churned as he nodded, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I did that—”

“I’m asking a question,” Jamie interrupted sharply. “Answer it.”

“Yes,” Ste said hoarsely.

“And do you remember when I used to cry and beg you to stop?” Jamie asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.

Ste nodded again.

“How did it make you feel?”

Ste’s mind raced for an answer that wouldn’t damn him further. He opened his mouth, closed it, then stared at the floor in silence.

“No.” Jamie pressed his foot under Ste’s chin, lifting it until their eyes met. “I want the truth.”

“I… I liked it,” Ste confessed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “It made me feel powerful.”

Jamie tilted his head, studying him as though he were some curious specimen under a microscope. “And how does it feel now that the roles are reversed?”

Ste hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was too complicated, too messy to put into words.

“I’m never going to be your equal,” he said finally, the admission tumbling out unbidden. Jamie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I mean… I think I wanted to have power over you so I could feel like your equal, but I never was. And now… now I feel like this is how it was always meant to be. I’m beneath you. I deserve this. I just… I just don’t want you to hate me.”

Jamie stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s all very… insightful,” he said dryly. “But I was just trying to figure out if it’s normal to be turned on by seeing someone cry.”

Ste froze.

“Huh?”

Jamie smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Look.” He grabbed at the bulge in his trousers, as though to prove his point.

Ste’s face burned with a mix of shame and confusion. “I… I think it’s normal,” he stammered. “There’s a category on Pornhub for it, so… yeah. Pretty normal.”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Ste nodded.

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jamie said casually. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. “Maybe I’ll tie you up and whip you next time.”

The words hung in the air, half a joke, half a promise.

“You can if you want to,” Ste replied softly.

Jamie’s smirk deepened.

And just like that, the balance of power tipped further out of reach.