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-MALCOLM-

NORTH'S SNORINGwakes me up. Someone might read something into the fact that I put him in the spare room that's closest to mine, but it doesn't mean anything. It was purely convenience. And now I'm wishing I'd stuck him as far away as possible.

There's no point in trying to go back to sleep, so I shower, dress in loose running clothes, and eat breakfast before I go back to check if he's awake yet.

I had hoped that he would have woken up by the time I finished, but he's still snoring like a belt saw. Which leaves me with a dilemma; how do I go about waking him up?

I hover outside the door, feeling strangely uneasy. I've never had someone stay the night before; most of my sessions take place at a designated space, and the few subs that I've had here in the past always went back home afterward, so this was never an issue.

Should I knock? But what if he doesn't hear it over the sound of his own snoring? Do I go in there? That feels too intimate. I could just leave him to sleep, but at this rate, he'll be out until noon, and I have things I want to do today. Things I want to do with North, and to North. And I don't like changing my plans.

I shift on my feet, stuck in indecision.

I could set an alarm clock for thirty seconds, sneak in, put it by his bed, and then leave quickly.

I huff at myself. Why am I agonizing over this so much? I go back to the kitchen and call his phone. After far too many rings his voice comes across the line, croaky and rough with sleep.

"Uh, whassit?"

"Come downstairs," I say.

"Hmm? Wha time is it?" I can imagine the way he squints around, blinking the sleep from his blue eyes. Rubbing the drool from his cheek on the back of his hand.

"Time to get up."

He grunts. "Where are you?"

"In the kitchen. Get dressed and come downstairs before I come up there and get you myself. And I won't be gentle."

That wakes him up. There's a long pause, and then his voice comes through, flustered but clearer.

"Oh-I-Uh, gimme a second."

About half an hour later heavy footsteps sound on the stairs, and he finally appears in the doorway. His blond hair is messy and his face is marked with the lines of sleep. Part of me bristles at how stupidly cute he looks like this. No one has any business looking this cute first thing in the morning after rolling out of bed.

"You took too long," I say. "When I tell you to come, I expect you to come straight away."

He scratches his head and stretches his long lean body. "But it's like asscrack o'clock, man," he says, blinking blearily. He looks like a fucking overgrown sleepy puppy.

I don't trust myself to speak, so I just push a tall glass across the counter to him, and he eyes it suspiciously.

"Drink this."

"What is it?" he asks.

"It's a blend of protein and fiber. It's your breakfast."

He wrinkles his nose and I die a little inside. "It looks rank."

"It's good for you. Drink it. Or I'm going to have to punish you."

His cheeks stain red like he's been slapped in the face, and he readjusts the front of his sweatpants. I watch as he takes a sip, lingering on the way his throat bobs as he swallows. He grimaces and tips his head, weighing it up.

"Actually it's not that bad. Could use a bit of sugar."

"Starting from now, you are going to eat healthily. You are going to get up at a reasonable time, and go to bed at a reasonable time."

This is part of the deal we've made. I control every aspect of his life, in and out of the bedroom. He doesn't get to go to the toilet unless I say he can. Theoretically speaking. Obviously, I'm not going to go to that extreme, but you get the idea.

He frowns. "What do you count as reasonable, because Jeff has a kegger on Friday night and—"

I cut him off, "No alcohol."

He looks startled and I worry for a moment if that's enough to break our deal. I don't want to push him too far, that's not my aim, but I have certain standards I expect him to maintain. And being fit and healthy is one of them.

To soften the blow I add, "Unless I give you permission. And you have to earn it."

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Even though ending this agreement is the last thing I want, I round the island and catch his attention. It's important that he knows the terms.

"If any of this is a problem for you, you know how you can end it."

His eyes flick down to my lips and then up again.

"No, it's no problem."

Ah yes, the one part of our deal that I have no control over: the kiss. He gets to kiss me once a day, at any time of his choosing. It makes me more uncomfortable than it should. It's just a kiss, but it hangs over me like Damocles' sword.

My eyes are drawn down to his lips. I know what it's like to kiss them now. The one and only time we kissed, over a week ago, it was me who initiated it. The memory of that kiss feels dirtier than the hot hard fucking I gave him on the bleachers afterward. But it was his fault, he pushed me until I lost control, and it's not going to happen again.

His mouth twitches. Is he going to kiss me now? I'm breathing faster than I should be. I spin away and hurry for the door, not looking back.

"Hurry up and drink that. We're going for a run."