Crossing Lines Chapter 20

**Noah**

I had never been someone afraid of a challenge.

If anything, I chased them.

From the time I could walk, I wanted to prove I could run. If someone older said I couldn’t do something, I did it. If someone stronger beat me, I trained harder. I wasn’t just obsessed with winning—I was obsessed with earning approval. A nod from a coach, a pat on the back from a teacher. That look. That rare, quiet, *“Good job, son.”*

My story’s full of cracks like that—chasing love where it was never offered, chasing pride where shame was all I got in return.

I asked too many questions when I was a kid. Not out loud, just in my head. Questions about bodies and rules and how other boys just seemed to know stuff I didn’t. Things that didn’t make sense to me. Things I was curious about.

When I was seven, I was playing with my best friend, Max, on a hot summer day, running under our neighbor’s sprinklers. As we lay on the grass to take a break—our clothes soaked and glued to our bodies—I noticed that, even when he was a year younger than me, his cock seemed much bigger than mine inside his shorts. Just then, I felt self-conscious and worried that something might be wrong with me.

So, the next time I was hiding at a shed with an older friend during a game of hide-and-seek, I just went on and lowered my pants in front of him, asking to see his. 

*Innocent enough…*

But the boy freaked out, pushing me down and calling me gross and sick. Soon, the entire school had found out.

I had acted on my curiosity. And it had blown up in my face.

I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to know if I was normal. But curiosity, when you grow up in a house like mine, doesn’t get you answers. It gets you punished. Hard.

I got in trouble at school. Then worse trouble at home. My dad made sure of that. And what I remember most isn’t the pain—it’s the humiliation. The look in his eyes—like I’d confirmed every worst fear he had about me. From that day on, he never let me forget it.

The name-calling. The silence. The slaps that didn’t come from discipline but disgust.

So, I overcorrected. Dated girls. Hit the gym. Became a football player. Straight A’s. A walking contradiction. Trying to bury every part of me that might disappoint him.

It didn’t work.

I never measured up. Never would.

When I got this scholarship, I told myself I was finally done chasing his approval. I didn’t need him. I was free.

I remember the day I left—luggage in hand, heart pounding. I told him I was leaving. Told myself I didn’t care what he thought. That I was strong now. That I didn’t need him.

But I still looked back.

Still waited for him to say, *“I’m proud of you.”* Or even just, *“Don’t go; I believe in you.”*

But he didn’t say anything.

And now, here I was, craving the very thing I thought I’d left behind—the need to impress, to be seen, to prove I could be everything, if only someone gave me the right guidance. The right direction. The right purpose.

I didn’t want to be just pushed. I wanted to be encouraged. Not ordered, but led.

I needed structure. Focus. Discipline.

And more than anything, I needed someone who believed in me.

I was packing my stuff, folding the same hoodie I wore for three days straight, and all I could think about was how Aiden had looked at me. Like he saw everything. The worst parts of me. The need. The ache. The chaos. And instead of turning away… he welcomed it.

I zipped the bag and sat on the edge of the bed. I should’ve been exhausted. But my whole body buzzed with a nervous energy I hadn’t felt in years. Like before a game. Like standing under the lights, helmet on, heart racing, and waiting for the whistle.

Except this time, I wasn’t facing a team.

I was standing alone. Naked. No mask. No plays. Just me and the man who had already seen through every single one of my defenses.

I was about to go back to his room. Not as a player. Not as a student. Not even as his quarterback.

As his trainee.

And if that wasn’t the scariest, most thrilling damn thing I’d ever done... I didn’t know what was.

I opened the door, took a deep breath, and stepped out.

******

Aiden’s room was quiet, warm with low light and the faint scent of something herbal in the air. He sat at the edge of the bed, watching me with that unreadable calm that somehow made my stomach twist.

I didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

I just walked in, shut the door, and dropped to my knees—like he’d taught me.

Knees slightly apart, back straight, hands laced behind me. I kept my eyes forward, waiting.

The word reward still echoed in my body like a live wire.

He didn’t move for a long moment. Then he stood, walked toward me, and crouched just enough to brush a hand along the side of my neck. I shivered.

“You remembered,” he said, voice soft but strong.

“Yes, Sir.”

He exhaled through his nose, fingers sliding into my hair for just a second. “Very good. You may sit on the bed.”

I hesitated before rising, unsure whether that was an order or a test. But when I stood and sat on the edge, he joined me—close, but not touching.

“I told you I’d give you a reward. I meant it.” He turned slightly. “Ask me anything.”

My brain offered up about fifteen options, from *what do you want from me?* to *how far will this go?* But instead, the one question that slipped free was.

“Have you ever trained anyone else?”

He blinked, then looked away for a second, lips pressing together like he was weighing something.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Many, online. Some briefly in person—club scenes, events. But this?” He glanced back at me. “A long-term, in-person dynamic like the one we’re building? Only one.”

“Who?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His expression softened. “Micah.”

There was a weight to that name. Not pain. Not regret. But something deeper—something like longing.

*I immediately hated him.*

“He was… beautiful,” Aiden said. “Emotionally centered. Respectful. Brave. He trusted me completely.” He looked down at his hands for a second. “I trained him for over two years. We didn’t live together, but we had structure, discipline, closeness. I gave him everything I had, and he gave it right back.”

Oh, I *really* hated this dude now.

Every red light in my head was flashing telepathic warnings to this Micah guy to stay the fuck away from my Master… or else.

I swallowed. “So what happened?”

“He left.” Aiden’s voice was quiet. “Not because he stopped loving me. But because he didn’t want to be trained anymore. Not like that. He wanted to try living without rules. Without protocols. He needed freedom, and I respected that.”

It shouldn’t have stung—but it did. I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or just the realization that Aiden had done *this* before. With someone better. Someone perfect.

“Do you miss him?” I asked.

Aiden was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Sometimes.”

He didn’t offer more. And I didn’t ask.

But a strange knot tightened in my chest anyway.

We didn’t speak again for a while.

Eventually, I leaned back onto the bed, just a little closer. Not touching. Not yet.

He didn’t stop me.

And as my body slowly relaxed into the stillness, I thought—for the first time in years—I might actually fall asleep without fear gnawing at the edge of my thoughts.