Snowbound Episode 2

Snowbound 

Season 1, Episode 2

Rick sat in front of one of the huge glass walls of the solarium, his hands wrapped around his knees, eyes wandering the white endless horizon.

All this felt surreal. Landon Graves giving lessons in submission and that was not even the weirdest part. Richard Masters and Landon Graves involved in a pillow fight; now that was something that could be explained only by accidental consumption of hallucinogen mushrooms. Alice in Wonderland indeed.

His mind wandered back to their conversation. There was something Landon said that hurt the most, perhaps because it was the truth in its undiluted state. “Do you ever pay attention to him, or are you always a one sided walking, talking disaster?” Landon had asked.     

That was the painful truth; Rick was too selfish to pay attention to Johnny. Arthur had pointed that out once already, that Rick only knew how to take without giving back. Everybody apparently could see that. Even Milton had told him so, through his more veiled, “You can't expect his protection, if you refuse him his rights.” Everybody knew it and still Johnny kept on giving, not concerning himself with the fact that he would never get anything back from Rick.

There was something else Landon said that hit Rick in the gut, “You restrain your attraction to bellicose foolhardiness in the professional sphere.” And indeed, at work Rick maintained a tight rein over his temper. With Johnny he didn't need such restraint, because he was so sure of John's love for him and his ability to accept Rick at his worst that Rick felt no need to hold himself back. As a result, he treated the man who deserved the best from him the worst.

Rick felt ready to cry. He had screwed up things so horribly. Mike had told him about his own experiences--how he had made his own atrocious accusation against his dominant back in the days when they were just starting things and more recently how he had almost let his own fears ruin any chance of happiness. Rick wasn't sure how it was supposed to help him. Mike might have had some struggles, and he might have made his fair share of mistakes, but he’d never hurt his dominant the way Rick constantly did; deliberate, calculated or spontaneous, it didn't matter. Rick always managed to hit Johnny in his most vulnerable spot. He’d told a room full of people, people who understood the intricacy of the game they played, that he didn't want to submit, that Johnny was forcing him. Johnny would rather pull out his own heart than harm Rick.

Silent tears ran down his cheeks. The worst part was that all his pouting and tantrums served no purpose at all. These men weren't interested in knowing exactly how great Richard Masters was at his job. As Gordon had correctly expressed, they already knew about all that. It was arrogant and foolish to assume men like Gordon and Landon might be unaware of those who handled the most delicate parts of their business. No, he wasn't here as Richard Masters. As Johnny had so accurately put, he was here as John's beloved submissive. In his preoccupation with proving what these men already knew, he had colossally failed in proving what Johnny wanted to show them. Not only had he embarrassed John by making him look like an inept dominant, he had devastatingly hurt him with his thoughtless accusations.

Rick wiped his hand over his eyes and nose, smudging the snot and tears all over his face. He didn't feel like an important and powerful professional right now. He didn't even feel like a beloved submissive, and, God, what he would have given to be able to feel like that.

He rested his head against his knees and let fresh tears take the place of drying ones. When he looked up, Johnny was standing in the snow-covered yard, dressed in nothing but the dress jacket  he'd worn at dinner, his hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders drawn to his ears, body rigid with tension.  

Rick rose from where he was seated, walked closer to the glass, and pressed his body to it. He stared at Johnny's back, desperate to get as close to the man as possible without bothering him with his presence.

Johnny slowly took off his jacket and threw it on the snow; his shirt followed, and soon he was standing naked from his waist up in the bitter cold and almost knee deep snow. Rick inhaled sharply at the sight. John's body was magnificent, strong and mighty. Every movement, every gesture so firmly controlled. Johnny looked like the glorious Greek statues, all his muscles perfectly defined, his body powerful and flawlessly proportioned. Rick felt his cock stir despite all the turmoil in his soul. The warm feeling of arousal was soon pushed to the back of his mind when Johnny bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and rubbed it all over his body. He repeated these actions several times before dropping down and starting a series of fast and furious push-ups.

Rick whined and pressed his forehead to the glass. This was entirely his fault. Johnny was setting up a brutal training session to work out his anger or worse punish himself for his failure to control his errant submissive. Rick wasn't sure which; he wasn't even sure if it was any of those. Johnny was a lot harder to read than the average man. Whatever it was it was directly related to the displeasure and discomfort Rick had provoked. Johnny usually turned to pain to control the darkness in himself when it threatened to overcome him, and Rick was particularly gifted in stimulating that side of Johnny, the side John hated the most in himself.

Rick watched with a mix of guilt and fascination, tears still running down his burning cheeks.

Someone entered the solarium. It was Landon, he leaned against the glass and reached to clean the tears off Rick's cheeks.

"Punishing yourself is neither your job nor within your rights. Johnny will decide what you deserve for today," Landon said softly, still carding his fingers through Rick's hair that had escaped the confines of the braid and was now framing his face in loose strands. "You love him," Landon added, no trace of question in his voice.

"With all my heart." Rick still felt the need to enforce the notion, barely managing to check a sob. "And look what I've done to him."

Landon must have finally realized that Rick wasn't exactly staring into nowhere. He turned his head and looked in the direction of Rick's eyes.

"Oh, dear," Landon said, straightening from his leaning position, "You, the younger generation most certainly know how to make dramatic statements. Fortunately we have plenty of men capable of dealing with all sorts of crisis." Landon walked out of the solarium with purposeful steps. His sure stance shook Rick out of his self-induced stupor, and Rick ran after him.  

****

Ryan didn't even grumble at the knock on the door, nothing like being a dorm parent to train him for poorly timed interruptions.

"We're on vacation," Blade groaned, grabbing Ryan's oversized sweatshirt to hide his naked body.

Ryan tousled Blade's hair and kissed his forehead. "And we had two guests have a major meltdown. We are Green Mountain Boys," Ryan said seriously, pulling on his jeans and hiding his still half erect and seriously neglected friend. "I'll get the keys to the lake house, and we'll play. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it, or I'll make Rick's demonstration look like a warm up," Blade said with a grin.

"Don't you dare, boy, or I'll hand you to each dominant at the table with an implement of my choice."

"That might be fun." Blade smiled, an expression of pure sex and seduction.

“Only you.” Ryan rolled his eyes and kissed Blade again. The knock this time was more insistent. “Coming. Let a fellow get dressed, why don’t you,” Ryan shouted.

“I hope it’s not Gordon at the door,” Blade said with giggle.

“Toasted dominant ass. Don’t look so damn happy about it.” Ryan landed a mock swat on Blade’s ass and grabbed for the door.

Landon stood in the doorway with Rick at his heels. He cast a long look at Blade and Ryan’s state of half dress. “Can’t any dominant keep his shirt on today? It’s winter. And your manners Ryan, where did you learn them, in a barn?”

“Landon, what do you need?” Ryan asked with fond exasperation. He liked Landon, and he also knew that Landon wouldn’t have bothered him unless there was a true need. Landon knew how much Ryan and Blade cherished their time away from the children and the need to look and sound at least semi-vanilla. Landon would never take away from that time unless it was urgent.

“John is outside exercising with his shirt off.”

“It’s subzero.”

“I’m aware of that,” Landon said. “Hence I’m at your door, good sir.”

“Right,” Ryan said and reached for his thermal undershirt. “Are the skis and boots in the cloak room? My extra pair should fit John.”

“Yes, thank you, Ryan.”

Ryan nodded. He wasn’t going to say more, not with Rick in earshot. John in the snow exercising with his shirt off! Idiot! What the hell was he supposed to do? He didn’t know John, and the guy wasn’t exactly warm and friendly. Ryan and his skis weren’t going to be welcomed with open arms.

Blade had already started to gather hats, coats, and gloves. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Ryan said softly and kissed Blade’s hair.

“What are you going to do?”

“Hell if I know. Improvise.”

“John makes me uneasy.”

“Blade.” Ryan lifted Blade’s chin and kissed him on his soft and beautiful lips, enjoying Blade’s easy acceptance. “John may look murderous, but I don’t think he is actually murderous. His boy has survived, and it’s not like Rick’s a saint.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Now get back in bed. I want a lovely toasty, squirmy bedwarmer when I get back.”

Freezing wasn’t the word for the weather. It was dangerous cold. Ryan sucked in the icy air and watched the mist of his exhale. John was doing rapid fire push-ups, his chin touching the snow on every downward motion.

“Join me for the thirty kilometer track. It’s perfect in the moonlight after a fresh snow.”

“Who sent you?” John asked, leaping to his feet.

“Landon. You’re scaring your boy.”

“I need to be alone,” John growled.

“You need a jacket and gloves and a hat,” Ryan said, keeping his voice chirpy. If he got anymore smily, his face was going to break in half. He was beginning to wonder if John had suffered some sort of psychotic break. Milton and Gordon could be opinionated bastards, but calisthenics bare chested in a Vermont winter was pushing certifiably insane behavior. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” Ryan tossed John the sweater and jacket, hoping he’d catch it on instinct.

“You are persistent,” John muttered and pulled the sweater over his head.

“I teach high schoolers, and I live with Blade. Steady and persistent are my mottos. I assume you ski. You’re from the right part of the world.”

John nodded. “This skiing isn’t optional, is it?”

“Don’t think of it that way. Think of it as two guys, who exercise too much, getting some fresh air after dinner.”

“I don’t enjoy fantasy.”

John didn’t look as if he enjoyed much at the moment. His glare could have put holes in a solid rock wall. At least he’d put the damn coat on and wasn’t in danger of hypothermia at any moment.

“Indulge me,” Ryan said with another bright smile.

Ryan snapped his feet into the bindings and pushed off toward the trail. He didn’t look behind him. He only hoped John was following. Blade wasn’t the only one who felt uneasy around John. Ryan had the distinct feeling that John knew twenty different ways to silently kill someone with common household items. He only hoped that John had enough restraint not to put such knowledge into practice.

Ryan skied up the grade toward the lake. It would be frozen over now. Maybe he could organize a hockey game for later in the week. More of the guys would be coming, and if John and Rick were still here, a full activities calendar would be needed. He didn’t even want to think about Josh and John together, even though Jer might be a good example for Rick, a powerful man entirely comfortable with an extreme and subtle submission.

“Pretty, isn’t it? We swim here in the summer. The lake house can be used for play, but Milton is the keeper of the keys. I met Blade at a swim party,” Ryan babbled. “He was trying to break the world record for a nude swimming outing. Landon and Gordon thought it was great fun, not that Gordon would ever say such a thing. He has to keep up appearances.”

Ryan turned right. This was the longer and steeper trail. It would take them along the brook and the large boulder where Milton could be found brooding on a bad day. The moonlight filtered through the bare trees, splotches of brightness surrounded by tall shadows. A rabbit darted ahead of them and disappeared into a snow covered thicket.

“Milton is a good man. He’s my brother-in-law, so I guess I have to say that. Sheldon and Blade are brothers. You haven’t met Sheldon yet. They are almost carbon copies as far as appearance, but Sheldon’s the more difficult one. I can manage Sheldon in an emergency, but I’m usually looking for Milton in a damn hurry. Milton really gets Sheldon. He needs to since he’s Sheldon’s master, slave contract and everything. I inherit the boy if something happens to Milton. God forbid!”

“Milton is safe with me,” John said quietly.

“That’s a relief.” Ryan turned his head to look at John. John was skiing easily, his strides long and steady. Ryan’s jacket was tight across John’s broad chest, and the sleeves had ridden up, showing his wrists. The gray suit pants flapped against his legs, picking up snow as they skied forward. “There’s a water bottle in the pocket if you get thirsty,” Ryan said, pulling his own out and taking a gulp. “Cold makes me thirsty, and you’ve been out longer than me. We still have a long way to go.”

John didn’t reply, but he did fumble with his pockets until he found the bottle and took a long drink.

“There’s a freeze free faucet on the far side on the lake if we need more. Landon was always forgetting water, and Gordon gave up on ever teaching him better and put in the faucet, or so I’ve been told. It’s nice in the summer, so you don’t have to carry as much water. I don’t like doing wind sprints carting several liters of water.

“Blade hates doing wind sprints period. The boys is nuts if I don’t exercise him, but I have to bribe, beg, and cajole him to get his running shoes out of the closet. He likes swimming. You and Rick should try out the pool. It’s relaxing. It’s not as nice as The Forest’s. Have you ever been to The Forest?”

John answered a crisp “no.” Ryan shook his head and glided forward on his skis. Talkative obviously wasn’t one of John’s traits.

“I worked there, still do occasionally. It’s a gentlemen’s club for men in power exchanges. The GMB owns 49%, but it’s Gavin who runs the place, and Gavin and Gordon tolerate each other. They are not bosom buddies. Gavin was my mentor, so you can imagine the tension with Gordon. It’s easier now than it was. Milton ran interference for a while. Milton really is a good guy. He comes off all stern and serious. He is all stern and serious, but the guy has a heart of gold. I’m not super thrilled he keeps a harem, but he manages it, and he does care enormously about every one of his boys. The guy has a guilt complex the size of the Pacific Ocean if any little thing goes wrong. I try to cajole and humor him out of his guilt trips, but if it gets too bad, I set Gordon on him. Gordon knows what buttons to push.

“Gordon drives me wild half the time. Thank God he has Landon. Landon’s a people person, and he has the heart of a lion. It’s calm now, or at least that’s what Milton says, but it used to be a real scene and not in a good way. Landon can yell, and Gordon can go all Arctic frigidness. They’re always on their best behavior with me. Milton’s more family, so he gets to see the unedited version.

“Gordon’s crazy about rugby. Do you play?” Ryan didn’t bother to wait for the answer. “I understand Rugby is a huge sport in South Africa. I’ve played a little, but it’s not all that popular here. Gordon likes cricket too. Now that sport is ridiculous. I think you have to be born on the other side of the oceans to figure out the rules. The only good part is the tea.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Not when skiing with someone who he imagined was contemplating ten different ways to murder him with a ski glove. “Blade’s the talkative one,” Ryan said easily.

“Really.” John’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Remind me never to get locked in an elevator with him.”

He’d never get in an elevator with you, Ryan thought, but didn’t say. Instead he laughed. “I have ways to manage him in an elevator.”

“Where are we?” John looked around. They were in a small clearing, a rock wall and a pasture to their left and the woods below.

“About halfway.”

“I have to listen to this nattering for another fifteen kilometers?”

“We could talk about why you were doing push-ups in the snow. I would find that interesting.” Ryan heard John’s teeth grind together. He guessed that conversation wasn’t happening, at least not yet.

“Are you going to stay for Christmas? Gordon and Landon do an old-fashioned Christmas: plum pudding, Christmas crackers, a roasted goose larger than the one in Dickens's classic. The boys are wild at Christmas, and the gag gifts are outrageous.”

“You really never do stop talking,” John growled. 

“John, why were you out in the snow?” Ryan asked. Maybe it was time for the direct approach. The hints hadn’t gotten him anywhere. 

John grunted and pushed harder with his ski poles, trying to pass Ryan.

No, you don’t, Ryan thought. You don’t run away now after all this work. Ryan strode forward, glad he coached cross-country and indoor track. John wasn’t going to rabbit on him. He’d sprint five kilometers if that was what it was going to take.

The skis slipped across the fresh snow. A fox darted past, startled by the flying men. Ryan pulled the cold air into his lungs, lowered his head and imagined he was one of those Norwegian Olympians who could do this for hours.

“You’re stubborn,” John barked as they crested a steep rise.

“No more so than you,” Ryan said, between pants. “Rest here and look at the view. The town’s below. I’ll be the wimp and say I need to catch my breath if it will get you to stop.”

“OK.” John leaned against a ski pole, his chest heaving. “How long was that bloody hill?”

“A kilometer in fresh snow. It’s no wonder we’re both gasping like we have emphysema.”

“You’re crazy,” John said, his voice holding a hint of friendliness for the first time. “You sprinted up that hill, and you weren’t even being chased by anyone with guns hellbent on killing you.”

“I try to stay out of those situations.” Ryan paused and took a long gulp of water. “I wasn’t so sure if you weren’t hellbent on killing me.”

John laughed, a deep bellow. “No. What a fuck-up!” He pawed at the snow with the ski pole and looked off to the lights of the village far below.

“I’ve seen worse, and I know Milton and Gordon have seen worse. We’re safe, John. It doesn’t matter what happens in front of us. As long as it’s safe and consensual, we won’t turn you out.”

“Safe, sane, and consensual. Such an easy slogan for such a difficult world.”

“Risk aware is more accurate. Milton has beaten his boy until he needed codeine. I’m not sure how safe that was. I bashed his head into a cupboard for it. It made me feel better.”

“Ryan!”

“Yes, we have our own dirty linen, and the incident with Milton and Sheldon was consensual. I shouldn’t have interfered, but Sheldon looks like my boy. He’d been so sad, and he looked so small and bruised.”

“Jesus,” John swore. “Maybe your nattering was better than this.”

“John.” Ryan brushed the snow off a tree trunk, the lower part stripped of branches by the deer, and leaned back against its solid, rough surface. “We’ve seen everything. Spill it.”

“I’m not the sharing type.”

“I would never have guessed,” Ryan said with a laugh. “Let me start, and you can tell me if I’m hot or cold. You have problems with Rick in public. The boy is a strong submissive, but he’s terrified of the vulnerability it implies. Some sort of explosion wasn’t entirely unexpected, but even you were surprised at its ferocity, and you question if some of what Rick said wasn’t true. Have you forced submission on the boy? You fear that more than anything. And to top it off, you really hate that we’re bastards enough to presume to interfere. You fear submission more than your boy.”

“I didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed,” John said softly and dangerously.

“OK. I was obviously hot, smoking hot. Deep breath, John, and listen. First, no one will force submission down your throat. I’ve submitted to Milton. He damn near took the skin off me with a strap, but it was understood between the two of us; even Gordon wouldn’t go that far with a stranger. Second, if I hadn’t thought your arrangement with Rick was consensual, I would have called the police. I would not have so casually asked. I was trying to short circuit your ranting boy, not hurt you. Third, a good dose of public submission would do your boy a world of good. It would give him confidence. He’s confident as Richard Masters solicitor; he’s terrified as Ricky, Johnny’s sub.” Ryan smiled, trying to take the force off his words, make the prescription easier to swallow. “Lecture’s over. Let’s go home. I have a boy in my bed, and I want at least a few minutes to enjoy him.”

*****

John watched Ryan pick up his pace, leaving a dark trail on the fluffy snow.

"Ryan," John called after him softly, hastening his own pace to catch up with him.

Ryan turned slightly, looking at John over his shoulder.

"It's not the submission that scares me," he explained in a soft voice, reaching Ryan's side. This man had spilled every available piece of information in an attempt to demonstrate that they were trustworthy. He’d left a willing and eager partner, and came after John, even if he thought John might be a raging psychopath. John felt obliged to reciprocate. "I will not deny that it's hard for me to the extreme, to yield to someone else's will, but I'm a solder. I used to be a solder," he corrected himself hastily. "Obeying another's orders is nothing new for me." He took a deep breath enjoying the crisp iciness of the winter air. "I'm afraid of what I might do, if I'm pushed at the wrong moment. Hostile takeovers are not something I tolerate well. I react violently, too violently. The only thing that can make me lose control over my temper, to really become a danger, is exactly that. That's why I try to keep people off my back, that's why I create a no man's land around me when it comes to men used to having control. We both are dominants; we know that often enough, even without realizing it, we push for our way. In my case if someone pushes me at the wrong moment or in a wrong way, it might turn," his voice trailed off into the silence of the night. He’d let the quiet glide of the snow speak for himself from there on.

"John--" Ryan started to say something, perhaps reassure him, but Johnny cut him off.

"No, Ryan, please, I know what I'm talking about," John insisted, building up the pace. "Come on, let's get back to our boys before they come after us, somehow I have the impression that your Blade is not as tame as he seemed at diner," John threw a broad genuine smile over his shoulder.

"Not only he speaks, but he also has a sense of humor," Ryan huffed, matching John's speed.

"If I would have known that half-naked midnight exercise could get me a thorough briefing on the history of indigenous people and their routine, I might have incorporated it in my tactics for gathering intel on locals." John winked at Ryan, feeling his mood lift and the tension melt in his body for the first time since he had walked into the den of the GMB.

John concentrated on the crunchy and soft snow under his feet and let his thoughts fly. He clearly was responsible for this fiasco. Instead of establishing clear boundaries for Rick, he had indicated to Rick that he didn't trust these men and that had contributed immensely to the disaster. He had first been annoyed with Ryan for the interruption. He had gone out to find peace and do some thinking, to reassess the situation. If he was honest, though, Ryan's inexorable nattering had proven more helpful than all the analyzing and brooding he would have done on his own.

Ryan had said Rick had been worried. John felt a pang of guilt over that. He had left Rick alone, without any concern to what Rick would think about his disappearance. To be fair, he did go after Rick, when he finally was out of Milton's study. Rick was in the solarium in a middle of a pillow fight with Landon and Mike, looking relaxed and at ease, and John didn't want to intrude or spoil the moment. With the mood he had been in, he surely would have ruined it all.

The rest of the way was spent in silence, neither man willing to disturb the calming tranquility of the winter night that had chased almost all forms of animal life to their hiding places.

 The house was silent when they finally reached it. They were both sweaty and tired, looking forward to being reunited with their boys.

When they entered the hallway that led to their rooms, John looked at Ryan and with barely concealed smile asked him, "So should I wake you up at 4am for a five mile run?"

"I swear I will let Blade loose on you if you dare interrupt us once more," Ryan said with a mock growl.

John nodded his understanding, eyes still smiling, "Ryan!" He said, waiting for the man to look at him, "Thank you." When Ryan gave one small nod in acknowledgment, John went on, "Go, don't make your boy wait more than he already did."  He then turned around and briskly walked to their room.

 Rick was dressed in the outfit he had worn at the dinner. He was asleep, lying curled up on his side, on the still made bed. Johnny walked to him soundlessly. Bending down he planted a gentle kiss to Rick's temple, then unable to resist he traced the flaming cheeks, still damp with tears.

"Johnny," Rick moaned, opening his emerald eyes, looking at him blearily. "I'm sorry," he sobbed a second later.

"Shhh," Johnny whispered into Rick's mouth as he pressed his lips to Rick's warm and sweet mouth. "It was my fault, I scared you."

Rick shook his head vehemently, trying to deny it. John pressed a finger to his lips. "Ricky, obey me. Yielding to me means you accept my judgment in everything. I have made lines that are blurry for you at best. It was wrong of me. Tomorrow will be different. We both get a clean slate.  Or is it today? I'm not sure what time it is," Johnny said absently. "Anyways, in the morning you will be the perfect submissive you didn't manage to be today, and I will be the civilized dominant who doesn't inspire worry in his hosts that he might be a dangerous lunatic, prone to killing sprees. Yes?" He asked his boy, studying his tear-filled eyes.

"Yes, sir," Rick nodded earnestly.

"All right then, let's get both of us under the covers, I still have some energy to work out, and I know exactly the kind of exercise I require for that."

"You are not going to punish me?" Rick looked at him apprehensively, swinging his feet down.

"I have other methods to put you in the right mindset for tomorrow," Johnny growled menacingly, his hands crossed over his chest. "I'm going to make sure that by morning, you are not going to have enough energy left to tie your shoelaces, let alone stage a rebellion against the good part of half a dozen dominants." He said, advancing on Rick and climbing over him, tumbling Rick into the bed.

Rick squealed and melted under him into  a pliant and squirming mass of wanton need.

"Oh, God, finally," was the last coherent sentence his boy managed for the rest of the night, and John realized how foolish it had been of him to hope that after a week-long separation Rick might have been in the right mindset to fully submit to him, especially in public. He has been colossally stupid all day, making one mistake after another. He deserved a good beating that was for sure. He wondered if self-flagellation was just as frowned upon by the GMB as naked exercise in subzero weather. All that could wait; for now he had a very willing and eager boy to ravish, a boy who looked lost in his sudden and swift submission.  

*****

Ryan answered the knock on the door. “We’re decent. Come on in.” Blade still had his shirt off and was drying his hair with one of the outrageously fluffy towels. He was a gorgeous boy. Ryan still sometimes couldn’t believe that Blade was his, that it was his collar around Bade’s neck and his rings in Blade’s nipples.

“Good morning,” John said, walking in with Rick at his heels. “Are you still up for that five mile run?”

“No,” Ryan groaned. “Don’t even suggest it. I’m sure we’re up for snow shoveling duty. Midnight skiing doesn’t exactly fit the expected level of decorum for a Green Mountain Boy.”

“I’m happy to shovel the walks,” John said with good grace. “It hardly seems fair that you should be in trouble for last night.”

“I won’t be,” Ryan said with a smile. “Only Milton and Gordon tend to think we have too much energy, especially my redheaded partner. They enjoy finding projects. If it wasn’t the walks, the gutters would need cleaning.”

“I’m not the one who went all ballistic at dinner last night,” Blade said. “I think we should be exempted from walk duty.”

Ryan clicked his fingers and pointed at the floor. He hadn’t been quick enough to stop Blade’s ill-chosen words, and he could see the color rising in Rick’s face as well as the swirling anger and embarrassment that flashed across Rick’s eyes.

“Don’t, Rick,” John said softly and pulled Rick to his chest. “Ryan gave up his time last night to go skiing with me. Blade’s comment was fair.”

“But hardly charitable,” Ryan said, giving Blade a hard look that sent his boy’s eyes to the carpet. “We are the hosts. I apologize for my boy’s poor manners.” Blade flushed at the implied reprimand, his body freezing in perfect submissive posture. He was an exquisite sight on his knees with his chest still bare and Ryan’s collar glittering around his neck. It was a pity breakfast was a requirement.

“I didn’t come to rehash yesterday. I was hoping for advice on proper breakfast behavior from the two of you,” John said.

“Don’t throw the cutlery or dump juice on anyone’s head.”

“Blade.” Ryan jerked Blade from the floor and dumped him across the bed in one swift motion. His hand beat a crisp tattoo over his squirming boy’s ass. “Do I need to take your pants down?”

“No, Ryan. Please. I’ll be good.”

“Up. Apologize.” Ryan pulled Blade roughly to his feet. Ryan wasn’t angry at Blade; this was his boy needing more attention than Ryan could offer last night. Ryan had dropped off to sleep almost immediately with a toasty Blade wrapped around his chest. Blade needed a good whipping; his skin was far too white for anyone’s comfort.

“Sorry, sir,” Blade said to John. Blade’s posture was the perfect submissive, but Ryan saw the glint of mischief in Blade’s eyes.

Not unexpectedly John hadn’t missed it either. He ruffled Blade’s hair and nodded his acceptance, but looked over Blade’s head to Ryan. “I see what you mean; he’s not as tame as he appeared last night.”

“Ry!” Blade shot around to look at Ryan.

“Don’t look shocked. Tame submissive you are not, and you know that. Your unexpected flair is your charm.” Ryan had been going to say wildness, but he’d seen the flash of hurt in Blade’s eyes and changed it to flair. Blade was a good submissive; he was a good boy. He just wasn’t robotic, and Ryan didn’t want robotic. Ryan wrapped his arm around Blade and pulled him into his chest. “I love you this way, boy, and don’t you forget it. Now get your shirt on and explain breakfast protocol. I’m not going to be late.”

“Gordon will be out for blood if we’re late. Two meals disturbed.” Blade made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Tragic.”

“Blade,” Ryan warned.

“Hold your shirt on.”

“You’re the one who needs a shirt.”

Blade shrugged into his shirt and without looking did up the buttons. “Breakfast is easier than dinner. Milton will be at the head of the table and Sheldon next to him. Sheldon is Milton’s slave, so don’t try any elaborate conversation with Sheldon without Milton’s permission. In general don’t do anything with Sheldon until Milton gives the OK. It will be subtle. Milton will nod or tap Sheldon’s wrist.”

“Slave?” Rick’s eyes were wide, and he leaned more firmly into John.

“It’s their choice, Rick,” John said and wrapped his arm more firmly around Rick’s waist. “Some people have deeper needs.”

“Weird.”

“Don’t judge, angel. After last night, we are hardly in the position to judge.”

Rick flushed, and his bright green eyes dropped to the floor.

“It took some getting used to for me also,” Blade said, easily recognizing and moving to counter Rick’s embarrassment. Blade might have cast stones earlier, but he’d shifted to helping a fellow submissive now. “Sheldon’s good with it, and Sheldon’s the expert on The Green Mountain Boys. He’s head boy, so if you’re confused watch him. He can do the protocol in his sleep.

“Breakfast at holidays is busy, so the food will be out on tables. Choose what you want. There’s no protocol about doms going first or anything. You do stand if Milton or Gordon comes in the room and you’re already seated. That’s everybody, not just subs. Conversation is fine, or silent eating is fine, but don’t ignore a direct question and at least nod in response to a greeting. Gordon, Milton, or both will pull you aside and ask if you’re OK after last night. It will be Milton’s call on who does it. With me, it’s usually Milton, and it comes with lots of growling about being an idiot if I was messing around. It’s a lot softer if I’ve come apart over something real. Milton will pull me up in his lap in that case, but I know Milton well.”

Rick had turned pale at the last comment and turned to John with searching eyes. John growled under his breath and kissed Rick’s forehead.

“John,” Ryan said gently. “Gordon and Milton are both sensitive men. They’ll read from both of you that you are hands off. They won’t do more than squeeze Rick’s shoulder or drop a kiss on the top of his head. Will you be able to handle that? Otherwise I’ll make excuses, and you can eat in the kitchen.”

Rick swallowed hard. “I can handle this,” he said in a firm clear voice.

“Good boy,” Ryan said and brushed his hand down Rick’s shoulder. He watched both men flinch. “Hard for you. Do you want to practice?”

“I don’t like people touching me,” Rick snarled.

“I can tell,” Ryan said dryly. “I’m not going to touch you in anyway that is not fraternal. I don’t have that right unless John specifically gives it, but we casually touch. Volcanic eruptions will not go over well if someone pats you on the back or loops an arm around your shoulders.”

“How would you usually greet a submissive?” John asked.

Ryan walked up to Rick and kissed the top of his head. “Good morning. Did you sleep all right?”

“No,” Rick snapped.

“Bad,” Blade groaned. “That will never do.”

“You let all those strange men touch you?”

“Well, most of them aren’t strangers. The majority have seen my backside bare, and half have probably whacked me at one time or another, but, yeah, I let them touch me. I like them. I like to be touched, and it can be fun to play with them a little. Don’t you ever visit with other dominants?”

“It usually ends up like last night,” John said into the silence.

“Caution wild animal. May bite,” Blade joked.

“Shut up.”

“Rick.” John’s hand was quick. Two sharp smacks landed on Rick’s hip.

“He wasn’t being nice.”

“Blade was teasing. I think that is a permanent condition for that boy, and he was accurate. You put up a virtual no man’s land around yourself. We both do,” John added ruefully. 

“No man’s land will be a disaster,” Ryan said. “Should we practice greeting again?”

“This is silly.” Rick jerked away from John and stalked toward the door. “I’m not an animal to be trained to let strangers touch.”

John caught Rick’s wrist and jerked him close. “You are my submissive. I want you to greet our friends and hosts in a civilized manner. A kiss on the forehead will not kill you.”

“What if they do more?”

“I’ll deal with them if they try,” John growled. “Now try again.”

“Good morning.” Ryan gently kissed Rick’s forehead.

“Good morning,” Rick said stiffly.

“That’s going to have to do,” Ryan said, looking at his watch. “At least you didn’t punch me. I can mange stiff. Stiff won’t get breakfast cancelled.”

John pulled Rick into their room for a short chat before the actual breakfast. They still had time to make it to breakfast without being late.

"I thought we had reached an agreement, Rick," John said, his tone betraying his displeasure.

"These men are lunatics, all of them! A bizarre…"

"All of them?" John interrupted, not at all amused. "Are Landon and Gordon lunatics too? The same Landon and Gordon whom you hold in such high regard?"

"Well Alexander the Great was a lunatic too. My regard for someone has nothing to do with their lunacy," Rick mumbled under his breath, eyes studying the floor.

This was typical Ricky; he would not concede defeat no matter what.

"All right then," John said, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder and bending his head down so he was on the same level with Rick. "So we agree that these lunatics deserve being treated respectfully." Johnny's voice held a hint of humor in it, yet the authority in it didn't diminish because of it. "Rick." he grabbed Rick by his chin and pulled his face up, forcing eye contact, "You will behave impeccably; that is not negotiable. You need not think about anything, but pleasing me. Understand?"

Rick gave a subdued nod.

"Do you need anything to keep you focused?" John asked, patting Rick's bottom.

"No, Sir, please," Rick pleaded, his eyes welling up with tears.

Johnny pulled Rick into his chest and dropped a kiss on his hair. Rick was on edge. Keeping him calm seemed a mission doomed to fail.   

"Baby, I was just offering to help. It wasn't a threat of punishment. So?" John tried once more.    

"No," Rick shook his head rapidly, as if afraid of what he might say if he wasn't quick enough to deny the need. He then took a deep breath and let out a soft, almost inaudible, "I don't know."

John studied Rick carefully. His boy was exhausted. He had kept Rick up almost all night. On one hand an exhausted Rick was a pliable Rick, but on the other hand he also was more prone to meltdowns. Maybe he should make excuses and keep his angel in the room. Only that would probably result in a party of three or more worried dominants barging into their room, and that would most certainly set Rick off.

He undid the first two buttons of Rick's shirt. Jerking him by his head to expose his neck, John bit down on the junction of Rick’s neck and shoulder. Rick hissed and yelped, a new bout of tears springing into his emerald eyes. He looked at Johnny, eyes wide with shock.

Johnny reached to button the shirt up, but Rick stopped him by putting a hand over his. "Blade wears a collar," he said in a voice that was thick with lust, full of want and slightly amazed.

"You want them to see my mark," John said with calmness and indifference in his voice that he did not feel. He wanted to beat his chest and howl loudly, to let the entire world know that Rick was his.

Rick gave a slow, disbelieving nod, clearly still surprised at his own words and feelings.

"I don't want anyone touching me, Johnny. I'm yours, no one can touch me." His pupils were dilated, eyes almost black.

Johnny felt close to exploding. Rick was placing himself in John's protection.

"No one will touch you. I will let them know that touching you is off limits without my express permission." John accepted with a small smile.

"Do I have to talk to them?" Rick asked in a small voice. He wasn't protesting, just asking.

"Angel," Johnny started only to be interrupted by Rick.

"You would never harm, me. I know it!" Rick insisted.

"Beautiful, I will never harm you, and you know it because you know me. They don't know me. My behavior yesterday didn't exactly help them to see me as a safe and sane person. So please, bear with it. It's nothing more and nothing less, than what I would have done."

"I'm not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself." Now Rick was pouting.

 Johnny pulled Rick by his biceps and delivered a short but painful series of smacks to his bottom. Rick climbed on his toes and yelped at every swat.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll be good."

Johnny nodded his head and went to the door; Rick following him closely.

"Rick." John turned around and looked at his boy. "Remember, concentrate on me. There is only me, yes?"

Rick gave him a ready nod.

"I can do this," he said determinedly. Johnny groaned inwardly. He wasn't sure that Rick being bent on succeeding as a good submissive was a better option, then Rick resolute on proving he did not want to submit. He hoped all of them would survive this breakfast.                 

        

Things had progressed unexpectedly well. They had made it to the table and settled there with their plates full without any incidents. Even morning greeting were exchanged in relative calm, as John had made know to everyone that his boy wasn't to be touched. It wasn't an unreasonable request by a dominant, so it didn't raise any eyebrows.

Milton and Gordon both had kept John under tight observation. Landon was no better. He gave John a cold stare, his jaw tightening marginally. The man was far from pleased with Johnny. Perhaps, midnight exercises were considered mortal sins in the Green Mountain Boy bible. Johnny rubbed a hand over his forehead. Rick's sarcasm and disrespect was rubbing off on him.     

There was the typical small talk building around the table, and both John and Rick were happy to not be directly included in it.

Johnny watched Rick throw a couple of glances at Milton's slave, Sheldon, who looked like a slightly older version of Blade. Beautiful boys, both of them. He could feel the same fire burning in Sheldon. It was very impressive to see that fire tamed to such a degree. Johnny studied Milton carefully. This man was managing five partners as a full time dominant and on top of it he was hierarchically the highest dominant in the GMB, which to some degree made him dominant to everybody in it. Johnny could not fathom giving that much of himself. This man was indeed worthy of his deepest respect. He sincerely regretted the level of distrust and even hostility he had displayed yesterday. Landon was right to give him that look.

John turned his eyes to Rick. His boy looked fine. He was concentrating on his plate. The rare looks he threw around the table were ones of open curiosity. Honestly, the power dynamics of this group was indeed utterly fascinating. Johnny didn't get to dwell over it very much though.

"Tell me, John," Landon said casually, leaning back against the chair. "Did you enjoy your exercise last night? Because your boy surely didn't." The contempt was unmistakable in his tone.

Landon might have had some valid reason for being displeased with John, but the way John dealt with his own issues was none of Landon’s business. By his side Rick tensed. One look at him told John that Rick was fighting with his need to burst out in violent tirade in John's defense. Johnny put a restraining hand over Rick's hand, which made Rick look up at him searching his eyes. The eye contact lasted just a short second. Rick let his eyes fall, clearly surrendering the floor to Johnny.

John placed the silverware down with exaggerated care and calm. Putting a sweet smile on his face, he held Landon's penetrating gaze.

"Quite interesting," he said softly. "And I don't even mean the fact that there clearly is a double standard, one for Gordon's submissive and another for everyone else."

That clearly raised Gordon's displeasure. The man leaned closer to the table and gave John an icy glare.

"Landon operates within the limits set by me. He will yield to no one, but those who are worthy of his submission," Gordon uttered through his teeth. "I'm surely not very impressed at this point." Gordon’s tone suggested nothing short of a true miracle would make him impressed.

"Fair enough." John smiled sweetly. "However, that's also Rick's case. Somehow, that simple fact seems to offend you. But as I said it wasn't what I found interesting," John articulated pointedly. "What is absolutely fascinating is that there are two sides of Landon, both equally dominant, which makes the double standard perfectly understandable." John's eyes were on Landon once more, reading the man in silence.

Landon raised an eyebrow in fake amusement, "Very educational, however I fail to see how that relates to my question." This man would not let himself be sidetracked, that much was clear.

"I was just pointing out the fact that I understood and accepted your unique personality. Maybe you could grant me the same courtesy, by allowing that I might have my own distinctive traits and that my relationship with my boy is hardly possible to neatly box into any standards." John made sure his voice never wavered or changed its level.

"It was well below zero and you had left a melting boy behind. That's an action of a stroppy brat, not a worthy dominant," Landon almost growled; the sound excessively protective.

"To reassure you, I will tell you that my behavior was neither unsafe, nor was it impulsive. As for leaving Rick behind, it was perhaps an oversight on my part. I had all the reason to believe Rick had overcome that point. However that is an aspect concerning only me and Rick and we have already dealt with it. I will not allow you to meddle in it, no matter my gratefulness for your hospitality. Now I would appreciate if I would be left to finish my breakfast in peace. I understand there is snow to be shoveled; I will need my energy." They stayed eyes locked for several more seconds.

Rick was positively glowing beside him. John wanted to whack him over his head. It was hardly good grace to look so satisfied over your boyfriend being less than polite to your hosts.

Johnny pushed the fork into the sausage on his plate with a bit more force than necessary, mindful of all the looks being trained on him.

The apparently slightly overcooked sausage exploded with a small pop, turning inside out. Blade, who was sitting opposite to them extended his neck and looked at the deformed sausage.

"I think it's dead, Johnny. It shouldn't put any more resistance now," he crooned innocently.

Rick collapsed into laughter by John's side, prompting John into his own bout of laughter.

The rest of the breakfast went on in a more relaxed atmosphere. At some point John caught Landon studying him intently. When he notice John's eyes on him, he gave John a small, amused smile, mixed with something unidentified.        

Immediately after the breakfast, most of them headed for snow shoveling duties. Johnny was getting ready to follow Ryan when he saw Milton approaching them. Milton looked like a tiger inching to its prey. Rick had noticed it too; he pressed tightly against John and pleaded silently with his eyes.

"May I talk to your boy, John?" Milton asked, mindful of the protocol.     

Rick looked frantic. Johnny bent down to look into Rick's eyes. He didn't want to do anything to push his boy at this point, not even a simple gesture of pulling his face up to look at him.

"Rick, I would love it if you would talk to Milton. He will not have my permission to touch in any way beyond a casual, friendly touch, but if you are not up to it, I will not allow it, not now, in any case."   

"I will speak to him, sir." Rick nodded resignedly. "Go with Ryan, I'll join you later." The last part was said in a more calm and relaxed tone, eyes steadily holding John's gaze. 

****

To one of his own boys, Milton would have held out his hand or draped his arm casually over the boy's shoulders. Rick's expression was easily as defensive as several rows of razor wire topped by machine guns. Milton inclined his head and walked down the hallway. He listened for the echo of the footsteps on the hardwood and the marble of the entryway. The door, like all the other doors, was solid, heavy wood. He pushed it open to his study. This was his study, the room where he was Milton and not necessarily Milton with the green cape and the titles. This was his study before he'd acquired the other one. He knelt and lit the fire, blowing on it until the tinder caught and smoke rose from the first of the small logs.

Rick had followed him and was studying the row of photographs against the wall. He spun around as he heard Milton move, shoving his hands into his pocket and trying to look casually bored.

"Would you like them narrated?" Milton asked.

Rick's nod was small, almost invisible.

"They're roughly hung as a timeline. The first is my grandfather, his lover, and a prized Ayreshire heifer at the county fair." Grandfather and Doug looked so young. Grandfather was holding the heifer, and Doug was watching Grandfather; the tilt of his chin and the almost invisible smile on his lips were the only hint that their relationship was beyond business partners. Grandfather's sleeves were rolled up and his collar open. His smile was wide and confident. To the photographer, Grandfather had been smiling over the win; to Milton it was obvious that Grandfather was smiling at Doug.

"The next is Landon and Gordon breaking ground for this house."

"They were so young," Rick said.

"In their thirties. It was a different world then, but they were very much in love and very determined to make it better. You might not see it now. To the young they come across as old curmudgeons, but they were idealist. They wanted a community where they didn't have to hide who they were. They built all this. They built the Green Mountain Boys. They built a world where I don't have to hide."

Milton walked down the row of pictures: the bones of the house naked as the early snow fell, men struggling with the bullwheel for the first rope tow, Landon kneeling in the dirt with a trowel and a rose bush. "The first meeting. Most of these men are gone now; I only knew a few of them. He was Secretary of the Navy and Ambassador to Germany." Milton pointed to a tall lean man. "He was also a submissive. His partner made your John look civilized. He scared me to death when he was in his eighties and walked with a cane.

"Josh and Jer, building the addition. They were at the other end of the table this morning. They came up with Sheldon."

"That's you." Rick pointed to a picture with Milton kneeling at Gordon's feet. Gordon's fingers were combing through Milton's hair, and Milton was leaning into Gordon's leg. "You're on your knees."

"I subbed for Gordon and for Landon occasionally."

"Landon?"

"He's a switch. Your John picked up on it at breakfast. Landon is always submissive to Gordon and generally submissive to me now that I've proved myself. He flirts with Ryan, but in general he's a dominant around the hordes."

Rick's eyes were still on the picture with Milton kneeling and the one next to it where Milton's head was buried in Landon's lap. "Were you crying?"

"Yes. It had been a bad day. I was young, impressionable, and volatile. Gordon had one of his infernal meetings where I was supposed to be the silent boy at his feet. I lost it, and Landon came after me. See the mark here." Milton pointed to Landon's right cheek. "I punched him. Gordon was justifiably harsh."

"What did he do?"

He said words that cut through my very soul. He caned me with the dragon cane, and then he forgave me. Landon had already forgiven me. Landon is generous to the extreme."

"Did it hurt?"

"The words more than the cane, and the cane hurt plenty."

"Landon said I was a one sided walking, talking disaster, and that I never listen to Johnny." Rick paused, his eyes wandering back to the picture. "He wasn't the first to say that. You're devoted to them. Your loyalty is absolute. You're a dominant, and you can be submissive."

"Dominance and submission are an interwoven pair. They aren't opposites. One isn't better or stronger than the other. They are symbionts; I can only dominate with a willing partner. My first Christmas with Sheldon."

"A handsome couple. Do you still put up mistletoe?"

"Not until Christmas Eve."

"Where are the others?"

"Tilden." Milton pointed to the picture with the two of them fishing. It hadn't been taken here, but at his grandfather's farm. Tilden was sprawled out in the high grass, his fishing pole cast aide, his nose in a book. Milton was sitting next to him, staring off into the pond, his pole grasped firmly in his hand. "He and Luke will be here tonight if the weather cooperates."

"Is there a picture of Luke?"

"Here. College graduation. Mike's in it also."

"You're not in it."

"I'm taking the picture, and they weren't mine then. They were only Tilden's."

"A hostile takeover."

"Maybe, but that was unkind."

Rick blushed, a fleeting look of embarrassment before it was overtaken by anger. "You don't have a right to reprimand me. You're obviously no saint with an orgy of boys."

Milton leaned against the wall, carefully avoiding the pictures. "I promised John that I wouldn't physically touch you, and I wouldn't anyway because you don't trust me, but those sort of words will get you in trouble, boy. They are words meant to hurt. How often do you use words to brutalize your partner? It's not a becoming trait." 

"Asshole!"

Milton shrugged. "I'm not a minnow in a puddle. I know how to play rough. Your John does also, but you push him to the edge. This is not a one-sided relationship. Dominants are not altruistic heroes. You have to give as much as you take. This is Austin." Milton pointed to one of the final pictures. 

"Cradle robbing."

"Yes. I took the freedom of youth. He never lived a single day as an ordinary eighteen-year-old. I hope I gave back what he needed and wanted. He gave me everything. I tried to stop him; maybe I should have tried harder."

"I'm good at getting what I want."

"I expect so. Only submission is different. You're afraid of your own goal. You sabotage your own success." Milton turned to look out the small window at the snow covered ground. "That is all. Go help them shovel snow."

Milton listened for the door. Had he said too much? Had he even said the right words or expressed the right ideas? John and Rick, they could be beautiful together. There were glimpses before it was blown apart again by the hurricane forces of their personalities. 

Milton leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the window. They aren't yours. They aren't Green Mountain Boys. You've done your best. Right or wrong it was your best. He was far better at giving others pep talks. It worked when he said those words to others.

"Milton, no one but yourself ever demanded miracles." Gordon stood next to the fireplace, the flames playing on the creases in his face. "Do you need something from me?"

"Probably."

Gordon pulled Milton close. Briefly they stood chest to chest. Milton lowered his head and curled into Gordon's smaller frame.

"This isn't your responsibility, but go pick your poison if it will ease your burden. You and John are far more similar than either of you will ever admit, but at least you choose not to indulge in self-inflicted pain. If I ever catch you naked in the snow, I will use the dragon cane again."

****

"Where's Milton?" The question was blunt and Sheldon wasn't hiding the trace of sarcasm in his tone. He was head boy; he was supposed to be a good host, but he wasn't sure he liked Rick or John. Sheldon had seen Milton's eyes and rigid shoulders. He wasn't a naive little boy.

John had come up behind Rick. A snow shovel dangled from his hand. He draped an arm around Rick and turned his boy to face him, leaving Sheldon's question unanswered. "Is everything OK?"

"He talked of family," Rick said. "It's complicated."

"He didn't touch you, angel?"

"No."

Sheldon wanted to growl. Of course Milton hadn't touched Rick. He'd given his word. Milton's word had real value.

"Let them be," Landon whispered in Sheldon's ear and towed him away from John and Rick by his jacket collar.

"I don't like them."

"You don't know them. Rick's confused. He would benefit from your guidance if you don't create a major melee. Ryan says John is not murderous."

"He wanted to murder you at breakfast."

"I was hardly being respectful. His boy needed a dominant wrapped around him last night, and his dominant was out having petty tempers in the snow. He deserved those words, even though he wasn't ready to hear them. Milton is too damn polite to say them except in his roundabout diplomatic speeches."

"I'll say it."

"And Milton will kill you, slave. That is not productive."

"Sir." The use of his title required that acknowledgement. He was the slave. He was required to show respect and deference.

"Milton needs your absolute loyalty and support. I wasn't exactly a sterling example of submissive manhood. You need to show them the strength, courage, and loyalty of a Green Mountain Boy submissive."

"Lower my eyes and stay on my knees, even when I'm fighting mad."

"You made your choice, slave."

Sheldon lowered his eyes, clasped his hands behind his back, and spread his feet to shoulder width apart. Sheldon felt the calm of servitude wash over him. It wasn't instantaneous, and it wasn't entirely complete. Without Milton he couldn't find the depth of headspace, and they'd been separated for a week. With Tilden out of town also, Josh and Jer had stayed over, but it hadn't been the same. Josh doled out the lunch money and took Sheldon's collar off prior to a shower, but it was the mechanics without the mastery. Josh had handed out the beating when Sheldon had confessed to masturbating in the shower, and it had been Josh's fingers that had locked the chastity belt around Sheldon's precious jewels.    

"Go find Milton; he needs you."

Landon hadn't added that Sheldon needed Milton. Without Milton, the ache would never go away. 

Sheldon knew where to look. He heard the sound of leather against flesh. Gently he pushed the door open. One summer Sheldon had studied every door and floorboard. He could move noiselessly through the house. He slipped into the room and knelt in the corner.

Milton's hands were framing the small window; his forehead was resting on the cool glass. His clothes had been abandoned on the desk. His skin was a candy cane collection of red and white, more red at this point than white. The flogger landed across Milton's back, the tails spreading bursts of fresh red. Sheldon would have screamed at the force of the blow; Milton only grunted. The muscles of his back and ass rippled under the lashes. Gordon swung again and again. Milton's back and ass were now uniformly red.

"That's enough." Milton's voice was strained, barely controlled.

Gordon dropped the flogger. He ran his thumb across the short hairs on Milton's neck. He kissed the hot shoulder and turned and left without a word. Milton stayed with his forehead pressed against the window. His breath came in gasping shudders, and he groaned almost silently. 

Sheldon inched forward. His fingers brushed the smoldering flesh. His tongue lapped the beautiful red ass cheeks. Milton reached behind himself, catching Sheldon's hair in his fingers. "Sheldon?"

"Let me be of service, Master." 

"My boy." Milton's breath caught as he pulled Sheldon forward. 

Clothes against naked flesh, only it was backward this time. Sheldon was clothed, and Milton was naked. Sheldon kissed down the still tight abdomen. Milton whined as Sheldon's lips and tongue found the center of his manhood. Sheldon tasted the familiar musk. Master.

Milton's fingers tangled in Sheldon's hair. He pulled his boy's head off just as the prize was close. "I want all of you, boy."

It only took two buttons before Sheldon could pull his shirt over his head. He kicked off his jeans, not caring about the decorum of properly folded clothes. Milton's fingers found the waistband of Sheldon's boxers, and they were gone with an impatient tug.

The sofa was too damn small. Sheldon's legs were over Milton's shoulders. Milton's cock was buried deep inside him. He groaned as Milton plunged deeper, surrendering his will, his body entirely. They came together. They always did now unless Milton forbade it entirely. Milton owned him. Sheldon's pleasure was Milton's prerogative and second to Master's pleasure.

"Beautiful boy." The kiss was gentle now. The fingers traced the bite marks on Sheldon's chest. "I'll leave you to explain those to Austin."

"I missed you."

"I know."

Milton rolled off Sheldon with a final gentle kiss. "No resting for the wicked. We have to go be the face of the Green Mountain Boys."

"Always duty," Sheldon muttered, but struggled into a sitting position.

"You, my precious slave, must always understand duty."

"But you are Master."

"Master is not without duties."

"It has more," Sheldon protested.

"And pleasures just as slavery." Milton kissed Sheldon in a slow and passionate kiss that hung in the air for minutes. "Duty and pleasure, dominance and submission, master and slave." Milton finger combed Sheldon's hair into place. "Forward, boy. Game face on. We have worlds to conquer."

"Or two guests to tame."

"That also, not that I have much hope. They will always remain feral."

"Is that a failure?"

"No, they know we're here. They know where to find shelter if needed or wanted and not just from weather. It's all we can do, and it is not failure."

******

******

John picked up his phone and noticed the number. Arthur had called while he'd been out shoveling snow. The walks at this place were endless. Did snow really need shoveled from walks to the gazebo and the rose garden in December? Maybe they held winter garden parties; they were a strange lot. 

John smiled to himself; they were a careful lot also. Every time he was around one of their submissives, a big guy popped out of the woodwork, big not only physically, but high in the hierarchy and a confident and capable dominant. Ryan was the easiest to get along with despite the man's propensity for chatter. Ryan was genuinely good-natured with a high dose of unflappability, but John suspected there was far more steel behind that smile and pretty blue eyes than the man ever let on. John was practiced in studying power structures, and young Ryan sat third in this one, and he had the ear and trust of Milton. John hadn't been blind to Milton catching Ryan's eye as they walked in for breakfast and the slight nod Ryan gave in return.

John stretched his shoulders, easing the strain from the shoveling and last night's exercise. He'd come back to the room to take a shower. Clever Blade and his brother Sheldon had turned the end of the shoveling into a snow fight and with Ryan's help had dumped nearly a shovel full down the back of his neck. John could have escaped, but it had been in good fun. John had kept his personal defense skills tucked away and let himself be soaked. That had earned him an almost invisible smile from Milton, a soft 'thank you' and a snowball in the shoulder. Brat. Somehow thinking of the head of the GMB as a brat was probably not healthy.

John clicked the number on his missed call list and waited for Arthur's clear, steady voice.

"John, what are you doing in Vermont?"

"Don't I even get a hello?"

"Not when I have Gordon Lewis calling me after midnight his time and asking veiled and probing questions. The Green Mountain Boys is hardly your pond. I know how you react around other dominants."

"Relax, Arthur. There hasn't been any bloodshed. The worst that has happened is being on the losing end of a snowball fight."

John heard and felt the long pause before Arthur spoke. “Are you sure you’re all right there, John?”

“Well, I want a T-shirt that says I survived a stay at the Green Mountain Boys’ Resort, but I’m OK.”

“John?”

“Arthur, the place is crawling with dominants and more keep showing up. I can’t even remember all their names. It’s an education in man management, and I don’t like being on the receiving end of management, but they’re good at it. I’ll give them that. Milton is a tactical genius, and he knows his men. I’m being gently watched and prodded into proper Green Mountain Boy dominant behavior. I wouldn’t live here, but I’ll survive this, and it’s good for Rick.”

“He has trouble with public acknowledgment of the lifestyle.”

“Nothing like being inundated with other dominants and submissives to solve that problem. He’s seeing very powerful submissives submit who aren’t frivolous accessories to their dominants. He spent half the morning puzzling over Milton’s slave and the power he wields, not only here, but in his position as a high ranking television executive.  Arthur, you can reassure them that neither of us is a closet psychopath. We’ll be the perfect visitors.”

“I hardly imagine that,” Arthur said with a soft laugh. 

“I promise no more half-naked midnight exercise, and Rick is trying.”

“They’re tolerant of eccentricities in submissives. It’s the dominant who will get the tongue lashing or worse.”

“I am responsible for my submissive’s behavior. We’ll be OK, Arthur. You can stop worrying. I’m not one of their good boys, but I can be a civilized guest. Reassure them. I need to shower. I’m dripping melting snow all over their pristine floor, not good manners.”

“Call me, John, if you have problems. Good night.”

“It’s day here, but thank you, Arthur. We will be fine.”

John switched off the water and reached for the fluffy towel that made him feel like he was drying off with a rabbit pelt, instead of towel. Patting off the most of the water from his body and hair, Johnny wrapped the towel around his waist, his mind still on the chat with Arthur. The man knew him better than anyone. He knew how uncomfortable John would be around the formal group that was Green Mountain Boys. There were protocols and hierarchy in place, and it made John's skin crawl. He could never imagine yielding his freedom, his power of decision to another dominant, to allow someone else to make judgments for him and his submissive. That most certainly would take all the fun of the lifestyle away from John. On the other hand he could also see the appeal of it. With his own fears and troubles, he could understand how having other dominants around all the time, could help. When he was at his worst, he always needed Arthur by his side to be sure he would not cross any lines. He trusted Arthur's judgment entirely, and he would allow Arthur to step between him and Rick, if Arthur thought it necessary. These men were no different; they had a lifetime to build a relationship between themselves, just like Arthur and John had. The only difference, perhaps, was that Arthur knew how to handle John without raising his temper and pushing him beyond safe. There was steel and power in Arthur's voice and his gestures. Johnny had seen Arthur play; he was one of the most powerful dominants Johnny had ever seen, his play almost on the edge of dark. With Johnny, however, he always hid that part of him, always the gentle guide, rather than the demanding and stern dominant. Milton, with his diplomacy and safe choice of words, was quite like Arthur. Johnny had felt the sheer power the man projected, but Milton had done nothing until now that could have been interpreted as him trying to top Johnny.

Johnny rubbed his hands over his face and ran his fingers through his damp hair. He was hardly the gracious guest to these men. He had put up walls around himself, treated them with prejudice. He knew about the GMB ways from Arthur, and John saw the clear chain of command in action since the minute he arrived at this place. Johnny had made the first mistake that day; he had assumed these men would try to impose their way of life on him. He had been wrong, except from Gordon who had projected a mostly silent disapproval; none of these men  had tried anything. Especially not Milton and he was the head of Green Mountain Boys. Whatever course of action he would set, the rest would follow, even Gordon.

Johnny looked at himself in the mirror. He should have known better, he was trained to know better. He had been in tighter spots, having to deal with men he had almost nothing in common, men with values so different from his own that he found it impossible to relate, even men with no morals at all; yet he had found a way to tolerate them and achieve his goal. These people where closer to him than almost anyone; there was no excuse for the way he had behaved. He did exactly what Rick usually did. He’d projected his own struggles on those around him, appointing them as his stand-in enemies. This fiasco had only one explanation; he had felt his beast rising in him for some time now and had ignored it. Rick wasn't the only one who hated their separations; his own beast grew restless and mad with need when he was away from Rick. With his thirst unquenched and ignored for more than a week, he had reacted against the first sign of power, needing to fight it, to control it.

John let out a derisive chuckle; he was an idiot. He had tried to do what he had accused these men of doing. And he had made it even worse for Rick. Landon was right; he had behaved as a stroppy brat, not as a responsible dominant.  John's fingers tightened around the edge of the sink. He needed to take Rick and soon, but he would not dare dominate him fully as restless as he was. And Arthur was on the other side of the ocean. He sighed and rubbed his face. He needed to get over himself. He had Rick by his side after a long separation, and he was in a place where he could act freely on his needs. Instead of enjoying his boy, he was busy fighting imaginary battles. How did Arthur always managed to make him see things clear, even without actually saying anything, was beyond John? He smiled at himself in the mirror, promising himself to be a good boy and a proud owner of a dominant’s badge.

He was exiting the bathroom when an enthusiastic Rick burst into the room, bright cheeked and red nosed.

"Brrrrr," Rick exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "For the record, all these lunatics are right, and you are certifiably insane. It's freezing out there," Rick said, his eyes sparkling, "It must have been worse last night. What the hell were you thinking?" Rick shook his head incredulously.

"It wasn't that cold, angel," John chuckled, pulling Rick to his bare chest.

"Yeah, I'm sure in Verkhoyansk it was colder; that's hardly the point."

"Why the hell do you even know about Verkhoyansk?" John laughed out, pushing Rick away to look at him with amusement.

"Umm, because I studied geography in school?" Rick said with raised eyebrows, as if talking to a toddler. John looked at him pointedly, without elaborating. "Oh, fine, because I'm a trivia junky," Rick huffed, pushing playfully against John's chest.

"You're in a good mood," Johnny said, walking to his duffle bag to retrieve fresh clothes. He turned his head and looked at Rick over his shoulder, studying him carefully. His boy was relaxed and happy. It was clear he had enjoyed himself.    

Rick shrugged absently. "We had a good time."

Rick had stayed behind and continued the snow fight after Johnny had retreated. He clearly had enjoyed himself downstairs. Rick started to take his clothes off, getting ready for a shower. Johnny pulled some pants on, but stayed bare-chested intending to follow Rick into the bathroom.

"Did you know Mike speaks Russian?" Rick asked with a smile, as he was about to enter the bathroom. "We were singing some of juicier blatnoy songs," Rick confessed, grinning from ear to ear.

John rolled his eyes, "I'm glad no one else here understands Russian, I doubt they would have appreciated you corrupting their submisisves." He caught up with Rick and planted a loud smack on his brief clad bottom, eliciting an exaggerated yelp from Rick.

"Pft." Rick quickly found a refuge in the bath tub, "As if that one needs corrupting. And by the way I wouldn't count on nobody understanding Russian. Milton definitely gave us very knowing looks." Rick giggled and turned the running shower onto Johnny.

Johnny let out a joyous laugh and launched himself at Rick, wrestling the shower from him, not caring at all that he was soaking wet once more. This level of playfulness meant only one thing: Rick was at ease with himself and his environment. John wasn't sure what had happened, what internal analysis Rick had run, but the result was most pleasing. Maybe now that the two of them had calmed down, they could use the remaining two days to enjoy each other and have fun.

After turning a struggling Rick onto his belly and delivering a series of hard smacks, while his boy yelled and kicked his legs, Johnny let the giggling and snorting Rick up.

"Ogre," Rick said, shaking the droplets of water accumulated on his hands onto Johnny.

"You just don't learn, do you, boy?" John growled menacingly and pulled Rick down, making him sit down with a wet plop. Forcing his legs apart Johnny rained down painful swats onto the tender flesh of Rick's inner thighs.

"Aw, aw, awwwww, sorry." Rick's whine was immediate. He pouted miserably at John, batting his eyelashes at Johnny with exaggerated hurt and innocence.

Johnny kissed to delicate nose of his lover and held the shower-head over Rick, rubbing his boy with one hand.

Rick purred under his hands and shivered with pleasure.

"You are the meanest of all dominants. They all are nice to their submissives; only you are this mean," Rick lamented with his eyes shut, face turned upwards towards the onslaught of running water.

"Hmmm, maybe I should trade you for one of Milton's submissives."

A handful of water was immediately thrown at him, "Don't think I cannot hurt you Johnny. You might be the sadist, but I can assure you my imagination has no limits." Rick held a warning finger at Johnny, his eyes burning with passionate fire.

Johnny laughed out, a rich laughter of true joy. It was a rare pleasure to see Rick this playful and relaxed. "I thought you said Milton was not as mean as me."

"I said no one is that mean," Rick shot back passionately. A second later his eyes lowered and Rick mumbled guiltily, "I was rude to him, Johnny. This morning. He was really nice; he told me about his family, and I insulted him. That was uncalled for and very unfair of me." He finished and raised his eyes to meet John's.

Johnny kissed his boy's damp hair and kept rubbing his thighs and belly, letting the water cascade down his lover's gorgeous body.

"None of us has behaved exemplary. We get a chance to do so from now on. They are a very forgiving lot. I'm sure they will appreciate our efforts."

"I apologized to him. He was real nice about it. Infuriatingly so, as a matter of fact," Rick said with slight exasperation in his voice.

"Don't start, Rick," Johnny warned. "I hope you are not setting yourself up for another failure. You had a great time with these men, allow yourself to enjoy it." His hand stilled on Rick's hip. His tone had been a warning, his voice terse.

"I'm not! I just meant that--" Rick paused for a second--"it's like he hadn't expected anything better of me. That kind of hurt," Rick confessed in a hushed tone.

Of course an easy forgiveness would hurt Rick. He would see it as the other man's low expectation of him, which would not be easy for him.

"Rick." Johnny kissed Rick gently on his forehead. "He has seen all sorts of things; he is an expert and we are amateurs. He wouldn't see your struggles as something unexpected. That doesn't mean he thinks any less of you."

Rick shook his head vehemently, "No, it's ok; it kind of hurt, but it's ok. They all do it with such ease. I mean everybody, not only these men, but Gregory and William also. All the submisives I have met until now are so good at it, and I'm a constant failure." Rick looked at Johnny with sad eyes, tears sparkling in them like gems. 

"Oh, baby, don't. This is not a competition." Johnny stopped the water and wrapped a large towel over his angel, practically drowning him in it. "You are the perfect submissive for me," he murmured softly, gathering Rick in his arms. "I've been waiting a lifetime for you. No one else would put up with me, angel." He captured Rick's lips in a gentle kiss and then walked his precious burden into the bedroom. Rick whimpered and squirmed happily in his arms.

Depositing Rick on the bed, Johnny thoroughly dried him and then took off his own drenched pants.

Rick looked at him from under hooded eyes, his gaze traveling down John's body, appreciation clear in his eyes.

"You are not really thinking about having actual sex right now, are you?" Ricky asked incredulously as his eyes reached John's groin.

Johnny gave him a sharp look, raising his eyebrow in question.

"I'm not denying you!" Rick hurried to assure Johnny. "I simply find it hard to believe you can go again after last night. I think I'm completely drained of any sex juices for the foreseeable future."

Johnny had to chuckle at that.

"All right, imp, I'll spare you this time," Johnny said, kneeling by the bed, admiring the gorgeous sight of Rick sprawled on the bed in all his naked glory.

Rick rose slightly, propped himself on his elbow, and looked at Johnny; his eyes penetrative and calculating. "Why are you being so careful around me?"

"What?" Johnny looked at Rick, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we haven't seen each other for a week, and you’ve hardly touched me. And I don't mean the sex," Rick added hurriedly. "The sex was great and very, very thorough," he said blushing slightly. "But, you demand nothing of me," his voice was almost a murmur, soft enough to be missed if Johnny hadn’t been wholly concentrated on it.

Johnny wanted to kick himself. Oh, Landon was so, right; he needed to find the man and apologize. He had hardly been Rick's dominant since the moment they had arrived. If only he could find a way of quenching his beast's thirst a bit, just enough to make it safe to play, he could finally allow himself to be what Rick wanted, what he wanted.

"Angel, I've just missed you so much. I--" Johnny wasn't sure how to say it-- "I just want too much and too fast, right now. I need to calm down a bit."

"You will not harm me, Johnny," Rick insisted. "I know you won't!"

Johnny stood up and nodded his head firmly with a conviction he did not feel. He picked up another pair of pants and quickly dressed himself, pulling a warm sweater over his head.

"So? Is the brave villager up for a run in a snow?" Johnny asked, looking at Rick meaningfully. He was changing the subject; he knew it, but he wasn't able to let himself go completely, not right now.

Rick, jumped up on his hands and knees and purred, "Oh, yes, bring it on, you savage!"

They dressed in a hurry and went out. They fooled around a bit. Rick running and John chasing him for a while. At some point Johnny let Rick gain a considerable head start. Then he broke into a fast sprint thundering Rick's name. He leapt forward, taking Rick down as he landed on his boy's smaller body. It was good to have someone as fit as Rick. His boy knew exactly how to fall down and how to protect himself. Rick was already on his back, lashing at Johnny with his elbows and knees, fighting back violently and furiously. Johnny got hold of his arms and pinned them to the ground, winding his legs around Rick. He bodily raised them both off the ground and slammed down with a ferocious roar. Rick oofed under him and went slack, his whole being yielding to John's superior strength.

Johnny bent down to claim his prize, to steal the warmth of his boy's lips, but the feeling of someone watching them made him turn around.

Austin, Milton's cub, was standing a couple of feet away from them, looking shocked.

"Shit," John cursed under his breath and felt Rick shaking with suppressed laughter under him.

Austin darted to the house as soon as John turned around. Great this was what he needed, scaring the baby of the family.

Rick was outright laughing now.

"What are you laughing at, brat? We just scared the shit out of Milton's cub." Johnny said, smacking Rick in the forehead.

"No, you scared Milton's cub; I was the innocent victim," his little devil smiled at Johnny sweetly. "Besides, knowing the level of kinkiness in this place, the kid probably ran to Milton to be fucked into the ground." Rick laughed, extracting himself from under Johnny and shaking himself clean of snow.

"Imp," Johnny said, leaping to his feet and pulling Rick into his chest. "Let's go find Milton, before he sends out a search and rescue party after you."

After a couple of seconds, Johnny made a decision. Turning Rick to him he said in a soft tone, "Rick, I want to ask Milton to whip me."

"What?" Rick jumped up as if burnt.

"Rick, I really need it. Arthur is not around and I don’t dare touch you until I'm sure I’ve taken some of the edge away."

Rick looked at him carefully, assessing him, "OK, but I want to be there." There was no trace of question in his voice.

"No, Rick, you know how I become. It's not safe. I'm not having you around," Johnny said vehemently.

"I'm not asking you, Johnny," Rick said, resolute. "You told me time and again, you belong to me as I belong to you. I'm not letting a stranger touch you, not without me being there."

Rick was right, Johnny had no right to ask that of him. He considered it for a while. "All right. I think Milton will be able to contain me. I'll also ask Ryan to be present. That way I'm sure that whatever happens, I will not get to you."

Rick pulled a glove off his hand and caressed John's face gently.

"You are such a fool sometimes, Johnny," he said fondly. "You will not harm me, ever! It's not Milton or Ryan that I trust; it's you. If I had any doubts about how safe you are, I would never have allowed you anywhere near me with a whip, or belt or whatever." Rick studied Johnny for a while and then continued. "I might have an ego the size of a house, Johnny, but I'm not an idiot. Physically, I'm no match for you. You could break me in half without even trying. If you were out to harm me, I would not be able to even slow you down. The only reason I allow you to do what we do is because I trust you."

Rick climbed on his toes to plant a gentle kiss on John's lips.

"I love you, angel," Johnny murmured into the kiss. They could say whatever they wanted; Rick was perfection. His brave, crazy angel.   

John removed his snow covered boots and wrapped his arm around Rick’s waist. He’d seen the proper manners of the Green Mountain boys; he wouldn’t track snow inside.  Together they padded down the hallway to Milton’s lair. John knocked softly. He didn’t want to disturb any of the activities that were rampart behind closed doors.

“Come in.”

Milton was on the sofa, and Austin was snuggled against him, eating something that was sticky and white and smelled horribly sweet. Austin scrambled to his feet when he saw the two men in the doorway and skipped from the room before John could stop him.

“I hope I didn’t frighten him earlier,” John said, his eyes moving between Milton and Austin’s fleeing back.

“He’s not as delicate as he looks,” Milton said. “He lives with all of us, and we’re not exactly the Good Housekeeping model family.”

“More model than mine,” John said and cracked his shoulders. This was easy with Arthur, who would have already guessed John’s intentions. Milton was studying John with a look of dignified interest. Slowly one eyebrow rose, and he nodded briskly.

“How can I be of service?”

Perfect phrasing. Milton was the consummate dominant and diplomat.

“I have needs,” John started. “Arthur does this for me.”

“Pain is an escape,” Milton said, interrupting John’s flailing sentences. “Ryan, at Landon’s prodding, disrupted your self-inflicted pain last night. I understand the need, not that I approve of your particular technique.”

“Landon was right,” John said, holding Milton’s steady gaze. “I was being a stroppy brat.”

“Landon speaks his mind,” Milton said with a surprising degree of gentleness. “He is Gordon’s partner, and they are not shy about their pronouncements.”

“You are more restrained.”

“I prefer less conflagrations than the two of them, and I have no doubts over my own capacity to err.”

“Jesus! Are you two going to beat around the bush all afternoon?”

“Rick,” John growled and gripped his partner’s arm, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh.

“Well, it’s true,” Rick huffed. “You two could talk all day and not get to the point.”

“Rick,” Milton said, his voice dropping an octave and his shoulders squaring to a near military bearing, “I have treated you as a guest, a troublesome guest, and not a submissive in my charge. I would interpret this continued baiting as a desire from you for a shift of status. I would authorized such a shift with John’s permission, of course, but do not rack up a tally you cannot pay. I am neither gentle nor generous with errant submissives.”

“I am not your submissive,” Rick hissed.

“Lord have mercy,” Milton said with a flash of a smile. “I haven’t the energy to chase you around as well as my own.”

“I don’t need chased around,” Rick growled.

“Silence, boy.” John’s hand dusted over Rick’s ass in a harsh pattern. John jerked Rick around to face him and grabbed his boy’s chin, glaring into his boy’s emerald eyes. “You wanted to be here. I expect your obedience.”

“I expect you to get on with it. You’re the one who wants Milton to beat you,” Rick spat, struggling in John’s grip.

“Boy.”

“Enough.” Milton’s voice was soft, but even John reacted to its authority. He dropped his hands from Rick and braced his shoulders. He deserved the reprimand. He’d come to Milton to ask a favor, and he and Rick were squabbling like small children.

“Come. Get your boots.” Milton strode from the room, clearly expecting them to follow.

“Skis?” John knew there was disbelief in his voice. Was skiing their answer to everything? 

“We could walk, but skiing is easier,” Milton said, stomping down on the skis to snap his bindings into place. “I would not waste your energy.”

John nodded and stepped onto his skis. Thankfully, Milton wasn’t a natterer. They skied in silence, following last night tracks before cutting off onto a small trail between two stately pines. Milton travelled fast; like Ryan, this man was fit and adept at winter sports. John saw and smelled the smoke before seeing the white house against the white background. Two pairs of skis already rested on the porch. Milton slipped a key from his pocket and opened the door. He held up his hand for silence as he stripped his winter gear.

John knew the sound. It was the unmistakable crack of a large whip, followed by the softer pop as the lash hit vulnerable skin. The scene was vivid in its brutal beauty and made John draw a hissing breath between his teeth. Blade was naked, his fair skin already marked by more than a dozen strokes of the whip. Blade was a stunning beauty as he writhed under the lash. His hands were pressed to the wall, holding nothing and unbound, as Ryan raised the whip for another stroke. Ryan, dressed only in dark jeans wielded the whip with concentrated expertise. He moved silently across the floor, placing each whip stroke with perfection. Blade grimaced and moaned in both ecstasy and in blinding pain. Sweat dripped off his forehead and his body glistened with moisture, highlighting every wheal of the whip.

Milton motioned Rick and John from the room. John studied his boy as they entered the cottage’s small kitchen. Rick’s eyes were dilated with arousal and possibly fear. Ryan and Blade had been playing on the edge. Rick wasn’t an innocent, but he had little experience with an actual whip.

“That looked painful,” Rick said in an artificially casual voice, even as he gripped the table with white knuckles.

“It is,” Milton said calmly, “but Ryan is our expert. He’s very precise.”

“Johnny!”

“Angel, it’s something I need. It’s not about you. It’s about me. It’s about the part I can’t control.”

“But why?” Rick’s voice was spiraling higher. 

“Let me,” Milton said and knelt in front of Rick and caught the boy’s hands. “Settle,” Milton said slowly, his eyes resting on Rick’s anguished face. “Listen to me. This is not your failure; it’s not John’s failure. It’s who we are. Pain: receiver or giver, is in our psyche. This is the safe way. Ryan understands and is careful. John gives you what you need. You need to let him have this; you need to give him this.”

“But I’m his partner. I should be able to fulfill his needs. It’s my responsibility.” Rick’s eyes were large, wide and filled with a mixture of fear, desperation, and possessiveness. “He’s mine.”

“I have no doubt,” Milton said softly, “but have you ever handled a whip?”

Rick shook his head.

“It’s a skill; it takes practice.”

“I could learn.”

“Not in ten minutes. Ryan could teach you, but his skills have been honed over years. Not only must you have the skill, you must have the willingness to hit the one you love. Is this how you want to love John, by hitting him? You are his submissive. I wouldn’t allow my submissives to do this.”

“They’re tame,” Rick said in caustic dismissal.

“Sometimes,” Milton said, not changing his tone despite Rick’s provocation. “They are more experienced, and they are more accepting of themselves.”

“I’m not them. I’m not a good boy.”

“You want to be John’s good boy. I see that in your voice, in your actions. You want it more than anything; you touch it with the tips of your fingers and then you recoil. Be John’s partner here. Be his lover. Be his good boy. Let him do this.”

John could see Rick warring with himself. Milton was persuasive. He’d laid out his argument with a precision that Rick’s solicitor’s mind would find appealing and with a passion that would appeal to Rick’s heart.

“OK,” Rick said, his eyes searching John’s face as he said the word.

“Good boy,” John said with deliberate caution. He usually read his boy well, but these last few days he’d felt as inept as a robot at an art show. He’d lurched from one disaster to another, only to have the Green Mountain Boys deftly patch the cracks before it all crashed around his feet.

“You’d prefer I wasn’t here?”

John looked over at Milton. He was the diplomat; he’d know the right words.

“Ryan will worry about the submissive,” Milton said. “He can’t turn that side of himself off. It will be safer for John if you’re not present.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Angel, I know. Can you do this for me?”

Rick slowly nodded, jamming his hands into his pockets and going to look out at the snow covered lake.

“He’ll be all right,” Milton said with a confidence that John wished was contagious. “I’ll watch him.”

“Keep him with you.” John hesitated, staring at Milton for several long minutes. “Use force if you need to.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Milton said, squeezing John’s knee as he rose to his feet. 

John took a deep swallow of mineral water. The noise of the whipping had stopped thirty minutes ago. John had heard the heavy footfalls of Ryan carrying Blade up the stairs and then silence. Ryan would be caring for the boy; he would be loving his boy. John could see it in his mind, the beautiful redhead’s skin hot to touch, the moans vibrating from his throat, the limp compliant body. 

“He’s asleep.”

Ryan stood in the doorway. He was a big man; he looked bigger today inside the modest cottage. He’d pulled on a shirt, white with a green embroidered tree. His biceps pressed against the banded sleeves, and his neck strained against the collar.

“I assume I’m working.” Ryan’s eyes rested on Milton, brilliantly blue and surprisingly serene for a man who had visitors after an intimate and powerful scene.

“I have a request for John. He came to me, but you are best equipped to offer the service.”

John and Ryan silently studied each other. There was no trace of the ridiculous nattering that had filled the night air for hours last night. Ryan was cool, collected, and not without a touch of danger. This was a man who would have made a fine addition to the special forces. He could have smiled brilliantly over cups of tea while secretly plotting the overthrow of the local warlord and his host.

“How hard and with what? Milton, my Blade--”

“I’ll go up with Blade in case he wakes, and I’ll take Rick with me, and he will stay with me,” Milton interrupted. “I’ll leave John to you.”

Ryan nodded and watched Milton retreat from the kitchen, Rick’s hand firmly grasped in his. “How hard? With what?” Ryan repeated.

“No chattering and blathering now?”

“That was last night. I’m not in the same place now, and you know it. You’re here because you know it. How hard, John? Do you want blood?”

John met Ryan’s blue eyes with a long, hard stare of his own. Ryan refused to look away. “Hard. Blood’s OK. Your choice of whip.”

Ryan moved back toward the family room and jerked his head for John to follow. “Shirt off. Safeword.”

“Tsarevich.” John stripped off his shirt and sweater, folding them and placing them on the arm of the sofa. The room was warm, but not warm enough to explain the sheen of sweat on his hands. Ryan had picked up a long thin whip from the sofa and balanced it in his large hands.

“Where you saw Blade. This will cut if I do it hard enough.”

John nodded and braced his hands against the wall. Ryan’s hand touched his shoulder once, possibly measuring the distance or maybe as a gesture of reassurance. The whip slammed across his back. Hard. Fucking hard. John knew the hiss and grunt was his, even thought he’d meant to take this in stoic silence.

Thinking or silence, or anything else John had planned was wiped from his mind with each scorching blow. Ryan was bringing the whip down with incredible speed, precision, and force; each lash mark fell directly below the last. John could feel his muscle twitch and jerk involuntarily and knew the wheals were rising instantly on his skin. Ryan had been down John’s back once and was bringing the whip back up in furiously brutal strokes.

“Still good?” Ryan held a water bottle to John’s lips and wiped his brow with a towel.

John nodded and took a long sip of water, wetting his parched and constricted throat.

“I won’t send you to the hospital,” Ryan said grimly and stepped back into position.

The blow sliced diagonally across John’s back, cutting his skin and tearing a reluctant yelp from his throat. He ground his teeth together and pressed his hands into the wall. He could endure. He didn’t break. The diagonal slashes were torture. Seven, eight, nine, John lost count. He knew each had to be bleeding.

“Stubborn ox!” 

John was pulled from the wall, a blanket was wrapped around his tortured skin, and he was led or maybe dragged to the sofa. He felt the cool cloth on his face and drank the offered water with the desperation of a man lost in the desert.

“It’s OK to cry with me,” Ryan said, sponging John’s sweaty neck. “I won’t beat you anymore. That better have been enough.”

John tried to roll upright, tried to regain his equilibrium, or at least find his shirt. “That was enough. You’re not the blue-eyed bonny giant, are you?”

“Not always. Now do you want aftercare, or do I leave you to suffer on your own? I cut you. You’re going to hurt like hell, and I’d recommend antiseptic and analgesic cream, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with your masochistic martyrdom.”

“I’ll be OK.”

“I know that, but will you be better if I help, or is part of this suffering alone?”

John groaned, taking silent inventory of an array of aches and screaming pain. “Put the cream on and help me with my shirt. Rick shouldn’t see me like this.”

“You’ll need ice and more cream. If you’re not going to ask Rick for help, you’ll have to put up with my nattering all evening. Have I told you the story about last year’s Christmas party?”

“Shut up.” John felt himself smile. He felt good; he felt like himself.

****

Milton braced himself, while outwardly keeping a calm appearance, as he awaited the first sound of the whip from below. The dungeon was soundproof; the main floor was not.

Rick, dearest Rick. This wasn't Milton's boy; this wasn't even a boy with whom he had a close connection. This boy was an enigma, alternating between lucid professional behavior and manic behavior of a submissive in a full and incomprehensible meltdown. Milton's gut instinct told him he should sit on the boy at the first peep before he wound himself into hysterics, but he had no chemistry with the boy. He'd tried to open an avenue for discussion with the family portraits, but he'd been rebuffed rudely. Rick had apologized later, but the encounter had left Milton feeling as if there was still unfinished business between the two of them. Rick was a submissive. Had Milton's words of forgiveness meant anything without at least some sort of ritualized punishment?

Milton froze, the predator ready to spring, as he heard the first crack of the whip. Ryan was hitting hard; Ryan would hit hard. 

"Johnny! Stop it! No!"

Milton wasn't sure if the words referred to his death grip on Rick's wrists or the noise downstairs. In the greater scheme of things, he didn't care. This boy was staying here.

"Kick me and you'll regret it."

Rick of course rose to the challenge and kicked Milton. Barefoot it did no damage, but it had been a stupid comment, a trap obvious even to the greenest of dominants, a challenge that Rick would be unable to resist. Milton landed a flurry of hard slaps to Rick's bottom. "Sit here and wait. Ryan won't kill John. You promised John you'd stay with me."

It might have been the reminder of John's words or the power of Milton's hand, but Rick froze, his eyes wide and spooked like a colt brought into the barn for the first time. Rick had called Milton's submissives tame; this was an untamed one.

"What does a guy have to do to get some undisturbed rest around here?"

Blade! If Rick and Blade went off on each other, a thermonuclear war would look like a garden party. "Ryan will be up shortly," Milton said in his most reassuring tone. Still holding Rick's wrists in one hand, Milton tousled Blade's hair with the other. Milton needed more hands or another dominant. Tilden would be in tonight. He could have entertained Rick with his collection of off-color Russian jokes and vulgar songs. Prim and proper Tilden collected ribald vocabulary the way other people collected baseball cards.   

 "I take it Ryan's whipping John," Blade said with surprising calm. "It's probably a better choice than freezing midnight calisthenics. John won't get frostbite, just lash bite ."

"How can you joke about it?" Rick's voice was someplace between frantic and sarcastic.

"Get over yourself," Blade said, propping himself up on his elbow, not caring that whip marks were showing on his now uncovered shoulders. "Ryan's an experienced dominant, and he knows how to handle the whip. He's not going to damage your precious, psycho dominant."

"Blade," Milton growled.

"Six with the cane for bad manners, I know, but try getting disturbed every two minutes. I'd like to enjoy Ryan before we're back among the kiddies who can't be corrupted. You can't exactly hide that noise in a school dormitory."

"Oh, God!" Rick flushed. "I've been...I'm...I'm sorry. It's your holiday."

"Don't you dare cry." Blade stood up and pulled Rick into a fierce hug. "Don't you dare cry, you lunatic. I'm not having your John thinking I'm enemy number one."

"Clothes, Blade." Milton landed a very gentle swat on Blade's hip.

"I'm an exhibitionist."

"That's news," Milton said dryly. "Clothes."

"Who needs clothes?"

"You do. Now."

"Drat. Thwarted again." Blade rummaged in the drawers, doing nothing to hide either the crisscross of lash marks or his swinging cock. After much and exaggerated searching, he pulled out and oversized T-shirt and dragged it over his head. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic, brat."

"Me? A brat?"

"Yes, you." Milton stole a glance at Rick. He was watching them with unguarded astonishment, the rigidity and tension gone. Milton turned back to Blade and gave him a very small and very private smile.   

The responding nod was almost invisible. "I never brat. You must have mistaken me for the other redhead." Blade continued his merry prattle to the sound of the whip from below.

****

John was still floating from the endorphin rush. He was in that peculiar place where his beast was completely sated and silenced, yet in almost utter control of Johnny. It was the place where he was not afraid of his own needs, his darkness, and he would let it shine through him without putting layers upon layers of protective walls around him.

He let out a deep groan of pain or pleasure; he wasn't sure. It all was knotted in the fabric of his essence itself, making John's soul pulsate with the physical throbbing of his body. He looked at Ryan, studying the man. Ryan stood near to the wall that Johnny had occupied a short while earlier, he had his arms crossed over his well-built chest, an assessing look fixed on John.

"You're good at what you do. Your technique is impeccable," John said rolling his shoulders in an attempt to avoid stiffened muscle. Johnny stood up and went to Ryan, "I know you must think I'm completely out of my mind and perhaps I am," He said smiling brightly as Ryan gave a noncommittal shrug, not outright confirming John's words, but not denying them either. "No sane man joins Special Forces to begin with, and whatever sanity you still own, they make sure you lose before actually sending you out in the field," Johnny said, holding Ryan's eyes steadily. He was not going to apologize for who he was, and Ryan didn't look interested in apologies anyways. He shook his head, "I'm just trying to say thank you. You owed me nothing, yet you put aside your own needs to cater to mine. I have robbed you of the most precious moments with your submissive."

Ryan rolled his eyes, "I believe my redheaded hellion would say `get over yourself' at this point."

Johnny laughed: a loud, heartfelt laugh. "They do tend to rub off on us, don't they? I mean I was channeling a very believable version of Rick these couple of days."

Ryan gave him a ready smile. "I'd rather whip you then chase you on skis in the middle of the night."

John rolled his eyes, "Is the lot of you going to ever let me live down my innocent midnight gymnastics?"

"You are lucky Gordon didn't come after you with his cane," Ryan said, a touch of amusement in his voice.

"Argh," Johnny groaned, pushing his right hand into his hair, "Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea. It would have saved us all a lot of grief."

Ryan snorted merrily, "Only in the case that you refrained from pounding Gordon into dust."

"I'm not completely feral, you know," John said crossing his arms across his chest defensively. Ryan let out another brilliant smile that John returned with a soft one of his own.

The shuffle of feet on the stairs made Johnny turn around and face the door.

Rick was peeking shyly from behind the door frame, his cheek pressed into the wood.

Johnny smiled at him and beckoned him with a finger to approach. Rick practically flew into his arms, throwing himself at Johnny with a thump. Milton and Blade appeared in the doorway, and Blade glided to Ryan, hiding himself in the big man's arms.

Rick clutched at Johnny, making him hiss as his boys arms virtually clawed at his battered flesh.

"Shit, angel, careful," Johnny hissed, trying to free himself from Rick's hold without separating himself from him.

Rick realized he was hurting Johnny and immediately jerked his hands back, looking horrified at the traces of blood sullying them. Rick's enthusiastic hug had reopened his wounds and drawn fresh blood. John followed the procession of emotions in his boy’s expressive eyes. They grew round and huge with shock at first, then hurt and finally rage narrowed them into thin slits. Johnny had seen this. He knew what it meant, and he knew Ryan was going to be his boy's target. He had no intention of allowing it. If he would let Rick run unchecked what would happen would make all their antics until now seem like an innocent child's play. His own eyes hardened, turning into steel slits. He grabbed Rick by his wrists as he tried to twirl around to face Ryan. Shifting his hand so that he was holding Rick's wrists together in a bone crushing grip, John covered Rick's mouth with his other hand.

"Silence, boy," he barked viciously, noticing Blade twitch in response to his tone. The shift in his stance must have been obvious as both Milton and Ryan visibly tensed, but did not interfere. John did not take his eyes off Rick, his peripheral vision supplying him with the information he needed. "You do not have permission to speak." Rick was still undecided, hovering between much needed submission and outright rebellion. Letting go of Rick's mouth John pulled him in and raising a knee bent Rick over it. The swats he delivered held nothing back. Rick keened immediately, going limp in his arms, his legs kicking out involuntarily nearly losing his footing. Pulling Rick up, John held him by his chin and studied his eyes. Rick was still not there, but they were getting closer. "Now go and thank Ryan properly for doing your dominant a service." His voice was fire and steel.

Rick whimpered and recoiled, trying to extract himself from John's arms, his head shaking in denial. Johnny gripped Rick by his braid and slammed him chest first into the wall, pressing himself behind his boy, not caring that all the hustle was making his cut and bruised skin scream in pain. "I'm giving you to the count of three. If you don't thank Ryan by then, gracefully and sincerely, I'm going to make you lick his boots as a means of thanking him." That did it, Rick gurgled unintelligibly and yielded to Johnny; his body turning into a pliant rag doll in John’s arms.

Turning Rick around, he pushed his boy to Ryan, who to his credit was standing calm and serene, undisturbed by the violent scene that had unfolded in front of him. This was a dominant in his full glory.             

Rick covered the remaining distance between Ryan and himself on unsteady legs. Blade was curled into Ryan's side, stealing worried looks to his face, but saying nothing. The boy had enough experience and trust in his dominant to not interfere, even when something was clearly making him uncomfortable.

Finally standing in front of Ryan, with his eyes lowered to the ground, hands clasped at his back, Rick appeared the proper and obedient submissive that he hardly ever was.

"Thank you, sir, for catering to my dominant's needs. I'm grateful to you for that. Please excuse my earlier outburst." Rick was perfectly eloquent as he usually was. Ryan gave him a nod that could rival any royalty. John could see Ryan wanting to reach for Rick, to physically reassure him, but he didn't touch Rick, not without John's permission. Ryan's eyes met John's for a short second, asking for permission, but John gave a small shake of his head, requesting Ryan not touch his boy. Rick's submission was fragile, anything could have shattered it at this point. Johnny didn't want to risk it.

Rick made a hasty retreat into John's arms, hiding in his chest.

"I kicked Milton," he confessed with almost inaudible murmur into the safety of John's chest.

"Milton, do you wish to punish Rick for his transgressions?" Johnny asked a tinge of cold cruelty in his voice.

Rick crumbled at John’s words, sliding down to his knees and pressing his forehead into John's knees, but staying silent.

"I have already dealt with it." Milton's voice held a note to it that Johnny couldn't identify. It was something between guarded caution and disapproval or maybe it was something else, his eyes suggested none of those, but a simple watchfulness.

"I haven't," Johnny said flatly and jerked Rick up.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for your assistance. I can assure you there will be no more disturbed meals, not from our side," he said formally, and then changing his voice to a warmer note he addressed Ryan once more, "Thank you, Ryan. I honestly regret spoiling your fun with your boy. Milton." John turned to look at the head of the GMB. “Thank you." He was sure the man understood what he was thanking him for. Milton was a phenomenal dominant. He had seen it all. It was hard to shock that man.

Maneuvering an unresisting Rick into his ski gear, John put on his own, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from hissing at the sharp pain. Ryan was right; he would need antiseptics and analgesics. As he had told Ryan he did not want Rick to see his battered back, but he was not going to disturb Ryan any further. He would have to find a way of doing it himself. Or, maybe he could ask Milton or even Landon. That would be a good opportunity to apologize to the man, but first he needed to punish his naughty boy and care for him.

Rick was sleeping deeply, his appearance truly angelic. Pearls of tears were shining on his long, dark eyelashes that cast extensive shadows over his delicate, milky white skin. He sniffed a couple of time in his sleep and whimpered pitifully, but quickly settled into a more serene sleep. The belting John had delivered hadn't been hard, more of a token to let Rick know he had atoned for his transgressions. John had enjoyed his boy's heated flash under his hands and the easy and complete sense of submission that came afterwards when Rick serviced him with his body. His boy was gorgeous when he yielded. John’s beast purred in him, content. It would still demand an obedient boy for the next day. John would not have it any other way. It all was going to be different; he was sure of it. He was finally going to enjoy his boy after a long separation and a longer struggle.      

****

“Did you put them in the car, program the navigation computer, and point it to New York?”

“Blade,” Ryan said fondly, letting his eyes roam over his boy sprawled on the bed in a tempting panorama of beauty. “We were the hosts.”

“Host,” Blade said, emphasizing the word, “not counselor, not therapist, not midnight exercise partner, not buffer between psychos and the rest of the world.”

“Don’t be cruel; they behaved impeccably at the end. I invited them to drop by anytime.”

“Ryan, you better not have.” Blade hurled himself off the bed and charged at Ryan. “They are not allowed in body or spirit to disturb us one more time.” Blade grabbed Ryan and made a credible attempt at shaking the bigger man. “I won’t stand for it.”

“Hey.” Ryan shifted from amusement at his boy’s antics to serious dominant. Rick’s irreverence and willful stubbornness was not going to rub off on his boy. Ryan pushed Blade back against the wall, pinning him almost casually between his two arms. “Who makes decisions about guests in our household? Whose decision is it?”

Blade had heard the shift in Ryan’s tone. His eyes went wide and he licked his lips in a nervous gesture. “You do, Ryan. It’s your choice. I’m your boy; I obey.”

Ryan pressed his body against Blade’s and gripped Blade’s chin in his much larger hand, pulling their eyes together. “I think you need a reminder of your status.”

“Ryan, I was good; I’m being good.”

“I want to give you a reminder.” Ryan towed Blade toward the bed. His boy wasn’t actually resisting, but he wasn’t coming completely willingly either. Blade was stiff as Ryan stripped his jeans and boxers and left the perky bare butt exposed and vulnerable. Blade’s muscles tightened even more as he was tumbled over Ryan’s knee. Ryan caressed the beautiful flesh, widening the thighs with each long stroke of his hand. “Give it up, boy. This is mine.”

The first swats were gentle, taps more than swats. Ryan scattered them across the beautifully presented ass and thighs. Occasionally he dropped a hand down and stroked the hardness that was already unfurled between Blade’s legs. The slaps were harder now. Blade’s skin was beginning to take on a luscious pink glow, and Ryan savored the soft mews that were escaping Blade’s lips. The noise would get harsher before they finished, but the start was almost musical. Ryan hit half strength now, watching the flesh reverberate under his hand. Blade was squirming now, his feet kicking out and his body rocking away from the blows.

“Settle down, boy. We have a long way to go.” Ryan pressed his hand down on Blade’s back, anchoring the torso and redoubled the swats. The mewling was loud now, interspersed with groans and yelps. Ryan’s hand rained down, a storm of blows on already heated flesh. 

Blade was clutching the bedclothes, not trying to wipe the tears that were flowing down his face. His thighs were spread, exposing the most vulnerable flesh. “Please. Please. Please,” Blade pleaded incoherently, not fighting, not trying to escape the punishing blows. Limp, pleading, begging, his beautiful boy was there. Ryan stroked the hot flesh, savoring the heat and the whimpers.

“You ready, boy?”

“Oh, God, yes. Please.”

****

Ryan rolled over and pulled his boy onto his chest. Blade was still asleep. Fucked into oblivion for at least another hour. Ryan kissed the scattered red hair and let his mind wander. Peace at last. He hoped their two visitors had found their peace also. Maybe after many uninterrupted nights with his boy, they could visit again.

The end