Snowbound: Season 2 Episode 1

Snowbound Season 2

Winter--Preparation and the Flight

Rick looked at the pile of files covering his desk; it looked daunting. It was the first day after the holidays and predictably the work had piled up. Rick organized the files in the order of priority and tasks, putting them in neat stacks. Soon the world around him disappeared as he became immersed in his work. Time ticked on without him noticing it.

The slight rap at the door registered with him only on the superficial level, not enough to interrupt his concentration.

"Rick." Lena peeked inside his office. "Ed wants you in the conference room. Right away," she added, leaving the door open for Rick to follow her.

Rick growled with annoyance and shut the file. He hated when he was interrupted during work, but if Ed was asking for him in the conference room it meant an important client with an emergency was waiting for him, so he left everything and hurried to the conference room.

"Richard," Ed greeted him enthusiastically as soon as Rick pulled the door open. "I had no idea that you were friends with Mr. Graves."

Rick was pretty sure he was gawking. Friend of Mr. Graves? Was Ed talking about Landon Graves? How did he even know about it? He took a step into the conference room and froze mid step.

Landon was seated at the table, smiling at him with that brilliant smile of his. Rick felt like the floor was running from under his feet. He couldn't believe this.

"Richard, how great to see you again." Landon’s greeting radiated warmth. He stood up and walked toward a stunned Rick. "I was hoping we could go for lunch," Landon said in a tone and with a look to Ed that was more of an order than a request.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Graves, but I have a desk load of files that require my attention. I cannot take lunch breaks," Rick said with a chill in his voice.

"Oh, nonsense," Ed interjected with enthusiasm. Of course he did, Landon Graves was one of their most important clients, if not the most important one. Rick understood the need to make nice with the clients, especially those like Graves, but right now he wanted to murder Ed. "Someone can pick up the slate; go have your lunch," Ed said pleasantly, turning to Rick and giving him a pointed look.

"Well, if Richard is too busy to go for a lunch, maybe we can talk here." Landon smiled sweetly, looking at Rick with knowing eyes.

"Lunch sounds fine," Rick hissed, deciding that murdering Landon sounded better than murdering Ed. Who were these people? They shelter you against the weather one time, and they start thinking you should be turned into some kind of project or entertainment for them for the rest of your life. He cursed the day he agreed to follow the gentle giant and his energizer bunny into that loony bin.

They walked out of the building in silence. As soon as they were out of the doors, Rick swirled around to face Landon. "What do you want with me?" he demanded in an angry tone.

"A lunch, I thought I was quite clear in my request," Landon said with a chill in his voice and steel in his eyes that belied John's statement of Landon being a submissive.

"Why? Why do you want to have lunch with me? So you can tell me some more how inappropriate I am as a …." Rick didn't finish. He looked around himself to make sure he wasn't overheard, even if he didn't say the dreaded word.

"Submissive, Rick," Landon finished for him and Rick looked wildly around terrified that someone might have heard him. "It's not an STD, and we are not in the Victorian era. The word is submissive, and there is nothing to be ashamed of." Landon didn't even try to moderate his voice, talking in a normal conversational tone, as if they were discussing the weather. "And I have never said you were inappropriate as a submissive. Your behavior needs some modification, and you certainly could benefit from an old-fashioned training regime, but there is nothing inappropriate about you. You are deeply submissive, and that is exactly what bothers you."

Rick grabbed his head with his hands, as if trying to keep it from exploding. He could not believe they were having this conversation in front of his office building, where people who knew him, colleagues, clients, could have passed them any minute.

 "I'm not having this conversation in the middle of the street," he hissed at Landon and tried to walk away from him.

"Boy," Landon snapped, grabbing Rick by his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. "It's your own fault we are having this conversation in the middle of the street. I gave you the option of doing this in a more relaxed and intimate atmosphere; you threw my kindness back in my face." Landon's eyes were a storm of darkness, the steel in them going to Rick's gut. "If you were mine I would have you groveling at my feet, begging me to punish your disrespectful and disobedient ass."

Rick tugged his hand free and barked at Landon, his throat squeezing with fury.

"I'm not yours and I will never be yours. Try and interfere in my life one more time and--"

"And what, boy?" Landon advanced on Rick, a cruel shine in his expressive eyes. "What are you going to do to me? Your threats might work with others, but I'm so out of your league, boy. What can you possibly do to me? I have more money and power than you can imagine. I have doors opening to me that for you can seem like fortified castles. The most powerful men on this planet owe me favors. Do you really think that you can do anything to me?" Landon was now standing face to face with Rick.

Rick felt the undeniable urge to put his fist in this man's face. He was a fool. Landon was right; there was nothing Rick could do to this man. The opposite was true; if Landon wanted, he could destroy Rick in a heartbeat. Rick was not a newbie in power games. He knew for the threat to be effective it needed to be believable. He could never pose a believable threat to Landon Graves. He was beat at his own game, and all he could do was to accept defeat.

"What do you want with me?" He asked, hating the uncertainty in his own voice.

"I already told you lunch. But it looks like I'm not going to get it." Landon's voice was soft, his eyes smiling gently at Rick. "Come," he said, taking Rick by his wrist. "Let's at least sit in my car; it's a lot more private than the middle of the street, and you look like you are ready to have a meltdown."

Rick must have looked like misery personified because Landon threw a comforting hand around his shoulders and walked him to the car. "Rick, I would never do anything to hurt your professional image. I understand how important that is for you, and I will not compromise it. But right now," Landon said, pulling the door of a red Maserati open, "I don't want to talk to Richard Masters the fierce lawyer; I want to talk to Rick, the troubled submissive with the most soulful eyes I have ever seen." 

Rick snorted unsure whether it was the last attempt to sound derisive or it was just the sheer outrageousness of situation getting to him. He got into the car, and Landon closed the door before going around the car and getting into the driver's seat. Rick pressed his forehead to the cool window and blew on the glass, covering it in a thin layer of steam. He drew an angry face on the car window and stabbed at it with his finger.

"And now you decided to revert to a five-year-old. For some reason I feel like you do it quite often."

Rick shrugged. "You said you wanted me to play submissive. What does being a submissive means if not an overgrown child, who wants to be told what to do and get smacked when he screws it up?" He was mumbling, but he couldn't bring himself to stop the sulking and sound like he was actually in his third decade.

"Well, that's only one of the fantasies of submission. And it's all right as long as the partners understand it's a fantasy," Landon said easily. "I'm quite good at different fantasies, but my tastes run to the darker side. Milton and Sheldon did that dance for years. Sheldon played the naughty boy and Milton the strict top, but even they grew tired of it. Anyway, both of them understood where their drives where coming from and what they were playing at, so it was safe for them to play that way."

Rick was looking at Landon with fascination. Sheldon, Milton's slave had intrigued him to the extreme. He was subject to Milton's will in everything. It felt like he had no mind of his own, but he was a successful television executive, and his intelligence shined through when he talked, not to mention that he, just like his brother, was a fountain of energy and mischief when he got his mind into it.

"He's a slave now," Rick said into the air as if tasting the sound of it.

"Yes." Landon gave Rick an assessing look. "Does that shock you?"

"I don't know," Rick answered honestly. "Gregory calls Arthur master. I never realized he was his slave, not until I heard Sheldon calling Milton master, but everyone else sir. I asked Gregory afterwards. He confirmed that he was Arthur's slave." It was as if Rick was talking to himself now. "Why would someone do that to himself willingly? Give up his identity, his freedom?" Rick asked in a lost voice, looking at Landon for answers.

"That's how we are wired, Rick," Landon reached to Rick and pushed a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. "There is no easy answer to it. Just like there is no one fantasy or one level of submission that fits everyone. We all need different things at different levels. And most certainly it has nothing to do with who we are in our professional lives. I don't lose my ability as businessman when I kneel at Gordon's feet, taking the beating he revels in giving me. I just cater to the other side of my personality. The ambition and need to be successful are just as real for me as my need to submit to Gordon. Tell me do you think any less of me now that you know I surrender myself to Gordon."

Rick looked the man over. This was Landon Graves, the same Landon Graves whose interviews and analyses Rick read and listened to greedily, studying every small detail, often in awe of the man's sheer mental capacity. All that didn't change magically at Gordon's feet or not.

"I just can't imagine you at his feet," Rick said, his eyes huge.

Landon chuckled happily, "That's a common dilemma for most submissives and dominants alike. And yet I kneel for him and I hurt for him just like you do for your psychotic Johnny. Only I do it with a bit more grace that I’ve acquired during the years of being under Gordon's cane." Landon smiled a sweet smile, looking like a youngster.

Rick grimaced at the mention of Johnny's name.

"Don't call him that," he demanded with a little fire in his voice. "It's because of me. He is not the one--"

"He is the dominant, Rick; he should have better control," Landon said sternly.

"Don't say that!" Rick insisted more fervently. "You don't understand what you are saying, how you are hurting him with those words. He is not what you people think of him," Rick could feel tears filling his eyes. He had made everyone mistrust Johnny. "He is…he's the most," Rick let out a growl of frustration, unsure of how to tell Landon what kind of person Johnny was. "He is Johnny," he said it in a hushed voice as if that one word was enough to explain everything Johnny was and what he meant to Rick. And obviously it was, because Landon smiled at him with the most indulgent and kind smile Rick had ever seen.

"So why do you make him fight for every inch of control?"

Rick shrugged, dropping his eyes in a shame. "Cause he can?" he asked more then answered.

"Oh, sweetheart, I can most certainly understand the appeal. You love your fantasies just as dark as I do, but you try and pretend you don't understand it's a fantasy, and that's what worries me. Developing a ritual of battling against his conquest could be a nice fantasy, one that I'm guessing you both would enjoy. But it will not be as satisfying for either of you, if you keep struggling against your own desires, denying them, hiding from the truth. Not to mention how dangerous it can be."

"It's not dangerous," Rick insisted, "Johnny is safe, he will--"

"Rick." Landon pressed a finger to Rick’s lips. "You don't even understand what you are doing to him, how you are baiting him, and your Johnny has something deeply dark in him."

"It doesn't matter; he would never hurt me," Rick practically screamed. "You have no idea what I have done, and he always forgives me."

"So why do those things, Rick?" Landon asked cautiously, and every lawyer instinct that Rick possessed screamed it was a trick question.

"I don't know," Rick said, studying the car seat under him, fiddling with the fabric. He wasn't lying; he could never understand why he was doing what he was doing, but for some reason it felt like he was lying.

"Because you try to create reasons for him to assert his dominance. You want the control brutally snatched away from you; you want beaten into submission," Landon said, emphasizing each word. Rick found no strength to deny it. "So you invent reasons. You goad his darkness to rise, but you do it by really hurting him, which makes the rise of his darkness uncontrolled and dangerous. It's not safe and it's hardly consensual, Rick."

Rick let his head drop against the window, his eyes wandering around the street. He could feel tears running down his cheeks, but he couldn't stop them.

"He's going to leave me one of those days," he confessed softly. "I'm going to drive him away eventually."

Landon forced him away from the window and held his chin in a bruising grip.

"No you aren’t. You two are going to get your act together and I'm going to help you, although God knows that when Gordon finds out I've been meddling again, I'm going to acquire a nice set of cane stripes and not the ones I enjoy," Landon said with a grimace.

Rick bit down on his lip and dropped his eyes, unable to keep looking into those stormy eyes.

"You and John are going to pack your things and come with me. We are going to have a nice week with skiing and other winter sports, playing in the snow and relaxing, while I try to sort the two of you out."

"Are you asking me to go back into Wonderland?" Rick asked incredulously.

"Wonderland?"

"Yes, Alice's Wonderland with all the crazy to go with it," Rick confessed in a mumble.

Landon laughed heartily, "I guess we have been called worse things."

"I can't," Rick said immediately. "Even if I wanted to, I can't just leave my work and Johnny too…"

"Rick, do you think if Landon Graves and Gordon Lewis ask your firm to send you two over, they are going to refuse?" Landon had a look of a man secure in the knowledge that his desires were law to most.

"No," Rick murmured softly. "Johnny is going to kill me," he sniffed, looking at Landon.

"Don't worry; I will find someone willing to take the skin off his back if he needs it again. In fact--" Landon didn't finish, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Arthur," he said jovially. Rick's eyes grew big as saucers, and Landon gave him a quick wink. "I'm calling to extend an invitation to you and Gregory to come stay a week with us."

Rick banged his head against the dashboard. He wasn't sure what Landon said to Arthur. Rick was too busy wondering what the hell he was getting himself into and how he was going to break the news to Johnny. He was so dead.    

****

Rick clutched his bag and stared at the business jet. Compared to a commercial carrier on a transatlantic route it was tiny, but Rick had flown a few times privately, and this was an impressive aircraft. The pilots greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. Landon shook their hands with warm affection and treated them as close friends, not lowly hired help. Rick wondered momentarily if Landon treated all his staff this well or if this was only for show. Landon had a magnetic personality and charm poured off of him as easily as water from a hose. People rushed to do his bidding and were happy to fall all over themselves in fulfilling every possible need. Landon was rich, incomprehensibly filthy rich, and of course that helped, but Rick detected none of the smarmy charm disguising real hate that he often saw in the staff surrounding other rich and important clients. People liked Landon.

Landon’s charm, money, and influence had Ed immediately turning the schedule upside down to send Rick and John on an urgent trip to Vermont. Supposedly some important contracts were in question, but Rick suspected there would be no contracts, only contact with his ass, and his ass already hurt like hell. He’d thrown a tantrum worthy of a five-year-old in full frenzy last night. John had tried to cajole Rick from his rage with reason and practical advice, Rick had escalated until Johnny had thrown him across the bed and beat him into submission. Rick’s thighs and ass were indescribable shades of purple and red this morning. 

John had packed the bag Rick had slung over his shoulder. Rick had been capable of little last night except for rivers of tears and huddled misery, and this morning had been little better. John had planted Rick on his lap and fed him a slice of dark bread and the Norwegian goat cheese that John favored. With effort Rick had managed to choke down his small breakfast. Rick had wanted coffee, but with some new arbitrary rule about food, John had smacked Rick’s hand as he reached for the coffee and served him tea instead.

“My choice boy.”

Rick loved coffee. The coffee ban had better not be some new fetish of John’s. It was coffee, not hash, not alcohol, but nice and legal coffee. No one was arrested for driving over the coffee limit. The pilots had probably had several cups of coffee this morning. Only Rick had drunk English breakfast tea.

They clambered up the stairs into the plane. John caught Rick’s wrist and dragged him to the aft of the plane, leaving Arthur, Gregory and Landon in the front. Rick eased himself into the seat, hissing as his tenderized ass met the rich leather.

“Don’t start,” John growled, seeing the murderous look on Rick’s face. “You wanted that last night; you pay the consequences today.”

Rick swallowed his protests in a mute growl. John was always sympathetic after a beating, but today his body was rigid, every motion controlled and stiff and overflowing with lack of sympathy.

“Johnny,” Rick pleaded, unable to stop himself. He needed to see the smile that washed the evil and the filth away and made everything right again. He needed John to kiss him or stroke his hair or do something that spoke of affection and love.

“No, Rick. You are going to sit in your seat like a perfect gentleman, or so help me I’ll cane you bare at 30,000 feet for all to see.”

“You brought a cane?”

“You did. I packed it in your bag.”

“Bastard,” Rick snarled.

“Can you not feel your ass enough already?”

Rick glared at John, letting the full force of his hatred settle in his eyes. His ass hurt. Sitting was torture. Rick jerked his book from his carry-on and turned to face the window.

“Coffee?” Landon was standing in the plane aisle, looking bright-eyed and chipper and most importantly carrying the nectar of the gods.

“Please.” Rick plastered a smile on his face and reached for the cup.

“No.” John’s voice was absolute. This wasn’t a no that could be changed with negotiations. “I’ll have coffee. Rick can have tea or juice.”

“Oh, dear,” Landon said in an overly bright voice. “It’s one of those mornings, I see. Is he being a good growly bear or a nasty growly bear?” Landon asked Rick in a conspiratorial stage whisper.

“He’s being an ass.”

“Will you excuse us, Landon?” John’s voice dripped an icy politeness.

“No,” Landon said just as flatly and just as definitely as John could ever muster. “Rick go up front and sit with Arthur and Gregory. I will take your place.”

Rick started to protest.

“No double talk, boy. Move. Now. I can hit also.”

Rick glanced at Johnny. Landon had no right to order him around. Being worth a few zillions and the most important client of the firm didn’t give him that right. Rick wasn’t one of Landon’s playthings. 

“Go up front,” John said softly.

Rick unfastened his seatbelt and moved forward. “So should we talk about this disaster?” Rick heard Landon say brightly to John. Further words were swallowed by the noise of the jet engines.

****

“So, John.” Landon let his eyes rest on John, calculating his approach. John was a big man; even in the seats of their long distance business jet, he struggled for room with his knees uncomfortably close to the seat in front of him. “You’re very handsome when you’re not scowling.”

“Landon, I have some security briefs that need reviewing.”

“Right. And what fun is it to fly off with a business excuse as a false pretext and not play hooky? I won’t tell anyone that the security briefs never left your bag.” Landon gave John a wide smile.

“You are persistent beyond belief.” John took a long, slow sip of coffee.

“I’ve been told by many that I’m impossible. Your boy probably generates the same comments: mercurial, brilliant, mean as a snake. You know Johnny, I’m a lot like your boy; older, wiser, and survived the hell of figuring it out. He’s very submissive, but he takes great pride in his career. These are not incompatible passions. They can be harnessed together in tandem. He doesn’t have to be at war with himself. I’m both a dominant and a submissive. I know all about battling inner demons and balancing supposedly incompatible traits. I also know about not exactly charming our peers. Gordon’s and my liaison wasn’t exactly met with smiles and cheers. We were both known as dominants; the people who were aware of our orientation and our partnership were horrified, and they were not as kind or as diplomatic as Ryan and Milton.”

“Do you chatter as much as Ryan?”

“Only I have wealth and power, so people have to listen to my chatter; they write articles in the newspapers and pretend the nonsense is economic genius. My economic genius was being born on third base which gave me numerous second chances. My economic genius was the very old-fashioned institution of marriage. Nothing like merging two fortunes to end up with a bigger one.”

“Landon, is any of this noise applicable?”

“No,” Landon said with another bright smile. “Secret.” Landon grinned again. “It’s me testing the water. Arthur says you’re not always an impossible grouch bordering on psychotic. I’m trying to find the right buttons to push, the knobs and switches that make Arthur trust you and more importantly the knobs and switches that make Rick believe he’s safe to behave like a total lunatic around you and that you won’t kill him even if it might be roundly deserved. I haven’t hit the right combination. You’re growling at me and sending vibes that I should jump from the nearest airplane window without a parachute. So what’s the magic code?”

“Shutting up for two-seconds might help,” John growled, his eyes annoyed, but maybe also tinged with a flash of amusement.

“Right.” Landon made an exaggerated zipping motion on his lips, leaned on his elbow, and stared expectantly at John.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” John asked after five minute. He’d far outlasted most victims of this technique. Landon usually had them begging after two.

“You did strongly suggest I be silent. I’m being a good boy: quiet, attentive, waiting for your words of wisdom.”

“You’re being a pain in the ass.”

“That too. I specialize in that, and if you complain hard enough to Gordon, he’ll make sure to pass some of that pain on.”

“You are an unrepentant son of a bitch,” John said, slapping his coffee mug down with too much force.

“Yep, but I’m also a man comfortable with myself, including my son of a bitch qualities. I want to see your Rick comfortable. He’s a beautiful man, a beautiful submissive. Isn’t he entitled to celebrate his submissiveness? Aren’t you entitled to celebrate your dominance and not constantly fight your baser instincts because your boy has you at the end of your tether? John, Gordon and I have seen everything; we’ve damn near done everything. I’ve had fistfights with Gordon on the streets of New York. We don’t expect perfect harmony. We expect you to lead and your recalcitrant partner to eventually follow. He needs you to lead everywhere, not just at home where no one can see. He’s a submissive, all and everywhere. He doesn’t switch. He’s not a part timer in it for the great sex. He needs anchored and that’s everywhere. I pushed him. He shattered as a submissive in front of a dominant; he didn’t come back at me as a fellow dominant or even an angry but overwhelmed lawyer. He has no protection because you don’t set your boundaries everywhere. A dominant on the wrong side could eat him for lunch. I like your boy. I don’t want him hurt. Do what Arthur believes you’re capable of. Conquer your boy, all of him, not just the part associated with beatings and sex. Be your boy’s sword and shield, or I’ll be your worst enemy, and unlike Milton and Ryan, Gordon and I don’t play fair. We’re nasty pieces of work when pushed in the wrong direction.”

Landon stood up. His eyes raked over John in uncompromising intensity. He nodded once and dropped to one knee. “I’ve told you as a dominant, and now I plead with you as a submissive. Make it right for your boy.” Landon kissed John’s thigh with gentle reverence and stayed on his knees, his hands locked behind him, his eyes properly downward.

“Jesus.” John pulled Landon to his feet and wrapped him in a brusque hug. “I’m glad I’m not Gordon; I’d never survive. You manipulative bastard.”

“My specialty,” Landon graced John with a genuine smile and kissed his cheek. “Now be a good boy and try for us.”

“Go before I change my mind and toss you from the window with no parachute.” John landed a light slap on Landon’s butt. “Send Rick back, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

John rolled his eyes and ineffectively swatted at Landon again. “Get, boy.”

****

Johnny watched Rick approach him. His boy had a murderous scowl on his face, walking the narrow corridor of the plane with determination of a commander leading his army into battle. This must be how Leonidas looked as he led his 300 Spartans at Thermopylae. Johnny was grateful for his own experience in the battlefield. It was hardly the first time he had locked eyes with a man determined to kill him.  

He leaned back against the leather seats and considered his boy, his whole body exuding relaxation. Landon was right; he had pushed Rick into a place that however innate was hidden and sealed from everyone, including Rick. Now he couldn't leave Rick exposed in all areas of life except their home and expect him to fare as well as before. It was driving Rick insane, and his boy had told him as much. Every time Rick slipped inside John’s office during working hours to bring him his lunch, his coffee or simply to press himself to Johnny, was a small gesture of submission. Every time he had said after an intense weekend he wished he could stay like this and not have to go back to the real world. He wasn't sure Landon was right about Rick being exposed to other dominants. If need be Rick would hold his own against anyone. Landon was missing an important element: Rick liked Landon and admired him. He wouldn't want to fight him. But the truth in Landon's words still remained obvious; Rick was being pushed into emotional ping-pong, because Johnny wasn't setting limits for him anywhere else but their house. He wasn't claiming Rick outside of their house. He remembered once forcing Rick to wear a cock cage at work as a means of punishment. He could hardly remember Rick ever being so calm and balanced. It was as if the transition from his public persona to John's submissive at home was as effortless as breathing. Maybe that was the answer, but Rick was a complicated creature. Pushing him all at once would mean war. There was no amount of pressure that could break Rick if he was in a fighting mood. That was what Landon didn't know. Rick, much like Johnny, was capable of fighting to the death with little regard for his chances.

Rick needed pushed gradually. And Johnny wasn't sure how to go about it. He could feel that Landon was right, and his boy needed to take another step into the world of submission. To make sure Rick could confidently walk out of the door knowing he was John's submissive and not feel that he needed to cower under the weight of the knowledge. Rick needed to understand that even as he was giving intricate speeches in front of panels or battling in negotiation rooms, he was John's submissive first. Johnny had that knowledge; he was Rick's dominant everywhere. No matter sleeping or awake, working or relaxing, hundred miles away or with Rick at his feet, John was Rick's dominant. That simple fact defined him and gave him strength. Rick needed to have that same anchor.

The problem was Johnny had no idea how to reassure Rick that he was his dominant even when Rick was out there battling the world. Oh, he wanted to be Rick's shield against the world, how he wanted to keep the entire world at bay, but that was not possible. Rick would never have it, and unfortunately Johnny knew only one way of protecting someone. It was an instinct ingrained in him in the military, cover them with your body to shield them from harm. He knew no intricate and subtle ways of protection that Gordon and maybe even Landon were familiar with.

Landon was an interesting specimen. He had disarmed Johnny with that one small gesture. How well had the man read him! Johnny could fight against all odds; he could care less that Landon's fortune and his influence left him with little chance of success. He would have fought Landon from sheer obstinacy. But the man had knelt before him and had spoken to him as a submissive, and it was not a pretend submission, not a pose or gesture. Johnny had read real submission in his eyes. Landon had indeed pleaded to John as a submissive, trusting his will into the hands of a dominant. How hard must have that been for someone like Landon to surrender to a man whom he knew so little about and whom he considered at least mildly psychotic? That was a strength and courage that John could never ignore, that his dominant heart could never resist and Landon knew it.

Johnny closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. This was hardly a conversation that would sink in immediately. He needed to digest it and to weigh things a bit. He almost jumped as Rick deliberately bumped into him roughly, almost climbing up onto his lap as he tried to pass to his seat.

"Sit and behave," John said on autopilot.

"What did you talk about?" Rick asked with an Oscar worthy sulk on his face.

Johnny extended his legs, sliding them carefully under the seat in front of him.

"I asked you a question," Rick demanded, kicking Johnny in the shin.

Johnny turned his head around and looked at Rick. Rick was pushing. Rick had pushed last night and today, pushing both of them into this situation in a clear cry for help. John was on a damn plane headed into the den of the densest conglomerate of dominants for Rick's sake, and the boy was still pushing. His beast was most certainly not happy about it and for once, instead of masking its displeasure, Johnny let it bleed into his eyes.

"Stop." It was a low growl full of warning.

That was like a beacon for Rick. He looked John straight in the eyes and kicked him again.

John moved fast, so fast that Rick let out a scared and surprised shriek as John grabbed him by the chin. Johnny was in combat mode now; he could sense the entire airplane without even paying attention to it. He caught Gregory's reaction, the way he melted against Arthur seeking protection from a berserk dominant. He sensed Arthur's shift that told him the man was paying attention without showing it. He felt Landon's eyes narrowing on him, telling him he was watching them.

"What have I told you about hitting me boy?" He asked slowly, each word a crack of a whip.

His fingers were biting into Rick's flesh; the bruises were already forming on his jaw, making John's insides shift with pleasure at the thought of Rick wearing his mark so visibly for the days to come. Rick's eyes were huge.

"Well?" John said, unbuckling his belt and shifting so that he was hovering over Rick's smaller body, almost pressing him against his seat.

"Not to," Rick squealed, breathing hard and melting under John's heavy body. His boy loved physical dominance and Johnny knew it.  

"Kneel between my feet, head bent on my thigh. Don't move until I release you," John instructed, retreating to his place.

Rick tried to voice a protest, but John cut him short. "I did not give you permission to speak."

Rick slid down into the small space between John’s feet, clearly struggling to find a way of fitting there. His soulful eyes looked at Johnny pleading ,and John bent his head down to whisper in his ear.

"You wanted this Rick. You signed up to go spend a week with people who structure their life around rules of dominance and submission. You don't get to play resistant now. You are my submissive, and I will treat you as such openly and without any restraint. You give whatever I want to take, and short of safewording you have no will of your own for the duration of our stay. We will talk more when we get there. For now, all you need to do is obey me." He finished with a cruel tug to Rick's hair, before forcing his head down, pressing it into his thigh.

He needed to think and for that he needed his beast content with a boy at its feet.             

****

“He hasn’t killed him yet,” Landon said with a snort. “He’s doing better than I would. That boy needs beaten every minute of the day.”

Gregory ducked his head and burrowed farther into Arthur’s shoulder. Rick wasn’t intentionally defiant. Couldn’t they see that? Rick didn’t understand how to be a submissive. He was afraid of the sweeter, gentler side of his personality. Gregory had seen Rick’s desperation to please. He just didn’t know how.

“Rick has his own demons,” Arthur said gently, caressing Gregory’s hair as he spoke. “They both do. I only hope their demons can be compatible.”

“John needs to unleash hell on that boy until he either complies and accepts or safewords and leaves. This half-assed business is killing both of them.”

“Does Gordon let you talk like that?” Arthur chided.

“Of course not.” Landon shrugged and smiled at Arthur. “Watching those two is giving me stress indigestion. I probably need a good beating to get my body back on an even keel. You can report all my foibles to Gordon.”

“I expect you to report them yourself,” Arthur said in a tone that sent a shiver through Gregory. This was Arthur being his most dominant and his most serious.

Landon looked unfazed. He gazed at Arthur with unblinking blue eyes, sizing up the man for a moment, before giving a slight nod. “Gordon will ask anyway. He knows my penchant for meddling and trouble making. I’m already owed six for this scheme. What’s a dozen between friends?”

A dozen with the cane. Arthur was an expert with the cane. Gregory would never speak so cavalierly about a caning, and Arthur wasn’t as fierce as Gordon. Arthur had a gentleness in his voice and a deliberate kindness in his motions. Gordon was hard and brittle. He was a man who had always terrified Gregory. John could be frightening in his darkest moods, but John could also be fun, and Gregory could remember John as a young boy, all gangly and lost. Gordon had never been young or lost or anything but stern with exacting standards. Gregory understood standards. He strove to uphold Arthur’s, but Arthur loved and protected him. Gordon must love Landon, but Landon hardly needed protection. Landon flipped to the other side with head spinning speed.

“Maybe John needs a few tools.” Landon opened an overhead compartment and pulled out several implements. He fingered a beautiful wooden paddle before settling on a black leather martinet. “Perfect. Nasty sting--no lasting damage.”

“Rick was beaten last night,” Gregory said, gulping at his own bravery. He didn’t interrupt dominants. He was Arthur’s good boy.

“You think he’s had enough?” Arthur tilted Greg’s head up, his hand gentle as he forced their eyes to meet.

Gregory gulped again and nodded. “He’s not… He’s not…”

“Go on,” Arthur said gently.

“Rick’s not flying. He’s suffering.”

Landon moved closer; the martinet dangled from his hand. Gregory flinched, shrinking back into Arthur’s firm arms.

“Sweetheart, I won’t hurt you,” Landon said, his blue eyes suddenly gentle. “I won’t hurt Rick either, but he needs to suffer. He needs pain and force to find submission. Hopefully we can give him other tools, ritualized pain and force for when bruises aren’t needed, but for now he needs his full complement of bruises, and they must be forced on him. He’s not ready to offer himself up for marking. I hope to teach him that skill. You do not shy away from pain. Arthur is a sadist. I know he enjoys hurting you, and you enjoy his marks on your skin. Rick enjoys it also; only his path there is rocky instead of smooth. He needs to learn to give his submission as a gift, not force John to snatch it from Rick’s snapping jaws. Do you understand?”

Gregory nodded and curled against Arthur. He gave his submission. It had always been Arthur’s from the first day Gregory saw the tall figure with the steady motions. It had felt right and natural.

“Rick is your friend,” Landon continued. “He asks you what he’ll never ask a dominant. Too much pride,” Landon muttered. “Help him when you can, but don’t hide his questions from Arthur. Some will need a dominant to answer.” Landon flicked his eyes toward the back of the plane. “It looks like those two do more snarling than talking. Green Mountain Boys can talk. We’ll make up for it.”

****

Rick grunted and fidgeted at John's feet. It hadn't even been five minutes and the boy was already getting restless; the push into submission was clearly short lived. Johnny was wound up tighter than any bow ready to shoot. This was not a good state of mind if he wanted to deal with Rick efficiently. Unfortunately Rick was hardly being helpful. His continuous defiance and relentless pushing were driving John mad.

There was another whine and a slight kick from Rick. Johnny hoisted him up, pulling Rick belly down over the handle of the seat, and cracked his hand couple of times on the jean clad butt of his boy. Rick immediately froze, clearly mortified by the idea that not only everyone must have heard the smacks, but they probably saw Rick getting his ass dusted too. Before mortification could give way to something more violent, Johnny grabbed Rick by the back of his head, pulled him closer, and whispered in his ear.

"Don't you dare!" His growl was accompanied by a tight squeeze to Rick's nape. "Arthur and Gregory have seen more than just a couple of smacks to your butt, and Landon had just knelt before me for all to see. He gave his submission, gracefully and readily, to someone he barely knows and has no reason to trust. And you are throwing a hissy fit over submitting to your dominant." Johnny was aware that his words were going to hurt Rick, but his boy needed to hear those words. Johnny had seen Rick's expression when Landon had knelt in front of him. It was one of surprise mixed with fraction of jealousy. Rick was possessive and competitive. Seeing Landon so easily give Johnny what Rick himself struggled to do had wound him up. Johnny reminding him of that was enough to stun him into calmness for a while.

Rick dropped his eyes and went pliant in his arms.

"Come," Johnny pulled him up and went further back to the lavatory. He had managed to gain a small advantage; now was time to push for more. Servicing John's sexual needs while Rick himself wasn’t in the mood for it had always been a powerful button for Rick. John intended to use it.

Mercifully the bathroom was bigger than what was typically found on commercial carriers.  Usually John had trouble fitting alone in a lavatory; fitting there with someone else would have been out of question, so the extra space of a private aircraft was more than welcome. He closed the door behind them and leaned back against the door.

"Get down on your knees," he rasped out, already feeling the incipient arousal from the idea of having his boy serving him.

Rick's eyes were locked on him, as if the boy were caught in a hypnotic state. He slid down to his knees as gracefully as the small space would allow. He fitted nimbly between the toilet seat and John's body, clutching at John's thighs, waiting for Johnny to undo his pants.

Johnny deliberately paid little attention to Rick's comfort. He grabbed Rick by his hair and forced himself inside Rick's mouth fast and brutal. He never eased the pace, but dragged his pleasure out for as long as the frantic rate of his thrusts would allow. This was a not very subtle way of telling his boy that Rick's pleasure or comfort had no place in this.

When it was finally over, Rick was a coughing, gulping, trembling mass covered in tears and snot.

"Thank me for allowing you to pleasure me after you’ve been nothing but defiant," John barked, pulling at Rick's braid. "Thank me for not tossing you aside like a disobedient little mutt unworthy of my time." 

Johnny knew he was being cruel, but Rick needed cruel and uncompromising. Rick needed pushed through his own resistance; comfort and gentleness would come later.

Rick was crying and sobbing hard now; his body shook with the force of his sobs as he kept his arms wrapped about John's knees. He bent down awkwardly, not having enough space to arrange his body more comfortably. Doubling his body into a position worthy of any contortionist, Rick touched his forehead to John's boots and thanked him through hiccups and snivels.

John marched crying Rick back to their seats. He took Rick's seat at the window and dropped Rick over his lap, letting his upper body rest against the seat he had occupied during the flight. He started a slow and not very hard spanking. Rick was bruised after last night, and he was already reeling from their encounter in the bathroom. He didn't need much, just enough to keep him anchored to where he was. Rick was crying loudly, brokenly, finally uncaring of what the others would hear, see or think. He was in that place that all that mattered was Johnny's displeasure and his need to be good for him.

Johnny increased the force of the swats until Rick was franticly begging.

"Is it your choice when the punishment stops?" John asked in a low voice.

"No, sir. No, sir," Rick hurried to assure Johnny.

"Then hush. I can do this for the duration of flight if I chose to. This is my right," he pointed out with a brutal smack that made Rick lurch and clutch the handle of the seat.

Rick let out a resigned, "Yes, sir," and went on with quietly crying, melting against John's thighs in a complete surrender, not protesting anymore in voice or body language.

John gradually brought the force of swats down, until it was more of a heavy pat then a swat. He went on with it until his tortured boy fell asleep, still sniffing and gulping for air occasionally.

He kept stroking and rubbing Rick's back until he was sure Rick was submerged in heavier sleep. He carefully slid out from under Rick's body, arranging his boy into a more comfortable position and pulling the readily provided blanket over his exhausted and shivering body.

Rick looked miserable with dark circles under his eyes, his delicate nose reddened with crying, shoulders drawn together in an unconscious gesture of defense. Rick looked small, hurt and brutalized and John was one to make him like that. His mind roared in terrible conflict with his own beast who leered an arrogant and self-satisfied grin over the form of his hurting boy. He fought back against the rising violence inside himself, against the demands of more and shoved the beast back into its lair. But it was hardly over. Something stirred inside John and he swallowed nervously. That something had no place here between himself and his boy, and Johnny couldn’t understand why it was rearing its ugly head now. What was making that hideous creature awaken? Johnny might have once needed it: its bloodlust, its mindless quest for violence, the single-minded need to conquer and destroy anything on its path to survival, but it wasn't in the here and now, it wasn't even in this life. He forced himself to breathe. Calming his own erratic breathing and settling his heart rate, he cleared his head of small pieces and fragments of long forgotten memory that fed that state. He concentrated on the love he felt for his boy; his disobedient, defiant, rebellious, beautiful boy, who could be so perfect and sweet in his submission if he would only allow himself to enjoy it. There was a battle ahead of him, with himself as much as with Rick, and the military tactician in him insisted he would need allies. It was high time he stopped regarding these men who had extended him and Rick a hand as enemies and accepted the help they offered. He would need to talk with them and with Arthur, to make sure that no matter what they would keep Rick safe while John was busy battling his demons and Rick's alike.

He felt his mind center and concentrate on the task; a familiar place for him that brought comfort and kept the horrors of past at bay. He relaxed and dropped down in the small aisle, right by the side of their seats. He had a boy to take care of.

His hand was still protectively draped over Rick. He knew Rick needed contact, his contact, to be able to sleep. John put his chin on the leather seat right beside Rick's head and peppered his boy's hair with small, gentle kisses, whispering words of love into his ear. Rick whined and murmured in his sleep, his body unwinding just a little bit, opening himself under John's arm. They stayed like that for a long while, Johnny stroking and gently patting his boy, healing his own hurting soul as much as calming his boy.

Eventually, Johnny too felt his eyes close, as he huddled against the seats, head bent against the seat, hand resting against Rick's back warding off the restless and unpleasant dreams.