Snowbound Season 2 - Episode 3

Snowbound Season 2

Winter  - The Next Morning

By Natasha and Korusialhogi

“John, have some breakfast.” Gordon’s diction was precise, his words matching his actions as he passed the muffins and the jam. Sheldon was seated on his left and Landon on his right. They both looked surprisingly calm after last night’s interruption. Landon helped himself to another muffin as he passed the basket, and Sheldon in a move of boyish mischief flicked a blueberry at Gregory. Gordon caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and swatted Sheldon sharply across the back of his head. “Milton is in another state, and you revert to a wild creature.”

Sheldon smiled unrepentantly and gulped down another mouthful of cereal. Gregory carefully placed the errant blueberry on his saucer and continued eating. John had braced himself for the worst this morning. His behavior last night had hardly been appropriate for a civilized dominant. He’d expected at least several of Gordon’s large henchmen to magically appear for a spontaneous vacation if not the FBI and the state police. 

“John, please sit.”

“Last night--”

Gordon let John go no further. “You disturbed our sleep. It’s not a capital offense. We will discuss it later. Landon will take the boys skiing today. Arthur, I believe you have previously expressed an interest in early American landscape painters. There is a lovely show at the museum in Burlington. I have arranged a car. John and I will enjoy the morning together.” Gordon returned to his breakfast, cutting his sausage link with relaxed precision. 

Gordon was a general, a man who knew his orders were obeyed without need for noise and bluster. He hadn’t even glared at John. In fact the orders had been issued in calm, conversational tones, all the more impressive. John felt Rick’s hand against his thigh. His boy hadn’t spoken, but John sensed his boy’s uncertainty. Gordon hadn’t asked John if Rick could go with Landon; it had been an unequivocal order. Usually John would be growling and snarling at such presumption, but in Gordon it was beyond mere presumption. These were his troops, and he was the great strategist. John might not like it, but he respected all great strategist, and he was the one with erratic evening behavior. Courtesy was in order this morning.

“You’ll enjoy the skiing,” John said with an attempt at a bright smile. “It’s good to get outside.”

Gordon nodded his head a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of John’s words. “I won’t keep John for long. He is obviously a man who enjoys his exercise.”

Breakfast was finished quickly. Landon, with an expertise of a kindergarten teacher, had gathered his flock and disappeared in a search for mittens and fun in the great outdoors. Arthur had raised one eyebrow in silent question and then left the table with a murmured thanks at the chance to visit the art show. Only John and Gordon now sat together.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?”

This place was the looney bin as Rick had so aptly described it. John had flipped last night, and his host was inquiring over his swimwear. “Yes.”

“Good. I feel like using the bathhouse. It was Tilden’s idea, and I find it most refreshing. Go fetch your trunks. I’ll wait for you.”

Saunas and steam rooms had never been John’s preference, but he was a guest, a difficult guest. He could comply with the steam. As far as bathhouses went, this was a pleasant one. They had crossed a shoveled path to a small rustic building that blended in with the surrounding pine trees. They'd changed quickly, and Gordon threw water on the hot coals, making a fresh veil of steam. John breathed the hot, humid air, and wished he was outside in the frigid Vermont winter. He stirred restlessly. Gordon seemed little inclined to talk. He lay on the stone bench with his eyes shut.

John played the last twenty-four hours in his mind. It was somewhat of a miracle that these people hadn't sent him packing in chains or at least called the head shrinkers. He hadn't exactly been sane last night.

"Relax, John." Gordon's voice rose like a sonorous trumpet through the steam vapors. "I have no hidden forces in the woods, and I am not capable myself of a physical assault. I have never been a soldier, and I wouldn't presume to speak to the fears that come from those missions, but, like you, I have history. Our personal history colors our perspectives as dominants. We hit those we love. It is only natural for any decent human being to fear going too far, to fear the thin and shaky divide between legitimate domination and abuse."

Gordon rolled to a sitting position and wiped his face with a towel. His hands rested on his thighs, and he stared at the far wall. "We fear the force. You have killed people; you have seen friends and colleagues die in the most gruesome ways. Violence is not something to be celebrated, but to survive in your world, you cultivated your most violent side. You fear the violence with Rick, a young man who pushes desires you had thought you understood and fully tamed. You never fully understand dominance; all I can offer is that you will learn to tame yourself as you tame your submissive."

John folded his hands on his lap and willed himself to be silent. What did this man of privilege know of John's demons? Gordon's first instinct wasn't to seek cover when a car backfired. He hadn't help protect mass grave sites in an effort to gather evidence among the bodies of women and children stacked like cordwood. He lived in this opulence where perfect rules seemed possible.

Gordon's eyes met John's in a long appraising stare. "You believe none of my experiences could reflect yours. Maybe," Gordon said with a slow shrug, "but I know the fear of hurting the one I love. I know this fear, not from vicious demons within whom I raised and nurtured as a soldier. I know this fear from being the victim as a young man. I was forced to submit. It wasn't about the mixture of pain and pleasure and thrill we cultivate. I submitted to survive. My father routinely beat me in unspeakable ways. My experience in boarding school on a distant shore was hardly better." Gordon poured himself water from a pitcher and slowly swallowed half a glass. "Gay with a funny accent and parents who hated me an ocean away, I was all that today would set a task force of goodhearted but often hopeless counselors on my back. In my day, I was supposed to know how to survive. I wasn't a star at cricket or rugby, and my academic preparation was inadequate. I was vulnerable, and the boy, who should have protected me, preyed on me. In those times, it was hidden under the euphemism of boys going too far. The legitimate term is sexual assault. The prefect of my house was the rugby captain, the cricket captain, and winner of numerous school prizes. He was also determined to have me, and he did. I didn't even make him beat me unconscious or tie me down. I folded easily, but it wasn't submission; it was fear.

"I swore to every god of every religion I could name that I would never be such a person, that I would never raise my hand to another human, that I would never force myself on another. I was lucky." Gordon took another sip of water. "The classics master noticed something about me. The year I graduated, he went on sabbatical, and he took me with him. He was tall and thin with the brightest of blue eyes. I spent a year clambering over archeological ruins with the kindest dominant I've ever met. He taught me to sub for him. The first day he showed me a cane, I threw up on his shoes. He taught me to use it on the couch pillows of our rented villa. Our first real sex he put me on top. I adored him; I trusted him, and I let him hit me. I wasn't afraid any longer, but something happened as I shed my fear induced submission.

"It was a month before our return to England. We were swimming and laughing, and generally goofing around on an isolated beach. I was bronzed, fit, and for the first time whole. We wrestled, and I ended up on top with his arms pinned to the sand. He was suddenly absolutely still under me, and I felt something I couldn't describe. He smiled slowly and gently.

"'That's right, Gordon. That's where you belong. You're a dominant.”

"He rolled out from under me, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and led me back to the house. He spent two months teaching me the dominant side, and he helped me find the right contacts in the states. He could have had me for a submissive. I would have given it to him and thought it was my own free will, but he'd known, and he gave me the gift of a free and unencumbered choice. I'm terrified of not following his example. Have I called some lost little boy a submissive and bullied him into the wrong queue? I haven't your physical strength, but I have an arsenal of other weapons. Any dominant with any conscience asks himself that question every day. We're here together to help answer that question. I would answer that you have been on the side of angels, but you can asks others. We will all answer the best we can; we are sworn to help and protect each other."

Gordon said no more. He rose to his feet, wrapped his long coat around himself, and placed his feet without socks in heavy boots. His footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and the door clanged. John was left with his own thoughts in a shroud of steam.  

****

Rick had a mixed relationship with skiing. It was a sport and Rick loved sports, moreover it was a winter sport and Rick loved winter. He was good at it too, since one simply couldn’t live half one’s life in Switzerland, go through boarding school there and not know how to ski. He also kind of hated skiing precisely because it reminded him of Switzerland, which in turn was closely linked to his beloved grandparents. If he never heard of or even remembered them again it would be too soon. Hence, his mixed feelings about skiing, he preferred not to ski altogether.  

Besides, he had hardly appreciated being sent away like a toddler when grownups needed to talk. Johnny was his; he was supposed to be there. Whatever Gordon was going to tell him, Rick should hear too.

Rick plopped down on the fresh, fluffy snow and plowed the white mass with his ski poles. He watched the rest skiing. Gregory and Sheldon hadn't protested being sent away. To think about it no one had, not Arthur and not even Johnny. Rick couldn't understand that. Protesting and objecting was what he did, no matter whether there were grounds for it or not. Sometimes the objection was to just throw the opponent off their rhythm; it didn't need to be legitimate. Now he was supposed to just meekly follow such arbitrary orders. Johnny said go, he went--no questions asked, no arguments, no objections. He was also not supposed to feel any resentment and be happily waiting for his lord and commander to come after him at his convenience. Rick whined and let his head fall against his folded arms. He couldn't do this.

He looked at the rest of the party. Landon and Sheldon were skiing and fooling around like little boys, loud and joyous. It was surreal to see Landon Graves like this. Gregory was the ever obedient and graceful sub. He was told to ski, so he was skiing. Gregory hated everything related to winter. He was hardly maintaining his footing on the skies, but he was dutifully trying. It was sickening. Rick wanted to go to Gregory and smack him against the back of his head and tell him to stop torturing himself. Then again, maybe that was just jealousy. Rick would never be that perfect. He would never be able to give himself to Johnny this freely, this completely.

Someone sat down beside Rick.

"You don't enjoy skiing?" Landon asked, eyes sparkling.

Rick looked to where Gregory and Sheldon were. Sheldon had finally managed to get Gregory involved in a snow fight. They looked like they were having fun.

"I don't enjoy being ordered to enjoy myself," Rick spoke sullenly.

"Ah, so we are back at snapping and snarling stage, I see," Landon said pensively. "I was hoping we were past that. You looked so beautiful at your dominant's feet, such a perfect boy."

Rick felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He hadn't thought for a second about others; there was only Johnny at that moment.

 "So what?" he said defensively. "And you were running to your dominant with a cane to get your ass beat," he blurted out angrily and felt ashamed for his lowly attack as soon as the words left his mouth.

Landon didn't say anything. Rick had expected a furious retort, but there was only silence. He finally dared to look at Landon. He was smiling at him, a real smile, not the condescending and cold sneer Rick would have given the misguided soul that dared to attack him.

"Was that supposed to be insulting?" Landon enquired, looking truly interested in hearing the response. "The fact that I have been obeying my dominant and partner of almost fifty years?"

Rick shrugged. Yes, five years old was a good look on him. He didn't need to show maturity; apparently he lacked it anyways. He wanted Johnny; he wanted to be at his feet; he wanted Johnny telling him what to want and what to feel. He didn't want to be the one deciding how this conversation should go. To his absolute horror Rick started to cry. He wasn't supposed to cry because an elderly gentleman with kind eyes asked him a question. He had made people cry with his own questions. He had been under verbal fire of the most feared carnivores of modern times and he just smiled and pushed back. Now he was crying at a simple question.

 "Good boy," Landon murmured into his ear as he pulled Rick into his chest. "You want your John. You want to be good for him. We will get you there." Landon's hands were all over him, rubbing his back and the nape of his neck, and it made Rick sob harder. "Hopefully without the need to beat you every day. Yes, my boy?"

Landon was expecting an answer; he had pushed Rick slightly away from his chest and was looking at his face.

"I don't want beaten," Rick hiccuped desperately.

"Shhh, beautiful boy." Landon kissed his brow. "Of course you want beaten; you just don't want punished. Punishment means you’ve failed your dominant, and for all the fight you put up, you want to be good for your John." Landon kissed Rick's hair close to his nape. "But you want beaten; you want taken. You enjoy the darkness and the brutality of John's dominance and that's just fine. You both need to stop fearing your needs and learn to tame them to your pleasure."

Landon rocked and soothed Rick for a while.

"Come," Landon said eventually, forcing Rick’s face up and wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "That’s enough." There was undeniable authority in his tone and warmly smiling eyes. "Gregory looks terrified. He must think I've done unimaginable horrors to you."

Rick pulled himself away from Landon. He sniffed and smeared the remaining wetness all over his face. He felt like his head was stuffed with cotton.

"He's afraid of you," Rick said, still sniffing. "You are not scary." Rick studied Landon carefully, trying to see what Gregory found so terrifying.

"Finally," Landon exclaimed with exaggerated relief. "Someone who can truly appreciate my tame and sweet personality."

Rick rolled his eyes.

"Figures you would think I'm a good boy. You're impossible yourself," Rick gave Landon a watery smile, his eyes brimming with tears once more, despite his attempts at humor. He wasn’t a good boy, and he would never be one. He was just fooling himself.

Landon's eyes once more undertook the remarkable transformation, turning into titanium fortified steel.

"Boy, while I appreciate your sense of humor, never dare to doubt my standards. I don't throw away compliments. You are good; you are just struggling. Nothing I haven't done myself as well. We still have a lot to talk about, but for now, let's make sure Gregory doesn't start hyperventilating." Just like that the humor was back in Landon’s eyes.

Rick studied Landon for a while. How the man was able to change between states so fast and so effortlessly was a mystery. Rick stood up and walked to Gregory, giving him a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine," he muttered to Gregory, who turned uncertain eyes on him.

Sheldon dumped a handful of snow at Gregory's head and nudged him in the shoulder.

"Don't worry; Landon only eats submissives when there is full moon. We still have couple of days to enjoy ourselves." Sheldon grinned brightly at Gregory.

Landon cracked his hand against Sheldon's skiing pants, which was a quite ineffective way of spanking someone, but Rick guessed it was not about the pain but the message.

"Are you sitting too comfortably away from your master? I can always oblige, boy," Landon promised darkly.

"I'll make sure to ask." Sheldon grinned impishly and danced away.

"Let's go." Landon tugged at Rick's sleeve. "That brat needs a lesson taught," Landon said, looking like a mischievous youngster.

"I want to go back," Rick confessed shyly. "I want to go to Johnny."

"Of course you do, sweetheart," Landon said easily. "But you were told to come with me and stay here until your dominant comes after you. Gordon said he wouldn’t keep John for long. So be a good boy and enjoy yourself, just like John told you."

Landon was looking at him smiling sweetly, an unreadable expression making his eyes sparkle. Rick was oscillating between arguing and accepting his fate obediently. Not fighting was hard and Rick felt he was going to lose that particular struggle. When he opened his mouth to argue, Landon materialized a snowball from somewhere and cracked it against his forehead.

"You're so dead," Rick hissed, scandalized. After the initial shock wore off, he launched himself at Landon.  

****

Winter immediately forced itself inside Gordon’s coat and overheated skin. Gordon quickened his stride and almost dove into the house. He toed off his boots inside the back door and barefoot, but still in his coat made his way to his rooms. 

The shower was hot and probably did more than just take off the chill. Gordon stood under the shower and willed his memories to cascade off his shoulders and down the drain like the water. Gordon had lived a good life. The bad memories were part of him, but they shouldn’t be dwelled upon. He had Landon, the man who understood everything and had a heart more generous than Gordon could imagine. He was surrounded by people who loved and understood him. As any man his age, he’d buried some of his closest friends, but he still had Milton and all his crazy family. The army of the Green Mountain Boys sprawled out like an ungainly spider from Milton at its head. Every member would provide physical and spiritual shelter for any other member. All over the world a Green Mountain Boy could find safety. This was their proudest legacy, and Gordon thought with an ironic smile, the best use of the legacy of his father who couldn’t bear the sight of his own son and his perversions. If only his father had known how deep those perversions truly went, he might have celebrated simply having a gay son who quietly hid his orientation like all proper gentlemen. Landon and Gordon had flaunted it long before it was acceptable; money and power were a shield most young men didn’t have. Landon’s family had a rich history of progressive politics and philanthropy. The elder Mr. Graves had stepped into the void left by Gordon’s own father. Gordon could still remember the shock when Landon’s father insisted on a meal at his club and an introduction to his powerful friends. He’d introduced Gordon as Landon’s future husband as he poured champagne into crystal flutes and toasted their future as a happy couple.

Gordon stepped from the shower and dressed again. He fingered the soft cashmere of his sweater, a Christmas gift from Milton and Sheldon, but selected by Sheldon. It was a far cry from that vivid purple and orange sweater of many years ago. Sheldon, the lunatic child, had grown up. Gordon had at first despaired at his introduction to Sheldon. The boy had seemed so young, not in chronological age for Milton, but in maturity and entirely incapable of absorbing Milton’s needs as a dominant. Landon had been immediately enchanted by the redheaded beauty, and ultimately he’d been right. Sheldon had grown into a vibrant and mature submissive who managed to thrive in a relationship of six. He hadn’t been the young man who Gordon had feared, a boy who basked in the attention of his dominant but who would never be capable of making the true sacrifices of a submissive. Sheldon served his master, and his pleasure was in that service. For years Gordon had worried that the relationship’s energy had only flowed one way, Milton scolding an organizing a bratty boy, always giving and never receiving.

Rick and John were their problem children. Landon liked Rick, and after all these years Gordon knew to trust his boy’s judgment. Landon was adamant that Rick was and could be a submissive. Last night Landon had called Rick a menage of  the highly needy and the forcefully independent.

“Rick’s needs aren’t always synchronous. He needs to be overwhelmed by his dominant, possessed by his dominant, but he also needs to cherish the threads of his own identity. Rick is always gong to make the dominant fight for possession; it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to submit. Mike is similar; only we know Mike well enough to trust that his fight is more mock than real, and we trust Milton not to mistakenly project his own will on an unwilling boy. Milton erred to the other side with Mike, and while I know little of John, I suspect the same is true of him.”

John was naturally a more physical dominant than Milton. Milton enjoyed the mental chess game as much as the physical, and Milton had New England stoicism in his veins, an unmoving boulder versus swift strikes. Sheldon had been Milton’s first partner and further shaped Milton away from frequent displays of overwhelming force. Sheldon was not a Rick. The dance John and Rick were doing centered on John’s physical strength. Rick gave to the physical strength, but it wasn’t enough. Rick wasn’t a playmate for the night; he was John’s lover. He needed the everyday submission, the part where they both feared the consequences.

Gordon leaned against the window frame and stared out into the whiteness. The daily submission was the dangerous part. Even the most violent whipping was child’s play compared to the simple manipulation of meal and bed times. Submission leaked into the world of daily life left the safe confines of ritualized beatings and fanciful games. Suddenly the dominant wasn’t the angry school master or the evil pirate or just the lead in sexual fantasies; he was the lead in the household. This was dangerous ground, and this was where they were leading John and Rick. This was the ground where it was easy to confuse the goal and motivations, where the submissive was manipulated and shaped into the creature desired by the dominant without either partner realizing the gravity of the error, where the submissive could lose the will to use a safeword even when it was desperately needed. The closer the dominant moved toward master, the less sane the proposition became. Gordon had seen plenty of these relationships go wrong, many only because it ceased to be fun. Those were easy; the partners recovered and either shifted back toward a more play relationship or searched for a better match. Gordon had also seen the wreckage of a full time power exchange in which the submissive partner had lost the joy and spark, where a relationship created to cater to each man’s special needs had left the submissive powerless and trapped in a relationship without joy and fire and only control, where the boy became less capable instead of more. Gordon had heard Rick safeword last night, and John feared the strength of his own dominance. Deeper should be safe.

Gordon could only hope they were right.

****

John looked at Gordon's retreating back, his mind blank. He wasn't sure what to make of Gordon's words. He’d thought Gordon unable to understand what real pain meant, but this man had experienced the kind of pain that John had seen too many times in his life and every time thanked the fates he had been spared it.

Gordon had shown John that he knew the true face of evil. Was Johnny supposed to believe he would recognize it if he saw it inside Johnny? He burrowed his face into his hands and groaned. He didn't know how this was supposed to help him. What was all this supposed to achieve?  Beside the fact that he wanted to find the monster that had been capable of preying on an already traumatized youth and beat him into dust, John didn't feel anything. John had always had some sort of protector complex. He had been strong and fit all his life, and he had always been the defender of the weak, the abused, and the bullied. He’d had his fair share of fights since kindergarten, because he’d refused to let anyone get bullied no matter whether he knew them and liked them or not. The idea that he might become one of those monsters had poisoned his soul since he was a young man. Arthur had told him to trust his judgment; he had promised John that he would stop John if he ever stepped over the line. Last night he’d told him to trust Rick, that Rick would guide him. Now Gordon was telling John to trust what? His own fears? Was he supposed to know he was doing fine as long as he was scared? No, that wasn't what Gordon was telling him. Johnny wasn't sure what the man was telling him.

He growled with annoyance. He pulled his clothes on and left the bathhouse. He needed to move. He wanted to go for a run until his legs gave way and he could drag himself back, exhausted, beaten and ready to sleep. These moods used to be easier to manage. He would have asked a couple of his men to spar with him. They would have beaten each other until all of them were falling off their feet, and everything would have been fine the next day.

He started to jog in the direction of the forest, but after a couple of seconds he stopped. Rick was waiting for him. His boy hadn’t wanted to go with Landon. He went because Johnny told him to go. Rick was waiting for him. No matter what Johnny was going through, his boy needed him, and Rick’s needs would always come first for John. Maybe that was what Gordon was telling him. That he should look inside himself and not only when his beast was at its ugliest. Maybe Gordon was telling him to trust his own strength to chain the beast. Damn if he knew what Gordon was telling him, but for some reason Johnny felt better. These men had seen it all, and they trusted John with Rick. They had seen John at his worst and instead of calling in for the troops and trying to make a cordon between him and his boy, Gordon had taken him into the bathhouse where he’d laid back, relaxed, and opened his heart. Gordon had revealed the most painful part of his past to Johnny. It took strength to let your vulnerabilities known. More importantly, it took trust.

 Johnny was officially an idiot. For all his training in behavioral analysis, he had missed the most obvious. Gordon was telling him that he was trusting John. Gordon was not a man to give his trust freely. He had deemed John safe.  

He turned around and jogged in the opposite direction. He knew where the ski slopes were; he would make it there in less than five minutes if he ran hard enough. He had a boy waiting for him.    

He heard them before he saw them. It was hard to distinguish who was who. It looked like a mound of limbs and snow. Johnny had to laugh at the image that greeted him. From somewhere under the pile Rick's head appeared, eyes sparkling, cheeks burning with a healthy red.

"Johnny!" he shrieked joyously, as he tried to slide out from under the bodies.

The small mountain of humans broke up and four bright-eyed boys were looking at Johnny.

"Ah, your caveman is here," Landon said, grinning brightly as he untangled himself.

"Don't call him that; he's not a caveman," Rick interjected indignantly. "He's a Neanderthal! Don't you know the difference?" Rick asked innocently.

John's eyes darkened as he sauntered toward Rick.

"Neanderthal, boy? Do you know what Neanderthals did to disobedient boys?" John jumped at Rick, who tried turn and run only to trip on Sheldon's stuck out foot.

"Run everyone," Sheldon shouted, running in the direction of the house. "We can save ourselves while he feasts on the feisty one."

And they ran. Johnny pulled the giggling Rick over his shoulder and started a furious pursuit after the rest of the rascals. By the time they reached the house, he had a nice collection of brats. Rick and Sheldon were draped over his shoulders, and he was leading Landon and Gregory by the scruff of their necks.

Arthur had already returned, when they reached the house. He and Gordon were right in front of the entrance. The expression on their faces was priceless when they saw John and his catch.                   

****

“I seem to have caught myself some brats,” John said with a big grin and pushed himself and his captives through the two gawking men.

“Indeed,” Gordon said serenely, following John into the entry hall. “And what is the crime?”

“Unauthorized fun and misuse of frozen water.”

“Most serious.” Gordon furrowed his brows. “Corrective action will have to be taken immediately.” John started to push Landon toward Gordon. “No, the custom is that the arresting officer has the pleasure. Be my guest. Arthur, I’ll assume you’ll agree to uphold the custom?”

“With pleasure.”

This was moving too fast. Outside with only Johnny it had been fun, but now under the scrutiny of Gordon and Arthur, Rick could feel his face redden, and he squirmed off John’s shoulder. “We were ordered to play. We can’t be in trouble for it.” Rick was rapidly composing arguments in his head. 

“Idiot,” Sheldon hissed in real irritation and dropped from John’s shoulder. “You’ve ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” Rick’s mind swirled in hundreds of permutations. He wasn’t getting smacked for playing in the snow. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Do you have to be such a literalist.” Sheldon brushed snow off his pants and glared at Rick momentarily before breaking into peals of uncontrolled laughter.

“What?” Rick shouted, his hands on his hips.

“Sorry, sorry.” Sheldon wiped at his streaming eyes. “It was a set up. They were doing a spontaneous scene. I guess improv was never your forte.”

Rick stared at all the men in the entry hall. Gregory had gravitated to Arthur and was leaning into his parter and holding his hand. Sheldon was still watching Rick, but the earlier amusement on his face was starting to be replaced by concern, and Landon had flopped down in the nearest chair and was unlacing his boots. Rick felt the heat rise in his face. “Fuck! How was I to fucking know?” He turned and fled. His feet pounded up the steps, and he rounded the bend of the first landing. Rick slowed, dropped to his knees, and pressed his face to the stair railing. As a boy he’d often spied from the stairs, but he couldn’t say why he watched the men below now. He knew if John found him that he’d be in real trouble, not the fun he’d so stupidly misread.

“That worked out well,” Landon said dryly. “All my work to make him feel like one of us gone. Bang, crash, gone.” Landon blew a fleck of snow from his coat to the floor. 

“I’ll go after him,” John said and turned toward the stairway.

“Leave him,” Gordon ordered. “Embarrassment is not a terminal condition, and he’ll take his frustration out on you. You are not his punching bag.”

“He’s my responsibility. He’s my submissive,” John said, his stance shifting in a way Rick knew as an increased awareness, a readiness to do battle.

“Only when it suits him,” Sheldon snapped. “And that is probably only on the fourth Tuesday of the month when the moon is full. He’s all over the place like one of those flipping and jerking rides that assault the stomach. God, I feel like I need motion sickness medicine watching his gyrations. I’m going to shower.”

“Don’t move, boy.” Gordon’s words were slow and steady and hit Rick’s stomach like a ball of ice, and they weren’t addressed at his hidden form. Gordon stalked across the hallway and grabbed Sheldon’s chin. “Would you speak that way if your master was here?”

“No, sir,” Sheldon capitulated. Gordon let go of Sheldon’s chin, and Sheldon dropped to his knees. “Please punish me, sir for disrespecting my master and you.”

“It is John who you most disrespected. As it is his boy you slandered, the right of punishment belongs to him. John?”

John seemed to stare at Sheldon for ages. Sheldon never moved; he was the perfect statue of submission.

“His master’s not here,” John said in a conciliatory tone as if he were looking for a third way.

“He is in my care when Milton is absent. I grant you permission to strike him,” Gordon said formally.

“Not here.” Rick could see the minute motion of John’s head. He was taking in all the details of the surroundings.

“Use the main study. Sheldon has Milton’s keys.”

****

Sheldon was glad John had laid a hand on his shoulder as they walked down the long corridor to the study. The outburst had seemed a good idea at the time. He was wound tight, and he’d thought Gordon would drop on him like a rock. He’d also seen Rick duck behind the landing railing. If anyone looked in that direction, he’d be seen. Sheldon words hadn’t been a diplomatic victory, and they’d probably hurt Rick, not that they weren’t true, but being caught spying would have hurt far more. Sheldon’s outburst had kept everyone’s eyes on him and away from poorly camouflaged Rick.

“The implements are in the cupboards on either side of the fireplace, sir.” Sheldon said, swallowing hard to moisten his throat. John was big and menacing this close. Ryan was big, but it was nearly impossible to wipe the amusement from Ryan’s eyes. John’s eyes looked like a sea during a tsunami. 

“Sit, Sheldon.” John waved at one of the armchairs. He leaned against the wall, looking no smaller for the slight distance. “Are you all right with this?”

“It’s expected, sir.”

“So is wearing a tie, not exercising at midnight, and rules I haven’t discovered yet. That doesn’t answer my question. Are you all right with this? You don’t know me; you have no reason to trust me. Your master isn’t even here.”

“I insulted your boy, sir.”

“You spoke the truth in a tactless manner, deliberately provocative, I suspect. You’re too good at this not to have realized the outcome. I thought at first you had intentionally wanted to engineer this situation, but you look too apprehensive. You’re sitting and speaking to me by force of will; you want to flee. So why don’t you tell me the real reason for this exercise?”

“I was just cranky and frustrated. I--”

“Sheldon, you lie badly. I don’t know you, and I can tell you’re lying. Gordon is a strong believer in honor; I expect the penalty for lying is draconian, far more than the penalty for insulting outbursts. So--” John stretched out the word-- “are we doing this?”

“Red.”

“Safeword?”

“Yes.”

John’s eyes rested on Sheldon for a long minute. “You are apprehensive, but you aren’t that frightened. Can you reach Milton?”

“I safeworded.”

“More the reason you need to speak to your master. Call him.” 

Sheldon mentally reviewed Milton schedule. He’d be home or in his campus office. He tried the cell number first, not sure if it was dread or relief that swept through him as he heard Milton’s rich tones. He handed the phone to John.

“How do you put this thing on speaker?” John asked.

“Middle button.”

“Sheldon, who is with you?” Milton’s voice came over the phone.

“This is John. I have a small incident here; I’ll let your boy explain.”

Sheldon cursed silently under his breath, but managed a coherent and rapid explanation, finishing with his use of the generic safeword.

“Was Rick upstairs behind the bannister railing?” Milton asked.

“Yes, Master,” Sheldon said softly, knowing Milton wouldn’t let the question go unanswered. “Common hiding place,” Sheldon mouthed at John, who looked lost in a conversation where the two other participants had far more information.

“Well, that explains most of it. I’m not happy with my boy’s choice of words, and I would punish him. Hand spanking and finish with one with a cane for his less than honest answers.”

“Milton,” Sheldon pleaded.

“My justice is to be accepted.”

“Yes, Master.” Sheldon bowed his head, even though Milton couldn’t see him.

“Be good. John, take care of him. He is a good boy, if a touch impulsive. I must go now.”

At the click of the receiver, Sheldon stood and worried at his belt buckle with suddenly nervous fingers. He wiped his hand against his jeans.

“Easy.” John’s voice was directly in Sheldon’s ear, his large hand wrapped around Sheldon’s wrist. “I don’t care what he says; I’ll only do this if you want.”

“Milton is Master.”

“Is he standing here?”

“No, sir, but it is his right to order it and my duty to submit.” Sheldon gulped and glanced at John. “I hate the cane. It’s not you, sir.”

“Nursery cane it is then. I assume you have one of those?”

“Yes, sir. In the desk drawer. Sir?”

“Go on,” John said, taking the nursery cane from the drawer.

“Sir, it’s not my business, and it’s not me trying to get our of punishment, but will Rick accept you punishing me? I’m used to Milton handling other boys.”

“Great,” John said with a snort. “I can face the wrath of Milton and Gordon, or I can face my boy in a temper.”

“He’s already in a temper, sir. Remember he heard me.”

John’s smile was surprisingly gentle. “You’re determined to do this?”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Here.” John shoved the nursery cane into Sheldon’s hand. “Go find Gordon. He’s used to this circus. I’m going to find Rick.”