Snowbound Season 2 - Episode 4

Snowbound Season 2 - Episode 4

Winter - The Afternoon

By Korusialhogi and Natasha

John didn't manage to open the door fully when he ended up with an armful of distraught looking Rick.

"You can't punish him," Rick blurted out as soon as he hit John's chest. "You have no right to do it. He was exercising his freedom of speech, and he doesn't even belong to you." Rick finished his verbal fire finally drawing in a breath.

John raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Rick. Of course his boy wouldn't allow a judgment to be passed and punishment to be carried out without representing the perceived defendant. Understanding Rick's instincts didn't mean he was about to allow Rick to run amok.

"Now you're telling me what I can and cannot do?"

"But it's not right," Rick insisted frenetically. "He's…"

Johnny pressed two fingers to Rick's lips.

"Silence! Sheldon." He turned to look at the redhead who was holding a perfect pose despite the commotion. "Go find Gordon, I'll take care of this."

"Yes, sir." With a curt nod the boy left.

"Sit!" John turned to look at Rick with a barked order.

"Sit where?" Rick looked around in the hallway.

John held Rick’s eyes, demanding obedience.

"Fine," Rick said flippantly, trying to push past Johnny and into the study.

John grabbed him by his arm and held him on the spot. "I said sit! I didn't say find a seat or grab a chair," he said with chill in his voice.

"On the floor?" Rick looked incredulous. "In the middle of the hallway?"

Johnny just kept looking at him, not saying anything, but not letting his arm go.

"You can't be serious," Rick said exasperated. "I'm not a dog!" he almost screamed.

Johnny kept his stance, not moving, not talking.

"Fine!" Rick finally said and dropped down, sitting on the floor with his feet crossed.

Johnny squatted in front of him and studied him for a while. "Wouldn't it have been easier if you had just done so immediately? Wouldn't it have made you feel better, if you’d obeyed me without argument?" John asked, looking at Rick's miserable face.

 Rick shrugged.

"I thought we had an understanding that you were going to give it a try. Obeying me without arguments," John clarified.

"You were going to beat him," Rick said empathically. "It wasn't fair," he insisted.

"Rick, Sheldon is an experienced submissive. He knew that if he really wanted out of it, all he had to do was safeword. No one was doing anything to Sheldon without his consent. Do you trust me that little? You think I would have done such a monstrosity as to abuse a defenseless man?"

Rick blanched at John's words. "No," he shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no, no," he scrambled up to his knees and gathered John's face into his hands.

"Than what was that all about?"

Rick's beautiful green eyes filled with fat tears. "It was my fault. Sheldon said I ruined it and then he was in trouble for speaking his mind. That wasn’t fair," Rick mumbled, hanging up his head.

"In other words it wasn’t fair that Sheldon was going to get his bottom warmed by me, while you were banished upstairs," John concluded. "So you were basically jealous," he said, smiling amusedly.

"What?" Rick's head shot up. "I was not jealous!" he insisted. "And for your information," Rick stated vehemently, "I'm very good at improvising, I just didn't know you were playing one of your stupid games," Rick said, leaping to his feet, intent on making a grand exit.

John grabbed Rick by the waist of his pants and pulled him down. Flipping him over his lap, he started to rain down swats on a frantically struggling Rick's behind.

"You know there are ways of doing this without so much drama." Johnny talked calmly, while his hand kept descending on the upturned bottom. "Ways that Gordon was trying to demonstrate just now: a simple scene, cute and nice, nothing heavy-duty. But no, you need to make this hard for everybody. Fine, I'm not complaining. I'll play this game, until you’re be ready to ask for what you want in a civilized manner, as opposed to coming off like a rabid animal." John continued to swat Rick in complete silence. The echoing sound of the slaps was the only disturbance to the tranquility of the corridors.

Rick begged and cried, but Johnny kept on going. After several minutes he turned Rick right way up and set him forcefully on the floor in front of him.

"Now, let's try this again," John said, wiping Rick's tearstained face. "What do you do when I tell you to do something?"

"I don't submit to you. I submit only when it suits me!" Rick said with force, throwing John off for a second. 

After an initial confusion John remembered Sheldon's words. "Don't change the subject, Rick. The poor little victimized boy act will not work with me," John said coldly.

"I don't even want to be here," Rick screamed and attempted to get up.

"Rick, stay put, until I tell you can get up," John said with clear warning in his voice.

Immediately Rick struggled to get up. John pushed him down and put his hands on Rick's shoulders to hold him down. Rick turned his head to the side and tried to bite Johnny. John pulled his hand away and growled at Rick.     

"Do it again and I'll slap you."

Rick's response was instant; his teeth dug into John's hand. Johnny waited for Rick to let go of his flesh then calmly slapped Rick's cheek, putting little force behind the strike, just enough to sting.

"The next one will be harder," John warned serenely.

This time John pulled his hand away before Rick could manage to bite him. The slap was harder as promised, extracting a yelp from Rick and a downfall of tears.

"Rick, when I clearly tell you what the consequences of an action will be and you go ahead and do it, I assume you you want the consequences," Johnny explained calmly. "So are you saying you want me to slap you?"

"I didn't say any such thing," Rick insisted, sniffing lightly.

Johnny looked at Rick amused. "Really?"

Rick made another attempt at biting John. The slap was even harder this time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Johnny said after a second. "Even you wouldn't deny the obvious."

"I'm a lawyer, I'm professionally trained to deny the obvious," Rick retorted smartly.

John shook his head, smiling at Rick gently. "You would have made a great spook, in case of capture and interrogation you would have driven your interrogators to suicide."

Rick dared a shy grin and a short look at Johnny. "Sheldon would have allowed you to beat him," Rick whispered all of a sudden, clear wonderment in his voice.

"He had insulted me by speaking out of turn and attacking my boy. That means he had disgraced his dominant. It is always a punishable offense. I have punished you for the same offense." John grabbed Rick's chin and looked at Rick. "Sheldon knew what was coming when he opened his mouth. He’d wanted the consequences, maybe not from me, but he’d wanted to be taken down."

"Would you allow someone else to punish me?" Rick squeaked horrified.

"Arthur had punished you," Johnny reminded him.

"It's different and I hated it," Rick cried out.

"Punishments are hardly something to be enjoyed, but to answer your question probably not at this point," Johnny said, holding a hand up when he sensed Rick ready to speak. "Rick, for now, I want you to concentrate on the easy things. Don't scare yourself with future scenarios or things that seem impossibly hard for you. Baby steps will do." He leaned forward and captured Rick's lips in a lazy kiss. "Stay here for ten minutes. I'll be in the study."

"Yes, sir," Rick said obediently. "Someone might see me, though," Ricky said, worrying his lips between his teeth.

"So?" Johnny asked pointedly.

"Nothing," Rick bent his head down, "I'll obey."

"Johnny?" Rick said after a while. "Could we un-ruin what I ruined? Sheldon wanted to play," Rick asked, playing with the hem of his shirt.

Johnny bent down and kissed his forehead. "We sure can. Now obey me."

"Yes, sir."  

****

“Sheldon?” Gordon’s dark eyes rested unblinking on Sheldon. His entire attention appeared focused on Sheldon despite the noise from the hall. Rick never did anything quietly. For a man, who protested his status as a submissive and fought everything about it, he sure went for public spectacles.

“John, told me to have you do it, sir.”

“He probably only has enough energy for one maniac,” Landon said fondly from the sofa where he was sprawled out in a very young man’s heap with no concern to his dignity or his age. “At least the screeching’s stopped. The sound of spanking can be lulling.”

Gordon and Landon’s rooms were at the far end of the corridor, but even here the faint echo of powerful slaps rumbled in the distance. They were slowing now, maybe starting to lose some force.

Gordon nodded once. “Come.” He wrapped an arm around Sheldon and marched him back down the fall toward the source of the noise. 

Sheldon could hear choked sobs and the murmur of quiet words. Rick was sitting in the hall, his beautiful face marred by a rivulet of tears on his cheeks. His eyes, vast green pools, glistened with fresh tears. His eyes rose to meet the approaching men, and a flush darkened his cheeks, Sheldon watched fascinated as Rick’s eyes changed from the quiet aftermath of tears toward shock and then blazing emerald anger. Rick leapt to his feet and searched for a posture of control and power.

“I am positive, lad, that your were asked to sit,” Gordon said quietly in his most paternal tone.

Sheldon watched in horror and fascination as Rick detonated. His hands came to his hips, his shoulders squared, and his eyes narrowed to green sparks of hate. At close range the noise was deafening: a screech, a battle cry of a warrior armed with only a spear against a man with a machine gun, the desperate roar of a cornered tiger.

“Lad,” Gordon said calmly, “this is not acceptable behavior in my house. You are a guest of the Green Mountain Boys; you are a submissive. This behavior is not acceptable.”

“I am not a Green Mountain Boy,” Rick said in a haughty tone. “You have no rights over me. You have no authority over me.”

“I would hope, young man, that you would have respect for your host in any situation, however proper manners are often sadly lacking in today’s young people.”

“And it’s proper manners to threaten to beat your guests. Where did you buy your etiquette book?”

“Boy, I never suggested beating you. Is that what you desire? Is that what you need to experience? You have been in some unfortunate limbo of a boy surrounded by Green Mountain Boys, but prevented from full inclusion. Very well, you have a choice, my dear boy. You can remain an outsider, an observer, but there will be no more outbursts of any sort, or I will take the next outburst as your full and informed consent to handle you as a young and untrained Green Mountain Boy submissive. John, you understand the terms, Make sure you both understand the consequences. This requires trust. I have trusted you; now you must decide if you can trust us.”

John was leaning against the doorframe of the study. He was trying to look casual, but Sheldon could see the pulse throbbing in his neck and the tight clench of his jaw.

“You can’t let him touch me.” Rick retreated toward John. “You have no right to beat me. I haven’t given you permission, and John doesn’t share.”

“He removed my right to refuse.” John’s voice was clipped and hard. He wrapped an arm around Rick and pulled him close.

“I asked you to demonstrate trust. It is both your choice. I can do no more to demonstrate our trustworthiness. Now you must decide, John. He’s your boy.”

John’s arm was tight around Rick, as if Rick were as much his shield as he was Rick’s. He said no words. Somewhere a grandfather clock chimed the hour. A window rattled in the wind.

“You negotiate for blood,” John said, his voice calm and flat and devoid of all warmth.

“You were warned. Landon and I have not hidden who we are.”

“John, may I offer my assistance, sir.” Sheldon didn’t remember making the decision to kneel at John’s feet with his head pressed to John’s boots. He only knew that he was here now and that he had hated the barely contained sparks between the two dominants. He was co-head of the Green Mountain Boys; he needed to make this work.

“Get up.” John pulled Sheldon roughly to his feet.

“John, please. Sir.”

“Speak your damn mind. You are not by nature a sniveling sycophant.”

“I am by nature a slave which requires a certain decorum in my behavior, sir.” Sheldon clasped his hands behind his back and spread his feet, but looked John directly in the eye. “I’ve made my choices, and I live by them happily. I am Milton’s property; my rights are only what he grants me. What is Rick? Is he your full time submissive? Do you accept that you’re a full time dominant and all the hardness and unfairness that entails. It’s no longer about the beatings. It’s about what color tie Rick wears to the office and where you go for vacation and when Rick puts his work aside and becomes your boy. It’s about all the places you don’t want to go and your boy desperately needs. Why do you think he acts like a flipping idiot every two minutes? He’s telling you the only way he’s capable right now. I need what those guys got: rules and order and somebody telling them what to eat for breakfast. I need to know it’s OK to be that way. Rick can’t put that into words yet. It took me forever and a half to learn to say it. Milton needs the distinguished service cross with canes and a cluster of paddles for living through my idiocy. I survived the hell because I had the tolerance and understanding and the rules of the Green Mountain Boys. I knew where I stood if I tossed the breadbasket at dinner or planted myself in my room and screamed about wearing a tie. Quit now, boy. No confusion. No doubt. No choice.”

“Sheldon.” Gordon clicked his fingers and pointed at the ground near his feet. Sheldon gave Gordon a long look before moving into place and dropping to his knees. “Boy, you hesitated.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheldon said softly. 

“Are you going to punish him for that also?” Rick shouted.

“Shut up, boy.” John clamped his hand over Rick’s mouth. Rick squirmed and kicked and in all ways went berserk. 

Sheldon could only stare at Rick as he ineffectually launched himself at John. It was a one-sided battle easily won by John. Rick was at John’s feet crying harshly.

“John.” Gordon’s voice cut through the sobs. “I believe Rick has answered the question.”

“He has.” 

“Rick, stand up and put your hands on the wall for me,” Gordon said.

Rick stood. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He faced the wall. Gordon was calm and quiet as he placed Rick’s hands on the wall and spread his feet. The strokes of the nursery cane were quick and not brutal, soft promises or signatures on an understanding, not true punishment, only three over the tight fabric of Rick’s jeans.

“John, take your boy. Sheldon and I have business.” Gordon reached for Sheldon’s elbow and pulled him to his feet. He guided Sheldon into the study and shut the door with a firm click. “Now are you going to be that much trouble?” Gordon asked with a warm smile. “If you are, I’m bringing in Milton by helicopter. I’m too old for such dramatics. Now over my knee boy.”

Sheldon grinned impishly and beat his chest. “I can scream louder,” he sang.

“Boy,” Gordon growled, not able to keep the laughter from his voice. “Drop those pants, or I’ll find a very good use for this nursery cane.

“Yes, sir.” Sheldon scrambled out of his pants and flew over Gordon’s knee. A real caning from Gordon was not a treat. 

“Someone misses his master,” Gordon said gently as the first smack landed on Sheldon’s unmarked skin.

Sheldon rolled and bucked and enjoyed the heat rising in his skin. He clung to the sofa cushion and buried his eyes as the warm glow pressed onward into painful territory. The first tears were quiet, but soon the swats and the cries mingled in a cacophony of noise. The sting of the cane tore a yell from Sheldon’s throat, a single crisp line of fire.

“Good boy.” Gordon’s hand was warm and soothing at it stroked Sheldon’s back. “Rest and enjoy. We might avoid our terrorist houseguests until dinner.”

****

"Lord," Arthur groaned as soon as their room door closed behind them. "Johnny must be presented for sainthood, for sure. Sheldon might have chosen a slightly inappropriate way of putting things, but Rick is making me dizzy with his mood swings." Arthur pulled Gregory in for a kiss. "Thank God for a good boy like you, my precious," Arthur said, smiling at Gregory who folded himself to fit perfectly against Arthur's chest. "I honestly don't know how John is doing it. I would have beaten Rick several times a day, on principle."

"Master," Gregory murmured submissively, "allow me to serve you, please?"

Arthur held his slave's eye for a long second, smiling fondly at his boy. Gregory could read him so well. His boy knew he was on the edge.

He really did wonder how John was handling it all with no soothing balm of his boy's submission. Arthur was a man confident in his dominance and his control over his own darker urges, but Rick managed to push him into a place where holding such urges at bay was becoming exponentially hard. Arthur liked the boy, he really did, but Rick was not easy to deal with, even if his defiance was not directed at Arthur. Arthur lived in the real world; he understood that there would be challenges to his authority, and he was capable of dealing with those. He never expected people to fold to his will, but he expected his sub to do so. Essentially dominants were people with cravings that could not be safely satisfied in modern society so they needed the gift of submission freely given to help them contain their own demons. That is why defiance from one's submissive was far harder to deal with than anything thrown from outside of the relationship. That is why John's ability to keep his head clear and remain a decent human being with Rick as his submissive was just miraculous. And Johnny doubted himself, Arthur thought with wonderment. If there ever was a safe dominant, it was John. He had such tight control over his own darkness that it was a wonder sometimes. For all his experience, Arthur doubted he would have been able to deal with Rick without endangering his own sanity or Rick's physical integrity. Rick was doing quite the opposite of what a submissive was meant to do for his dominant; instead of soothing him, he was detonating him.

Arthur watched his boy with utter love. Only the slightest of nods and a light closing of eyes and Gregory set off on the task of servicing his master, soothing his revolting beast.

Gregory reached for Arthur's jacket, but hesitated, awaiting orders.

"Strip first," Arthur ordered hoarsely. "You know I enjoy the sight of a naked boy when he serves me."

 Gregory was as efficient as ever. He stripped fast, yet as gracefully as any exotic dancer. Soon he was standing bare, covered only in the bindings of the leather straps that incased his torso like a corset. The black leather was biting into the creamy flesh; the skin underneath it looking reddened and slightly chaffed. Arthur had put the bindings on Gregory that morning as means of anchoring his boy. His beautiful boy never did well around Gordon and Landon, so Arthur had offered him a symbolic encirclement in his power. He hadn't counted on the bindings remaining on for so long. They were supposed to stay for the duration of breakfast, but Gordon had made other plans. Arthur had asked Gregory if he needed to change, as the boys were being lead by Landon to their skiing adventure. Gregory had said no; his poor boy had needed Arthur's dominance to be palpable around him, if Arthur was not going to be physically there. Due to Arthur's work, they spent enough time separated to know how to function while they were away from each other. The symbolism of collars, piercings and bindings were essential for them.      

"Present," he ordered smoothly ,and Gregory knelt before him, knees wide, back straight, head bent submissively.

Arthur circled Gregory once and then loosened the bindings, taking them off. His fingers traced over the marks left by the supple leather.

"Beautiful," Arthur murmured, bending down to kiss Greg's shoulder.

He came to stand in front of Gregory once more and squared his shoulders, towering over his boy. Gregory took it as his cue. He stood up and started to take off Arthur's clothes and his boots. When he was done, he guided Arthur to the bathroom and started the shower.

Arthur took his gorgeous slave in his arms and kissed his forehead. "How horrible was it, boy?" He asked, knowing Gregory didn't need any elaboration. "You still feel frozen," he smiled at his boy, cupping his cold cheek.

"It was not that bad, Master," Gregory answered gently. "Once Rick and Landon were done changing personalities like models change garments on a fashion show, we actually had fun. And it's not as horribly freezing outside when you are a part of human bundle." Gregory smiled shyly at Arthur.

Arthur's heart soared with love at the sight of surrender and mildness in Gregory's eyes. How fortunate he was to have Gregory.   

"Come, my beautiful boy," Arthur extended his hand to Gregory as he entered the shower.

His boy washed him carefully and lovingly. Once they were done, they headed back to their room, where Arthur sat on the bed while Gregory sat at his feet. Pulling one of Arthur's legs onto his bent knee Gregory started to massage the sole of his foot and his ankle. He bent his head against Arthur's leg, letting his head fall down from time to time, to kiss Arthur's foot with reverence and adoration.

After a while Arthur pulled Gregory to his feet. "Enough gorgeous. Let me admire your beauty." Arthur looked at his boy, standing tall, with his hands clasped at his back, head straight, eyes down. He was a stunning boy.

He touched the small golden rings on his boy's nipples, tugging them down slightly. His hand traveled down, patting the flat belly of his boy, until it reached his cock and gave it a squeeze. His fingers delved behind the full sack of his slave and played with the hidden ring there.

"What would you like, gorgeous," Arthur asked, still playing with his boy's sack.

Gregory swallowed visibly and fixed his eyes on Arthur. "The crop, Sir," Gregory said softly.

Arthur gave a curt nod and stood up. "Lie on your back. Keep yourself open for me," he instructed.

His slave complied, pulling his knees to his chest and keeping them open with his hands. Arthur took his boy's penis into his hand once more and bent it backwards. Using the metal ring sticking out from the head of his cock, he locked the ring with the one hiding behind his sack, preventing any chance of erection for his boy. Gregory whimpered and closed his eyes. Arthur could see his boy's body getting covered in a thin film of sweat, his belly trembling with the powerful beats of his heart. Arthur bent down to lick the sweat off his abdomen and then turned his boy onto his belly, his boy's hands still clutching tightly at the flesh of his knees.  

"Gorgeous! No moving now," he said admiring his slave's pert bottom sticking in the air, a clear invitation for his marks.

Arthur left his gorgeous slave sprawled on the bed to retrieve the crop. They both were ready to fly.

"You feeling any better, Master?" Gregory asked once they both regained their breath.

Arthur gathered his boy's face in his hands and kissed him languidly. "Perfect, my boy."

He let his fingers play with the hot lines on his boy's ass, pressing closer to Gregory, enjoying the feeling of sticky wetness of his boy's release between them, as his finger's thrust into well used and wet opening of his slave. He had surprised Gregory by releasing him from the chastity binding and letting him come while he took him from behind. His boy had not expected to be granted permission to come once the piercings were connected together. It was always fun to surprise one's slave, Arthur thought, smiling to himself.

"Johnny needs to stop warring about his dominance or it will tear them apart," Gregory said eventually, bestowing gentle kisses to Arthur's bare chest. 

His boy knew Arthur well enough, to understand that the matter of his troublesome charge was hardly off his mind, even if his beautiful slave had managed to calm his storming mind.

"Umm," Arthur conceded, playing with Greg's hair. "He also needs to accept the fact that his dominance needs to bleed into their everyday life."

"Johnny has always been better at arbitrary dominance than at rationalized dominance," Gregory said, inhaling Arthur's scent.

"How do you mean?"

"When he would dominate me," Gregory explained, resting his chin on Arthur's chest. "I mean when you were away and he would be around and would need to take care of the everyday part of dominance rather than simple play, he would always struggle when giving me my daily orders. I would practically have to beg him to give me my clothes, decide on my breakfast, give me orders for lunch and so on. But he relished the small gestures of dominance that where absolutely arbitrary and had no tangency with my essentials. He would order me to do something of no real importance at a given time. He would tell me to clap my hands at twelve o'clock noon or would call me to ask where I was and if I was in a crowded place he would order me to kneel, stand at attention and such. I was getting quite skilled at finding ingenious ways of doing these little tasks without people realizing what I was doing."

 Arthur felt rather than saw the grin. "You enjoyed it," Arthur said with amusement in his voice.

"It was nice," Gregory conceded.  "But the struggle to get what I really needed was too big for me. I always felt at loss without you." Gregory's eyes hazed with tears, and Arthur's own heart leapt unpleasantly at the memory of separation.

"I'm here now, let's not dwell over it," he pulled Gregory's head to his chest and kissed the top of his hair. "Now if we could just make those two see reason and stop driving everyone mad…" Arthur trailed off without finishing.

"They will, eventually. Johnny had always been stubborn, which is a problem in itself, but it also means he will eventually get Rick were he wants. For that he will have to give up on his own insecurities, and nothing motivates John better than a promise of conquest."

Arthur gave Gregory another kiss.

"You've always been fond of the boy."

"He is hard not to love. Besides, you brought him to me to be loved and accepted. I would have never denied you that right."

His boy, Arthur thought fondly; his incredible and gorgeous boy. Since the day Arthur had met John all he had wanted for the lost teenager was for Johnny to find his own boy, who would soothe the powerful storm of his soul. Rick seemed to raise a tsunami where the familiar storm used to be, but maybe that was necessary to eventually get them to calmness.   

        

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.”