Younger Days

Younger Days

Gordon Lewis bent over his typewriter, pounding on the keys. His mouth still tasted of the stale smoke and watered down liquor of last night’s bar. The fetid air of his stifling room did nothing to dispel the male sweat clinging to his body. No one had told him that America was this warm.

Gordon jerked at the sound of the security buzzer and cursed as he struck the wrong key. He rummaged in the drawer for the correction fluid, ignoring the incessant buzz.

Silence and then a bang. Gordon stalked to the door and jerked it open.

“A rose, sir.” 

The boy, no the man from last night, stood in the door, a single lavender rose clutched in his hand. His dark hair cascaded onto his forehead in sharp contrast to the near military precision of Gordon’s haircut. Gordon had seen him last night, standing languidly against the bar, his eyes half closed in the glare of the strobe lights, refusing all offers with a bored aloofness. He was as breathtakingly gorgeous today dressed in the costume of a delivery boy as he’d been yesterday in tight jeans and a leather vest.

This was Landon Graves; everyone knew this infamous, beautiful boy, who left would be lovers trailing in his wake all over the city. Landon knew the game. He could stalk across the floor of any club and find a submissive at his feet. Gordon had seen him play. In Landon’s favor, he was careful. He never drew blood, and he was gentle afterwards, but it was as if nothing ever touched him. Gordon had never seen him take the same play partner twice. Landon was the only child of one of the last great robber barons, heir to a railroad fortune. His father could ruin a man as easily as ordinary mortals might swat a fly. Gordon understood this; he’d seen it with his own father. With wealth came power but no kindness.

Gordon had been fifteen when his father had found him with a classmate. A girl would have been reason for a small celebration and maybe a bottle of their own wine. A boy was a disgrace. Gordon had never known kindness under his father’s hand, but that night the belt had landed on Gordon’s back until blood droplets spattered on the bed quilt with each new blow. The next morning Gordon had been driven to the airport by a servant and placed on a plane for schooling abroad. He’d never set foot in his country again, nor had he ever spoken with his mother or sisters. Gordon knew that would be forbidden. He’d been luckier than many. Through his father’s solicitors, his school and living expenses had been paid. Now in graduate school, Gordon refused to cash his father’s checks; he mailed them back unopened. He refused to let the tangles of his father’s fortune wrap him to that perverted man, but he paid for that pride, living in a frightfully hot apartment with reproachable neighbors who let belligerent strangers in the door.

“Your rose, sir.”

Gordon snatched the rose in its fragile glass vase. The rose was an unusual shade, more lavender that pink. “Do I need to sign for the delivery?” If Landon wished to play delivery boy, Gordon could act his role as uninterested and bored recipient. 

“Are you not going to thank me?” Landon asked with an expressive quirk of his eyebrows and a trace of a smile on his full lips.

“I hardly feel that I need to thank you for impersonating a delivery boy and disturbing me at work.”

“Still working on your dissertation, ‘The American Industrialist and the History of Philanthropy’? I’m an expert. You should interview me. My family is responsible for over a dozen world class symphonies and museums.”

“I am aware of your lineage. You cannot hide it behind your disguise as a delivery boy.”

“Unlike you, I don’t try to pretend slum origins. I don’t retreat to rundown tenements and make extra money masquerading as a children’s tutor. You’ve probably scarred the poor children for life. Do you ever smile?” Landon shot Gordon a full fledged grin, displaying his perfectly white teeth. “I know who you are Gordon Archer Lewis. Your father travels in the same circles as mine.”

“I don’t.”

“You choose not to. Your father has not denied your inheritance.”

“I don’t choose to have this conversation in the hallway with a delivery boy. Good day.” Gordon turned back to the apartment, only to find his path blocked by Landon.

“Now that I’ve come this far I’m not letting you get away.”

“Americans have no manners.” Gordon pushed by Landon but was not quick enough to get the door shut before Landon braced himself in the narrow frame.

“Should I start screaming, or will you let me in? I think shouting fire or rape would bring a crowd.”

“Get in here.” Gordon grabbed Landon’s collar and dragged him in the door. “Fine, you’re inside. Now I have work to do.” Gordon strode to his desk and sat at his typewriter. It was impossible to ignore Landon’s presence, but he could pretend. He started to type. It was gibberish, but at least it kept his eyes on the paper and not that tantalizing man. Even with Gordon’s determined effort to ignore Landon, his eyes kept darting over to the boy who was now examining the books stacked on makeshift shelves of lumber and cement blocks.

“No wonder you’re such a hard ass, reading things like Constitutional Democracy in America, The American Century, The Robber Barons and Their Legacy. Do you ever have any fun?”

“I go to the clubs.”

“You sit in the corner and watch, and you scowl so fucking hard that even the toughest subs avoid you.”

“If I scowl at you, will you go away?”

“No, I’m not an ordinary sub, and I’ve been told you’re the best to play with.”

“You top,” Gordon said, pounding on the keys, “and I don’t sub.” 

“I know,” Landon whispered. 

Gordon turned, surprised by the subdued tone. Landon was crouched by the bookcase, trying to hide the wetness behind his long lashes. “Boy, come here.” Landon came head down, the cheeky grin off his face. Gordon clicked his fingers and pointed to the ground beside his feet. He half expected this boy to flee or spit in his face; instead, Landon sank gracefully to his knees and leaned his chin on Gordon’s leg. Gordon’s hand automatically came to rest on the dark hair, and he continued to type one handed. 

He finished the page and yanked it from the typewriter before looking back down at Landon. “Is this what you wanted, my lad?”

“Yes, sir.” Landon pressed his lips against Gordon’s thigh.

“Boy, do you want more?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gordon pulled Landon to his feet and brushed the boy’s hair back. He traced a finger along the high cheekbone and bent over and kissed the waiting mouth. Landon groaned and pressed against Gordon as Gordon’s tongue made its way in.

“More, boy?” Gordon said, pulling away and studying those glittering eyes and lustfully parted lips. Landon nodded and dropped back to his knees, his lips tracing Gordon’s crotch. 

“Bed?” It was still a question. Gordon wouldn’t order the boy, not yet. Later, yes, if it went that far.

“Please.”

Landon was still asleep, draped over Gordon despite the fierce heat. Gordon slid out from under the boy; his hand touched the marks on Landon’s neck and shoulders. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Landon rubbed his head against the pillow and opened his eyes. “Don’t leave, please.”

There was a panic in Landon’s voice that triggered a visceral reaction in Gordon. His hand reached down and stroked Landon’s cheek. “My beautiful boy, I can be the hard ass you described earlier, but I do not abandon a precious gift.” 

“That was a beautiful speech, but I’m not a naive boy. Shit! I can’t believe I did this.” Landon felt around the bed for his clothes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to have it go this far.”

“Stop,” Gordon said, deepening his voice to an order. “I don’t do fuck and run.” Gordon didn’t take boys to bed on a whim, no matter how it looked today, and now he had Landon sprawled across his sheets looking thoroughly fucked. 

“Well what do you think this was? One minute I was looking at your books, and the next minute I was on my back.”

“Shh, lad.” Gordon wrapped his arm around Landon’s shoulder, pulled him close, and kissed his forehead. “I want you to stay.”

“What about your dissertation or whatever?”

“It can wait.” Gordon nuzzled Landon’s throat. “Dress, lunch, and talk.” Gordon stood, opened his dresser drawer, and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts and a madras shirt.” “You’ll look better in this than as little flower boy.” 

The tiny corner that served as a makeshift kitchen was hotter than the rest of the apartment. No breeze moved through the small window; the gingham curtains hung limp in the steamy heat. Gordon rifled the refrigerator for lunch, finding ham, bread, and milk. He made sandwiches, poured two glasses of milk and carried them to the table. Gordon slid the books and papers under a chair; almost every surface was covered with notes and books.

“Landon, lunch is ready.”

Landon strolled across the room, Gordon’s shorts low on his hips and a towel wrapped around his bare shoulders. “Milk. Only kids drink milk at lunch.”

“You do now. I thought I left you a shirt.”

“It’s hot.”

“And it’s lunch, not a visit to a bathhouse.” Gordon pointed back to the shirt tossed across the bed.

“You’re bossy.”

“And you love it.” Gordon allowed himself a small smile. “Shirt.”

Landon came back, the shirt on but hardly buttoned above the navel. “Satisfied.” 

“No. Come here.” Gordon caught Landon’s wrist, pulling him close for a quick kiss before buttoning Landon’s shirt.

“Oh, God, I could like this,” Landon said before pulling away and straddling the far chair. 

Gordon dropped in the other chair and took a large bite of his sandwich. He’d taken this man to bed: no discussion, no courting, just a quick roll around in the sweaty sheets, and now he couldn’t take his eyes off the boy -- his boy. No that wasn’t right; Landon topped, or at least Gordon thought he did. That boy had gone to his knees with a snap of Gordon’s fingers. That wasn’t a top trait. Something wasn’t right. Gordon took another bite, watching Landon dissecting the crust from the bread.

“Eat.” Gordon said sharply and watched Landon’s eyes snap open.

“Shit, man! You’re hardcore.” Landon smiled, his eyes alight.

“I think you knew what to expect when you pushed your way through my door. Was I what you expected?”

“Better.” Landon smirked. “Maybe my great skill brought the best out in you.”

“I see modesty is not one of your virtues.”

“I don’t have many virtues,” Landon said, picking at the sandwich.

“Resourceful, smart, beautiful. Should I go on?”

“I’m a pretty fuck; I know that, but you don’t have to flatter me.”

“You planned this campaign. I’d call that smart and resourceful, and now that you have me what do you want?”

“You.” Landon blurted out before grabbing his milk and drinking a swig like a man at an unexpected oasis.

Gordon leaned his elbows on the table and studied the young man in front of him. “You’re beautiful, and I want you, but I don’t switch. I can’t cage a bird that’s meant to fly high.”

Landon nodded and looked away. Gordon could see the adam’s apple bobbing in that slim neck. 

“I get it. This is a polite way of telling me thanks but no thanks. I’m beautiful, intelligent, resourceful -- all those pretty names you just called me -- but not good enough for you. Thanks for the lunch fit for a kindergartner. I won’t breathe any more of your air.”

“Stay.” Gordon didn’t hide the threat in his voice. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m doing this badly. I’m a dominant. Can you do this long term? My American acquaintances call me a bossy son of a bitch. You’ve topped.” Gordon trailed off, the concern clear in his head but difficult to express.

“I protect myself,” Landon said. “I’ve wanted you since the first time you walked into Bellissimo with that professor guy. I know you’re a dominant; I’m not an idiot.”

“I can’t change that part of myself,” Gordon said softly.

“I don’t want you to.” Landon tore at the remaining crusts of bread, scattering bread crumbs in a tiny blizzard.

“Come here.” Gordon gentled his voice and opened his arms. He was relieved when Landon slid into his lap, the dark head resting on Gordon’s shoulder. “What are you? Are you a switch?”

“I don’t know,” Landon whispered. 

“You top well. I’ve seen you.”

“I should as badly as I got fucked over.”

“Language.” Gordon dropped his hand on Landon’s thigh just hard enough to be more than a pat. “Did you sub for someone?”

“You could say that.”

Gordon stroked down the back of Landon’s neck. “If you were mine I wouldn’t let you shield yourself behind sarcasm. You were hurt, and I could hurt you again if I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you could hurt me,” Landon said, leaning into the caress. “The dear professor says you’re a good man, and from him that’s high praise.”

“You know Professor Smythe?”

“My father invited him over several times ostensibly to discuss possible philanthropic programs in education. It was a cover for discussing me.”

“Your father understands your sexuality?”

“Hardly,” Landon snorted. “He knows I’m gay, and I suspect my dad is at least sniffing around the power dynamic. He’s not a fool, but he’s also very vanilla. Raymond Smythe is a dom.”

“I know.” Professor Smythe was on the history faculty but fortunately had no bearing on Gordon’s dissertation: Smythe’s interests were the Greeks and Romans. Gordon had met the man at the obligatory social functions between doctoral candidates and faculty. It seemed they’d only been in the room a few minutes with Gordon hovering along with a cluster of his fellow graduate students by the wall, all gorging themselves on the finger foods, when Smythe had grabbed Gordon’s elbow and suggested a walk. Refusal hadn’t been possible both because of the glare directed Gordon’s way had made his fellow students run for cover and the fact that Smythe was a full professor and could make Gordon’s life miserable if he so chose. The walk had started out with bland questions about Gordon’s research and how he was settling in on campus until they rounded the corner into the arboretum, and Smythe had indicated a bench under a tree labeled as a magnolia.

“I understand you’re gay.” Smythe had said, pinning Gordon with his blue eyes.

“My sexuality is none of your business, and in this country it is illegal to ask.”

“I see you’ve been reading up on your civil rights. I’m old enough to remember those fights, boy. Don’t assume I’m a bigot.”

“Fine. Then why the question?” Gordon had glared at the professor. “I hope you’re not entertaining thoughts that I might be interested in you.” Gordon had raked his eyes over the professor with the most disdainful look he could muster.

“No,” Smythe had snorted. “I’m well taken. But you’re a bit more than gay, aren’t you? Something that even here we don’t talk about.”

“I fail to understand the question.”

“Come, boy. Stupid you’re not. You’re a top or a dom.”

Gordon had shut his mouth to prevent his jaw from hanging open. How did this man know? Gordon had thought he’d been discreet, going well away from the university when he went out.

“Boy, don’t look so mortified. I’ve been a dominant in this community for thirty years. A new dominant, especially one that looks like you,” Smythe had given Gordon an appreciative glance. “is not going to go unnoticed by me.”

“What do you want?” Gordon had said in a controlled voice.

“To make you welcome, and let you know I’m here. Come to my house for dinner next week. I’m having a small party. I’ll introduce you around.”

Gordon had gone, his teeth gritted and his jaw stuck out prepared for a fight, and he had surprisingly enjoyed himself. Several other couples had been invited, and they all had dinner and chatted like normal people. After dinner, they’d all gone into the living room with the brandy decanter and had arranged themselves over the available furniture. Gordon had noticed Smythe’s partner, Bruce Dusk, slip to the floor and lean against his partner’s legs.

“Ray says you’re a dom, and you’re going to be looking for a sub soon,” Bruce had said with an easy grin, swirling the dark liquor in his glass.

“I beg your pardon,” Gordon had replied.

“Bruce doesn’t believe in tact,” Smythe had said with a small laugh and a sharp glance at Bruce. “Bruce is my sub and my partner. We live the power dynamic outside of the club.”

“A lifestyle submissive?” Gordon had questioned. “All the time? I thought that was only in fiction.”

Smythe and his friends had spent over an hour explaining it to Gordon. Gordon had understood why the professor had won several distinguished teaching prizes, Smythe had broken down the relationship to its most simple elements and expounded on its merits better than any debate master.

Gordon hadn’t left the party convinced, but he’d continued to attend monthly social gatherings with Professor Smythe and had endured several dates that the man had cleverly conned Gordon into with rebellious young men who left Gordon vacillating between the urge to turn them over his knee and spank them crimson or flee the country himself.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Landon asked, bringing Gordon back to his hot room and unexpected guest. 

“Did Professor Smythe put you up to this?”

“Ray? He wouldn’t approve of the delivery charade.” Landon laughed. “He’s very old- fashioned. He’d expect me to engage in written correspondence and gentle walks in the garden.”

“He pointed me out to you?” Gordon asked, focusing in on the more critical question.

“Are you going to be mad if I say yes?”

“No.”

Landon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Fuck it’s hot in here.” Landon wiped his brow and ran his fingers through his hair. “Last time Ray had dinner at my dad’s. I got ordered to come. Fun evening. Ray grabbed me with my dessert and coffee for a private chat on the patio.”

“I see,” Gordon said, clearing his throat. “The man never gives up.”

“But he was right,” Landon said, leaning forward. “You’re even better than I imagined.”

“And you like to flatter.”

“Well.” Landon grinned and fluttered his long eyelashes.

“You are shameless.”

“I’m sure you have a cure for that.”

Gordon cracked his knuckles. Landon was gorgeous; there was no doubt about it. He oozed a charm with something underneath that Gordon couldn’t quite name -- desperation, daring, disdain. Gordon could see flashes of all three. “What are you suggesting?” Gordon finally said. It seemed like a safe comment.

“We had a good fuck. It doesn’t mean you have to sweep me off my feet and keep me forever. I’m a big boy. I won’t break if you tell me no.” Landon looked at Gordon with an expression that belied his words despite the boy’s attempt to hide it.

“I want you.” He’d known Landon for what--several hours-- and he wanted to keep him. Forget the courting and the fancy dinners with officious waiters. He wanted this boy -- forever his.

“You’re serious? Oh God, you are?”

“Are you not?” Gordon interrupted before Landon could wind himself up more.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it this way.”

“Am I just one more of your conquests? A mark on your bedpost?” Gordon stood and started to clear the dishes.”

“You’re serious,” Landon whispered, touching Gordon’s arm.

“Yes.”

“Shit!”

“Your language is despicable.” Gordon said with a slight twist of his lips. “I won’t tolerate it, my lad.”

Gordon watched Landon’s eyes get wider and then the slight drop of the boy’s head. “Yes, sir.” Landon licked his lips and looked back up at Gordon. “What have I gotten myself into?” he said almost under his breath.

Gordon smiled a true smile. “We’ll figure it out together.” He ran his fingers through Landon’s hair before giving a slight tug. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Landon shivered at Gordon’s possessiveness. “Big fierce dom trying to scare me,” he said, trying for a flippant tone.

“I can scare you if that’s what you need.” Gordon grabbed Landon’s chin and tipped up those lush lips to meet his kiss. He was scaring himself, Gordon thought, but he wasn’t going to admit it. The possessiveness he felt about this man, whom he’d truly only met a few hours ago, frightened and excited Gordon. He wanted to hold Landon here, never let him go. Bride kidnapping was no longer an acceptable practice, Gordon chided himself.

“Please.” Landon murmured.

“Please scare you, or please don’t?”

“Do you have to be such a literalist?” Landon snarled and tried to jerk away.

Gordon pressed on Landon’s shoulder, a warm steady pressure on a slightly sweaty shoulder. Gordon stepped back, startled, as Landon slid from his chair and knelt at Gordon’s feet. “Your moods change fast,” Gordon said after a minute, his fingers playing in Landon’s hair and stroking the smooth skin of the boy’s neck. “Let’s take this one step at a time. How about dinner tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gordon caught Landon’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “I want a conversation with you, not a mindless sub saying sir.” Gordon kissed Landon’s forehead. “I don’t think you’re a mindless sub. In fact I think you would be irritated if I treated you like a mindless sub, wouldn’t you?” Gordon asked when Landon remained silent.

Landon nodded and leaned into Gordon.

“You’re not sure what you want. “ Gordon smoothed the dark hair. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t know either. We’ll do this together.”

Gordon tugged the sleeves down on his jacket. It was too tight across the shoulders, and the material had taken on a shiny quality, but it was the only formal suit he had. As distasteful as it was, he might have to use some of his father’s money for new clothes, especially if the relationship with Landon meant dinners at the country home.

Landon was coming to collect Gordon since Gordon had no car, and Landon had scoffed at the idea of public transportation. Landon had a beautiful little coupe that he drove like a man possessed. On their last drive together Gordon had taken the keys and driven home. He wanted his boy to arrive alive.

Was he his boy? It seemed like it. Landon had entwined himself around Gordon, showing up at all hours of the day to encourage frivolous games. It was only by supreme will that Gordon had completed the draft of the dissertation without either bolting himself in the room or tucking Landon under his feet with orders to be silent. The latter he’d actually done a few times, and to Gordon’s surprise Landon had settled easily leaning against Gordon’s legs. This was the same man who’d backhanded a guy who’d given Landon a leering look. 

Gordon gave one last tug on his jacket sleeves and headed down the stairs to wait. 

“Hot date!” Bill, his neighbor, laughed as they crossed paths on the stairs. “If I batted your way, it would be enough to make me throw myself at your feet.”

“Thank you.” Gordon was never sure how to take Bill. The man had an extensive collection of girlfriends, but he still flirted with Gordon, or at least Gordon thought it was flirting. Lisa was his current infatuation. “Do you and Lisa have plans?”

Bill laughed. “Man, you need to keep up. Lisa socked me last week, and I haven’t seen her since. See my jaw’s still a little purple.” Bill leaned in and pointed to a faint purple patch on his chin.

“I see.”

“She would’ve loved you. You’re always so polite and proper. She called me coarse and mulish.” Bill raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. I should come to you for manners lessons. You’ve been with the new guy for several months?”

Gordon nodded. He and Landon had been together three months. The stifling heat of summer had fallen away to cool nights and a cooling breeze of early autumn. “I must go,” Gordon said, making a show at looking at his watch.

“Ciao.” Bill waved and bounded up the stairs before stopping and calling over the railing, “Are you giving him a ring tonight? You’re sure dressed for it.”

“No,” Gordon said simply. He was meeting the father which was almost as bad. Landon never mentioned his mother. From several off-hand comments, Gordon had discovered she’d died when Landon was quite small, but he refused to talk about her.

The early evening was pleasant. Gordon stood under the building’s faded awning, its one concession to ambiance, and waited for Landon. A sharply blown horn and a flash of red indicated Landon’s arrival. Only grinding his teeth painfully into his lip prevented Gordon from rolling his eyes, he was going to have to do something about that lad’s driving.

Gordon gripped the dash with one hand and the door handle with the other as Landon zipped around a slow moving truck on the final stretch of country road. “That was a no passing zone.”

“There’s never any traffic out here.” Landon laughed. “You’re worse than my driver’s ed guy. It took three of them to teach me. They all kept quitting.”

Gordon could see why. This lad was a menace to motorized traffic. “I’ll drive home. I prefer not to visit the police station or hospital.”

“Fine.” Landon pouted. He obeyed that tone of voice from Gordon but not with good grace.

Gordon watched the hand on the gear shaft, fine strong fingers gripping the leather knob. He was going to have to address that attitude; he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t hear it. The car with the wind rushing in through the half opened windows wasn’t the place. He never could find the right time or place. He’d started the conversation several times only to have it thwarted by this brat of a boy. Landon played well. He knelt with beautiful form, and he gave a blow job from heaven, but Gordon wasn’t naive enough to think there wouldn’t be a power struggle if they kept this up. 

The brakes squealed as Landon spun the wheel to turn into a driveway shielded by stately trees. “Our summer cottage,” Landon said with wry amusement as an enormous stone house rolled into view. “You’ve been in places like this, right? You’re not going to lose your head over the furniture and carpets.”

“You know I have.” Gordon snorted. He thought of the elaborate hunting lodge of his childhood; each piece of furniture had come by sea from England, and heads of giant game species adorned the walls. Gordon could still remember the feel of the lion’s pelt between his fingers and the cool smoothness of the great ivory tusks that guarded the fireplace.

“Good. This place turns most people into gibbering idiots.”

The door opened as they approached the steps. “Your father awaits you in the dining room,” a well dressed servant said. “Do you have anything in the car you’d like brought in, sir?”

“No,” Landon said. “And you can stop the stuffy routine with me. I’m not sir or Master Graves. Gordon’s seen servants before.”

The butler -- Gordon assumed it was a butler, even though such servants seemed rare in America -- stepped back into the hallway without a further word. His features remained passive, almost a forced blankness.

Landon gestured impatiently for Gordon to follow and took off down a long hallway past several rooms that looked more like museum displays than an actual house. “We’re eating in the back dining room. It’s slightly less ridiculous than the front -- seats ten instead of twenty-five.”

“Landon,” Gordon said, catching Landon’s elbow. “You might want to wish these embarrassments of riches away, but you were quite unpleasant with the servant. You’re making his job far more difficult than it needs to be.”

“‘Sir, your father awaits in the dining room.’ I feel like I’m stuck in a period piece. Why can’t he say that Dad’s waiting for me?

“Because he’s paid to be a butler. Try to respect him. That poor man’s only trying to do his job. He thinks you’re mocking him.”

“How do you know?” Landon said in that hot, belligerent tone that he took when challenged or questioned.

“I grew up with an entire brigade of servants. The cook and her husband were my refuge from my father. I know.” Gordon said, rubbing Landon’s neck. “You weren’t trying to be cruel, but you were. I think you’re above that type of petty cruelty.”

“Sorry,” Landon said and ducked his head. 

Gordon kissed the top of Landon’s bent head. This lad’s moods shifted fast from toppish and self-assured to quiet submissiveness to arrogant belligerence. Instead of the skin color changing properties of the chameleon, Landon had mood shifting abilities. “Let’s not keep your father waiting any longer.”

“This way.” Landon jerked his head to indicate farther down the hall.

The small or informal dining room sat in the far back of the house with large west facing windows overlooking Lake Michigan. Landon’s father stood as they entered the room.

“Come in. Gordon, you’re as handsome as my son described. Come. Sit. Make yourself comfortable. I understand you know Professor Raymond Smythe.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good to see you again, Gordon, and please call me Ray. This is a social occasion.”  

Smythe caught Landon’s arm as Landon walked to his seat, pulled him close, and kissed his forehead in the proprietary gesture that Gordon had seen at the professor’s parties. “I understand this is getting serious, little boy.”

Landon nodded and grinned, a slight blush spreading over his cheeks, but he didn’t seem surprised or offended by the professor’s familiarity.

“It’s about time. He’ll be good for you.”

Gordon shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his face calm. He wasn’t at all prepared to discuss his propensity to top despite the obvious references that Smythe was making. Landon had assured Gordon that his dad wasn’t going to “flip” as he’d put it that Landon had a male lover, but Gordon wasn’t prepared to discuss intimate details of their relationship, especially areas that he himself still found disconcerting.

“You two can catch up later,” Landon’s father said easily. “I’m ready for dinner, and I’m dying to get to know the young man who’s kept my son’s attention for three months.”

Gordon felt a blush rise along his neck, and he was glad to busy himself with pulling out the chair and unfolding his napkin. The same man who had greeted them at the door entered and silently placed salad at each plate.

“It’s only a three fork meal,” Landon said, grabbing his salad fork. “We won’t need note cards to determine the correct utensil.”

Gordon glared at Landon. They’d been seated on either side of Henry Graves, Landon’s father, who occupied the end spot as head of the household. 

“I see you haven’t learned any better manners,” Professor Smythe said, casually grinding pepper over his salad. “Gordon’s going to have his work cut out for him.”

Gordon shot a glance at Mr. Graves. He seemed unperturbed by his son’s antics and the direction of the conversation. He munched on his salad and fortuitously started to discuss the bond market and currency trading. Gordon never expected to be able to take a role in his family’s business, but he did follow the economic news, and he chimed in at appropriate places on the change from the gold standard to floating currency and the current value of precious metals. Landon looked bored throughout dinner but refrained from making outrageous comments. Smythe had whispered something in Landon’s ear after the silverware comment which had caused Landon to blush and give Gordon a pleading look for the faintest instant before Landon resumed the role of spoiled son to the great industrialist.

Dinner finished with an excellent chocolate cake before Mr Graves rose and invited Gordon to his study. “Ray has expressed an interest in our new plantings. Landon, please show him the new bed.”

“It’s dark out,” Landon said, not making any effort to rise.

“We have floodlights,” Mr Graves said in a voice that suggested petty battles of wills were a frequent occurrence between the two.

“Come on,” Smythe said, pulling Landon up by his elbow and getting a firm scowl in reply but no other protest. “It’s been weeks since we’ve had a good chat now that you spend all your time throwing yourself at the feet of dashing Gordon.”

“I don’t throw myself at any man’s feet.”

“He’s handsome enough. I would if I thought it would make any difference.” Smythe said with a smile. 

“God, my dad’s here.” Landon said, flushing a dark red. 

“He was aware you were bringing a date, a serious date from all I’ve heard, not a business colleague.” Smythe smiled and ruffled Landon’s hair affectionately before Landon ducked away.

“The gardens are this way.”

“Gordon please join me in my study,” Graves said.

Gordon followed Landon’s father down a hall and into a large sparsely furnished room filled with potted plants. Gordon almost hesitated in the door before following the man inside. Gordon had been expecting a room like the study in his father’s home: dark paneling, leather furniture, and a massive desk -- symbols of power and opulence. The rest of the house had that feel: servants, formal dining, glimpses of expensive art. This looked more like a garden room or maybe an artist’s studio. The glass wall would light the room in the daytime.

“Pull up a chair,” Graves said and perched on the corner of the table that served as his desk. “It’s not what you expected?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t like walnut paneling, and no one will dare complain. It’s one of the blessings of my fortune. Most of the house was done by my father. I changed this room and the bedrooms. I live here in the summer. I don’t like to feel I’ve become trapped in a costume drama.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Henry. I don’t think my future son-in-law needs to be all formal. It makes me feel like I’m at the office.”

“Sir?”

“Henry, son. My boy is crazy about you, and between you, me, and the chair over there, I’m tickled pink about it. But don’t tell him that. If he thought I was too enamored with you, he’d probably dredge up one of his usual unsavory types.”

“We’ve only been seeing each other three months,” Gordon said, stalling for time and trying to put his thoughts in order. Henry Graves traveled in the same circles as Gordon’s father, and yet he seemed delighted at his son’s choice of romantic partners. Gordon had hoped for tolerant at best.

“I know,” Henry Graves smiled at Gordon. The smile had half the wattage of Landon’s usual smiles, but there was a kindness and concern etched in Grave’s hazel eyes. “Landon and I don’t agree on many things, but long ago I realized that my son’s sexual preferences were far different than my own, and I accept that. Unfortunately any more, we rarely have genuine conversations. Five minutes and we’re carping at each other, or Landon is making his patently outrageous remarks, so I was extremely surprised when he arrived at my office yesterday and alternately bullied and charmed my secretary into turning my schedule upside down so he could take me to lunch. I’d been aware that he was dating you. When your hands are as wrapped around the reins of power and finance as mine are, more than a few people make it their business to keep track of my son. I am also aware of who you are despite that awful suit.”

“I don’t have many needs for a suit.” Gordon looked down at the sleeves that strained to even cover the edge of his shirt cuffs. 

“Preston Lewis is an idiot.” Graves said, popping up off the desk. “You’d be an asset to your father’s business, but I assume he won’t have you. I’ve heard the fool’s rantings on the creeping dangers of the homosexual agenda. I don’t understand my son’s sexuality, but that’s his business. I’d be proud for you to be a part of this family, and you have my permission to take my son’s hand in marriage.”

Gordon swallowed hard. “Sir, he asked permission to marry me?”

Graves laughed. “He didn’t ask. You know Landon. He announced it and dared me to object. The fact I was overjoyed left him speechless. I shocked him for a change. I take it you didn’t know?”

“No, sir.”

“Stop with the blasted sirs. Do you want him?”

Oh, God, yes. Gordon had wanted Landon from that first day, the sweat running down both of them. “If he’ll have me.” Gordon bit back the automatic sir.

“Come.” Graves grabbed something out of a drawer and led Gordon through a set of double French doors onto a flagstone patio, lined by rose bushes in all directions. “What color?”

“What color?” Gordon repeated.

“What color rose? You need something to give your perspective groom, and even I can’t come up with rings on a Friday night in my garden.”

“Do you have lavender?” Gordon said, looking around and remembering that first rose.

“Of course.”

It only took a second to equip Gordon with a lavender bloom, and he found himself following Graves at a near trot along a garden path. Landon and Smythe stood on an outcropping of land, watching the tiny waves on the lake. Landon turned as he heard the footsteps. Gordon couldn’t see his expression because Graves had grabbed his son and was whispering something in his ear. Graves handed Landon a rose identical to Gordon’s.

Henry Graves turned and cleared his throat. “I believe our two young men have something to say to each other.”

Gordon stepped forward, his feet moving without full permission of his brain. He would have fled except Landon caught Gordon’s sleeve, his expression raw and desperate. Gordon tipped his boy’s chin up and kissed him, forgetting Mr. Graves and Professor Smythe. “You’re mine.”

“Forever.”

Gordon smiled and whispered in Landon’s ear. “I forgot the audience; let’s do this right.” Gordon dropped to one knee and took Landon’s hand. “Will you take this rose as a token of my love and my desire to take your hand in marriage?”

“Yes.” Landon sank to his knees. “Will you take this as a promise to be faithfully yours?”

“I will be honored.” Gordon pulled Landon to his feet and kissed him. He hoped the other two had the good sense to look away because it was not a chaste kiss. “Mine.” Gordon pulled slightly away and rumpled Landon’s hair. “I’m supposed to ask your father for your hand in marriage, not have him tell me you want to get married.”

“I didn’t know how to ask,” Landon said with an apologetic grin. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gordon growled and kissed his future groom again.