The Golden Goose 8

The Golden Goose 8

Jared hadn’t been in the dining room yet. Like many of the rooms at the lodge it managed to combine the feeling of comfort with an open airiness. The back wall was a near solid length of French doors that opened into the garden and patio area where they had eaten last night. Half the tables were full, long tables covered with crisp linen with men leaning on their elbows chatting amicably at each other. Jared hesitated at the threshold unsure of which table to select when Atticus appeared at his elbow.

“We’re with Gordon and Landon this morning. The place of honor.” Atticus raised his eyebrow and gave Jared a sardonic smile. “I’d rather be against the windows.”

And so would I, Jared thought. He could already see Milton, Gordon and Landon, sitting at the table. Sheldon waved and grinned, and they all stood up. 

Atticus took Jared’s hand. “Don’t I know,” Atticus whispered, voicing Jared’s internal thoughts. “It’s only breakfast, not an eternity, and Tilden’s there. I don’t think he’s as crazy as the rest of them.”

It wasn’t only crazy; it was embarrassing. Jared didn’t want to rehash this morning’s conversation with Milton. It had been hard enough this morning. He didn’t want to remember his words to Milton. They had to have been awful; he’d even been offered a train ticket home. Milton had been kind, gentle if it were possible to describe someone who could effortlessly and competently flip Jared over his knee as gentle. It had been Ryan with his looks matching the gods of Mount Olympus who had rained fire on Jared’s head. Jared could feel a hot blush rise along his neck and threaten his cheeks just thinking about Ryan’s words.

“Good morning.” Gordon stepped from behind his chair and shook Atticus’s hand with perfect formality and grace, the practiced host. He brushed the hair back off Jared’s forehead and kissed his temple. “Still with us. Good lad.”

Jared knew his face was red. He might have fled if Atticus hadn’t pressed his shoulder against Jared. “Yes, sir,” Jared stammered.

“Already pretty manners. I see you have impeccable taste in young men,” Gordon said to Atticus. “You have always impressed me.”

“Gordon.” Jared thought he heard a protective growl in Atticus’s voice. “I am a private man, and I believe Jared expects equal courtesy.”

“Smoked,” Sheldon said in the background.

“Stay out of it.” The swat was invisible under the table, but the noise was clear. 

Sheldon in a half laugh stuck his tongue out at Milton and dodged a second swat. “I wasn’t interfering any more than Gordon.”

Milton made an indescribable noise, something between a hiss and a laugh, and tousled Sheldon’s hair. “You’re not a top.”

“You have all the fun.” Sheldon pouted and laid his head against Milton’s shoulder. “I can’t be the perfect saint at all times. Always in trouble.”

“You could try a little.” Milton kissed Sheldon far more intimately than Jared had ever seen at the breakfast table. 

“Welcome to breakfast at the Green Mountain Boys,” Landon said and waved at the empty chairs. “It’s feeding time at the zoo. Sit down and join the party.”

“Landon, the young people have a negative influence on your vocabulary and sentence structure.”

“Windbag,” Landon said and pulled his napkin from its perfect folds, nestled under the knife and fork, and shook it in a dismissive gesture.

“Careful, my boy.” Gordon directed his stare at Landon and didn’t shift until Landon dropped his head.

“Yes, Gordon.”

“Boys,” Gordon murmured under his breath. “Almost in his seventh decade and he still blusters and stumbles into trouble. You know better, my boy.” 

Jared wasn’t positive, but had Gordon’s eyes lightened and a faint smile lurked and then fled from the corner of his mouth as he pronounced the last words.

“Always your boy,” Landon said softly. “Jared, Atticus will you please sit down. We prefer a prompt breakfast.” Landon put his hand over his mouth as if telling a secret. “He gets cranky if he’s not fed on time,” he said with a glance at Gordon.

“Landon, stop it,” Milton said, catching Landon’s wrist and pulling him down into his chair. “Is it necessary for Gordon to enforce your rules today?”

Landon grimaced. “You are all in super top mode. It must be the babies all around.”

Jared felt his cheeks flush, and it was only Atticus’s steadying hand on his shoulder that kept him silent.

“Present company excluded.” Landon flashed Jared one his broad smiles that seemed to warm the entire room. “We’ve all been where you are, Jared. Please come sit down. I promise I’ll behave.” Landon batted his eyes and despite his silver hair and obvious furrows on his forehead and around his eyes gave Jared an impish grin.

Gordon looked heavenward with the air of long suffering. “My boy, do you need to be over my knee? I’m happy to oblige.”

“Always the gentleman at my beck and call,” Landon bantered and dodged Milton’s swat.  

“Enough.” Gordon’s tone was deeper somehow ominous even in the single word. Landon folded his hands on the table, and Sheldon’s shoulders stiffened. Gordon strode back to the table; Atticus, his hand on Jared’s back, a warm and constant pressure, followed in his wake.

They took their seats in silence, Jared grateful for Atticus’s quiet and solid presence. Tilden looked friendly enough with his gentle nod as Jared had taken his seat, but both Milton and Gordon looked formidable, and Milton’s hand wrapped around Sheldon’s wrist looked more cautionary than reassuring.

“Ryan and Blade are late,” Gordon said in a tone that left nothing to Jared’s imagination on Gordon’s disapproval of tardiness.

“You didn’t hear the ruckus this morning,” Mike piped up despite the glare from both Tilden and Milton. “I thought they were having a pig slaughter.”

“What was he doing to my brother?” Sheldon asked, trying to pull away from Milton’s restraining hand. “Bastard!”

“I think it was more what Blade was doing to Ryan,” Mike said, ignoring whatever Tilden was muttering at him. “Blade has a wicked throw. He was rifling all the balls and water toys at Ryan and wouldn’t stop until Ryan slung the crazy brat over his shoulder like a sack of grain.”

“Accurate description.”

Jared turned to see Ryan, his hand on Blade’s shoulder, pushing Blade in front of him. Blade’s hands were behind his back, and his face looked still wet with tears. Jared had always thought it was a ridiculous metaphor to look daggers, but Blade’s glare was beyond sharpened knives.

“Kneel, boy,” Ryan said and clicked his fingers.

“No.”

“Pardon us, gentlemen. I fear my conversation this morning must have lacked sufficient detail.” Ryan spun Blade around. The leather wrists bands with the chain glinting between them visible against Blade’s pale and lightly freckled arms.

“Fuck you! He’s not a criminal!” Sheldon lunged out of his chair and would surely have tried to tackle Ryan if Milton hadn’t been faster and stronger. “Fuck you!” Sheldon shouted, his rage directed at Milton who had managed to capture both of Sheldon’s arms and held his struggling captive tight against his body. “You told me you’d protect him if it went too far. He’s in chains; he’s crying. You’re supposed to protect him; he’s my brother.” Sheldon threw himself at Milton, helpless against the size differential.

Jared knew he was staring. He should turn away, pretend to read the paper, or try to fold the napkin into those ridiculous and intricate fans. He should do anything but stare. Polite people didn’t stare.

“Blade, what’s your safeword?”  Landon asked, projecting his voice over the ruckus. 

Maybe it was because Landon was this strange creature known as a switch or maybe it was because he had silver hair and controlled a fortune bigger than many small African countries national budget, both Blade and Sheldon froze at his simple question.

“Limerick.”

“Does Ryan honor your safeword?”

“Yes, sir,” Blade said very softly, scuffing his foot on the carpet.

“Ryan, what is your agreed upon policy?” Landon asked.

“Everything stops. We discuss the issue. If needed or desired Milton will mediate between the two of us and if Milton is unavailable Tilden is the designated neutral party.”

“Do you want to use it now?” Landon asked.

“No, sir,” Blade answered clearly and strongly.

“Go with Ryan and sort out your differences. I would like to have breakfast before sunset.”

“I screwed up,” Blade said half to Ryan, half to Landon.

Ryan lifted Blade’s chin with his hand, cupping it and holding it tight, forcing eye contact between the two of them. “You defied me. You are my submissive; defying me is not permitted.”

“Sorry,” Blade said, not in the voice Jared heard from hundreds as a quick escape from blame, but with true regret and shame. A tear spilled from the large, green eyes, and Ryan wiped it away with his thumb.”

“I know. I love you.” Ryan kissed Blade’s hair, his lips hovering in fiery red strands. “I am spanking you. Come.”

Landon followed Ryan and Blade with his eyes before turning toward Sheldon, his expression grim. “Sheldon, you deserve whatever Milton is going to do to you. Your behavior was intolerable. Your brother is a submissive, and Ryan is his dominant. You must accept that.”

“He was chained.” 

“And Blade is not you.” Landon’s expression softened, and a faint hint of conciliation entered his voice. “Milton loves your brother; I’ve talked, we’ve talked. If there was any hint that Ryan’s behavior as a dominant wasn’t impeccable, Milton would be there with sword and shield, but as a partner he would treat Blade no differently than Ryan.”

“Milton?” Sheldon had spoken Milton’s name perhaps as a protest, a plea, or a question.

“Yes, I would. I could not deny Blade that side of himself.”

“I’m in big trouble.”

“Yes,” Milton said simply. “With me.” Milton’s hand shifted from firm restraint to supportive embrace as he wrapped Sheldon into a hug. 

Jared couldn’t hear the other words between Milton and Sheldon. Milton had Sheldon pressed tight into his chest the red hair mixing with the dark of Milton’s beard. Sheldon nodded a few times, only a faint twitch of his head and mumbled an occasional word in Milton’s shirt, but it was Milton who was speaking in a steady, reassuring cadence. Even without hearing the words, Jared could see Sheldon’s shoulders relax, and he seemed to melt against his partner.

“If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.” Milton picked up Sheldon; he must have practiced this motion because he swung Sheldon smoothly into his arms. Sheldon wasn’t a large man compared to Milton’s obvious strength and bulk, but he still had to weigh over sixty kilos.

“What happens now?” Jared heard himself blurt into the silence. He had meant only to think such thoughts; this wasn’t his business; he’d witnessed a private moment and instead of averting his eyes he’d watched and studied every moment. He was no better than a voyeur.

“After a discussion they will return,” Gordon said in a tone that suggested further questions would be futile and even foolish.

Mike leaned forward in his chair and slid his finger across his throat in a cutting motion. “Milton will spank Sheldon, and Ryan, well, he ought to drown Blade, but I’ll expect he’ll spank him. The other guys might get a little heated with a dead body on their hands.”

“Misha,” Tilden said with a sharp glance that more than hinted that quiet would be preferred.

“Jared deserves to know that no one will be killed. This isn’t a state secret; it’s what we do. You a little less dramatically than those two. Thank God. I’d never be able to sit down.”

“Mike,” Luke said.

“Yeah, I know buddy. I’m pushing it, and Tilden would rather walk through the snow barefoot than punish me in this fiasco. I’ll tread carefully, but we can’t leave poor Jared wide-eyed and petrified. He’s probably imaging those two flayed alive.”

“Misha, Luka.” Tilden said something that to Jared sounded like a cluster of consonants. Obviously those two understood because Luke reached for the bread basket and Mike gave Tilden a sour look which resulted in a growl from Gordon.

“With Milton’s project and Landon’s inability not to interfere, a certain degree of interesting behavior must be tolerated. However, I do plan to breakfast before the noon hour.” Gordon signaled to the waiter and without consulting anyone at the table ordered for all. No one protested or acted surprised at Gordon’s presumptuous maneuver, and the conversation soon fell to more mundane topics: the stock market, currency exchange rates, and the unusual heat in the midsection of the country.

The food arrived quickly, a full English breakfast or at least Jared remembered reading a description of such a breakfast in a book. He usually barely managed a cup of coffee and a granola bar, and in front of him was a plate piled high with every fried breakfast food imaginable along with the strange addition of tomatoes.

“Heart attack on the plate,” Landon said and speared a sausage. “It’s a good thing Ryan is out the room or he’d be lecturing us on the benefit of eating nuts, seeds, and berries.”

“His eggs will be poached, and I selected whole grain toast and turkey bacon and sausage for him,” Gordon said dryly. “He chose the lunch menu. I am sure it will repair the damage of a hearty breakfast.”

“The nuts and seeds. I better get my fried potatoes in now.” Landon said.

Jared pushed his eggs to one side and started on his own potatoes. He hated egg yolk running through all his food. With his spoon, he moved the tomatoes to his bread plate; tomato juice was almost as bad as egg yolk.

“You don’t like tomatoes?” Gordon asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jared liked tomatoes; he didn’t like tomato flavored potatoes. “Uh--.” That was a brilliant answer. “I prefer my food plain.” 

“Tomatoes are not plain?”

Jared nodded and picked up a piece of dry toast. Eating might save him from answering the questions.

“Jared, it is considered polite to answer questions at this table,” Gordon said relentlessly, his eyes locked on Jared.

Gordon was old enough to be Jared’s father, even a grandfather in a family with early children. He didn’t look grandfatherly unless irascible and fierce fit the description; twinkling eyes and kind smiles weren’t on offer. 

“I don’t like my food touching,” Jared mumbled in desperation when Gordon’s eyes refused to leave his face.

“Thank you. You must learn to speak the small truths if you will ever be able to speak the large truths,” Gordon said with a seriousness and intensity that was far from comfortable. He rose from the table, and before Jared could stop him, Gordon had collected five small plates off a stack in the far corner of the room.

Jared awkwardly took the plates and moved his food to individual and spotless white plates.

“Jared,” Atticus prodded.

“What?” Jared asked, not lifting his eyes from the table.

“Thank you,” Atticus hissed.

Jared hadn’t been prodded to say “thank you” since he was in grade school. He ducked his head further and managed to mumble something that with some imagination could be interpreted as thank you.

“Atticus, you must sort out your boy’s manners. They have suddenly turned deplorable,” Gordon said.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Atticus replied in a tone that Jared could swear had a tinge of sarcasm. Thank God! He was humiliated, and only Atticus’s hand on Jared’s knee was keeping him in place. If Atticus had been as serious as Gordon sounded, Jared wouldn’t have been able to stand it.

It was if by divine providence that Ryan and Blade came back in the dining room, taking the focus from a desperate Jared. Ryan’s hand was on Blade’s shoulder, pushing a reluctant Blade in front of him. Blade’s eyes were swollen, and his face was damp with tears. Jared heard Blade sniffle, and Ryan dropped a kiss on his mussed red hair. Ryan clicked his fingers and pointed to the floor. Blade went down silently and awkwardly with his hands still manacled behind his back. He swayed slightly as he found his balance, his knees spread and his eyes down.

“Blade, come kneel here.” Gordon pointed to the floor beside his chair between himself and Landon.

Blade turned a pleading glance at Ryan who responded with a curt almost invisible shake of his head. Blade didn’t speak, but his eyes had said it all. He wanted to remain with Ryan, and perhaps he would have further resisted if Ryan hadn’t taken Blade’s arm and helped him to his feet. It wasn’t rough, but it was clear Blade was to get up without a fuss.

“I’ll take care of your boy,” Gordon said to Ryan as Blade sank to his knees at Gordon’s side. Blade’s eyes never left his partner. “Settle,” Gordon said softly, his hand resting on the back of Blade’s neck. “We’ve done this before. It doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“That was before Ryan,” Blade said, looking up at Gordon.

“Quiet, boy.”

Gordon hadn’t sounded harsh or angry, but Blade dropped his head. He looked like he was fighting fresh tears.

“Easy. We’ve done this before.” Gordon’s tone was as much of a caress as the hand that was playing in the wisps of hair along Blade’s shirt collar. “So stubborn, but so sensitive. Let it happen; we have you.”

Blade sagged against Gordon’s thigh at the words and the stroking.

“Ryan’s good boy. I’m going to feed you now. Don’t cry, lad; you’ll choke.”

Jared watched both fascinated and horrified as Gordon dipped a spoon into the fresh bowl of hot oatmeal that seemed to have appeared without a trace of a server or a request and held it to Blade’s lips. Blade opened his mouth and swallowed convulsively.

“It’s sweetened and with fruit the way you prefer.”

Blade took the next mouthful; his smile was slight and his eyes still brimmed with tears, but he willingly swallowed and peeked up at Gordon through wet lashes.

“Good boy. You’ll be fine.”

The nod was slow and only fractional, but Gordon’s smile was full and the kiss on Blade’s hair genuine and affectionate. “Ryan’s beautiful boy.”

Jared fiddled with his food. It was more interesting to watch Blade and Gordon, mesmerizing and appalling at the same time. Jared couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of kneeling on the floor and being fed breakfast one spoonful at a time, but he also felt strangely attracted. Did he want to do that or was it like watching one of those giant roller coasters, alluring until the train clanked up the first hill? He should be repulsed, and he couldn’t draw his eyes away.

“Atticus, you’ll have to try this sometime,” Ryan said. “Your boy looks interested. Start with him in your lap. It will be easier for both of you.”

Atticus looked as tongue-tied as Jared felt. He should protest that Jared wasn’t his boy. After all they’d only met yesterday. How could Jared be his boy? They’d eaten dinner, talked, and cuddled a little, more necked a lot, but still they hardly knew each other, and Jared wasn’t into leather games. He should at least know that about himself. He didn’t want to be naked, cuffed, and flogged, or did he?

Atticus took a long swallow of juice, his adam’s apple bobbing in his neck as he swallowed. “I think these activities are best left to you experts,” he said, his facial muscles tense.

Ryan snorted. “We’ll just have to expand your horizons as a top. It’s not all bad. You and Tilden will be our challenges, and Tilden’s finally coming along. Slowly, but coming along.”

“And I thought I was safe down here at the far end of the table,” Tilden said with a half-smile.

“From me or from Milton?” Ryan asked.

“I believe discretion is the better part of valor, moy drug.”  

“Ah, the Russian,” Ryan said with a broad smile. “Two languages against my one, advantage Tilden.”

“I can do several more,” Tilden said primly.

“I’m sure you can,” Ryan said with a laugh. “I’ve seen you and Milton intellectually spar, way out of my league.”

Tilden might have answered, but Milton approached the table with Sheldon who had his face half-buried in Milton’s shoulder. “Our apologies for disturbing breakfast,” Milton said formally.

Gordon nodded. “Sheldon go kneel at Ryan’s side.”

“Gordon.” It was only one word before Milton shut his lips in a firm line, but the protest was evident, and the tight arm around Sheldon’s shoulder didn’t loosen.

“Don’t,” Gordon said the word quietly, his eyes fixed on Milton. The two dominants  stared at each other; Jared knew it was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like eternity with the silent and invisible sparks between them.

“Go on. It’ll be good for you,” Milton said gently and untangled his arm from Sheldon’s shoulder.

“I can’t.” Sheldon’s voice sounded hoarse and thick with unshed tears. He visibly shuddered and clutched at Milton’s shirt.

“Easy. It won’t be awful.” Milton’s hand ran down Sheldon’s back.

“You coddle that boy,” Gordon growled. “The choice is simple. He kneels next to Ryan, or I take him upstairs, cane him, and he kneels next to Ryan. We can all practice having breakfast all day if that is what it takes.”

“Don’t cane me,” Sheldon pleaded, tears openly dripping from his green eyes and freshly staining his cheeks. “Milton, don’t let him.”

“Sheldon,” Milton said, his voice full of gentleness, his fingers teased through Sheldon’s hair. “I...”

“Sheldon.” Ryan’s voice was strong, firm, and impossibly kind. “Don’t do this to Milton. Don’t make him choose. You understand what I mean.” 

Sheldon stood frozen; after a long moment with the only sound Sheldon’s choked sobs, he took one tentative half step toward Ryan. That must have been the signal for Ryan because he was out of his seat and put his arm around Sheldon, and together he and Milton walked Sheldon to Ryan’s place at the table.

Ryan was speaking softly, the cadence of his voice soothing and steady. His words probably unintelligible to all but Sheldon and Jared whose seat was immediately beside Ryan’s. “I won’t eat you for breakfast; I promise. I was voted most cuddly top at The Forest for a reason. I also won best guy for a distraught sub. I’m probably not as good as Milton; I know I’m not, but at least give me a chance.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll talk you through it, and what choice do we have? You have breakfast with me; Gordon canes you, or Milton brains Gordon. The first option sure sounds the best to me.”

“I don’t do this with Milton.”

“It’s a game with me. You’re the real Sheldon with Milton. Come on now. Kneel for me. Please.”

Sheldon sank to his knees, silent tears streaming down his face.

“Milton, sit down,” Gordon ordered.

The look Milton gave Gordon was murderous, but he moved to his seat and with perfect and exaggerated good manners unfolded his napkin and placed it over his lap.

“Lean into my legs. Put your hands behind your back.” Ryan stroked Sheldon’s hair. “The bread basket please.” Ryan searched through the basket, finally pulling out a muffin with a crumb top. He glanced toward the jams and seemed to silently communicate with Milton before reaching for the strawberry. Thickly smearing a piece of muffin with jam, he held it in front of Sheldon’s mouth. “Take a bite. It was the closest think I could find to junk food on the table, and if I understood Milton, you prefer strawberry jam to peach.”

“Some more toast?” Atticus asked demandingly in Jared’s ear.

Jared startled. He knew he’d been staring. He jerked his eyes back toward his breakfast and the others. “I’m fine,” Jared said hurriedly.

“Bull,” Ryan said sharply. “If you’re not frightened out of your wits, you should be. Sheldon, eat for me,” Ryan said in his soft voice. “I’m just giving Jared the color commentary. Milton’s having a stare off with Gordon; Tilden’s getting ready to brain Gordon if Milton doesn’t beat him to it. Landon has his hand on Blade’s shoulder who’s strongly thinking about breaking position and entering the general melee. Mike and Luke are uncertain spectators. Atticus wishes he was at the office in a far corner of the world, and Jared here is scared out of his wits. Nothing like a ringside seat at a major power struggle with twenty-four hours as a submissive under your belt. Sheldon, eat for me.”

“I’m trying. I’m sorry. I can’t.” The silent tears were now racking sobs.

 Milton started to stand, and Landon grabbed his arm. “You trust Ryan. Show Sheldon you trust Ryan.”

Ryan was crouched on the floor, his body making a protective wall around Sheldon. Jared tried to keep his eyes above the table, to give them the privacy they deserved. Gordon was chatting with Landon, inanely in Jared’s opinion, about the government in some African country and asking Milton pointed questions about the odds of a coup. Gordon had Blade kneeling on the floor, and Gordon was discussing the political situation in a country that Jared couldn’t even locate on a map. A man was on the floor, sobbing into the arms of another, and they were eating breakfast and discussing world politics! 

“I have to leave.” Jared struggled up from the table only to be stopped by a hand on his pants.

“I’m OK,” Sheldon said, his eyes red and his face streaked and blotched with tears. “I know I look like shit. Feel like it too, but I’m OK. Sorry you got caught in my fireworks. I’ve been an ass to Ryan, and, well, Gordon doesn’t tolerate misbehavior. At least I didn’t get caned. Ryan, let’s do this. I’ll be a good boy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Ryan.”

Ryan dropped a hard kiss on Sheldon’s temple. “I see why Milton’s so crazy about you. Let’s do this. Follow my lead.”

“Don’t worry,” Sheldon said with a watery and tired grin. “I think that lesson was beat into me today. Not that I’m complaining, I deserved it.”

“I’m not planning to add to your misery. Can we do this?”

“Yes, Ryan and I’ll be the perfect boy.”

“I hope not that would ruin your charm.”