Mike's Saga 11

Mike's Saga 11 - Landon

Mace and Trent always put on a good spread. The roast, the vegetables, and the lighter than air popovers were their signature cooking. Landon had seen the several pies in the kitchen, a favorite for each stressed man. There was cherry for Mike, blackberry for Milton, and the rest of them would have to fight over the chocolate cream. Trent had also arranged the seating assignment. Landon had Luke and Austin next to him. Luke was never trouble, and Austin still looked at Landon with wide-eyed awe. The boy was good; sweeter and softer than he'd ever admit. A nice young man even if his status as a submissive were unknown. Gordon had Percival next to him. Poor boy saddled with that name; he went by Percy, but maybe the name explained at least some of the hardship. School peers would not have been kind to a Percival Luther King, and his easy propensity for wild mood swings and eyes wet with tears hadn’t helped. It wasn't a surprise that the boy had been escorted into Gordon's lair by his grandfather.

The older Mr. King was a shipping magnate, a man both feared and respected by his colleagues. He was starched and proper and intolerant of young idiocy as he had made clear as he described his grandson. He was also far more informed of the peculiarities of Gordon's personal life than either Landon or Gordon had been aware.

"My grandson's gay. We suspected it since the pink shoes at three and the obsession with ponies at five. Kissing the boy at ten at the Christmas party ensured that everyone in the family knew that he was gay, not merely fond of pink. I don't care that he's gay. I'm not a fool; I'm not wasting talent because of some ancient sexual taboo. Your father was an idiot, pitching all that talent out with the flotsam. I do care that since his arrival at college he has been arrested for disorderly conduct worsened by alcoholic inebriation, trashed and entire dormitory floor in an alcoholic haze, failed every exam and paper in all his classes, and is rumored to have a new man in his bed every night. I want this fixed."

"Is he a submissive?" Gordon had asked calmly.

"I assume he's one of yours. I've seen you with other boys like this. I don't know what you do with them; I don't care what you do with them. I only know it works. I hired one of those boys--best hire of my life."

"Keith?"

"Yes, he's Vice President of operations. His partner Malcolm was damn sharp also, but he retired to write books. Pity."

"Percival, are you a submissive?"

"Percy," the young man had answered with a combined air of excessive disinterest and lazy superiority. "My name is Percy."

"And the other question?" Gordon had asked, his voice rich with authority and tinged with the accent he'd never entirely lost.

"I suppose so. I bottom."

"I didn't ask your sexual preference. I asked if you were a submissive." Gordon always managed the freezing tones with the performance of a maestro, and this had been no exception.

Percy's beautiful hazel eyes had opened a little wider, and his mouth had formed a silent o, but he hadn’t answered the question. He’d kicked his scuffed and worn running shoes against the expensive carpet and had tried for a disinterested but sexy slouch.

"Boy."

That growl had driven Percy's eyes toward Gordon's face. For a split second he'd held the stare before lowering his eyes behind long silken lashes and shifting his hands behind his back. He didn't actually clasp his wrist or widen his stance to the usual submissive posture, but it had been close enough.

"We'll take him home and see."

Life in Vermont had hit Percy with its inalterable and shocking force. He'd spent the last five days dodging Gordon's voice and the small nursery cane. Five years ago Gordon would have introduced Percy to the discipline of the submissive lifestyle with his hand, but age had weakened his shoulder and arm. The nursery cane allowed the security and reassurance of the over the knee position without needing the power to deliver an effective hand spanking, not that Percy saw it that way.

This morning had been a rerun of the last three mornings: clothes strewn all over the floor, bed covers askew, and the bathroom looking like a mini hurricane had hit its shores. Boys cleaned up after themselves; they did service. Gordon was relentless and unyielding about those demands. Maybe orders from the young and beautiful Ryan would have been swallowed with more grace; from Gordon they resulted in a full range of temper tantrums worthy of a three-year-old, brat at its worst.

Percy had gravitated toward Sheldon. Sheldon had certainly done more than his fair share of bratting as a young man. It was hard to believe that red headed whirlwind was now the proper and very adult slave. His green eyes were almost placid compared to the storms that had raged there in the past. Sheldon laid a steadying hand on Percy's wrist and silenced some outburst as he passed the wine and left both their glasses empty. Sheldon didn't flinch at his dry glass, and no one looked askance when Milton selected and served Sheldon's food instead of allowing him to choose it himself family style. Sheldon also kept his hands firmly away from the silverware until Milton nodded a quiet permission to eat.

Gordon noticed Sheldon's astonishingly good manners and gave him a small but very genuine smile. Sheldon inclined his head, a faint pink blush rising up his neck. 

Sheldon was happy. In all the confusion of Tilden and Milton dynamiting the relationship, Sheldon had found himself. Austin was happy too. Landon had heard the vibrancy in his voice and seen Austin's easy confidence as he grabbed one of his men. Even the quiet Luke was charmed by Austin. Landon had seen the quick sketches of the laughing Austin on a back of a napkin. Tilden was Tilden: cool, polite, and far more handsome than he ever gave himself credit. He was also at least with Milton something else now. There was a taste of his sexuality and his power dynamic that he'd always kept hidden. He slammed himself back into the rigid correctness when he spoke to Landon or Gordon; another few months and maybe he would shed his social inhibitions with them. Milton was pressing Tilden; Landon knew Milton well enough to interpret his silent stares and eyebrow quirks.

It was Milton who had shouldered the burden and the guilt of the changes. He sat at the head of the table, looking masterly, but Landon knew the price. At the best of times, Milton carried the dreams along with the fears and petty disasters of the family. He was a forceful dominant, a man acutely aware of his power and the damage it could inflict, and he overcompensated by burdening his shoulders with guilt when the inevitable problems arose. Gordon had been brutally blunt in his analysis and followed the words with several hard strikes from the senior cane when he'd cornered Milton in his campus office late one evening several weeks ago. Milton had been avoiding Vermont, claiming a lack of time, but Gordon knew his boy. Landon knew the conversation had shaken Milton because he'd called that evening. Landon had been Milton's confidant all those years ago, and he could still step into that role.

"You could have warned me."

"I tried. How many times have I invited you up?"

"I was busy. It's not exactly a walk in the park here." Milton had sounded tired, frazzled, and still too close to the edge.

"Didn't Gordon--"

"Yes, I have six lovely wheals I have to explain," Milton had interrupted. There had been a pause and the sound of shuffling feet. "Sorry."

Landon knew Milton. He'd heard the slight break in his voice as he’d said sorry. "You didn't cast a spell on Tilden. It was as much his choice as yours, and you may have accelerated the pace of change with Sheldon and Mike, but the path was already laid."

"Are you working in tandem now? Those were nearly his words exactly."

"Always." Landon had known Gordon’s expected course of action; he’d even heard part of the diatribe Gordon had planned to deliver to their wayward and overburdened boy. It had been long on recognizing that the other men in the house played a role in the outcome, especially Tilden who held a special place in Milton’s heart as a representation of long hidden love and of a gentleness and kindness that Milton never saw in himself.

Milton either faked it extraordinarily well, or he was better now. The mantle of dominance looked secure around his shoulders. Milton wasn't in his formal Green Mountain Boy attire, but Landon could imagine the green cape flowing over Milton's shoulders. He was the dominant with his devoted retinue. 

Mike had settled from explosive to strained and tightlipped, shifting between submissiveness and outright resistance. When Ryan had first brought Mike into the dining room, Mike had looked momentarily happy, standing against Ryan and enjoying the easy reassurance that Ryan projected to all submissives. Ryan even had a tendency toward that demeanor with Landon, something that Landon found amusing. Landon didn’t need reassured or settled or gentled into his submission. He knew the way, not that Ryan’s attention couldn’t be charming. The young man was exquisite and a very worthy dominant. He managed Blade with both flair and competence. Blade was on the floor, silent and in perfect kneeling form. They were working tonight, and Ryan was carefully putting his boy into headspace. Landon had found some excuse to attend one of their public educational events. He hadn’t been convinced of the educational value as most of the men were busy ogling Ryan’s chiseled chest or wishing they could see under Blade’s skimpy thong, but it had been an exquisite display of whipping with a boy who was flying. Blade was an exhibitionist to the core, and Ryan was more than willing to indulge his boy’s fancy.

Mike rattled his chains, banging them against the plate with enough force to threaten shattered china. Milton captured the chain in his hand and said something too soft for Landon to hear. Hopefully it was a threat to send the boy to his knees with his hands chained behind his back if he didn’t behave. Mike flushed, dropped his head, and held his hands still as Milton removed several links of chain.

Good for Milton. Mike needed forced, and Milton was providing the push. Sweet, nice and gentle wasn’t going to work for Mike.