The Christmas Ogre

The Christmas Ogre

Gordon untied the ribbon and tore the paper off the box. Sheldon watched as the tissue paper was folded back, and Gordon lifted out the sweater: a brilliant purple with an orange lightning bolt across the front. Gordon lifted out the second item, a magenta pink scarf.

“I take it my wardrobe needed a little more color,” Gordon said with a slight smile.

Sheldon could feel the heat and color filling his face. Gordon was acting like an orange and purple sweater accompanied by a magenta scarf was a fine and appreciated gift. Milton had turned his full attention on Sheldon, and Sheldon dropped his head quickly at the steel in his partner’s eyes. 

“It’s most interesting,” Landon said with a laugh. “Do try it on.”

“Of course. I’ll wear it to breakfast.” Milton started to interrupt, and Gordon silenced him with a brief shake of his head. “It’s Sheldon’s first Christmas with us. I will be honored to wear his gift.”

Sheldon looked down at the package in his hand. It was from Gordon and Landon, beautifully wrapped in gold foil with elaborate ribbons all in perfect bows. Sheldon was sure it was a thoughtful and generous gift, and he had been intentionally mean, giving Gordon that hideous sweater and scarf.

“They might not be colorful enough, now having seen your taste,” Landon said with a wide grin. 

Sheldon opened the box. Inside, carefully folded, were three dress shirts. By touch alone, Sheldon could tell they were the finest cotton and didn’t come from the mass market catalog retailer where he bought serviceable but unexciting clothes. 

“We weren’t sure about the green pinstripe,” Landon said. “I thought it would highlight your eyes. You can’t help that your partner has no clothes sense. The only reason Milton doesn’t look like the stereotypical rumpled professor is because Gordon drags him shopping every year.”

“I hate clothes shopping,” Milton said.

“We all know,” Landon said. “Fortunately you hate the cane more, or we’d be forced to kidnap you to get you clothed.”

Sheldon studied his partner’s corduroys and cashmere sweater. He didn’t look badly dressed. He’d never seen Milton badly dressed; everything was always pressed and well fitting.

“Gordon picked these out,” Milton said. “He’s rather emphatic that I be well dressed.”

“You looked like you bought your clothes at a yard sale before we took over,” Gordon said.

“I’m frugal,” Milton replied with a small smile.

“There’s frugal, and there’s stubborn. You’re the latter,” Landon said.

“All right,” Milton admitted with a grin. “I’d rather spend the day in the basement stacks of the library than go shopping, but I do it now.”

“Only because Gordon grabs you by the collar and drags you to the store.” Landon winked at Sheldon. “I do hope you will be a good influence on your wayward partner.”

Sheldon blushed, fingering the shirts. They were beautiful and expensive. He had some idea of the price for fine cotton shirts. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“Try one on,” Gordon said. “Milton supplied the measurements. I hope they were accurate.”

Sheldon lifted the green and white shirt from the box; the stripe was so fine as to be almost invisible, just enough to pick up the green in his eyes. He pulled off his sweatshirt and t-shirt and slipped into the new shirt. 

“Stand next to him, Milton,” Gordon ordered. 

Landon whistled. “They are a beautiful pair.”

“Gorgeous,” Gordon said, “but Milton is your iron broken?”

Sheldon looked down at his wrinkled khakis. As usually, he’d left his clothes in the dryer for hours, and he only wielded the iron if Milton threatened bodily harm. “It’s my fault. I hate to iron.”

“And you don’t insist?” Gordon asked Milton dryly.

“It’s my fault,” Sheldon repeated. “He reminds me to take my clothes out of the dryer and hang them up. Only I don’t listen.”

“Milton, you need to keep appropriate discipline in your home,” Gordon said.

“I pick my battles, sir,” Milton said, wrapping his arm around his partner’s shoulders. 

“He’s a beautiful boy. Don’t let him look like a slob.”  

“Yes, sir.”

“Beautiful boys are to be admired.”

Sheldon blushed. Milton always said he was beautiful, but Sheldon always thought it was a lie or at least an exaggeration. 

“He doesn’t know he’s beautiful?” Gordon asked, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

“I’ve told him,” Milton said. “He doubts the truth.”

“Do we have pictures from last night with both of them in their tuxedos?” Gordon asked Landon.

“I’m sure we do.”

“Good. Get one framed for them. Sheldon needs to know why I have to threaten guests with eminent harm when their eyes go astray.”

Milton pulled Sheldon closer, letting his boy bury his red face under his arm. “You’ll never forget to iron your clothes again,” he teased gently. “I can’t have my beautiful boy looking rumpled.”

“I gave him a purple and orange sweater,” Sheldon whispered.

“And a pink scarf,” Milton added in an undertone.

“I was mean.” Sheldon snuggled tighter against Milton.

“You need to fix that with Gordon. I got warned off.”

Sheldon held tighter to his partner. He didn’t want to face Gordon. He liked to pretend that he hated Gordon, that his opinion didn’t matter, and that he wasn’t thoroughly intimidated by the older top.

The door to Gordon’s suite of rooms stood open. Inside Sheldon could see Gordon stretched out on the sofa in front of the crackling hearth, a book in his hand. He was still in that awful orange and purple sweater. Sheldon swallowed hard, screwed up his courage, and knocked on the door.

“It’s open.”

Sheldon stood in the doorway, his courage having evaporated.

“Sheldon, stop hovering and come in. Shut the door after yourself.”

Oh, God, he was going to have to have a private chat with this man and all because he bought him an ugly sweater. A hideous sweater, Sheldon thought, staring at the orange lightning bolt. “I’m sorry,” Sheldon mumbled.

Gordon patted the sofa. “Come sit here. I’m not shouting across the room. And rumors to the contrary, I only bite with warning.”

Sheldon perched on the edge of the sofa, eyeing Gordon as if he might strike at any moment.

Gordon’s armed snaked out around Sheldon’s chest, and he pulled the boy hard against his chest. “Milton loves you which means you’re part of my family, and we need to come to a workable arrangement.” Gordon kissed the top of Sheldon’s head. “What do you need from me, boy? We need to get along.”

Sheldon tried to pull out of Gordon’s grasp. He wasn’t ready for this. He thought he could apologize and maybe get swatted a few times. He didn’t want to have a heart to heart with Gordon. He was old; he was terrifying. He had canes and whips, or at least that was what some of the others said.

“You don’t get to run away,” Gordon said, swatting Sheldon lightly. “I assume this is about the sweater and the scarf. They are rather lurid, and I don’t believe you’re color blind nor have that bad of taste. If either of those were true, you wouldn’t be bleeding guilt. Talk to me about it, boy.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheldon blurted, but still trying to pull away.

“No, boy, you need to say more. Is this easier if I put you over my knee?”

Sheldon froze. Gordon was going to spank him.

“Does Milton do these conversations before, during, or after the spanking?” Gordon asked his voice surprisingly soft and his touch easy and almost reassuring.

How did he answer that kind of question? Milton took care of it. He didn’t ask for a dissertation on spanking.

“All right, over you go.” Gordon, with the horrible efficiency of much practice, stripped Sheldon of his trousers and guided him over his knee. His arm wrapped firmly around Sheldon’s hip.”Let’s try this again.” Gordon’s hand rested on Sheldon’s boxer covered rump. “Why are we having this little chat?”

 Because he was being a shit hardly seemed like an appropriate answer. Milton would cover his ass with hard swats for such an answer, and Gordon was unlikely to be different. 

“This has to do with your motivation behind purchasing the sweater, doesn’t it, my boy?” Gordon prodded much too kindly. A quick swat landed, not horrible but a promise that this wouldn’t be only a tap. “I won’t do all the talking.” 

Sheldon jerked as Gordon landed three swats in the identical spot. “I wanted to be mean.”

“Why?” Gordon landed a flurry of swats when Sheldon didn’t answer. “Let me remind you this is not a one way conversation.”

“I don’t like you,” Sheldon mumbled, clutching the pillows in front of him.

“Fair enough,” Gordon said mildly. “I’m a stranger; I have a reputation as an intimidating dominant, and I was Milton’s mentor. Those are all legitimate reasons to dislike me. Why the guilt, my lad?” Gordon ran his hand over Sheldon’s shoulders and down his back.

“You’re being nice to me, and I was mean,” Sheldon mumbled on the verge of tears.

“I have you pinned over my knee, and I’m going to spank you. Most people wouldn’t call that nice.”

“I’m a brat,” Sheldon wailed. “I need spanked.”

“Milton has done a good job with you,” Gordon said with genuine warmth in his voice. “You understand this, and you two are a good match. Milton would be bored with an easy submissive. I don’t think there is any danger of you being too easy.” Gordon ran his hand down Sheldon’s back again and snugged his arm tighter around the Sheldon’s hip. “Do you need a spanking over this beautiful sweater?”

Gordon was going to make him say it. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled and shut his eyes. Please let this be over quick. He wanted to sit down tonight. Everybody would know he’d been spanked on Christmas.

Gordon pulled down Sheldon’s boxers, and his hand landed with a measured crack. Sheldon jerked; he never took a spanking stoically, and Milton was an expert at connecting with a kicking, squirming target. Milton had obviously learned from Gordon who with an almost languid ease landed measured blows. He shifted his legs easily and trapped Sheldon’s flailing feet between them. 

Sheldon was crying hard when Gordon pulled his boxers back up and flipped him upright. 

“That’s my good lad. You’re a good boy.” Gordon brushed back Sheldon’s hair and kissed his forehead: possessive and kind. “You’re Milton’s boy, but you’re also a Green Mountain Boy and one of my lads. Are we sorted now?”

Sheldon nodded and let Gordon pull him into a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas,” Gordon said softly and kissed Sheldon’s hair.