The Golden Goose 11

The Golden Goose 11

Atticus knew he should go back to New York; his office was in New York, his apartment was in New York. Atticus spread his papers across the metal patio table. It was a pleasant day, the water in the pool silently beckoned to him. New York would still be hot, his shoes melting on the sidewalk, the buildings hermetically sealed with the air conditioners running at maximum. Here he could open his windows and smell trees and grasses, not the exhaust from taxicabs.

Atticus smiled to himself. He must be getting old to have nostalgic yearnings for the fresh air of the countryside. He was a city boy, born and bred, and far too young to be yearning for retirement in some rural hamlet. His parents had grown up in those Midwestern small towns with only endless rows of corn, pickup trucks, and local parks with one dusty ball field. He’d grown up in Chicago and lived all his adult life in New York. He didn’t pine for some almost forgotten childhood in the country. He’d had a week here with Jared, one magnificent week. He wasn’t a dreamy teenager; they both had their lives. Best to think of last week as a crazy interlude in his otherwise ordinary existence. He dropped his hand by his thigh almost expecting to feel Jared’s silky hair. Jared had sat at his feet, leaning against Atticus’s leg as they worked. Atticus hadn’t asked Jared to sit there; it had just seemed to happen like everything else in that crazy week.

It wasn’t until that final Sunday when Jared was packing, still dressed in the green shirt and khaki shorts of a boy, but with his own clothes laid out on the bed, that they had both looked at each other and realized the inevitability of their separation, the fantasy of the last week, and the abject foolishness of their behavior. They stole a final kiss, Jared pressed tightly into Atticus’s chest. Jared had stripped his green shirt and turned back into the staid director of Boston’s Light House facility. They’d shaken hands, like professional colleagues, and Atticus hadn’t even taken Jared to the train station. Jared had caught a ride with someone else.

“Pining for your boy?”

“What?” Atticus mumbled, startled. 

Landon grabbed the seat across from Atticus, leaned his elbows on the table and gave Atticus an intense stare. “When are you going to Boston?”

“I need to inspect the facility sometime in the next few weeks.”

“No,” Landon said sharply his eyes pinning Atticus in a way very similar to Gordon’s penetrating stare. “Your boy lives in Boston; you get on a train and go see him. If you need the fiction of an official trip, that’s fine, but you do not put it off three weeks.”

“Whoa,” Atticus said, holding up his hands in a stopping motion.

“I can get the big boys to beat some sense into you,” Landon said with an unblinking stare that suggested he wasn’t kidding.

“Landon,” Atticus said, trying to keep his voice flat, steady, and in control, his professional work voice. “My private life is my own affair.”’

“You’re a junior dominant in the Green Mountain Boys; you have no privacy.” Landon spoke with such absoluteness that it took a moment for Atticus to realize the insane ridiculousness of the words. 

He wasn’t going to grant them permission to interfere in his life. He’d enjoyed a week in their unreality, but now he needed to return to Atticus, sensible and sane. He respected Landon’s business acumen, and he respected these men’s right to live their lives with whatever social rituals they found beneficial, but he wasn’t participating. It had been temporary insanity.

“You have a responsibility to Jared, and unless I badly misjudged, you are a man who does not shirk his responsibilities,” Landon said. “I saw you with Jared; he was more than a passing fling, a nice fuck for the weekend.”

“Landon, this is not a conversation I’m having.”

“Sit down.”

Atticus dropped on the chair, the hard metal pressing through his thin shorts. He’d never heard that voice from Landon.

“That boy is yours. He gave himself to you. Now you take the responsibility.” Landon softened his voice and his posture. “Atticus, you are a good man. I have faith in you. Don’t sell yourself short because you suddenly have cold feet, and most importantly don’t sell that boy short. He loves you; he’s your submissive.”

Atticus ran his fingers through his hair. He’d held Jared; he’d fucked Jared as Landon had so crudely put it. He loved that boy, the smell of his hair still wet from the lake, the light fuzz on his chest, his shy smile. He was in love with that man. Not boy. Jared was a man, but... Atticus forced a neutral expression on his face. He couldn’t sit here staring at Landon. Landon was too sharp; he’d start to ask those prying questions, and these men’s social mores refused to accept the polite evasions that worked so well with others. “We don’t know each other well enough to say we love each other.”

“Bullshit!” Landon said distinctly and totally unashamedly. “Get your head out of your ass.”

“Landon, I’m sure Gordon frowns at such expressions.”

“He frowns at many things. Your behavior is well beyond a frown. I never thought you for a coward,” Landon said softly. “Jared doesn’t deserve to be hurt this way.”

Atticus flinched at the words. He didn’t want to hurt Jared. He could love Jared; he did love Jared, but this was too fast. He needed breathing space; they needed breathing space. It was only a week and a half ago that Jared had been no more than a name on a sheaf of papers.

“I’ll make sure Josh takes him in. We don’t abandon our boys.”

Josh, he was the big man with the thick gray hair and eyes like steel. Atticus didn’t know him well; he came up for some of the official functions, and most of the brats, boys, whatever they were, scurried out of his sight. He had to be close to Gordon’s and Landon’s age, but he still looked strong enough to throw a disobedient boy over his shoulder, not that Atticus had ever seen such behavior from him or even imagined it until this week. He’d seen Josh in a quiet corner, his chair pulled up so his knees touched with his unfortunate victim, having a chat, or perhaps lecturing was the more correct term. The Zath brothers gave Josh a cautious nod and a polite sir. Josh would terrify Jared. Jared was sweet; he liked to be held; he didn’t brat, not the insanity of the younger Zath who delighted in the idea of every top east of the Mississippi trying to catch his ass. 

“I’ll make the calls.” Landon started to stand.

“I need time,” Atticus croaked. He raked his fingers through his hair, knowing he was giving away his anxiety. “I haven’t had a serious boyfriend in years and all this other stuff.” Stuff was the only word Atticus could manage. He’d taken Jared over his knee; he’d encouraged Jared to sit at his feet. Atticus had called the boy his. 

“Good boy.” Landon flashed Atticus his trademark smile that still turned both men’s and women’s heads. “I knew you only needed a little push.” He bent to Atticus’s side of the table and kissed his forehead.

Atticus rubbed his temple, knowing his eyes were questioning. This wasn’t the Landon he knew.

“I top also,” Landon said and sat back down. “It’s frightening at first. I do understand that--from both sides.”

Atticus fingered his papers. Grants, investments, expense accounts, those things he understood. This he felt like a child struggling to tie his shoe or read the clock face for the first time. He wasn’t a virgin; he wasn’t naive; he’d seen Landon and company in action, and still he felt shocked as if he couldn’t catch his breath on some insane amusement park ride that was hurling in all directions simultaneously.

“Breathe.” Landon rubbed his hand up and down Atticus’s back. “It’s not only those on Jared’s side who find support in the Green Mountain Boys. We provide support and mentoring for your side also.” Landon gave Atticus a lopsided smile. “And you’re going to need it, but it will get easier. I promise. Jared will teach you, and we’ll hang on to both of you.”

“I love Jared,” Atticus mumbled. Had he said that? Atticus didn’t speak of his private life, or at least he tried to remain silent on such subjects. Gordon and Landon could pry, and Ryan had jokingly called it an important top skill.

“Good,” Landon said with a simplicity that was entirely disarming. “Now that we’ve established the crucial facts, what are we going to do about it?”

We? Landon had every intention of prying into Atticus’s private life. “I take it you have a plan,” Atticus said with the emphasis on you.

“Of course,” Landon said with a wry smile. “Gordon and I may have officially retired from our roles in the Green Mountain Boys, but we still keep our hands in. Sheldon is fabulous at mentoring our youngsters, but relationship building is not his forte. Milton’s good at it, and Sheldon steps back and lets him do it, but currently Milton’s little summer camps are keeping him running in fifty different directions. We need more tops who aren’t Gordon’s and Josh’s vintage or wet behind the ears like Jason and Miles.” Landon made a strange face; it wasn’t a grimace, but it wasn’t a smile either. “We don’t need more like Miles. That boy enjoys sticking it to the older generation a little more than is proper. He’s good with Steve; I’ll give him that, and Simon is so in love with those two that it almost hurts, but it takes all of Gordon’s restraint not to spank him silly every time he sees him. That’s a young man who would have benefited from being someone’s boy first.”

“I thought he was a switch.” Atticus didn’t know Miles well; they’d met a few times at socials which Atticus had felt obligated to attend, and from Miles’s expression the feeling had been mutual. Miles was young and that hair. Atticus was naturally a conservative type of guy. He’d never went through the counter culture resist everybody old enough to have commonsense. Miles seemed to be stuck in that mode. Barefoot and torn jeans wasn’t the way men walked around the Green Mountain Boys’ home. Miles had tried it, ignoring Gordon’s stare and verbal warning. Josh had dragged him off, and Atticus suspected forcibly changed Miles’s clothes. Atticus wasn’t privy to how that relationship worked, and in truth he didn’t want to know. The idea of a threesome was difficult enough to fathom; Josh’s role, a planet in some distant orbit, Atticus couldn’t even imagine.

“He is in his own way,” Landon said. “He doesn’t give up control easily no matter how much he sometimes wants to.”

“Is this conversation going in some direction?” Atticus asked. He knew Landon was manipulating him with this distracting conversation about Miles whom he hardly knew. 

“Top,” Landon snorted. “I could have kept a submissive type well distracted. Relax and let me drive for a while; we will get you through this.”

“You make it sound so inviting,” Atticus said with a force laughed.

“Loving someone isn’t always a bed of roses, and the power exchange adds a few more thorns into the mix.”

“You like roses,” Atticus said, looking over the extensive beds. The rocky soil of Vermont and a climate full of early freezes and sub zero winters weren’t Atticus’s vision of ideal rose growing conditions, but these beds were perfect, aglow in vibrant colors and exquisite flowers.

“My father willed me the roses. Come.” Landon stood and held out his hand.

Atticus let his fingers tangle with Landon’s, feeling oddly like a kindergarten boy clutching his teacher’s hand. He let Landon lead him to the small shed where the garden tools were arranged in pristine order. Landon placed a pair of pruning shears in Atticus’s hand.

“I don’t know anything about gardening. I live in a high rise; I have a balcony that only exists in the realtor's imagination. You can open the door and squeeze onto it with half your body still inside.

“You know enough to choose for Jared. You know Jared.”

Atticus turned the pruning shears over in his hand, the orange handles solid in his palm. “I’ve never sent flowers to a man before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Landon said with a friendly squeeze on Atticus’s shoulder. “You spanked a man for the first time last week; flowers will be easier.”

Atticus knew his faced flushed, and he couldn’t keep eye contact with Landon. He’d spanked Jared last week, not hard or not hard according to Ryan’s and Milton’s standards, but it was still more than he’d ever done, more than he’d ever imagined doing. It wasn’t that he’d never heard of this lifestyle. Hell, he’d even seen this lifestyle in action; he just thought he’d never be more than a bystander, and he’d never in his wildest dreams or worst nightmares thought he’d enjoy the feeling of taking another man over his knee. Atticus had enjoyed Jared over his knee, the pristine canvas waiting for his hand, the gentle acceptance that what Atticus would do would be right. The feeling could become addictive.

“Didn’t like it, or liked it too much?” Landon asked with a much too knowing smile. “I’d guess the latter because you wouldn’t have been shy about the former. Jared was happy about the arrangement also. I met that boy in Boston; he was about to shatter into a thousand shards of glass. He needs an outlet to give it up, and you’re it. He loves you. He might not know how comprehensively he handed you his soul last week, but he did, and now you have a responsibility. You’re his lover, but you’re also his dominant. Jared needs and wants to be at your feet, over your knee, and sheltered in your arms. Can you do that for him?”

Atticus had worked several years with Landon, but he was still surprised and overwhelmed by the sheer power of Landon’s personality. This was the same man he’d seen at Gordon’s feet; Atticus had seen Landon grimace and avoid sitting down, but here right now the force of his personality was as overwhelming as his legendary partner.

“Red or yellow?” Atticus asked. It was an idiotic and evasive comment, but under Landon’s gaze it was all Atticus could manage.

“Gordon gave me a rose when he proposed. It was from my father’s garden. Lavender. It should be lavender; that’s the tradition.”

“I’m not proposing,” Atticus said grimly. Landon might be a crazy romantic, but he wasn’t.

“I think you’re beyond the proposing stage,” Landon said with a slight smile. “Jared is yours.”

Mine. Atticus had said the same words himself. You’re mine. Had he meant it? He could still feel his hand stroking through the slight curls; he could smell the faint traces of Jared’s shampoo as he had buried his nose in the thick hair and dropped a kiss on the shining strands.

“You know,” Landon said softly. “You know.”

Atticus found himself nodding. He did know. Jared was his boy, his heart, his other half. He hadn’t believed in all of this, and now he was swept into the whirlwind.

“The rose.” Landon gave Atticus a small push toward the flowers.

The blooms were in all directions, brilliant reds climbing up trellises, yellows from pale to brilliant lemon, and several lavender bushes around a small stone bench. 

“The lavender means enchantment, love at first sight,” Landon said. “It is most appropriate.”

Atticus ran his finger over the shining petal. Only the faintest citrus scent wafted from the flower. Atticus snipped the stem, avoiding the thorns, and held up the single blossom. He’d sent flowers to his mother on her birthday, but he’d never given a bouquet to a lover; he’d never even given a single flower.

“Good. Now to get you to Boston.” Landon reached into his pocket and flipped a ring of keys at Atticus. “Take your pick. We can’t drive them all.”

Atticus caught the keys automatically. He knew both Gordon and Landon loved cars and that they indulged themselves. There were keys for makes that Atticus had only seen in the car magazines as a boy. Like most boys, he’d gone through a fascination with Road and Track as he’d approached the age of his first license. He rarely drove now. It wasn’t necessary in the city, and he didn’t own a car. Garage space was always at a premium, far easier to rent a car when he absolutely had to drive.

“I recommend a convertible. You want to look sharp for your boy.”

*****

Jared rolled his shoulders and picked at the stain on the front of his shirt. He thought it was milk from a resident, but it could have been breakfast this morning. Gordon would never have tolerated the stains and the shirt tails half out. The thought of Gordon’s roar brought a slight smile to Jared’s lips as he edited the grant proposal for the third time. Atticus’s new hire had done most of it and a fine job really, but this agency was inhabited by anal retentive trolls, and if he didn’t have every box ticked, it would come back stamped with a bright red rejection.

Jared wiped the sweat from the end of his nose. The air conditioning guy had said it was fine--fine if the air cooled to a sultry twenty-seven degrees Celsius. He couldn’t open the windows; it was worse outside, and the wail of sirens and the clash of dumpsters close up and personal from the back alley put everyone’s teeth on edge.

He’d come back from Vermont only three days ago, and it already seemed unreal. The air had been fresh, the windows thrown open every night, the breeze through the pines, Atticus’s hand ruffling his hair. No, he wouldn’t think of it, a respite to be remembered fondly and indulgently, but unreal, a fantasy for a week. He could still see Atticus splashing in the lake, the water beaded on his tanned skin, his hair wet and hanging in his eyes.

“Jared, there’s someone here to see you,” Charlotte said, popping her head into the door.

Jared didn’t look up. He grunted some indistinguishable syllable that Charlotte would recognize as show them in. It was probably some damn bureaucrat he’d forgotten about. They were always coming out of the gutter, demanding more forms in triplicate.

“Boy, you’re a mess.”

Jared’s head shot up. “Atticus, what are you doing here?” Atticus was leaning against the wall in the one clear spot in the office, his wide shoulders pressed back against the doorframe, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d been in the wind. He clutched a tote in one hand, not full of papers, but surprisingly empty.

“Checking on what’s mine,” Atticus said in a voice that sent shivers down Jared’s spine.

“Yours?” Jared shook his head. “It was fun while it lasted, but we know what’s real.

“No,” Atticus said sharply. “We know what’s expected; we don’t know what’s real. Real doesn’t have to mean miserable and ordinary. We were real; I want that back.”

“It’s not practical.” Jared said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Is this practical?” Atticus pulled Jared from the chair, slammed the lid on the laptop, and scattered papers to the floor. “Disheveled, stains on your clothes, circles around your eyes.” His finger traced the lines around Jared’s eyes. “Three days, boy.”

“You live in New York. My parents. My work.”

“Shh.” Atticus put his finger on Jared’s lips. “Believe, boy. If we want this, we can make it work. We will make it work.”

“It’s not Vermont.”

“Please. I love you.” Atticus reached into the satchel and drew out a single rose. “Please.”

Jared stared at the rose, an odd purplish shade, one side slightly smashed. He could see the longing that he felt reflected in Atticus’s eyes. Slowly he reached out, his fingers brushing the flower. “I thought the top was supposed to be the practical one,” he choked, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry; he didn’t watch sappy, romantic movies.

“Not about love. Jared, will you have me?”

“Yes.” 

Atticus was all around him. His scent filled Jared’s nostrils; his lips touched Jared’s cheek, his chin, his neck; his voice rumbled in Jared’s ear. “Mine. Oh, God, mine.”

Jared didn’t know how long they stayed together. It had to have been ages, but finally Atticus pushed them apart and stared at Jared, seeming to drink up his essence.

“Good, boy?” Atticus asked, a wry smile on his lips.

“Good.” Jared wiggled back against Atticus’s chest. “Did Milton send you?”

“No, Landon.” Atticus smiled and tangled his fingers in Jared’s hair. “He’s the romantic, and he threatened to kick my ass halfway to Texas if I didn’t do this right.” Atticus shuddered and then smiled again. “He was right. Damn scary, but right.”

“What about--”

“Shh.” Atticus kissed Jared, his lips pressed tight, his tongue flickering across Jared’s teeth. “Let them figure it out,” he said as he came up for air. “They got us into this; they can handle the mundane details.”

“You live in New York,” Jared protested. This was a great dream, a fabulous dream, but he had to wake in the real world.

Atticus looked at his watch. “Give it an hour. I expect a courier from G&L with keys to a new apartment and orders to transfer my office to Boston. I’ve seen Landon in action.”

“He’d do that?”

“You were in Vermont, weren’t you?”

“Shit! He would.” Jared laughed.

“Language, boy.” Atticus rested his palm on Jared’s butt; the message was clear in all its meanings: warmth, comfort, protection, discipline, submission, love.

“I’m yours,” Jared said, not caring that his eyes were wet with tears.

“And I yours.” 

The kiss was slow and overwhelming, and for that one moment nothing else mattered.

The End