The Golden Goose 6

The Golden Goose 6

Jared could swear he’d already done this once today, rolled awake and seen Blade bouncing on the chair a book on his knees. He’d thought déjà vu was something that happened to characters in the movies, not to real people.

“Awake again?” Blade shook his red hair out of his eyes and gave Jared a broad smile. “When’s the last time you actually had enough sleep--like the magic eight hours?”

“I don’t remember,” Jared said and stared at the ceiling. He never had that kind of time. He was lucky to get to bed before midnight, and he was often up before five. The day wasn’t long enough for the leisure of eight hours of rest; he didn’t live in fairy land where the trees were made of peppermint candies, the sun shone every day, and the handsome man on the silver steed guaranteed his distraught and overworked partner a blissful night of uninterrupted rest. Yeah, he could play their games and pretend whatever they were doing here had some relevancy to his real life. Hell, it might even be fun if he could shed all his inhibitions. Blade looked like he had fun.

“Stay away from the tops if you want to continue that rest pattern. They’re death on lack of sleep.”

“Ryan makes you go to bed at night?” Jared asked with a snort.

“Sometimes. He has crazy hours working at The Forest. I’m supposed to be responsible for myself when he’s working, but it’s more fun to bug him. Milton does when I’m at school.”

“You really need someone to tell you to go to bed? How old are you?”

“Twenty-two. Hey, don’t look at me like I’m an idiot or something. I like living this way; I like to be taken care of. And yes, I can be responsible and grownup and all the horrible thoughts that are going through your mind. I choose to give Ryan my submission. Sometimes it’s play, but sometimes it’s for real. Believe what you want,” Blade said and slammed the book closed on his lap. “I’m not warped.”

“Blade,” Jared said, struggling to get up in the tangle of bedclothes. “Sorry. I’m just confused.” He obviously hadn’t been hiding the incredulity on his face. Jared ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m lost, and when I’m lost I make an ass of myself. Sorry,” Jared repeated.

Blade stood up and came over to the bed where he sat next to Jared and dropped an arm over his shoulder. “I get that. You should see me when I get mixed up. Poor Milton. I’ve really put him through his paces. Did you know anything about the Green Mountain Boys before you were dropped in here?”

“No,” Jared said with a shake of his head.

Blade let out a long, low whistle. “No wonder Gordon was so pissed at Landon.” Blade reached over and grabbed the book from the chair. “Let me show you.” He flipped to the black and white prints at the beginning. “This is in the sixties.” Blade pointed with his finger. “That’s Milton’s granddad and his partner Doug with Landon and Gordon. They founded the Green Mountain Boys.”

“He looks severe,” Jared said pointing at the tall man in a flannel shirt with uncompromising dark eyes that seemed to stare through the photo right into Jared’s soul. 

“Scary as hell. Even in his eighties.” Blade gave Jared a long suffering look. “I try to hide behind Milton or Ryan if we’re in the same state. I want to hit my knees just looking at him, and he’s never touched me; he’s never raised his voice to me. He gets very soft. ‘Blade, do you think that’s a good idea?’ And my knees turn to jelly and my stomach tries to leave by way of my throat. Milton can be scary, but he has to work at it. Grandfather Andrew, sitting in the chair fiddling with the TV remote control, is terrifying.”

Jared looked at the picture. Even in the still, he could see the presence in Andrew. His partner was standing at his shoulder his head cocked in a way that Jared could imagine as deferential. Gordon was at his other shoulder, his arm wrapped around Landon who was smiling impishly at the camera.

Blade flipped the page to a larger group of men, dressed in knickers and long coats, grouped around a cake. “Formal attire,” Blade said with a smile and a raise of one eyebrow. “Thank God, they only bring that out for special occasions now.”

“Frock coats?  Top hats? It looks like a dress up party.”

“Society wasn’t as tolerant then,” Blade said in a voice devoid of his previous humor. “It was a chance for them to show each other that they belonged.”

“Dropping on your knees at the supermarket still wouldn’t go over too well,” Jared said callously.

“Is that what you think I do?”

Jared could see the hurt in those green eyes and the slump of the shoulders. Shit! He hadn’t meant to hurt this kid, had he? This wasn’t the kind of person he was; he seethed at the general populace’s insensitivity to his residents or to his parents’ gradual failing health and dementia, and he’d just with cold and calculating words done the same thing. He dropped his head, too embarrassed to look further at the pain in those eyes.

Blade punched Jared lightly in the arm. “I’m not a top; I’m not going to wail on you for that. It just wasn’t nice.”

“I know,” Jared said softly. “I’m sorry. God! I’ve been saying that a lot. I’m not usually like this. I--”

Blade interrupted Jared’s ramble. “You’re usually not dropped sleep deprived in an encampment of nuts. Jared, you’re used to people making polite noises and inquiring about your health, but not listening to your answer. And you’re used to nodding and pretending you’re fine when you’re walking around like the living dead.”

“Did I look that bad?”

“Uh-huh. Still do. It’s summertime and your skin’s so pale you look like a vampire on a hospital corridor.” Blade grasped Jared’s chin and looked at his face. “The black smudges have gone down a little. It’s still pretty bad. Do you know lack of sleep causes as many road accidents as alcohol?”

“The book of facts,” Jared mumbled.

“Milton makes me write papers when I screw up.”

“And you do them?”

“I’m a submissive.” Blade put his hand on Jared’s knee and shook it. “So are you, and you’d do it too. Don’t act all surprised and superior.”

Jared started to apologize again. What had he said? He felt as if he was in a foreign country and didn’t speak the language.

“The tops when they talk to you, you want to do what they say; you want to be good for them. Christ! You let Milton spank you.”

“Shut up!”

“It’s not like it’s front page news here. Milton spanks disobedient boys, and you are one of those disobedient boys, my friend.”

“I don’t want any of this. I don’t have any clothes yet, do I?” Jared said and stormed over to his dresser, yanking the drawer out with too much force.

“You’ll have to ask Ryan or Atticus.”

Atticus. Oh God! He’d kissed him earlier. He didn’t know the man. He didn’t have time for a boyfriend. The hand on the back of his neck, the lips against his. No, he wasn’t going to think about it. He was going to collect his clothes and get the hell out of here.

“I heard you hit it off with Atticus,” Blade said with a sly grin. “Never bet against Landon; Ryan should have known better.”

“I’m not a horse in a stupid race. I’m out of here, so all bets are forfeit.”

“In your pajamas?”

“They can’t keep me here!” Jared shouted. “Where are my clothes?”

“Settle down,” Blade said, rising from the bed in an unhurried, graceful motion, probably a sexy motion if Jared gave a damn about those kind of things right now. “Take a deep breath and pull yourself together.”

Jared found himself obeying the instructions despite his desire to charge through the door, snatch up a pair of keys, and head to the train station.

“Good. Sit down.”

Jared flopped down in the green armchair and pulled his knees to his chest, half burying his head.

“Do you want Ryan or Atticus? Ryan will smack you if you act like this; Atticus will only talk to you and look disappointed. Who do you want?”

“I want my clothes,” Jared said, trying to hold onto his sanity. Of course he shouldn’t want to get swatted, but oh God, no, he couldn’t think about it. Ryan’s absoluteness. The I’ve got it now when Jared had far too much swirling around in his head.

“Choose.”

“I want my clothes,” Jared repeated. That was safe. He liked Atticus; he wanted to really like him. He couldn’t. He’d be lost.

“Fine. I’ll get both, Ryan to knock some sense into you and Atticus to cuddle you afterwards. Now stay here. I’m supposed to be watching out for you, and I don’t want to get my ass whipped, or at least not for real. Stay here.”

“Right, my captain,” Jared mocked and for some reason not fully comprehended by him gave Blade the finger.

Blade swatted Jared on the head, not hard more like a rough pat. “Behave. You’ll be the death of both of us.”

The room was suddenly empty without Blade. Jared pulled his knees closer, his body hunched in a protective ball. What was he doing here? He wasn’t a college kid with a summer to kill. This might have been fun back then. He could see that: the easy camaraderie, the volleyball games, the hot flesh walking around, even the spankings. Yeah, it excited him. He’d never done more than read about it and imagine. He’d never been brave enough to ask even as a little foreplay. Being cared for. Wasn’t that what Blade had said? That he liked being cared for, watched over. What would that be like? Jared didn’t like having his clothes taken away, but he could see why they did it. He’d seen his own reflection in the mirror; he tried not to look. He couldn’t be tired; he didn’t have time to be tired.

“Hey, kid.”

Jared jerked his head up and dropped his feet to the floor. He was as old as Ryan; he wasn’t a kid. Why did Ryan insist on calling Jared that? Jared ducked as Ryan tousled his hair.

“Sleep make you touch sensitive?” Ryan asked, puzzled. “You liked that before.”

“I want my clothes.”

“If you’re going to be belligerent, I’m going to assume you need a nice quiet dinner in your room.”

Jared would have said something horrid, impolite, and suitable for the foul mouth of a teenager if Atticus hadn’t stepped out of Ryan’s shadow, his lanky frame and cowlick gone askew somehow very attractive. Jared swallowed hard; no one had made him feel like this in years. He’d about given up men, not worth the trouble even for a quickie.

“I’d be delighted to have dinner with you this evening,” Atticus said. 

He didn’t bow, did he? Delighted to have dinner with you, it sounded like a line from those awful novels in high school.

“Sure,” Jared said, knowing he was smiling, even though he felt like an idiot in these damn pinstriped pajamas.

“It’s barbecue tonight,” Ryan said. “Milton and I decided it was the better part of valor not to try to get a dozen new boys into jackets and ties for dinner. We did a dry run yesterday when Gordon was out, picking up you know who.” Ryan grinned and winked at Jared. “Terrifying. I had to press Blade into service to get some of the ties knotted and find socks. Loafers and no socks with a jacket and tie--scandalous. In my generation, we understood the importance of dressing for dinner,” Ryan said, mimicking Gordon’s faint accent and slow delivery.

“A few manners wouldn’t hurt them,” Atticus said.

“You are old-fashioned,” Ryan said with a laugh. “I’ve been corrupted, teaching in high school. If their pants aren’t falling of their ass, I’m starting to consider it well dressed.”

Jared wasn’t sure he would dare approach Ryan in such a slovenly fashion, and he knew that in high school he would have been in awe of Ryan and tried to be as invisible as possible.

“Khaki shorts, green shirt, and shoes,” Ryan said, “are the dress code for tonight. I’m going to go catch my boy before he finds a way to get himself in trouble. It’s all too tempting with all these new guys.”

******

Jared sat on the stone wall; his plate overflowing with food was balanced on his knee. He hadn’t been asked what he wanted; the plate had been handed to him: barbecue chicken, slaw, fruit salad, and mixed vegetables. Fortunately, he didn’t hate any of the food because he didn’t think he would have had much choice in the matter. Choice didn’t seem high on the agenda here, so much for responsible democracy. 

One of the new guys--Jared couldn’t remember the name--hadn’t been happy about something in the food. It had escalated from a polite eat what you like to a full scale battle in less than two minutes. From the shuffling and eyes down reappearance, it had ended badly. 

Jared picked up the chicken leg, barbecue sauce dripping down his finger, and took a tentative bite. Trying to manage the silverware without a table had proved impossible.

“Extra napkins,” Atticus said politely and handed Jared a pile. “I always feel like I need a bib.”

It didn’t look that way to Jared. Somehow Atticus had managed to cut his chicken with the plate balanced perilously on his knees. He wasn’t covered head to toe in barbecue sauce; he hadn’t slopped slaw onto the walk or dripped pineapple juice on his shirt.

“How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Atticus asked, surprised.

“Cut your chicken all neat and tidy.”

“I stood at the table and cut it before I sat down,” Atticus said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I guess I can’t preplan anything,” Jared said bitterly.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

“I’m not six,” Jared snarled.

“That wasn’t an insult,” Atticus said softly. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I’m fit company for no one. Sorry. I’ll try to be good.” Jared bent his head back over his food, glad for the semi-darkness. He was blushing again. What had he just stupidly said?

“You’re always good.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Landon brought you here. I work with numerous subcontractors who I know only by their voice on the phone and their email address. Landon brought you here because he likes you. I know you’re taking care of two aging and sick parents. I know you work in an environment that is demanding, exhausting, and poorly financially compensated. No, I don’t know about you here.” Atticus pointed at his own heart. “But I want to.”

Pretty speech, Jared thought sarcastically. Atticus knew how to say the right things. Of course he would; he was a successful executive. He’d know how to make pretty speeches and smooth ruffled feathers.

“Don’t look at me as if you’re trying to decide how big a fake I am.” Atticus stood and picked up Jared’s plate. “I’m cutting this before it ends up in your lap.” 

Jared swung his feet, kicking at the loose mortar in the wall. He could see groups of men clustered on other sections of wall and the few tables, all shadowy and hazy in the torchlight. Milton’s distinct bulk and beard was near the pool, chasing someone away who had ventured too close with food. 

“Can I sit here?”

Jared focused on the young man with the green shirt and the golden curls. His slight smile was genuine and a touch shy as he hovered near a rose bush, still far enough away for Jared to politely shoo him away.

“I guess,” Jared said. He wasn’t up for more conversation with this pack of lunatics, but this guy seemed quiet enough and maybe his halfhearted reply would send him elsewhere.

“Thanks. I’m Luke.”

Jared nodded and swung his legs harder at the wall.

“Tired of talking,” Luke said into the pause. “I know how it can get with all the tops. ‘Are you OK? Do you need anything? You don’t look fine to me.’ You wanted a little peace, and here I come blabbering away. I’ll shut up.”

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude.” How many times had he said sorry today? It must be a record.

“It’s OK. I have plenty of people to talk to, and I’ve been where you are several times. Will you just--fill in your curse word of choice--leave me alone.”

Jared smiled and looked down at his hands. “I guess I ought to introduce myself,” Jared said stumbling through the words. “I’m Jared.”

“Ochen’ priyatno.”

“What?”

Luke smiled again. “It’s one of my partners. He teaches Russian, and it rubs off. Means nice to meet you. Aren’t you eating anything?”

“Um, well...” Jared struggled to find an intelligent reason for someone else cutting his meat. He wasn’t unsafe with sharp objects, not usually at least.”

“You probably thought I got kidnapped,” Atticus said, handing the plate back to Jared. “Landon waylaid me for a few minutes.”

“Curbside surface. You rate,” Luke said with a smile in his voice.

“Hi, Luke,” Atticus said. “I see you made it up.”

“We were pressed into action. I think Tilden is wishing he’d been in the deepest reaches of Siberia with only the taiga for thousands of kilometers.”

“It’s only the second day,” Atticus said.

Luke rolled his eyes. “Two weeks of this. We’ll all need to be committed. Why do you think I’m over here, hiding behind the bushes?”

“It gets better.”

“So you’re being fed that line also. I only thought they spun that fantasy for us supposedly innocent boys.”

Atticus laughed softly. “And I thought that fantasy was for real.”

“Innocent,” Luke teased. “I thought you tops were supposed to be wise beyond your years.”

“I’m afraid you’ve been badly misinformed,” Atticus said with another laugh. “Landon always has me outmaneuvered, and now Blade has left me in the dust.”

Jared was happy to let them talk over his head. He knew some of the people they were mentioning, and others he thought he’d been introduced to in the flurry of greetings when they’d first come outside. Jared could never remember people’s names. They needed name tags, and even then there would still be that awful pretending not to be straining to read them.

“You’re quiet,” Atticus said, laying his hand on Jared’s knee.

“I’m enjoying the food,” Jared managed to mumble. The food was good, but he hadn’t eaten much, more stirred the chicken into the coleslaw and sloshed fruit juice over everything. He didn’t like his food all mixed up like this. Stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t shake it.

“Don’t like it?”

“No, it’s fine.” Jared saw Luke give a small shake of his head when he said the word fine.

“Really?” Atticus hand was still on Jared’s knee, and he was studying Jared with far too much intensity for comfort. “Are you feeling queasy?”

“No,” Jared said hastily and a little too loudly. “I’m fine. I’m just not hungry. Is that a crime?” Only he was hungry. He just couldn’t face all this food mixed together.

“Uh-oh,” Luke muttered under his breath and busied himself with renewed effort at the final bites of food.

“Uh-Oh,” Jared repeated at the top of his voice, loud enough that he could see several heads turn toward him.

“Jared, I’m right here. There’s no need to shout,” Atticus said. He’d put his plate down and had grasped Jared’s plate with his hand as if he expected it to be thrown. Of course he would. Food was thrown when people started shouting at dinner; Jared had a firsthand view at work.

Jared felt himself blush, the redness surely visible even in the shadows. Atticus was expecting Jared to behave like his residents, no restraint and tempers always brewing at the surface. Jared took a long, shuddering breath and forced himself to open his hands and let them rest visibly against his thighs. He was in control; he was calm.

Atticus clasped Jared’s hand in his. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong with the food?”

“Do you ever give up?” Jared asked with a semi-desperate laugh. This didn’t feel one iota funny to him, but humor had always been his shield.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

The same question again in a different form. Atticus was rubbing his thumb over the back of Jared’s hand in a strangely comforting and mesmerizing way.

“Can’t stand coleslaw? I like this coleslaw, not all drippy like the stuff from the deli counter. I’d have to be desperate before I’d touch that stuff and the macaroni salad--”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jared jerked and tried to pull away. He’d said that. Every head was looking his way; the cows in the next valley over had probably heard him.

“You all right?” The question wasn’t addressed to Jared, but to Atticus. Big, solid Milton was there, one foot casually propped against the wall as if he were preparing to tie his boots.

Of course Atticus wasn’t all right; he was having dinner with a certifiable lunatic, a man who shouted obscenities and wouldn’t eat because his food was all mixed together. Atticus would be sensible, make his excuses, and vanish. Tomorrow Jared would get a call that something had been amiss with his proposal that they unfortunately had overlooked at the first evaluation. They were ever so sorry, but the contract would have to go elsewhere. The platitudes would continue for a minute or two before they would hang up with great relief.

“I’m OK,” Atticus said. “We were just having a loud conversation about dinner.”

“I know you’re not OK,” Milton said, capturing Jared in his dark eyes that looked remarkably like his grandfather’s from the picture. “And we’re good with that. But if you’re considering taking a swing at Atticus, I’ll stay. I’m a more appropriate target as I have more practice defending myself.”

“I’m not violent,” Jared said, wishing for nothing more than a hole to open in the earth and swallow him down in one satisfying gulp.

“Pushed hard enough, everyone’s violent. It doesn’t make you evil or a villain; it makes you over your threshold. Can you step back, or would you rather try to knock my head off?”

Jared shuddered and squeezed Atticus’s hand. Milton was right; Jared had been so close. “I’ll manage.”

“Good boy.” The kiss was as surprising as it was pleasing, possessing, and calming. Atticus’s lips lingered on Jared’s forehead far longer than necessary. “My good boy.” 

Jared let himself be pulled against Atticus’s chest, his head resting on the soft shirt, the sound of Atticus’s heart reverberating in his ear. He liked this. Jared twisted around, pulling away from Atticus. He couldn’t do this. He had responsibilities.

“Come here. Quit second guessing yourself.” Atticus tugged hard, pulling Jared into his chest. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog,” Jared said, but didn’t try to lift his head from Atticus’s shoulder. The light pressure on his back was too reassuring. It was as if he were drunk on the contact and couldn’t make the effort to pull away.

“That tone works for Milton and Ryan. I thought I’d try it,” Atticus said, his voice full of the smile that must be on his face if Jared could only manage to lift his head and look. “I’m not getting the prompt yes, sir they get, so I must not have it right.”

“Yes, sir.” Jared didn’t remember forming those words; they seemed to tumble out of his mouth unbidden.

“Oh, Jared,” Atticus said very softly, his breath hot against Jared’s ear. “I could like this and so could you, and it’s damn scary.”

Jared shifted. He should pull away.

“No don’t get up.” Atticus kissed Jared’s hair. “My good boy. Just stay here. Please.”

Jared slumped against Atticus, feeling suddenly boneless. It must have been the please and the soft pleading that made Atticus sound as vulnerable for a moment as Jared felt.

“I don’t like my food mixed together,” Jared mumbled into Atticus’s shoulder after a few minutes of silent comfort.

“That’s easy to fix,” Atticus said in a tone that suggested he didn’t find that revelation bizarre or idiotic. “Are you still hungry?”

“Yeah,” Jared mumbled, hating himself for not lifting his head and enunciating clearly. He’d abdicated his control to them in a bloodless coup, and he liked it. He fucking liked it!

“Are you crying? I only asked you about dinner.”

“Sorry,” Jared choked. Sorry was becoming his favorite word.

“Don’t be.” Atticus’s voice was soothing in Jared’s ear. “This is nice, a beautiful man resting against my shoulder. I could sit here all night.”

“My butt hurts,” Jared said with a groan a few minutes later, still unwilling to leave the comfort of Atticus’s arms. 

“Up. Dinner.” Atticus rose to his feet, drawing Jared with him. He ran his fingers through Jared’s hair, brushing it off his forehead and kissing it firmly. “Come.”

They walked across the grounds, Jared’s hand deep inside of Atticus’s, their shoulders bumping together as they climbed the three steps to the grill area. Ryan was behind the grill, an apron hung over his large frame emblazoned with the words, “Tops Cook Off 2009.”

“Still hungry?” Ryan’s smile was as large as always.

“Jared would like some plain chicken, an apple, and carrot sticks,” Atticus said.

“You like it plain better,” Ryan said gently. “No problem. We’ll try to remember. White meat, skinless?”

“Please,” Jared said, scuffing his tennis shoe against the path. “Sorry.” Was that the thousandth time today?!

“Not unusual and easy enough to do.” Ryan plucked a plain chicken breast off the grill and with quick skill removed the skin and deboned it. “Blade likes it this way, and that boy with knives is a menace. I prefer not to visit Bellevue hospital on a Saturday night.” Ryan handed Jared the plate and laid one heavy hand on Jared’s shoulder rubbing his back with the other. “You’re going to be OK. Now eat. Don’t make me feed you.”

Jared looked up at Ryan, hoping he was teasing. “You wouldn’t?”

Ryan ran his thumb down Jared’s jawline. “I wouldn’t, but if you don’t eat I’ll show Atticus how it’s done. Blade always enjoys being the model boy for such demonstrations.”

Jared swallowed and looked pleadingly at Atticus. 

The kiss on his forehead was brief, perfunctory and very possessive for a man Jared had met a few hours ago. “I’m sure he’ll eat,” Atticus said over Jared’s head. “Neither of us are keen for your instruction.”

Ryan grinned. “Shoot. I’ll have to find some other way to entertain my redheaded hellion. He’s luscious when he’s on his knees.”

“Ryan,” Atticus sputtered. 

“Nothing wrong with admiring your boy’s beauty. Jared’s quite a looker, and he blushes beautifully.”

Jared could feel that mentioned blush rising to a flaming red on his cheeks. Atticus’s arm circled Jared’s waist, and he pulled him close, letting Jared hide his face against Atticus’s shoulder.

“Careful.” Atticus’s tone was soft, but the note of warning lifted the hairs on Jared’s neck.

“I’m hearing you,” Ryan said easily. “Protective, that’s good.”

“Ryan,” Atticus growled.

“Here I didn’t think you had it in you.” Ryan was laughing; Jared could hear it in his voice. “Take care of your boy, or I’ll be serious. Now get out of here.”

His boy? Jared couldn’t be his boy; they hardly knew each other. He couldn’t be a boy; he wasn’t a boy. Oh God, he wanted to be a boy. He liked leaning into Atticus; he’d enjoyed the two tops bantering over his head about him.

“Stop worrying,” Atticus said in Jared’s ear, his voice firm and sure. “We’ll eat dinner, and we’ll go for a walk. That is all we’re doing tonight.”

“And I’m being put to bed before nine.”

“Brat,” Atticus swatted Jared on the hip. “Dinner, walk, and bed alone.”

“Yes, sir.”