The Golden Goose 7

The Golden Goose 7

Jared slid out of bed. A cool breeze with the faint smell of pine wafted into the room from the window that had been left open to the night air. Far away he could hear the arrhythmic croak of the frogs and the steady chirp of the summer crickets. To the east, lightening the very edges of the mountain peaks, faint streaks of gray and purple signaled the wakening dawn.

Jared tugged his crumpled shirt over his head, still smelling of barbecue sauce and Atticus’s shampoo. He pulled on his shorts, his hand going to his pocket and encircling the stones he’d collected along the creek bed. Silly really a tiny souvenir of last evening’s walk, his hip brushing against Atticus, Atticus’s sweet laugh and easy camaraderie. Last night had been fun, but today he needed to be back in the real world. He had to call Angus; he needed to either email or phone Charlotte and check on the residents. Had they remembered to increase Gwen’s medication to three times a day? Did the people come to fix the leak in the second floor bathroom or was it still dripping rusty water into the closet below? 

Jared rummaged in the drawers, searching for pen and paper. He needed to make a list. He’d forget everything that needed checked on, and it would take three more phone calls. No paper, no pencil, nothing to write even the smallest of notes. The room was even devoid of a phonebook or a Bible.

Jared had seen both a phone and a stack of paper downstairs at the main reception desk. He slipped on his shoes, not bothering with his socks or to tie the laces and headed into the corridor. The hall lights were dimmed with only the faint glimmer of the wall sconces and the required emergency lighting illuminating the exit signs. Jared’s feet sounded amazingly loud as his shoes reverberated on the wooden treads of the long flight of steps and the marble foyer. The reception area was deserted. Jared grabbed a notepad and a pen from the collection in the polished silver vase. Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed six long strokes for the hour. It was Sunday; he’d wait another half hour before calling.

Jared wrote quickly; the list soon filled two pages, and he hadn’t even started on the residents. This was just for his parents. It wasn’t quite six thirty, but he could wait no longer. He picked up the phone and dialed, listening to the rings. The phone was next to the bed where Angus was supposed to sleep. Jared had left strict instructions, he better be there. The mechanical sweetness of the generic voicemail came on the line. Jared slammed the phone down and immediately punched in the number again.

“Hello,” a groggy voice came over the line. “Hello.”

“Angus, it’s Jared.”

“What time is it?” Jared heard a banging as if Angus was trying to find the light. “It’s not even seven, and it’s Sunday. Mr. Lewis is bad enough at seven thirty. Have you ever tried to fry eggs while being interrogated by Gordon, the Terrible? I burnt them, and then the damn smoke detector went off, and I pulled the phone off the wall and disconnected Gordon.”

“You had smoke in the house! My dad has emphysema. He can’t be around smoke.” Jared could hear his voice rise, and he dug his nails into his palm to control his creeping panic. He needed to think. There had to be a train timetable somewhere. He had to get home. He rifled though the drawers, finding nothing but a pack of cards and a menu from the local pizza parlor, Mountain Pizzeria. Extra cheese and sausage wasn’t going to help him now.

“Nothing happened,” Angus said, his voice in that tone of professional calming that Jared used himself with the residents. “We had breakfast on the patio. You know, it is recommended to occasionally water the plants in the pots; geraniums aren’t supposed to be brown and without leaves.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jared had put the flowers out this spring. His mom had always loved her window boxes bright with petunias and the tiny patio chocked full of planters. His mother hadn’t even noticed this year; Jared had found her one afternoon in her wool coat and mittens looking for the snow shovel while the July sun beat down. The plants just hadn’t seemed important.

“Steady. I was just commenting. I hope you weren’t attempting a biological experiment in the back yard, plant succession in a suburban neighborhood, I mowed it and weed whacked.”

“You didn’t need to,” Jared said, glad no one could see the flush on his cheeks. The yard had been a mess, and the neighbors had started to make ugly noises. “I didn’t have any fuel for the mower.”

“Lovely Mr. O’Rourke was delighted to loan me a few liters. I think he prefers a more manicured look.”

He did. He was a helpful neighbor, but the looks Jared had been getting spoke of the exasperation with Jared’s lawn work. He’d even gone as far as leaving a card for a friend’s son who did mowing and landscaping.

“Jared.” The growl made Jared jump. Milton took the phone without asking and with a brief word hung up.

“I was talking.”

“Yes,” Milton said in a tone that Jared recognized after his one day introduction to the world of the Green Mountain Boys as indicating trouble.

“You can’t just take the phone out of my hand. That’s rude.”

“Usually,” Milton agreed, “but this is not usual. Nothing’s usual about this, is it?” Milton’s dark eyes focused on Jared’s face. He reached forward and brushed his hand through Jared’s hair. “Jared, do you consider this normal.” Milton moved close, far too close for polite company and wrapped his arm around Jared’s waist. “How well do you know me?”

“Not very,” Jared mumbled, holding his body stiff against Milton’s pressure. 

“Do strangers touch?”

No, of course not. Jared might put his hand on someone’s elbow to guide them up the steps, or he might lay his hand flat on his father’s back in wordless comfort as his father gazed uncomprehendingly at the bright shapes flickering across the TV screen. He didn’t wrap his arm around someone he’d met only yesterday.

“Jared, would you touch someone like this?” Milton asked, his voice relentless in Jared’s ear.

Jared licked his lips and swallowed. “No?”

“It’s not a trick question Jared.”

“No.”

“Good.” One of Milton’s hand’s cupped Jared’s neck and he rubbed hard. Jared felt himself leaning into the pressure. “Relax. That’s a good boy. Yes, you’re a good boy.” Milton continued to rub Jared’s neck. “You flinch when I call you boy. It’s meant to be affectionate, not demeaning. Do you hate it?”

“No,” Jared said very softly. He should hate it. He should pull away.

“You’re safe with us. As crazy as this may seem, you’re safe with us.”

Jared knew he was leaning against Milton, enjoying the confinement of that large man’s arm around his waist and the steady pressure of the fingers that seemed to have found the sorest spot in his neck. 

“Good boy,” Milton said in Jared’s ear. “What a good boy.”

“I shouldn’t want this,” Jared mumbled as he relaxed further into Milton’s hands.

“Why ever not? Kiddo, this is who you are.”

“I have responsibilities. I can’t be someone’s boy toy.”

 Milton pushed Jared to arms length, his eyes impossibly black and stern behind his glasses, as he studied Jared. “Is Sheldon my boy toy? Are Luke and Mike Tilden’s boy toys? Is Landon Gordon’s boy toy?”

Jared didn’t know. Landon, no, he couldn’t see it. In his office, Landon had easily pushed Jared around. He didn’t know Sheldon or Luke or Mike well enough. They’d seemed nice--maybe not generically nice. Sheldon had an edge; Jared had felt that when they were eating breakfast together. Luke had been quiet, and the few glimpses Jared had seen of the tall, dark-haired man, introduced as Mike, had been of a young man dogging the heels of his partner as they circled the group, stopping to chat with almost all the other young men. Mike had remained glued to his partner, but conversely it had been Mike who had smiled quickly and seemed to engage in easy conversation. 

“You respectfully decline to comment,” Milton said with a slight smile. “It’s Blade who’s the tough one, isn’t it? He thrives on shamelessly chasing Ryan. He plays with abandon; they both do. Frightening and alluring at the same time,” Milton said with too much insight. “To be able to give yourself up that way. To be able to live for the moment.” Milton stroked his fingers through Jared’s hair, his expression wistful. “Few can do what Blade does, and even he is sometimes brought down by reality.”

“It scares me,” Jared hadn’t meant to say it aloud; it was a private thought to be mulled over in his mind or if possible dismissed as outrageous.

“And attracts you also,” Milton said, his eyes never leaving Jared’s face; his intensity was palpable. “We’ve let the genie out of the lamp. Willing it away isn’t an option. You’ve repressed this side of yourself.”

Jared had been thinking more in the direction of Pandora’s Box. He’d been happy without bowing his head and bending his knee. Why couldn’t he put it out of mind now?

“Jared, don’t hide from it.” Milton’s tone was soft, but the warning was clear. 

“I can’t do this. I have my own life.” Jared struggled against Milton’s steady grip.

“Jared,” Milton said sharply. “We are not taking your life away. We are adding a new dimension. You enjoyed it last night; I saw you with Atticus. Don’t deny yourself the pleasure.”

Pleasure. It had been a pleasure, Atticus’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, the yes sir that had slipped from his lips as they sat staring into the waterfall, the feel of Atticus’s hand on his thigh.

“Jared, you are attracted to the power exchange. You respond to my dominance. Do you think I have this sort of conversation with my work colleagues?”

“No.” And Jared should be a work colleague. Milton had his hands all over Jared, and Jared was rooted in place. He wanted this. Oh, God he wanted this. He didn’t want to be at Atticus’s feet, or did he? Blade was so happy; it was as if there was a force of happiness that seemed to emanate off the redhead. Jared had seen Ryan, his hand stroking Blade’s hair while the boy rested at his feet. Blade’s eyes had been shut and his smile nearly saintly. What would that be like? Could Jared ever let himself go? To live for the moment.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Milton said and kissed Jared’s forehead. “And I would never do that. I’d be arrested in a minute for sexual harassment. This world is different. When you step in our doors and put on a green shirt, you become one of us. I become responsible to you as a dominant, and you become responsible to me as a submissive. This isn’t out there.” Milton waved a hand toward the outside. “Out there I’m an abusive bastard who is harassing the living hell out of you. In here and in my family, I’m the point man. I’m the one you find when you need a heavy arm over your shoulder or a heavier hand on your backside. You already know that here.” Milton tapped Jared’s chest. “But you need to know it up here.” He dropped another kiss on Jared’s forehead. “Yesterday you were flying apart like a man caught in the whirlwind. You let us catch you; don’t retreat now that you’re only half sleep deprived. I know it’s frightening, overwhelming, and a thesaurus of other words focused on terrifying and crazy. We will take good care of you.”

“I have responsibilities,” Jared said in a voice that even he recognized as being far from determined or authoritative.

“You have responsibilities to yourself, and in a green shirt you have responsibilities to me. You should not have been down here making phone calls. You didn’t have permission.”

“I don’t need permission,” Jared snapped. “I’m not six.”

“You gave me the right to demand you ask permission when you put that shirt on. You are an adult; you understand those ramifications. It is childish to pretend otherwise.”

Jared’s head snapped up at the sharp words, and he started to answer with hateful words about interference and presumptions when he was halted by the gentleness in Milton’s expression. Jared dropped his eyes; he couldn’t launch into a tirade against such kindness.

“Good boy.”

Jared flushed hotly at the praise. He wanted the praise; he enjoyed being called a good boy.

“It’s not wrong to enjoy praise.” Milton guided Jared over to the armchair and sat down, effortlessly pulling Jared into his lap. “Don’t kick me, boy. Let yourself enjoy this.”

“Milton.” Jared knew the tone was a whine. He wanted to protest being pulled down into this big man’s lap, but with the arms wrapped around him and his head tucked against the shoulder, he couldn’t effectively fight. His body was telling him he was safe and protected.

“That’s right,” Milton said after a few moments.

Jared knew he was limp against Milton. He couldn’t make his muscles do anything else.

“So what are we doing about this morning’s phone calls? Don’t tense.” Milton’s hand stroked hypnotically down Jared’s back. “I’m not planning to spank you unless you need me to.”

“No,” Jared mumbled. 

“It helped yesterday, and if you need that today, we can get it over with before you have to drop bombs on my head to make me notice.” Milton smiled and kissed Jared’s cheek. “Remember Sheldon’s mine and he goes quickly from I’m doing fine to me wishing that I’d never let that boy out of my sight, and he’s nothing compared to his younger brother.”

“I’m fine.” Jared sucked in a sharp breath as Milton landed a hard swat on Jared’s thigh.

“Boy, you are not fine. Don’t even pretend. I found you at six thirty making lists and waking people up with nonsensical phone calls. That is not fine.”

“Yes, sir.” Where had that come from? Jared was being lectured on worrying about his own parents and his own job, and he answered yes, sir. He should have protested. Milton didn’t have a right to direct Jared’s life.

“Angus is doing fine with your parents, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.” He’d only set off the smoke detector and who knows what else.

Milton gave Jared a wry smile. “I do know about the smoke detector. Angus isn’t good at keeping secrets. Is there anything on the list for Charlotte and the center that you already didn’t leave written down in triplicate and personally discussed at least that many times?”

“No, sir.” Jared felt a hot flush rise up his neck. He had left extensive directions, and Charlotte herself would have pushed him out the door if he hadn’t practically barricaded himself in the office those last two hours. She’d been more than exasperated at his endless, frantic repetition.

“Atticus will talk to her this morning. He’s very good at his job. With the additional funding, he has already lined up two candidates to supplement your understaffed ranks.”

“Who?” He didn’t want anyone hired without personally vetting him or her. 

“Jared, don’t work yourself up. Atticus picks his people well.”

“They work for me.”

“No, as I understand it, they will work for the Foundation. You will need to speak to Atticus about the specifics, and I hope you use a more civil tone than you’re using with me.”

“He can’t just come in and do that. I don’t care if I’m a submissive or whatever. That’s my work, and he has no business!” Jared would have jumped from Milton’s lap and paced the floor, but Milton was stronger and had no intention of releasing him.

“Stop! Now!” Milton growled in Jared’s ear. “We have no intention of using our roles as dominants to influence your position as director. If you had read the documents, you would realize that Atticus had already ascertained the need for additional staff and was well along in the hiring process. And perhaps it would have been more proper for him to inform you, however I was expecting you to rage over the news. I am a far more experienced dominant than Atticus; I am well able to withstand the force of your rage without becoming upset or discouraged.” Milton tousled Jared’s hair. “I like you, kid, and I’m more than practiced at spinning boys.”

“I don’t want this,” Jared said, trying to keep his voice clear and controlled. He wasn’t a raging brat, but a man with a responsible job whose job was being destroyed by a bunch of sexual freaks. “Let me go.” Jared fought to keep his voice steady and the embarrassed and horrified flush off his face. “This is improper use of my sexuality.”

Milton lifted his hands. “My hands aren’t on you, Mr. Ruston.”

Jared jumped from Milton’s lap and backed away. He pressed his back against the wall, feeling himself shaking. “You can’t do this.”

“No, I can’t if you don’t let me.” Milton’s voice was calm and relentless. “I must have your permission, and if you are withdrawing it I will put you back on the train. I had hoped to convince you to stay another week. The new staff could manage the residents and supervise the most urgent of the backlogged repairs, and Angus could manage your parents. And most importantly you could rest and recover. You cannot continue as you have been. How many hours did you sleep yesterday?”

Jared tried to think. He’d been in the bed most of the day. 

“You’re exhausted beyond the point of functioning, and you’re a submissive. You respond when we send you to bed. Every shift of your shoulder, every twitch of your back, every slight smile--and you have a wonderful smile--tells me it’s the right course of action, but none of us will touch you if you withdraw permission. To do so would be abuse. The first train is at ten thirty; your bags are in the storage room right behind us. It doesn’t require a key.” 

“Please.”

“Mr. Ruston, this is your choice.”

Jared turned as he heard footsteps in the hall. Ryan, a towel around his neck and dressed in shorts, a pullover, and flip-flops, was striding down the hall.

“You look like you have your own trouble. I won’t bother you with mine, but if you see my half of the redheaded pair send him my way before I wring his neck,” Ryan said, his eyes studying Jared with an intensity that made Jared sag against the wall. 

“Mr. Ruston, I believe, was just making the choice to depart by train at the earliest opportunity.”

“Jared, don’t be an idiot.” It was said so offhandedly, so casually that Jared found himself looking back up into those bright blue eyes. “You had a good time last night, and God we all know that you needed it. Don’t chicken out now.”

“I can’t,” Jared heard himself say. The voice sounded remote as if it wasn’t his.

“You’ll regret it the rest of your life,” Ryan said, his eyes locked on Jared. “I didn’t think you were a coward; maybe I was wrong.”

“I have responsibilities. Don’t lecture me.”

“If you want a lecture I will give you one, Mr. Ruston.” Ryan stepped closer, his body looming over Jared’s smaller frame. “You are failing in your responsibilities. You are so exhausted you are going to run into a tree with your car or lose all restraint at work and do something that cannot be forgiven. I have no doubt you are a dedicated man, dedicated to your family, dedicated to your work, dedicated to all those who depend on you, and you are failing them. I was gentle with you yesterday; I was treating you as a submissive. If you have no desire to play that role, I will not hold my tongue. You are in your last desperate, flailing strokes of a drowning man, and I haven’t the time, energy, or inclination to help someone who is going to throw it back in my face. Either give us permission or get the hell out.” Ryan spun around. 

Jared watched the tall figure stalk away. It had been only the solid bulk of the wall that had kept him from collapsing to his knees under the onslaught. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand; he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry again.

“I’ll arrange the ticket,” Milton said softly.

“No.” The word hung in the air between him.

“Mr. Ruston?”  The rest of the question was unspoken, but clear in the raised eyebrows.

Jared felt himself slide down the wall and land awkwardly on his knees. He didn’t know what to do. He dropped his head, feeling the tears on his cheeks, hearing the near silent splat as they dripped to the floor. “Please.”

“You fool boy.” Milton’s hand was on Jared’s wrist, and he tugged Jared to his feet in one smooth motion. He enveloped Jared in a crushing and suffocating hug. “You, boy, don’t look good on your knees; it’s not your style.”

Jared clung to Milton, his fingers tangling in the soft cloth of Milton’s shirt. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” It was all he could manage to say, and he repeated it like a mantra.

Jared didn’t know how long he clung to Milton; he was still enfolded in Milton’s arms when he heard Ryan’s voice.

“Good boy.” The hand on Jared’s still shaking shoulders had to be Ryan’s, its heaviness reassuring. “Milton will take care of you. He’s gentle, kind, and sweet; all adjectives that are rarely applied to me. I’m sorry it had to be so rough. It will get better. I promise.” Ryan kissed the back of Jared’s head and stepped away. 

“He’ll be OK,” Milton said. Jared wasn’t sure if the comment was to reassure him or Ryan. He felt anything but OK.

“I know he will.” Ryan cleared his throat, a noise that made him sound surprisingly young and vulnerable; Jared could almost imagine him shifting under Milton’s steely eyes. “I stopped to warn you that Blade and I are going to probably have it out during breakfast. I know it’s hard for Sheldon when Blade’s resisting.”

“He looked content last night.”

“He was,” Ryan said grimly. “He scared himself with his own submission, and now we’re going to have World War III. I’ve tried a flanking maneuver, but he’s insisting on a frontal attack.”

“You’ve been reading too much military history.”

“You keep giving me those books,” Ryan replied.

Jared considered untangling himself from Milton’s arms, but he felt the top’s arms tighten even as he shifted minutely. The conversation over his head was surreal. 

“I’ve got you,” Milton whispered in Jared’s ear. “Be still.”

The voices returned to over his head.

“Ryan, I trust your judgment with Blade, but remember we have certain rules of propriety here that you don’t have at The Forest.”

“I’ll keep him dressed, but he might be cuffed and at my feet.”

“Don’t frighten the new boys.”

“I won’t promise,” Ryan growled. “Blade comes first.”

“I respect that,” Milton said soothingly. “I’ll do damage control the best I can.”

“Thank you, and maybe I’ll discover a miracle or benefit from divine intervention, and I have warned you for nothing.”

“You read Blade well; I suspect you’re correct.”

“And he spat on me. I think that’s a pretty big clue.”

Jared could feel as well as hear Milton laugh. “You would keep the best for last. I’ll watch your back, Ryan. Go take care of your boy. It’s going to be one of those mornings.”