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[personal profile] sonora_coneja
Pairing: Face/OMC, Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of domestic violence and underage
Summary:

Templeton has a revelation about John Smith, but the Colonel has other plans for the young man’s evenings...



The silver-haired Mr. Smith took him down the main path, branching off at a long row of hedges that seemed to go on forever as they followed their perimeter. Set back, far back, into an arch of green foliage, was a small wooden gate, which the blonde had to stoop to get through. Templeton followed, not rightly sure where he was being led to, but emerged in a bright circle of high, uncut sward, rimmed round by the hedges and wild flowers. An old fountain in some gaudy old style sat dry in the middle of it, and on the cracked rim lay the same blanket that had made its appearance that morning of the picnic.

He took it all in, letting his hand trail through the tall stems.

Mr. Smith closed the gate behind them, latching it from the inside, and stood, smiling. “There are so many little nooks and crannies on the grounds. I think this must have been some little garden that fell into disfavor with one of the Lynch wives or daughters at some point. I like it,” he said, coming over to lay a hand on Templeton’s shoulder, sliding it around to push his chin up, so they were looking right at each other, “because it’s untamed, wild, even if its locked up like it is.”

Templeton felt a slight chill run up his spine. But it wasn’t what he might have liked it to be, he thought desperately. It couldn’t be, wouldn’t be now... “It’s lovely,” he conceded slowly.

Mr. Smith moved away again, over to the blanket, fingering the soft cotton. “Templeton, I...the other morning, after we...we...”

Templeton sighed and closed the few steps between them. “I know,” he replied, and took the blanket from the older man’s hands, snapping it out over the grass. “I know.”

“Kid, after...you fled back into the house as I was trying to...”

The blonde sluffed off the fine linen jacket onto the fountain’s lip. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Smith,” he replied, laying his hat down on top of it and going for his tie next. “It won’t happen again.” There was a hand at his shoulder, and Templeton faltered at that. “Mr. Smith, if...if you want me, I’m here, but...”

“But nothing,” the older man said, still standing off, just a little, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “I do want you here. I want to be here, with you...”

Templeton shook his head and went back to his buttons. Maybe he could explain about the Colonel after they had finished. How angry his lover became if he didn’t come during the act. “I’m here,” he murmured, realizing Mr. Smith was staring at him. “Whatever you’d like, however you’d like...”

“Templeton...”

He had his shirt open then, puling it free of his trousers, and he guided that hand on his shoulder down, sucking air at the first little stroke of skin on skin, his own fingers hooked in between Mr. Smith’s, brushing them down the light scattering of hair on his chest. There was a tremble in that hand in his. “Shh, Mr. Smith. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to call me John, kid. I thought you said you would call me John...”

“What do you want, John?” he breathed again, reaching up to knock the older man’s cap off his head, feeling the softness of his silver hair. “Tell me...”

“Templeton,” he whispered, untangling himself from the younger man’s grasp, laying a hand on his cheek and another on his neck, holding him still. “Templeton, that morning, you seemed so hurt when you left, and you wouldn’t give me a chance to talk with you about it. And today...”

“You want me here, I’m here,” Templeton replied, not really sure where it was all going.

“But what about what you want, Temp?” And those blue eyes narrowed for a moment, and then widened. Huge. Like Mr. Smith was trying to figure something out, and suddenly had. And the older man groaned. “Templeton, do you think you have some kind of obligation to me to be here?”

He didn’t answer.

And Mr. Smith let him go, walked a few steps, and sat down heavily on the edge of the fountain, arms folded across his chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Why?” the older man’s commanding voice asked softly, as if he already knew the answer and was trying to tease it loose. “Why would you think that?”

“You said you wanted me,” he said helplessly, wanting to get back to what he had been doing before. Why had Mr. Smith moved away? Why wouldn’t Mr. Smith let him back in? Let him touch, let him do all the things he was so good at doing? Why the questions? How complicated did sex need to be?

“And that means I can just take whatever I please from you? Do whatever I want to you? Without a shred of consideration for your preferences?” Mr. Smith asked sharply.

Templeton closed his eyes, remembering that night, that first night, his fingers fumbling on uniform buttons, so nervous, so excited, the Colonel watching him with those lust-dark eyes.

Slower, my boy, slower. You must always do what your lover asks of you. You must always think of him first. Next to him, you are...

“...inconsequential,” he muttered, finishing that old sentence, remembering how he’d stumbled a little, how the Colonel had risen and had to finish the job of undressing him himself, how he’d sighed and said he’d be generous, just this once, but you must learn to follow my orders better in the future...

Mr. Smith’s entire body seemed to jerk as he rose off the fountain. “You were with him so long,” he murmured, and held out a hand. “How young you must have been, how scared.” And he drew Templeton in to a hug, chaste and sweet, holding him like he’d held him through his tears that first morning. Except this time he slid a big hand up into his perfectly greased curls, cupping his head in his palm, pressing him to his shoulder. “Hasn’t anybody ever given you consideration? Ever looked to your needs?”

“Just...just you, that once,” he admitted, wondering about his fantasy, if this man... “If you say that was for me and not for you.”

“It’s not a one-way street, Templeton. Pleasure can be mutual. Pleasure should be mutual. Have you ever enjoyed it?”

He had to think about that.

In Paris and Chicago both, his lovers had been older, marking his own climax only as an adjunct to their own, or a mark that they’d done well. He did love the feel of it all, deep inside him, but it was always fleeting, a few seconds in an hour, a stroke or two, just the right angle. That was normal.

“I come, when the Colonel asks for it...”

“He teach you that?” That strong voice was hard and bitter, a rumbling starting up in the chest he was pressed so, so tight to. “Was that one of the things he demanded of you when you were just a boy?”

“John...”

“You ask me what I want, Templeton? I shall tell you.” He was pushed away, two hands on his shoulders, anger in Mr. Smith’s eyes, slowly softening to some sweet emotion he couldn’t quite identify. “I want you to forget that lesson, Templeton. I want you to be able to lose yourself in the pleasure. I want you to forget your very name because of it.” He touched a hand to the young man’s cheek. “I want you to tell me what you desire. And I want to give it to you.”

His mouth was dry as dust suddenly.

Those words were sweet, some of the sweetest Templeton had ever heard. If it was true, if that was possible... what would become of him? If he allowed himself to think different about it? If he let Mr. Smith convince him of such a notion, that it was about sharing? No man had ever shared him with himself. Wouldn’t it be worse, to believe in things that had never been?

But John was waiting for an answer. Templeton had to swallow a few times in order to speak at all, and when he did, it was a mere whisper.

“I wish you would kiss me...”

John smiled, tracing his fingertips under Templeton’s jaw. “I wish for that, too,” he murmured, and leaned in close, lips along the shell of the younger man’s ear. “May I kiss you, Templeton?”

He smiled back, telling all those doubts to go to hell, and touched a hand to the older man’s chest. “You may, John,” he teased back.

“Mmm,” and there was the faintest brush of lips across his own, lingering for a moment before opening and closing in fully, before Templeton could taste him, that faint hint of cigar smoke, the rough texture of slightly chapped lips against his own smooth ones, working for a moment, a tongue, thrusting just once, teasing, before the sensation was gone and blue eyes were smiling at him again. “And what shall I do after I kiss you, Templeton? What do you want after that?”

“I...”

“Shh, kid. Let go, remember? Don’t worry. I want what you want, I want you...”

Feeling a bit bolder, recalling that reoccurring fantasy of them in the grass together, still cautious, he slid his fingers back in between John’s, bringing them up to his chest, right between his pecs. “I’d like you to touch me.”

John nodded, slow, and opened his hand fully, the slightest hint of pressure. Templeton looked down at it, and then his chin was cupped, lifted gently.

“Like this?” John murmured, pressing a little harder. “Or shall I touch you like this?” And he slid his hand around, under the opened edges of Templeton’s shirt, up and down. “May I explore you, Templeton? Would you like that?”

“Oooh,” he moaned, head falling to John’s shoulder, those rough pads circling around his back. “Yes, yes, please...”

“Is this what you want?” John breathed against his neck, fingers moving, tracing a lover’s pattern on the sun-warmed skin of his back. “Like this?”

Templeton took a deep breath and twisted his fingers up in the other man’s shirt, tugging a little. “I want to touch you back,” he whispered, bolder with his growing arousal, the fear starting to subside at the encouragement he had just felt in the other man’s words, his body, saw in his eyes... “I want to lay down against you and touch you while...while you’re...”

“While I’m what, dear Templeton?”

“...b-bringing me to completion,” he finished, barely above a whisper.

John’s eyes flashed bright and he slipped free immediately, sinking down, crosslegged, his boots off the edge of the blanket. He held a hand up. “Join me, Templeton,” he said softly.

And Templeton only paused for a moment before slipping his palm into that big one, and letting himself be pulled down into the sweet-smelling warmth of the June grass.

As Templeton felt himself being laid down and pulled close, John’s hands soft across his chest and back and belly, he tried to relax, tried to focus on something besides the growing feeling that this wasn’t right, wasn’t his to have. The blanket underneath his back was soft, a little lumpy from the grass beneath, and the sun wasn’t quite overhead, and John’s lips were teasing along the pulse of his neck as his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides.

It felt good.

“Touch me,” John whispered, turned on his side, sucking lightly, fingers stroking up Templeton’s lightly furred chest, prickling the skin. “Touch me, kid.”

The young man brought one fist up, reaching to spread trembling fingers across John’s hip, just above the rising hardness lower down, moving up, feeling that hard muscle shift under his palm, under those rough trousers, unbleached white cotton workshirt, resting right at the junction of both, that little angular dip of waist.

It felt very good.

Except...

“Can...can I...can we be... I mean...”

Another kiss was laid, right on his lips, and John knelt up against the blue sky above. “Of course,” he said softly, and his hands fell to his own buttons.

Templeton pushed up on an elbow, crisp white shirt falling open, watching as the older man stripped his own wrinkled one off, laying it aside. He rolled back onto the seat of his trousers, toeing boots and socks away into the grass, toes wriggling just a little. Templeton sat up, scooting close, watching as John’s hands dropped to his belt, undoing buckle and buttons, lifting his hips to push it all away, and as his half-hard cock smacked up against his bared belly, Templeton couldn’t help the little whine in the back of his throat.

Or the way his hand found its way back to the older man’s hip

“That’s it, Temp,” John said encouraging as he kicked his trousers away and arched back on the blanket, catlike and graceful in the sunlight, cock reddening, standing at attention. “Just like that. All for you.”

“John...” Templeton groaned, feeling his own manhood starting to throb against the hard line of his fly. He wanted to touch that “John, please...”

And the gardener swung around, moving between his legs and kissing him swiftly, hands lightly circling his neck, down, up under the shirt, around back again. His cock was trailing up against Templeton’s abs, burning hot, and the younger man bit his lip, holding in the gasp that sensation brought.

“You’re doing so well, Templeton,” John murmured, and slid up to cup his shoulders, massaging gently, just before slipping the shirt free and laying it over next to his own, bending to lay one open-mouthed kiss, right over his heart, thumbing across the dampened skin as he pulled away. “But don’t keep quiet. There’s no need...”

“Sorry,” he replied, looking away, a bloom of shame shooting up in his chest. “The Colonel doesn’t like...”

“I don’t give a damn about what the Colonel likes or doesn’t like,” John growled heatedly, and pulled Templeton’s face to meet his own, running a hand down his bare back, softening again. “We’re here for you, for us. Not him. Be here with me. Open up. Let me hear everything, know everything you’re feeling...”

He nodded slowly, and then grinned, despite himself. “I’m feeling a little tight here, John,” he said.

Another kiss and a new little groan from John, hot and needy, like the sounds Templeton had heard from a dozen different men and yet so, so different, and then those hands were at his waistband, tugging at his belt-loops.

“Would you like me to remove these for you, Templeton?” Those blue eyes were sparkling, a mere hairsbreadth from his belly button.

Templeton felt immediately dizzy. He’d never felt like this, never felt this distant and present at the same time, like he was flying. And if it felt this way now... “Please...” he managed, and John just chuckled in return.

The offending garment was eased down, the talented mouth of the older man working along exposed skin, lower and lower, all the way away. Templeton inhaled, loud and desperate, as that pressure vanished and his cock was freed...

...for a moment. Until one of John’s big hands wrapped around it and stroked, just once.

He whined again, deep in his throat, unable to stop it. There was no other way to describe how it all felt. Beyond words, beyond everything...

“Do you hear yourself, Templeton? Do you hear how beautiful that is?” John asked, moving away from his cock and going back to his trousers, kissing the outside of one of his knees.

“Oh, god...”

“Tell me, Templeton,” he said, blowing lightly. “Tell me what you need." John’s hand moved up to rub small circles above his groin, dipping into the dark curls of wiry hair there. He bent to nip lightly at the crease of Templeton’s hip, hands roaming across his naked thighs. “Tell me, kid. Tell me everything. Tell me and I swear I’ll make it right for you...”

The young man felt warm inside at that touch, so good, and then John’s hands found the places where the Colonel had held him down the night before, held him and fucked him and bruised him. It all caught wrong, and the young man whimpered at that shooting pain, shifting on his bracing arm. “No, John, please, not there...”

John pulled back and rested a big hand on one of Templeton’s knees, eyes locked. The only sound for a long moment was the breeze in the grass and the tops of the high hedges. It was as if, Templeton thought with an expectant little shiver, the older man could see right through him, see everything. Like John knew everything he was dealing with. Like John understood.

But it wasn’t pity shining out in the gardener’s eyes.

“Lie back down, sweetheart,” the older man said softly, breaking that silence. He slid all those layers of expensive trousers and shoes and socks away, running fingers up from Templeton’s ankles, up the curve of his bent-up legs, back down, all the way up to his chest, pushing him down, curving into his side, trapping one of the younger man’s legs between his, that huge, beautiful cock trapped up against Templeton’s hip. “And let’s discover what your pleasure sounds like.”

The touching was like before, but far better now that they were both naked, exposed to each other, nothing to impede those touches now, and it seemed to Templeton that John was determined to let nothing of him go neglected. His big hands were everywhere, sliding opposite directions of each other, then in tandem, pressing, exploring...

And then he caught a spot, right along the blonde’s collar bone, causing him to gasp loud, sending shivers right through them both. “Oh, ooh, John...”

“There we are,” John laughed and kissed it again, attacking it gently with lips and teeth, leaning over him. “How does that feel, sweetheart?”

Templeton felt himself melting, moaning, loud enough for them both to hear, loud enough to pull an answering growl from John, and suddenly, hearing that, all he could think about was the weight of the man over him. A man over him, pressing him down, holding him down, trapping him, and he didn’t want to be trapped, not that day, not after all of those promises, that it didn’t need to be like that...

“Stop, stop,” he panted.

And the weight was gone.

Instantly.

Nothing touched now.

“I’m sorry, Templeton. You’re just...you’re so...” he said hesitantly, trailing off. He was staring up at the sky, a big hand folded up on his chest.

Feeling better, clearer, the younger man turned on his side and touched John on the cheek, wondering what old hurts lay inside the gardener, why he’d agreed to come here, work for a man he so clearly hated. What could possibly be going through his mind right now.

“It’s fine,” he told him, meaning it. “I just...I want...”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

He smiled. “Can I be on top?”

John, without saying a word, wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, pulling him close, pulling him tight, falling onto his back, moving Templeton over him, settling them together, knees tangled, their hard cocks sliding against one another.

A new sound, different and deep, broke free of Templeton at that. Another, louder, needier, when John reached a hand between them and wrapped them up together, both their hard shafts, neglected for too long already, held so tightly in his big hand, already starting to pump.

But it was his next words damn near shattered Templeton apart.

“Come when you need to, sweetheart. Hold nothing back.”

Sitting up on the older man’s thighs, squeezing tight to him, Templeton hardly knew what to say to that, hardly knew how to respond, struck dumb by the enormity of such a thing, wondering if he could...

But his body knew what it wanted. His body was responding, hips starting to roll forward into John’s hand and back again, every push changing the pressure, changing the angle, changing the sensation, and there was so much sensation, so much...

Arching back.

Falling forward.

Landing easily, elbows and forearms on the blanket on the either side of John’s head, and Templeton’s back arched as one hand squeezed, held, and another ran down the hollow of his spine.

John’s blue eyes smiled up at him, and that hand on his cock slid back, between his balls, cupping for a moment, further back, the pad of a rough finger brushing lightly across his tight rose. That eager muscle quivered, and Templeton’s eyes slid shut as he cried out.

“There you are,” John murmured, letting his finger swirl a little. “There you are, sweetheart. So sweet...”

“Please,” Templeton groaned, barely able to recognize the word. “Please, John, do it...”

That hand moved away, though, up around his thigh, up, spreading wide across one buttock, pulling them closer together, cocks smashed between hot bellies, wet and slick from precome and sweat. “No, darling.” One long, strong leg slid up against Templeton’s and wrapped around, holding him lightly, hips undulating up into him again as a big hand held his cheek, teasing his ear. “Not today. This isn’t about that.”

“But what are we...”

That beautiful tenor voice was right at his ear, that rhythm nudging him again, asking him, clear as day, to move. “Feeling, Temp. We’re feeling. That’s all. Feel me, kid. Feel yourself”

He nodded, and threaded trembling fingers through John’s short silver hair, staring right down into his eyes. Beginning to follow again.

Those hands were everywhere playing up and down his ribs, his back, mapping every inch of that sun-warmed skin, hips moving against his, cocks grinding into each other, charging that coil of pleasure in his belly. And he was gasping again, louder this time, the little pleased noises breaking through all those muffled, muzzled years before, urged on by soft words from John. It made it real, somehow, more real, having that extra dimension of sound to things. His. John’s. Tangling together into some kind of harmony he didn’t know existed, falling into it, sinking into the man below him...

It happened again, slower this time, more intense, everything releasing all at once, a wet warmth spreading between them, against super-heated skin, into that space between them, and Templeton heard himself crying out into John’s shoulder. Felt those hands gripping tight and those hips thrusting up one more time and heard John’s cries, lower and deeper and long than his. Tasted it, sweet and smoky, as a big hand tangled in his hair and brought their mouths together in a kiss that neither of them had the strength left to maintain for very long. And Templeton slid off with a low whimper, burying his face in the curve of John’s neck, one long arm cast over him, holding him in.

The sound of the breeze took over then, wicking their sweat away, leaving them sticky with the results of the exertions, cool fingers of air drifting across their skin, and the younger man eventually stirred at the touch, shivering.

John rolled onto his side, right in, bringing the edge of the blanket with him, and Templeton found himself encased. That old quilt, daylight shining through the seams, those strong arms, weak with orgasm around him... he shivered again, and pressed in closer.

Deep, bright eyes were watching him. “Was that what you wanted, sweetheart?” A boneless hand touched his cheek, brushing the faint hint of stubble starting to reemerge there. “Was that everything you asked for?”

“Not nearly,” he whispered back, and watched some of that light in the older man’s face dim.

“Kid, I...” the older man stammered, a little taken aback.

Templeton licked his lips then, smiling a little, fingers curling up shyly against a lean bicep. “It was so much more than what I’ve ever...what I thought...”

John smiled then too, relieved, and kissed him gently, their lips just sliding together and apart again. “Whenever you want for anything, Templeton, come find me.” His fingers strayed down the young blonde’s neck, following the line of his pulse. “But don’t feel as if you have to, please don’t, sweetheart. You don’t owe me a goddamned thing...”

Right then, in that moment, hugged close to John, hearing the pound of his heartbeat, feeling the dried grain of salt on his skin, seeing that happy exhaustion in his eyes, Templeton wished that he did. That he could be owned by this man instead of the other. That things could be like this for him, for them, warm and close and shared...

And something in his gut clenched, everything going sour all at once, as he realized what he was going to have to walk into that evening, where he would have to go back to. That he would have to be back in that bed, back under the Colonel, back on his face, soundless, where’d he’d always been before, what he’d always have, what he always was.

Nothing...

“What’s wrong, Templeton?” John asked quietly, worried, shifting a little, toes brushing up the outside of the younger man’s calf.

He faltered for a moment, paused on the cusp of saying it. He couldn’t say it, could he? Tell John that everything might be worse now, instead of better? No, no. Something told him that here was a man who never forgave himself, and there was no reason in upsetting something that had been so, so good for something that hadn’t come yet. No matter how fleeting it was. No matter that he couldn’t keep it.

So... “nothing,” he replied, rolling John a little and laying his cheek down on that broad chest, sliding his fingers through the light dusting of silver hair there, closing his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Sweetheart...”

That word, that word used so freely, so genuine and open and honest, that word that had never been spoken so, Templeton felt like he could almost believe, almost dare to hope that...

Don’t fool yourself, Temp that voice in his mind hissed. You’ll lose it, you’ll pay for this...

But Templeton resolved not to listen. Not listen to doubts. Not at that moment. Just feel where he was, what was with him now. Just lay there and feel and pretend as if this was all there was, and ever would be.

No matter what truth comprised his reality, no matter who and what and where he actually was in this world, for the moment, John had set him free.

+++++

Staring into the depths of his half-full closet, nothing on but a pair of underwear, clock on his dresser telling him he had a mere half-hour to ready himself, Templeton felt a small twinge of despair. The morning had been so beautiful...

When Templeton had finally been able to rouse himself from the safety of that little cocoon, to murmur a goodbye to John and get a kiss in return, dress in his now-rumpled clothing, and make it back to the house, it had been midday already. Midday and lunch time, and as Murdock served him an iced tea and sandwich in the library, the young man found out a piece of very good news.

“The Colonel’s going to be havin’ company tonight, Mr. Peck. So you won’t need to worry about...”

Templeton had just laughed his best conman laugh and settled back in the comfy armchair. “Course I have to worry. What I am supposed to wear?”

Looking now, he wasn’t sure. Murdock hadn’t been very clear on who was coming or who it was. Just some friends of the Colonel’s, he’d said with that lopsided grin of his. And Templeton didn’t want to do that, really, didn’t care to deal with the people and the noise and the chaos he was sure was coming that night. He used to relish it, love it, when he lived in Chicago. But that evening, staring at an endless array of delectable choices of fabrics and cuts and colognes, all those things the Colonel supplied him with, he felt an ache in his chest. A longing to be out in the grass again with John, naked, bare, free, nothing but his lover against his skin...

Lover?

Templeton snorted at his own foolishness, madness, at thinking that way. It had been...well, it had been what it had been that morning. It could be nothing more. It didn’t merit those moments of giddiness, of longing, of sheer despair he seemed to be cycling through that day, and he shoved it all aside, back to the task at hand

Anything in here would probably fit the bill nicely tonight. Anything would do, really. It all fit him so well, these beautiful things...

“Dark tonight, my boy,” and a hand landed on his shoulder, a chest pressed to his bare back, a hardening column of flesh trapped itself between. “We’re going a bit more formal.”

The Colonel. Shit, Templeton thought, trying to remember if he’d heard the Rolls in the midst of all the other noise leaking up from upstairs, a small coil of panic starting to build. What if the man knew? What if he learned of it? What if...

But hesitation got men killed in Chicago all the time, and Templeton prided himself on his ability to pull a con, to make others see of him what he wished, so it was the grateful boy who let his head fall back on to the chest of the man behind as arms encircled his waist.

“What’s the ocassion, sir?”

“You, dear boy.” Lips were at his ear then, that cock caught in layers of clothes, pulsing, hardening.

“Me?”

“We need to find you a girl, Templeton, some harmless flirtation. You haven’t been doing it on your own...”

His eyes closed, and he remembered the way John had held him that morning, so strong...he’d been with women, found them fun and beautiful and sweet, but they had never been what he needed. Not ever. “I want you, sir.”

“Sweet boy,” the Colonel groaned, and thrust forward into him. “You’ll always have me.”

Despite what Templeton wanted to do, wanted to pretend...this was the Colonel. This was for the Colonel’s pleasure, and he forced himself to relax into it, as he had so many other nights, as he would so many more to come. A hand closed around the back of his neck, and Templeton leaned slowly forward on the edges of the closet’s jamb, as his own underwear were slid down, as a rock-hard cock slipped out and up between his cheeks.

“I’d never lose you to some girl, Templeton. You'd never want a girl, not you, never you...”

The young man gripped tighter and tighter, bracing himself as those thrusts got harder and harder, faster and faster, not penetrating him, no, just a wet, slick, sick slide...

“You’re mine, my boy, always have been, always will be...”

Templeton could feel it, the Colonel after his climax, could feel it wasn’t far off, and then tried to not feel, tried not to think about it, tried not to think about John, about that morning they’d had together, about his offer...

“Look at you, made for this, my...my boy. Made for me...”

The room filled with harsh gasps from the Colonel, the sound of flesh on flesh, hands tightening on the previous night’s bruises, and Templeton bowed his head as the first shot of semen chased up his spine, followed by another and another and another...

He could barely breath by the time the Colonel finished and his arms felt like rubber. He was somewhat hobbled by his underwear and seed was dripping from his back. But Templeton still managed to drop to his knees like he knew he was expected to, clean what he could and put the Colonel back together and sit back over his heels, waiting for whatever came next, no matter how little he wanted it...

A hand stroked through his hair, so much different from John’s, harder, careless, and forced his chin up. “Wear that dinner jacket, Templeton. You look a vision in it. And hurry. We wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting.”

Templeton got himself cleaned up and dressed, telling himself that things could only go up, that the Colonel was obviously in a good mood and that was always good for him, that it could all be fine. Flirt with a few girls, drinks some champagne, eat whatever Murdock had encouraged cook to concoct that night, win a few hands of poker? He could handle that.

Everything would be fine.

“You’re going to be fine,” he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror, just catching it, and threw his soiled towel into the tub behind to get get dressed.

Any thoughts Templeton had of getting through the evening unscathed, however, were dashed to pieces as he made his way down the stairs and into the small drawing room where somebody was plunking out some rough Chopin. Where a few girls in their sleek dresses and a group of young men were chatting away. Where Templeton recognized a few of them from the Colonel’s first party.

That dark-eyed beauty Miss Sosa, who was watching him enter with some kind of fire in her gaze.

That short fellow with the huge eyebrows, Pike, who’d drunk himself into a stupor.

That tall, handsome man holding out an arm to him.

“Cousin!” Vance called out, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “Hey Templeton! Come amuse us with some story about Chicago before father lets Murdock try to kill us with dinner!”

Mentally gritting his teeth, surveying it all, plotting his course through the evening already, Templeton smiled. “You find the nitrogycerine a welcome addition to boring old gravy after a while,” he laughed, and everyone within earshot laughed with him as he strode over to get his hug from his so-called cousin. Miss Sosa’s eyes were still fixed on him, as obvious as a whore, really, and that surprised him a little. What in the hell could she want? he asked himself, and then remembered the Colonel’s words and figured it would at least be easy, perhaps, to settle that condition. On the other hand, all the girls in the room were watching him, so maybe...

“Be a good boy tonight, Templeton,” Vance growled in his ear as he caught him up in a bear hug, pounding his back for all it was worth. “Be very, very good."

Templeton resolved to go see John again. Tomorrow. At the latest. Even though it would solve absolutely none of this for him at all. It would still be John, John's assurances, John's hands, John's comfort, John's care...

“Anything for you, coz,” he teased back. And got on with the evening.

+++++

Crossing his legs in the shade of the big oak, lunch pail long empty and cigar in hand, John’s mind was wandering. Remembering. Teasing him with the vision of blue eyes and dark caramel hair and the sweet feel of another man moving with him.

After yesterday, the gardener hadn't been able to stop thinking about Templeton. How hesitant he’d been. How needy. Wanting things he didn’t even know he wanted, missing things he’d never known he could have. Those delicious sounds he’d made as he’d explored, as he’d let John explore him. The way he’d smiled, when John practically begged him to come to him again...

But Templeton had been with the Colonel almost a year in the War, very young, very alone. A year in the hands of the most cunning predator John had ever known. The young man probably didn’t have a prayer of escape, not unless he figured out he could, and if he’d come all the way from Chicago when called...

Then John spotted Templeton in the gardens, walking out and away from the Colonel’s big mansion. He was in fresh black silk, very formal, dark hat at its usual rakish tilt, perfectly composed despite the afternoon heat. Mercifully, the gardener noted, the kid was alone. Walking rather fast, hands in his pockets, scanning.

John felt a little surge in his chest at the sight, deep down. Was the kid looking for him? Could he be that lucky?

Heart hammering more than a little bit, John held up a hand, waving slightly, and despite the distance, he got a wave in return, and Templeton changed course.

He hadn’t expected any of this, John hadn’t. Not really. He’d known that HM was going to Chicago to pick up some boy the Colonel wanted, the one he talked about sometimes, to John, his old second-in-command, from whom no secrets were ever withheld. A boy from the War, from his battalion he’d found and taken and claimed. Sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, Johnny, my Templeton. He used to beg me for it, you know, beg for my cock with his beautiful voice, do anything I asked of him for a mere taste of it...

It was the usual story. John had been with the Colonel long enough to see it a dozen times over, had barely avoided it himself, back when he was a fresh-faced lieutenant. Young man, barely shaving yet, handsome, inexperienced, innocent, awed by rank or endearments or attention or power. Seduced, taken, claimed, owned, dominated, cast aside when another came along...

John had been a little surprised to hear that the Colonel was still lusting after the same one, five years down the road, that he’d hired one of the best gumshoes in New York, Vance’s friend Pike, to track him down. The Colonel normally didn’t take up with one as old as Templeton, John had thought, figuring the boy for his early twenties. The former major had assumed that the Colonel was mellowing in his golden years, or found such appetites a bit harder to indulge in the civilian world he inhabited now.

But then Templeton Peck had arrived, and John had understood. In that first glimpse of the kid, he’d understood why his old commander had spent so much effort to find him.

He was beautiful. Not in the usual sense, no. Not in the way the Colonel usually preferred, but still, the young blonde man was gorgeous. It was more than that, though.

Much more.

Because there was much more to the young man, and therefore the Colonel’s interest in him, than his looks. Something that ran deeper. A quickness of mind, perhaps, an innocent hopefulness untouched by a brutal past, a kind of grandness permeating through him. Something extraordinary. And John knew from his younger days that there was nothing quite as satisfying as taming that wild stallion, as bringing down a ten-point buck, as capturing the chief of your adversary’s tribe. So he knew what the Colonel saw in the kid.

Templeton was a conquest.

What a man he might have made of himself, in the Army or in business or politics, John had thought that first night, stroking himself, hating himself for the feelings the kid had stirred up in him, things he hadn’t known for years, not since his Russ had been taken from him by an Apache’s bullet. That boy...what he might have been.

But he’d been made this instead. Reduced. Brought to heel, broken and trained. All of it made sweeter for the Coonel, no doubt, by virtue of what Templeton could have been. How he’d done it, John still wasn’t sure. Taken advantage of the kid’s natural leanings, no doubt, something that none of the Colonel’s previous boys had had. Maybe something else, the Colonel finding some emotional wound to exploit, beyond the stress and horror of the War. He’d likely used every trick he’d ever learned to turn Templeton from what he should have been to the most base of things, thinking he was only good enough to be some man’s plaything...

But time enough later for such thoughts, John told himself. And stood as the young man left the path and crossed into the grass. Templeton’s face was tired, like he hadn’t slept at all, but he lit up as he neared, smiling, all for him.

John smiled back, feeling warm inside, and held out a hand. “Templeton. I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“I can't stay long, but...I...I wanted to see you.” Templeton took that hand and let himself be pulled in close, neck turning just a bit, just begging to be kissed. But his eyes were downcast and his voice was dark. “Last night, John, I mean tonight, I guess...I...I have to...”

Nodding at all the things left unsaid, the things that so needed to come out, John cast another careful glance up at the house, and then retrieved his lunch pail. “Come on, then, kid,” he told him, and, still holding his hand, led him away into the depths of the garden.

John gripped the Templeton’s hand tightly, feeling nervousness coursing through that elegant body as they went deeper and deeper down some shady grove. The gardener would have liked to go back to that same little garden as yesterday, listen to this young man sing again, feel him as he felt himself, but it looked like the Colonel had dressed him up for some event. His cufflinks were diamond, glinting in the sunlight, and John wondered with a desperate pang if he cared, if that maybe wasn’t the reason why he was here, the wealth the Colonel could offer him...

“I heard the party last night,” John said conversationally, trying to cover up his own sudden fear, trying not to think about why that scared him. “Was Lynch Junior there?”

“Vance?”

“Yeah, kid,Vance.”

“He, he was. Why?”

John sighed and turned a corner, leading them right up to a shady little arbol, covered in some flowering vine, insects buzzing about, the inside cavernous and cool. “You have to be careful around that one. He’s...a bit of a snake.”

“You called him a little shit, last time you spoke of him,” Templeton pointed out, dropping John’s hand, going over to a small bench, staring blankly down at it. “And I know. I’m watching him. He won’t pull anything over on me, John, I can assure you of that.”

There was a confidence there. John could hear it. And he wondered what exactly the kid had found himself up against in Chicago. Why somebody who could survive that place would need to throw himself into a situation like this. Or maybe that was the point, maybe he’d simply tired of it... “I know, kid,” John told him mildly, coming up behind, wanting to touch, not sure if he should. “I’m sure you can. I believe in you...”

Templeton laughed, and ran a hand back over his perfect hair, turning. “You believe in me, John? Wow, that’s...”

“I do, kid,” the older man replied. “I do believe in you. I think you could do anything...”

And the second it left his mouth, he realized it was a mistake.

“You gonna ask me what I’m doing here again, John? Is that what you’re after, wondering why I’m whoring myself to some older man who doesn’t care about me in the slightest?” Templeton shot back, eyes hot, flaring, and John sighed.

“Temp, I wasn’t...”

“Then what?” Templeton was practically yelling then, pacing, tearing at his hair. “I know how you see him, like he’s some kind of monster, but he loves me, he does, he loves me...”

John tried to reach out, tried to catch him, but Templeton shoved him away, slamming his body down on the lichen-smeared bench, hard, fingers closing around the edge of the stone, hand turning white.

Silent.

So strange, John thought, that outburst.

So, sensing a small window of opportunity, the gardener dropped to his knees in front of Templeton, carefully laying his hands on the young man’s thighs, stroking just a bit. “What’s going on, kid? What’s wrong?”

“I...” he stammered, body starting to sag, his anger drained.

“You’re safe, Temp.” He reached up and wound his fingers into Templeton’s, pulling that hand close, kissing his knuckles. “Tell me, kid. What this all about?”

The young man leaned forward, scrubbing his free hand over his face and squeezing tight to John’s. “I...the Colonel, he’s worried. He thinks that if I don’t...if I don’t... that I have to...”

Fuck.

“What’s her name?” John asked softly.

Templeton’s eyes met his, full of pain. “Charisa Sosa. And the Colonel says I have to take her tonight.”

John tightened his hand. “It happened to me, too.”

As the first tear slid down the kid’s cheek, John remembered his own first night, under the Colonel’s rules.

After those first few subtle overtures Captain Morrison had helped him evade, after that Captain Morrison had turned into Russ, after the Colonel had caught them together in the captain’s tight single barracks bed, they’d both been dragged out one night. To a whorehouse in Dodge City. I can’t have the liability of known sodomites in my unit. You fuck something with breasts on a regular basis if you insist upon this. Cover your tracks, boys, or face the consequences...

He’d never forget how mortified he was, how they’d had to ask for a shared room, that night and every other, how Russ had had to take him in hand before the girls came in to get him hard, how the only thing that kept him up was knowing Russ was right there with him.

“When I was a young man in his unit, he put the same rule to me. He wanted me to be safe. He wants you to be safe,” John replied softly, moving up a little to take that beautiful, grief-stricken face in his hands. “It’s very dangerous, kid, being what...what we are in this world, do you understand?”

“Are you telling me I should do this? Go seduce the girl? Have her? I think she wants me, but it’s...” and he just stopped, everything left unfinished.

“I’m telling you that caution is never a bad thing, Templeton, and that this is the Colonel’s way of being cautious.” Templeton just stared at him, lost, and John realized that fucking a girl wasn’t the problem. No, there was something else here. Something worse, something deep down. Something like... “It’s not the girl that’s bothering you, though, is it?”

Templeton nodded slowly. “John, if he, if this...he says I can’t love a woman, so he doesn’t mind, but...” He shifted a little. “My whole life, nobody’s stuck with me. Not my parents, not...only the Colonel, John. The Colonel’s the only one who ever wanted me, and if he...if he can tell me to do this...””

“You feel like you’re being thrown away,” John concluded, anger flashing up in him at the implications of that. Was that how the Colonel had managed to capture him? By offering him affection, attention, something to call home? It had to be the missing link, it had to be.

John sighed and pushed himself up on the bench next to Templeton, still holding his hand. “Kid, look...”

The younger man shook his head. “You...yesterday, you called me...”

“...sweetheart,” John finished for him, and leaned over to kiss his head. “Sweetheart. That’s what I called you. Is that what you’d like to me to call you?”

“John...” Templeton asked, licking his lips, “John, I...does he?”

The gardener urged the kid’s face around, kissing him again, as tenderly as he could, heart breaking for the young man, telling himself it wouldn’t be lying to say what needed to be said. “He cares for you, Temp,” he whispered as he broke away, letting his thumb stroke along the smooth lines of that face. “He cares for you and he wants you here with him, if he wants you to do this. To be safe. He did it for me, and he kept me from getting killed by my own men. I swear to you that’s true.”

“Would...would you ask me for that? If we...if you were in the Colonel’s position, would you have me do such a thing?”

“No, sweetheart,” John said honestly. “No I wouldn’t.” And Templeton leaned back, so he leaned forward. “I wouldn’t ask you for anything like that. Not ever, if we were together...”

Templeton sighed a long, shaking breath, like everything was falling back into place, and stood, John nearly falling forward as that lithe body moved away from his. And when the older man looked up, there was a smile on that handsome face.

“Then we’re back to where we started, aren’t we? Where he treats me better than you ever would,” he said, and started to walk away.

“Temp!” John called right as Templeton reached the edge of daylight at the archway of the arbol. And the young man stopped, but didn’t turn. “Temp, you don’t have to do this for him.”

“I’m not. He’s doing it for me,” he replied softly, and tilting his hat a bit more from where he’d mussed it, disappeared into the afternoon.

John felt himself shaking.

Didn’t the kid know? Didn’t he know who he was, what he was? How beautiful, how unique, how special? Hadn’t he realized it yesterday, hadn’t he seen? That he could be an equal, that he was deserving of that? That he wasn’t meant to play this role, any role, for another man? That he deserved to be loved in return? That love didn’t demand such things of him...

“You’re a damn fool, Hannibal,” John muttered to himself, and swore, right then and there, that if he saw Templeton again, he’d make sure the kid understood.

He’d make him see.

He’d give him that. He could. He would.

If Templeton came back to him.

And in that moment, listening to the sounds of the young man's retreat, John despaired of that possibility entirely.

+++++

Templeton sat on the far end of one of the little sofas in Vance’s salon, cigarette dangling by his fingers off his knee, trying not to think about his conversation with John earlier, what he'd said, how he'd left it.

He treats me better than you ever would...

Was that true?

In this room, full of swirling smoke and talking and drunken laughter, he wasn't sure about that. At all. Not with where else he could have been that night Curled up with John in that old blanket, fingers exploring, soft words, the stars overhead...

No use worrying about that now, Temp, he told himself. Get your head in the game...

And that's all it was. A game.

It was too damn flippant to be anything else.

One of the other girls there tell some seemingly scandalous joke, hands flapping wildly. He smiled a little at it, remembering his speakeasy, how simple, how lovely, it had all been.

But these people were all rich enough to have their own liquor suppliers, champagne from France and liquors from Italy, real top-shelf, all the way. Went with their gems and their frivolity, the way these men seemed to take what they wanted, the way these women behaved as if there was no consequence, not when they could afford a doctor that would make it painless or a summer in Martha’s Vineyard that would make the rumors disappear.

How many of these had he been to, in the two months he’d been with the Colonel? How many more would he be forced to endure, just to be with his man?

At the end of the day, Templeton had found, he could smile and lie and joke and smoke and drink his way through all of this, but none of it held any interest for him. Slipped right off his mind, slick, this shiny life of theirs.

He hadn’t really expected that.

High society, low appeal, he thought, and snorted.

“You find Mindy’s joke funny?” Miss Sosa asked, taking his cigarette out of his hand and bringing it to her own painted lips.

Vance had suggested her, said that she was a girl who knew how to keep her legs open and her mouth shut. Like you, the would-be feddie had told him, and the Colonel, after giving his son a sharp word about the uncivility of his words, both about the lady and to Templeton, had agreed that Miss Sosa was the best choice. And she was beautiful, Templeton thought, dark hair and flashing eyes, a bit thin for his taste but that’s what seemed to be popular these days.

But she would do, if he was to do this, and he grinned back, turning that irresistable charm he knew damn well he had, going for his cigarette. “No, I don’t.”

She cocked her head a little, her bobbed black hair falling around those eyes of hers. “Me neither,” she said softly, and just watched him.

It was a moment, one welcome in Vance’s place, one that could be catered to with half a dozen different rooms. One that he had to take advantage of.

Just do this tonight, sweet boy. Have your little affair on the side, be discreet, as if you were doing it all for yourself. Make it look real, Templeton, make her believe it. Then you can come home to me...

Home.

He liked the sound of that, he really did. He’d liked it since the first day here in New York.

If this is what it takes...

“Come on, beautiful,” Templeton said, standing, offering her his hand. “I need some air, don’t you?”

She plucked his cigarette back, and taking one last puff, ground it out in the nearest ashtray. “Sure,” she said, the red satin of her dress unfolding as she gracefully rose and sauntered past, the curves of her body beckoning him clear as anything. “Let’s get out of here, Templeton. Vance and Brock are no doubt going to spend the rest of the night gambling by themselves.”

“What a shame, they’re going to miss out on all the fun,” he replied teasingly, telling himself again why he was doing this, that he was doing everything for his lover. And, finishing his champagne in one gulp, followed her out.

And so Templeton tried to tell himself this was alright, because she'd been making eyes at him from the first, since she wanted him, since she wanted what his body could give hers. Necessary, since the Colonel had told him it was so. An act of faith for the Colonel, then. A gift, a condition of being with the man he loved, of being able to stay with him, the way he could be with the Colonel, his man, his lover...

But when Sosa was moaning softly, kissing his neck, undoing his buttons, it wasn’t the Colonel who Templeton was thinking of. Not when she slipping from her own clothes or falling back on the sheets or bringing a slim leg up against his naked thigh, whimpering, begging, urging him on. It wasn’t the Colonel he saw in his mind’s eye, wasn’t the Colonel he was imagining as he mounted her, as he slipped inside her, as she clenched around him, as her nails dug into the soft skin of his back.

It wasn’t the Colonel’s hands that had undone his buttons or the Colonel’s lips that had kissed him. Wasn’t the Colonel he wished was there, holding him, coming with him, sighing against his skin when they’d finished, murmuring about how good that was.

Not the Colonel.

Not the Colonel at all.

"Was that good for you, baby?" she panted.

And for a moment, he couldn't answer her at all. So he kissed her and rolled with her and tried not to think about the warm smell of the grass, and the sunlight, and the musk of another man's skin.

Tell me what you want, Templeton, tell me...

"So good, Charisa, so beautiful..."

Her eyes rolled closed and she writhed in pleasure, body begging for a second goes, and Templeton hated himself, right then and there, as he slipped down between her spreading thighs, for how good he was sometimes at lying to other people.

And how terrible he was at lying to himself.

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