Paper Doll - Part Seven of Ten
Sep. 15th, 2011 07:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/OMC, Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of domestic violence and underage
Summary:
The boys settle in together for a winter’s night in John’s cottage and make plans...
When his eyes fluttered open again, pulling him back into the waking world, the first thing Templeton noticed was the gold glow of the fire, dancing across the dark-beamed ceiling above him.
The second was that John wasn’t beside him.
He turned over on his side, sitting up a bit, palming the sheets next to him. He could still smell John there, darkly wonderful, and still feel John’s hands on his skin, John’s lips working against his own, John’s cock, deep inside...
A stirring sound, a shift lower down on the bed, pulled his attention away, and he looked up, over towards the fireplace. John was there in his solitary chair, cigar in its ashtray beside him, leather-bound book in hand, feet propped up on the very edge of the mattress. He had a long, somewhat tattered robe wrapped around him, falling open at the loose tie, and Templeton whined a little as he shifted his legs again, everything in plain view...
“Temp, lad, you’re finally awake,” that beautiful tenor voice said happily, and one long hand laid the book down. Blue eyes sparkled. “I wondered how long you were going to sleep.”
Templeton sat up, the covers pulling down his still-tired body, and he yawned, smiling back. “How long did I sleep?”
“All day.” John pointed out to the darkness beyond the window, snow still swirling thick around the frosting glass, and went back to his cigar.
Panic stabbed through the younger man, seeing night out there, and he sprang up, heart pounding. “Goddammit, John! When were you going to wake me? Tomorrow morning?” He grabbed for his trousers where they lay, neatly folded over the footstand of the bed. “was that your plan? Let the Colonel find out I’m two-timing him with his gardener?”
“Kid...”
“No, John!” he snapped, jerking the woolen trousers up his hips, fingers shaking too hard for him to slip the buttons back into place. “It’s not alirght for you to do this to me! I thought you said you were going to help, not make it worse...”
“Kid, calm down,” and John was up, pulling him close, stilling his movements with soft hands to the small of his back. “It’s okay.” He kissed him lightly, smiling. “It’s a white-out, or at least, close enough for Long Island. The bridges are iced, the roads out of Manhattan are closed.”
Templeton found himself moving in, letting John move him in, and he shook his head, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. “So the Colonel’s not going to be home tonight?”
“No. He’ll stay at the office...”
“...which means,” and Templeton offered up his warmest smile, batting his eyes just a bit, joy starting to crest up through him, “I’m stuck out here with you for the evening.”
John made a little noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and kissed Templeton’s forehead. “My, won’t that be terrible?”
“Horrible,” Templeton agreed and raised up on his toes, planting a soft little peck on the older man’s lips, then another. “Absolutely horrible.”
Those big hands stroked up his naked spine, and the blonde shuddered, pressed in closer, letting John wrap around him. What was it about this man that was so safe? So certain? He’d never felt secure before, not ever, not on the front with the Colonel or alone in Paris or in his club, in Chicago, but John, John was...
“I made supper, Templeton, if you’re hungry,” John said softly. “If you’re hungry.”
“Supper?” Nobody had ever made him supper before. “Honestly?”
“Split peas with a bit of salt pork, some bread if you’d like. It’s not much, not like what cook and Murdock do up at the house,” and the gardener sounded almost apologetic about that. “But I figured you must be hungry.”
Then yes, Templeton could smell the light scent of peas and a hint of ham, and his stomach growled. “A bit,” he admitted, and John laughed that free laugh of his at the sound.
It was good, that stew, better than Templeton would have expected from the damn near embarrassed way John had explained it to him. Warm and filling and just the right about of salt, mopped up with hunks of day-old bread from the kitchens at the house, and he sat cross-legged on his lover’s bed to devour every last bite.
“This is delicious,” he commented, about halfway through his bowl, John stretching his long body back on in the chair, feet up on the bed again, close enough to touch. “Where’d you learn to cook?”
John smiled, and shook his head, taking a bite of sopped bread. “The Army, kid. We had chuck wagons back when we were chasing Geronimo through the Arizona territories. Lots of dried meat, lots of beans...had to make it taste good for the boys.”
“You were a cook?”
“Officer,” John said, and poked Templeton’s leg with his foot, smiling a smile that faded too quickly. “Made it to major before...well. Before.”
“Before you came to work here?” Templeton asked, sensing an opportunity to get a bit of history there. “With the Colonel?”
John didn’t say anything for a minute, the only sound that of the storm still whipping around outside, and then rolled his head back. “Yeah, kid. With the Colonel.”
Templeton set his bowl aside for a moment, spoon and bread carefully balanced on the rim, and laid a hand on John’s foot. “Was it very bad?”
“Not...perhaps not as bad as what you were faced with in France. He didn’t...didn’t do that to me. But I had other struggles with him. Other...” and John stopped again, hesitant, and he sighed. “Other problems. He knew...what I was, and he offered me a deal. Said he would protect my secret. Told me he would protect me, that he understood. He never...never forced himself on me, but I was forced to watch him do it to others, no way to stop it. And then...”
He stopped, and Templeton ran his hand up his lover’s leg, feeling the pain in him, hurting for him. “Then what, John?”
“A boy died. Seventeen years old. One of my own...one I had been trying to get moved away to another posting, since I’d discovered the Colonel was beating him. That, that, I could not abide. But then...” and John drew a deep, shaking breath, and closed his eyes, voice cracking as he continued. Templeton sat up on his heels, laying hands on his lover’s knees, as the terrible narrative continued. “The entire fort knew how he’d...the body...the lad had been fucked right before he’d been strangled...and I was in charge of the investigation. The rumors began...I grew scared...” Then he shook his head, stood, paced away. “No, Temp, I can’t...”
Templeton rose from the bed and padded over to John’s side, laying a hand on the junction of neck and shoulder, laying his forehead down right there, cuddling close. “You can, John. You can.” He ran a hand around his belly, holding on. “Tell me, please.”
John leaned on the wall, big hand flexing against the raw brick, muscles tensing in his back, and Templeton stayed there. Rubbing the older man’s belly in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Holding close. Feeling anger and grief flooding through him, and finally, after long minutes, surrender.
“He told me that he would save me," John said, the rich timbre of his voice quaking with emotion. "He said that he was retiring and would take me with him, take me away from the Army. That he had great use for me in his company and if I stayed, I would be court-martialed for sodomy and murder. The Colonel had a statement from my...my fellow officer, from Russell...stating I was...what I am,” and John’s shoulders stiffened, he hit the wall, and when he spoke again, his voice was clogged with sorrow. “He killed that boy. Killed that boy to keep me with him. Killed him rather than let me take poor Timothy Edward away from there. You should have seen him, Templeton. He was such a beautiful lad...”
A great swell of pity rose up in Templeton’s chest. He could feel it in his throat, trying to choke him. All that pain. All that horrible pain... “D-did you love him?”
He’d meant the boy, but then what John said next hurt like a punch in the gut.
“Russell was...Russell, yes, I loved him. He was my first. I...he betrayed me, for a promotion, he betrayed me...”
“Oh, John,” Templeton groaned, unable to stand it any longer, the heartbreak this man had endured, and forced his way around, hugging into lean ribs. “John, oh, baby, oh god, I’m so sorry...”
A hand touched his face, urging him up, and soft, red-rimmed eyes met his own. A tear was sliding down one rugged cheek, but John paid it no heed. “It’s okay, kid,” he whispered, cradling Templeton’s face in warm, warm palms. “It was a long time ago. Long Island hasn’t been a bad life for me. There’s a solitude here that keeps me sane...”
“But he owns you,” Templeton replied softly, running a hand up and down the bare patch of skin, showing beneath the robe. “His own little toy soldier...”
That hand tightened, and John, amazingly, smiled. A fragile thing, that smile, but a smile nonetheless. “And you, his paper doll.”
It was so soft, so affectionate, Templeton couldn’t help but smile back, and crane his neck up for a kiss. “I suppose neither of us are playing by his rules?”
John growled a bit and gave him what he wanted, their lips colliding and coming apart again. “He’s a spoiled child, Templeton. A brat accustomed to getting his way in things. But we’re going to show him different, you and I. You understand that?”
“John,” he breathed, not sure what he meant by it, just needing to say it. He couldn’t keep track of all his thoughts, running in all directions. John, so solid against him. The hell that John had been through. How lucky he’d been, last night, to escape with his life. How lucky he’d been this morning, to feel that, to make love with a man he loved. Who Russell might have been, and how he ever could have given John up. John, warm around him. How horrible, how horrible this place was.... “Oh, John...”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” his lover said, conviction rumbling through him, cutting through everything in Templeton, focusing it down to the immediate. “He won’t hurt you, my love.”
“You’ll help me leave?”
“We leave. Together. Carefully, though, kid, carefully,” John whispered, pulling him back now, letting the close embrace trail off, holding his wrists lightly, leading him back to the bed. “He’s a man to be careful of. A man we shouldn’t underestimate.”
Templeton nodded, hearing a hint of steel in those words, wondering if that was Major Smith, instead of John-the-gardener, starting to come out. What would this man have been, as a commander? As his commander, those horrible gray days in the War? “So, we’re leaving now?”
“Yes,” John replied, smiling, stronger as he pressed Templeton back onto the bed, retrieving their dishes and walking them back over to his little kitchen. “We’re leaving. You and I. Unless you don’t want me to go with you?”
It was hesitant. Hesitant enough for Templeton to trust it. Yet...he had to know. Even now, he had to know.
“Are you going for me?” the younger man asked, curious, working his way back under the quilt.
John’s back hunched up over his little sink, and he didn’t answer right away. “No,” he finally said. “Not just for you. It’s been nearly twenty years since Timothy and Fort Hood. And,” and he turned, coming back over, untying the tie of his robe as he neared the bed, blowing out the oil lamp on his little table, throwing another log on the fire for the evening, “I spent a long time in thought while you slept, sweetheart.”
“Thinking?”
Casting the robe over the footboard, muscles flexing in the firelight, unconsciously beautiful, John smiled at him, and Templeton threw back a corner of the quilt. “Yes. Thinking. About what a coward I’ve been all these years, letting him hold myself over me.” He slipped in, right next to Templeton, bodies tight on the narrow bed, spooning up behind him, letting their legs tangle around the ankles. “And you, my brave man, finding the courage to leave...”
Templeton didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. “Only after he hurt me...”
“You think he didn’t hurt me?” John whispered in his ear, following those terrifyingly sparse words with a kiss.
Templeton started. “But...”
“Maybe not as he hurt you, but he hurt me,” John continued, soothing. “I was too ashamed of myself to let myself be whole, to stand away from him. But you, darling Templeton, you...”
It was husky, low, needy, and Templeton turned in his lover’s arms, feeling his cock rest at the crease of the older man’s thigh, starting to harden, but now wasn’t the time. “What about me?” he queried. “I haven’t left him, either. I’ve thought myself mine, all these years. It’s more of a hold than he has over you. For you, he ransomed your life...”
“You’re unashamed of who you are, who you love,” John replied simply. “You returned to him because you loved him, or at least, thought you did. I came with him because I was terrified. I wanted to take his protection, you wanted to give him affection. Whose reason was better? Who’s the stronger man, my love?”
It shook him to his core, and Templeton laid his head forward, ear to John’s bicep, surrounded by the soothing musk of his skin, kissing the hollow of John’s throat. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love you, John.”
“I know,” John replied softly, running a hand through the young man’s caramel curls. “I love you, Templeton.”
He breathed deep, holding it all in for a moment, and then exhaled, so, so slowly. “Is there a plan, Hannibal? Do you have any idea?”
Those lips touched to the crown of his head, followed by a light laugh. “Murdock told you about that name, then?”
“He says you were a great strategist.”
“Well,” and John chuckled again, “it’s not exactly fighting Apache, but I’m working on it. The holidays are coming up. Those should be useful to make our great escape.”
“Where will we go?”
The fire crackled, a log dropping deeper into the flames.
“Together?”
“Together.”
“West,” John said instantly. “Open skies, fewer people. A ranch, perhaps. No questions. Just you and me and long days in the fields and the bright, bright stars at night...”
“To make love under?” he teased, instantly realizing how much he wanted that.
“If you wish. We can do anything you wish...”
“Mmm,” Templeton sighed, snuggling in, loving the way this felt. Sweet lord in heaven, how long had it been since he’d held? Just held? Never had any partner before John held him, cared for him so, and he felt he could lay there forever, soaking in the affection, storing it up like a camel for the time between when he had to return to the Colonel, and when he would leave with John. “Right now? Anything I wish, right now?”
“Of course,” John murmured, tightening his arms, wonderful. “What would you like to do?”
“That book, the one you were reading earlier? What was it? Do I know the author?”
“None of that modern bullshit,” John growls. “One of the classics. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Have you ever read it? A young man’s led astray by his older lover in Paris, all his sins translated into a portrait his prior lover painted so lovingly for him...”
“His male lover?” Templeton asked, laughing a little, and much to his amusement, John blushed, just a little.
“That’s my interpretation of the work,” his lover said, stroking soft fingers across the cleft of his ass, and Templeton shuddered. “Oscar Wilde was a hedonist and a homosexual himself, a brilliant mind, brilliant prose...”
“I’ve never read him,” Templeton admitted, and rubbed his chin against John’s chest. “Can you...”
John nodded, and bade him sit up as he retrieved the book from where he had left it by his ashtray and his forgotten cigar. He opened an arm for Templeton as he settled himself back against the headboard, and the younger man let his head hit that broad shoulder as that arm wrapped around him.
“Shall I start at the beginning, love?”
“No. Just pick up, wherever you are,” he said, and laid a hand over the beat of his lover’s heart. He needed that voice, the comfort of it, the love he heard in it. “Just read to me.”
John opened to his place, held by a scrap of paper. “And remember, darling, this is the story of a man’s fall from grace. He’s about to meet the man who takes him away, down that road...”
“Why read it now?”
“Because it is beautiful, because these men loved each other in their own way, even if Mr. Wilde could not write it so,” John murmured. “And because Dorian Gray is the polar opposite of Templeton Peck, and it gives me hope, that the man you are is so much more than the man you seemed to be, the first time we met. So, so much more.”
Blushing a little, all Templeton could do was nod, and John kissed him again.
“Shall I begin?”
“Please...”
Another kiss, and John began.
“Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away,” those tenor tones read, their easy inflection beautiful. “He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them...”
The cottage was all twilight, the howling storm outside dark and inconsequential, and Templeton clung to his lover, the tide of words carrying him away.
Safe. For the moment, safe.
+++++
Water gurgled beside him, and Templeton looked over at the tub, his bathwater slowly draining, a little whirlpool sucking it all away. The mirror in front of him was fogged slightly. The towel around his still-wet waist pulled at his skin. The bottles of cologne, the Colonel’s choice for him, was right at hand. The goddamned ring was sitting in a little puddle of water on the granite valet top, right where he’d thrown it, the second he’d gotten back. The tub continued to gurgle.
The young man had no idea how he should feel. He didn’t know what it was he was feeling.
That morning had been one of the best of his life. Maybe the best. Certainly better than his first morning with the Colonel, when the older man had kissed his forehead and bade him roll over and taken him again, still slick, very sore.
This had been so much more than that.
Templeton had woken before John, face cold, the fire died to embers, snow caked half a foot high on the window panes, frosting out in icy pattern. He was still cuddled in to his lover’s sleep-softened limbs, long minutes spent listening to the soft wuff of his breath, the beat of his heart. Then those keen blue eyes had blinked open, a little smile formed on his lips, and before he could process what was going on, his lover had him on his back, kissing him deeply.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” John had murmured when they both pulled away for air, the quilt falling down around his bare shoulders. His silver hair stuck out at odd angles. His eyes were cloudy with sleep. “I thought I’d only dreamed you were here with me.”
Smiling back, Templeton smoothed down one of those errant locks, and kissed the round of John’s shoulder, rubbing his stubbled chin along after it. “I’m here, love.”
“I can’t quite believe it. You, us, finally...my sweet, sweet Templeton...”
There had only been one answer to the desire, the fear of absence, he’d heard in that voice, and Templeton had pulled his lover’s face to his, wishing he could sink forever into the blue of those eyes. “Make love to me again, John. I feel hollow without you inside me...”
And maybe, Templeton thought, staring at himself in the mirror, that was what he was feeling. Hollow. Empty. For after John had breached him for the second time, after they had shuddered through their climax together, after they had made coffee and read more and cuddled more and kissed more and talked about the plan and shared a cigar together, Templeton had had to put on his clothes once again. John had touched the ring of bruises on his neck as he’d wrapped the scarf around the younger man’s neck. And he’d slammed John back against the door and kissed him desperately.
“Templeton, love, stop...”
“I can’t go back up there, John. I can’t. Please, please, let’s just run today, let’s leave, right the hell now...”
“No, Temp. We can’t, not yet. Soon, but not yet...”
“John...please...”
“You have to go, kid. You have to go...”
But John had had tears in his eyes as he said it, as he bundled him out the door of his little cottage, out into the huge drifts of snow, looking back over his shoulder as he plowed through the endless white. John had stood in the doorway of his little cottage, and Templeton thought then that he would only ever feel warn there again.
Not even half an hour in the tub, in piping hot water, though, had taken away the chill of leaving John behind.
He hated the plan. Hated it, even though it was truly the only thing that made sense. He and John couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t leave at all, not without being searched for. That much was certain. So there would have to be an accident of some kind, something staged, something very, very real.
The holidays should afford plenty of opportunities for you to suffer something of that nature. Alcohol poisoning may be a good choice, or an automobile accident... let me work the details, lad. But in the meantime, you must play your part with the man. Don’t give him or Vance, the little bastard, a damned thing to suspect. You cannot trust a Lynch...
So only death would release him from the Colonel.
He’d feared it so.
The young blonde touched his own reflection in the mirror. “You’re a damn fool, Templeton Peck,” he muttered, and grabbed his Turkish robe off its heated rack, heading back into his bedroom.
“Temp! Did you have a nice bath?” the dark-haired butler asked, setting down the silver chocolate service on the dresser.
The damn thing had been in the Colonel’s family since the Revolutionary War, heavy and ornate but somehow beautiful in its own way, made by Paul Revere, if you asked Murdock, who always took great pleasure in using it. He polished it more often than anything else in the Lynch inventory. “Not bad,” he admitted, wrapping a towel around his still-damp hair, laying it up in a turban like an Ottoman, wondering how in the hell Murdock knew he was back. He hadn't seen anyone, coming back through the big, drafty mansion. “It was nice.”
“Hot water does wonders, my gran always said,” the other man said with a little nod, and produced a pair of cups with a flourish. “So does chocolate. You want some? Had cook do it special for ya.” And he waggled one of those cups, grinning. “Cause you’re sick, of course. All the staff know you haven’t left this room for the last day or so cause you’re so sick.”
Templeton wanted to smile. Wanted to reach out and tell this man, who really had become a dear friend over the past few months, that something hot and sweet right then was dead perfect. That he had been worried the staff would notice that he was not at the house all day yesterday and he appreciated Murdock telling them that he’d taken ill last night and did not wish to be disturbed in his own rooms. That he was unutterably grateful for an ally, a friend, all the kind little gestures, in this terrible place...
But he couldn’t say anything. No. His words stuck in his throat and his face got hot, and he couldn’t say anything, because there were tears rolling down his cheeks, tears Templeton couldn’t stop, a hot rain that couldn’t warm him at all.
Murdock was at his side almost instantly, leaving the cocoa to wrap an arm around his shoulders and guide him back to the bed, murmuring soft reassurances that Templeton could barely hear, barely feel. He was ashamed, ashamed of himself, his weaknesses, his selfishness that brought him to this point to begin with...
“Did it not go well?” the butler asked softly, sitting them both down on the edge of the bed, rubbing Templeton’s back for a moment. “Did somethin’ happen?”
Templeton scrubbed a hand across his face, thinking back to the feel of John’s cock within him, those strong arms and smooth words surrounding him, the incredible depth of emotion in the quiet gardener, all of it singing for him and him alone... “No. N-nothing, nothing bad, at least.” And he shook his head as Murdock stood and went back for the chocolate. “I’m such a fool, HM. When I came here, I thought...no, I can’t say that.” He turned his eyes up to stare at the crease of ceiling and wall, Murdock wrapping one of his loose hands around a delicate china mug, warmed by the liquid inside. “I knew what the Colonel was. But he...”
Murdock sat back down next to him, a cup in his own hands, and sighed a little as he laid his head down on Templeton’s shoulder. “Ain’t no bad thing, wantin’ to be taken care of,” he said slowly. “To want somebody to love you. To have some safety. Lots’o reasons people gravitate here, despite what the boss is.”
“Is that why you’re here, HM? Because you wanted safety?”
The butler shifted a bit, and pulled his head up, finishing half his cocoa in one go. When he spoke again, it was Lord Nelson, Order of the Garter talking. “I took a few blows to the head back when Hannibal and I were chasing the redskins, wot? The doctors all insisted I had gone mad for it. And the Colonel, in his great magnanimous manner, swore to keep me on if I was but to come back with him here to New York...” On New York, Murdock’s fake accent fell apart, and he faltered a bit. “So I guess I needed ‘is protection.”
“I didn’t need that from him,” Templeton replied, sipping at his cocoa, not tasting it, but feeling the warm slide down in to his belly nonetheless. “I wanted love instead, any way I could get it, and I thought...”
“Thought he might love you back?”
The soft drawl, back in that gentle voice, sent an inexpilcable shiver through the blonde man, and he shrugged, feeling wretched. “I thought he did love me, I tried to tell myself it was so. It was easy, Murdock. I had no idea what... but now, after John...I never knew...”
“Like butterflies in your belly? Like some bright light that washes through you?” Murdock supplied, smiling a little again, that dark mood washing off like a June rainstorm on afternoon grass. “You think about him when he ain’t there, like you could reach out and touch him...”
“You ever feel like that about anyone?”
Murdock nodded. “Once.”
And Templeton sensed an opportunity. Love...he’d never been in love before. Everything he’d felt before John seemed hollow and false in comparison. Everything he’d ever had before John had only ever been about sex, about being used, being plowed and cast aside. He wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure how any of it was supposed to work. “What’d you do about it?”
“Touched him. Kissed him. Made love to him. Stayed with him. Found a life together. Ain’t a great life, but he’s in it, so...”
“Bosco?” Templeton asked without really asking. He’d seen them together, watched them in the carriage house on the times when he’d come to get a lesson on engines from the big Negro and found them in a corner, talking softly, touching...
The butler’s gray-green eyes softened, the omnipresent hint of madness fading as he went very far away for a moment, and he shivered a little. “That’s why we need the Colonel’s protection. Back in my hometown, we’d both get lynched for somethin’ like that.”
Templeton nodded slowly, considering that. “So you stay here, for each other?”
“We’re free here,” the butler said quietly, and tossed back the rest of his cocoa like it was bourbon. “And I’d do anythin’ for Bosco. Anything.” Those gray-green eyes, like the Atlantic Ocean on a cold day, turned on him. "That’s part of lovin’ someone, Temp.”
“I’m not free here,” the young blonde replied, dipping a finger in his own cooling cocoa and sucking it thoughtfully. “Neither is John.”
“I know what the Colonel did to him, back in the day,” the butler said, that sane voice going flat and almost angry. “I know what he’s doin’ to you. Don’t hold with me...”
“John’s got a plan, HM,” he admitted. “But I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s...this whole thing...how did it go from pleasant to terrifying, buddy? How does everything reverse like that, just like that?” And he snapped his fingers
Murdock cocked his head. “I’ve known ol’ Hannibal for a long time, Temp. He’ll never hurt you.”
“I know that,” Templeton sighed, and the butler’s arm was back around him. “It’s this place, this fucking place...”
“You’re gonna leave,” Murdock said instantly, not even asking, jumping ahead to that conclusion instead.
Templeton nodded back. “We have to.”
“You wanna be together.”
“Yes,” he replied, without a moment’s hesitation, surprising himself at how quickly that came. “Yes, I do.”
“Then you gotta trust him, and he’ll trust you. That’s how John is. He’ll trust you to do your part. He’ll need you to.”
“You really think he’d trust me not to misstep and sink the whole enterprise?” he whispered, giving voice to the deepest fear, swirling up through the cold core of himself. “What if I fuck this up, HM? What if I lose him? What if he gets hurt?”
Murdock hugged him again. “Right now, I’d bet a mountain o’ gold that John has more faith in you than anybody else in the world..."
“Why?” he asked, a little perplexed.
And the answer, when it came...
“Cause he loves you, Temp.”
And suddenly, just from that half-confused comment from Murdock, Templeton felt the confusion cut away and warmth, certainty, sense flood back up through him. He could do this. He could. If they were behind him, if they were all behind him, if some....
Murdock placed a kiss right on the stunned blonde’s forehead, reaching out to squeeze his hand as he pulled the cup away. “Whatever you need, you can count on us.”
He shook himself, and smiled broadly at the man next to him. “You’re a good friend, HM.” And that, too, was a unique and wonderful thing, Templeton knew.
Murdock laughed, loud and just a little bit manic. “They’re gonna have the road clear by noon. The Colonel’s prolly comin’ back with Vance, so...”
“I’ll be ready,” he confirmed, as his own side of the Plan started to come together in his head.
He worked on it after Murdock left him to the cocoa and his toilet.
He thought about it as he selected just the right thing to wear for the evening.
He decided upon it as he slid that heavy gold shackle back on his finger, the band glinting in the electric light of the bathroom.
And Templeton acted upon it when the front doors opened a few hours.
Clothes a bit shabby, hair mussed exactly, the teasing hint of that favored cologne, some easy tears, to make his eyes puff red, just enough.
“Colonel,” he half-sobbed, sitting miserably on the bottom step of the main staircase, grabbing the attention of both father and son, joking as they shook coats out to servants. “Colonel, oh my lord, last night...last night...and after what I did...”
The Colonel rushed to him without a second glance, Vance looked twice and rolled his eyes.
Templeton didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Because with this, the game was on.
“Hush, my boy,” the Colonel replied softly, kneeling down to pull Templeton into his arms, right on cue, just as Templeton had intended. “Hush.”
“I missed you last night,” he whispered, letting himself cling as if he was that scared boy in France, once again. “I missed you, sir. Please, please, let me back in your bed. It breaks my heart to know I’ve disappointed you...”
“Shh,” the Colonel replied, pulling away to kiss him gently. “I know you’re sorry, Templeton. I know you understand these things I’m trying to teach you, but I feel as if there’s been this resistance from you, which results in such insubordinate outbursts.”
Vance was staring at them both. Templeton could see it over the Colonel’s solid bulk. He didn’t like the look in the son’s eyes, didn’t like it one bit, and his stomach turned to ice. Will faltered. Just for a moment. Something was there, some kind of intention lurking behind those shifting eyes, something like the way his father had looked on those days when they interrogated Germans, when they shot enlisted men who’d committed offense, when death was coming...
“How is he, father?” the lawyer drawled, knocking the snow from his boots onto the polished marble. “Your butt-boy there having himself a bad day?”
Templeton pushed down the spike of anger at the words, and clung tighter, burying his face in the shoulder of the Colonel’s suit coat. Letting himself shake a little, faking emotion he couldn’t feel. And he realized, suddenly, he couldn’t feel anything. Certainly nothing for the man holding him. It was strange, Where he’d once found strength, the assurance of safety, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. But he had to do this. Had to convince him, show him, give him no reason to suspect...
And then, the young man knew, there was this question of Vance.
Who, at that moment, scared him at a level that the Colonel never, ever had.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, kissing the older man’s neck, trying to work his way up to his mouth, knowing he’d be stopped with Vance around. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me...”
“Sweet boy, stop. It’s alright. It’s forgotten. Tonight, we shall put it all to rights,” was the answering little murmur, and then the Colonel left him there, turning back to his son, who had an eyebrow cocked at them both. “Do you have a problem, Vance?”
“Not a chance. Templeton and I are good friends, aren’t we, Temp?” and he flashed a falsetto smile that could have shattered glass.
Templeton returned it with one of his own shit-eating grins. The kind he’d used in his speakeasy when the mafia hoodlums were around again. “The best, Vance.”
“Wonderful. We’ll have to use this Christmas season to really get to know each other. Bond as family.” That smile was still firmly in place.
He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his suit jacket, wiping it across his nose as foppishly as he knew how. “I’d like that.”
There was a moment, two, where nothing was said. And then the Colonel, on his feet now and smiling a real smile, broke out in a racuous belly laugh. He made to leave, clapping Vance on the shoulder on the way out, shaking his head. “You two boys behave yourselves while I go attend to a few things. We’ll have dinner together, yes, and then cigars? We can discuss your upcoming appointment to the Bureau of Investigation, Vance. Sound good?”
“Wonderful, father,” Vance muttered blandly, and Templeton felt another small flutter of fear as the Colonel left the foyer, off to his office or to see Murdock or something like that. Away.
They stared at each other for a moment more, he and Vance, Templeton knowing that the other man wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing that wasn’t intended for him to see. A hopeful, weak, needy little boy. That’s what he needed to be to this man. The smallest target possible, the most unimportant thing in the world.
But most of Vance’s inheritance now belonged to him. Two hundred years of family wealth that Templeton didn’t want. Nothing to be done about it, though, nothing...
That look was shifting across Vance’s face, urged on, no doubt, by what Templeton was letting show in his own. A predator’s look, feral and hungry under that sardonic exterior, rising to the sight of what he thought was prey...
A stand-off. That’s what it was.
One he had to lose. For the moment.
And so Templeton dropped his eyes, slumped his shoulders, kept his voice low as he kept himself as submissive as possible, still sitting on the steps. “It’s good to see you Vance. It’s been a few months since the last poker game.”
“I know. I’ve been away in DC, Temp,” Vance said mildly, coming over, one hand on the banister, leaning down over him. “I’m in the Bureau as of January. Isn’t that exciting?”
“I know you’ve wanted it...”
“Don’t play cute with me,” the other man said gently, friendly, running a deceptively easy hand into caramel locks and yanking back, just a bit, so they were staring right into each other’s eyes. “I know what you are, Templeton, I’ve seen you play poker, you’re not some kid like he thinks...”
“Your father found me, Vance,” he said, not really faking the desperation, using it, knowing how much the lawyer liked seeing people squirm under his studiously calm thumb. “First over there, then in Chicago. He wants me here. He loves me...”
Vance laughed, and let him go, pacing away. “Loves you? He doesn’t love anybody, Temp, and certainly not the whore who’s living in his house.”
Those words cut, and caught him off guard. But Templeton had to respond, had to respond the right way, and he barely managed to get it out. Pushed down his thoughts of John and got it out. “I love him, Vance, that’s all I wanted. But I never wanted to take anything from....”
Vance whirled on his heel. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Templeton!” he snapped, the omnipresent genial, self-mocking tone slipping down, a bit of real fury coming through.
Templeton knew he had to react to that as well, and scrunched back into himself. “Sorry. Just...he’s in his twilight years. Don’t you want him to be happy in the time he has left? Besides, with me here, you don't need to worry about him while you're pursuing your career in Washington...”
“Then you think he’s going to die soon?” Vance said, lightly, innocuously, chilling Templeton to the bone.
“I...” he stammered, not knowing how to respond.
But then something heavy and loud thumped to the floor.
“Brough’ your luggage up from the car, Mr. Vance,” Bosco said, cap pushed up his head and sleeves rolled up against crossed arms. “You be wantin’ it in the usual room?”
“Pick it up, you lazy bastard, you know damn well what room it goes in,” the lawyer said, rolling his eyes and smiling at Templeton like they were both having a good laugh at this. “Poker tonight?”
“Sure,” he said, taking a deep breath, like he was relieved. “That’d be great.”
Vance winked at him as Bosco trundled up, semi-obedient, laden down with that luggage, and he clapped the big Negro on the shoulder as they headed up the stairs past him. “Baracus! Let’s get that stuff in my room before you decide to get lazy on me again...”
Templeton turned his head up, watching them pass, getting a small, encouraging smile from Bosco. The first real thing he’d seen since leaving his room earlier. And his head fell into his hands, suddenly overwhelmed, honestly and genuinely overwhelmed, as soon as their footsteps faded.
“John,” he whispered to the quiet foyer, to himself, finding no comfort in it. “John, please, make it fast.”
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of domestic violence and underage
Summary:
The boys settle in together for a winter’s night in John’s cottage and make plans...
When his eyes fluttered open again, pulling him back into the waking world, the first thing Templeton noticed was the gold glow of the fire, dancing across the dark-beamed ceiling above him.
The second was that John wasn’t beside him.
He turned over on his side, sitting up a bit, palming the sheets next to him. He could still smell John there, darkly wonderful, and still feel John’s hands on his skin, John’s lips working against his own, John’s cock, deep inside...
A stirring sound, a shift lower down on the bed, pulled his attention away, and he looked up, over towards the fireplace. John was there in his solitary chair, cigar in its ashtray beside him, leather-bound book in hand, feet propped up on the very edge of the mattress. He had a long, somewhat tattered robe wrapped around him, falling open at the loose tie, and Templeton whined a little as he shifted his legs again, everything in plain view...
“Temp, lad, you’re finally awake,” that beautiful tenor voice said happily, and one long hand laid the book down. Blue eyes sparkled. “I wondered how long you were going to sleep.”
Templeton sat up, the covers pulling down his still-tired body, and he yawned, smiling back. “How long did I sleep?”
“All day.” John pointed out to the darkness beyond the window, snow still swirling thick around the frosting glass, and went back to his cigar.
Panic stabbed through the younger man, seeing night out there, and he sprang up, heart pounding. “Goddammit, John! When were you going to wake me? Tomorrow morning?” He grabbed for his trousers where they lay, neatly folded over the footstand of the bed. “was that your plan? Let the Colonel find out I’m two-timing him with his gardener?”
“Kid...”
“No, John!” he snapped, jerking the woolen trousers up his hips, fingers shaking too hard for him to slip the buttons back into place. “It’s not alirght for you to do this to me! I thought you said you were going to help, not make it worse...”
“Kid, calm down,” and John was up, pulling him close, stilling his movements with soft hands to the small of his back. “It’s okay.” He kissed him lightly, smiling. “It’s a white-out, or at least, close enough for Long Island. The bridges are iced, the roads out of Manhattan are closed.”
Templeton found himself moving in, letting John move him in, and he shook his head, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. “So the Colonel’s not going to be home tonight?”
“No. He’ll stay at the office...”
“...which means,” and Templeton offered up his warmest smile, batting his eyes just a bit, joy starting to crest up through him, “I’m stuck out here with you for the evening.”
John made a little noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and kissed Templeton’s forehead. “My, won’t that be terrible?”
“Horrible,” Templeton agreed and raised up on his toes, planting a soft little peck on the older man’s lips, then another. “Absolutely horrible.”
Those big hands stroked up his naked spine, and the blonde shuddered, pressed in closer, letting John wrap around him. What was it about this man that was so safe? So certain? He’d never felt secure before, not ever, not on the front with the Colonel or alone in Paris or in his club, in Chicago, but John, John was...
“I made supper, Templeton, if you’re hungry,” John said softly. “If you’re hungry.”
“Supper?” Nobody had ever made him supper before. “Honestly?”
“Split peas with a bit of salt pork, some bread if you’d like. It’s not much, not like what cook and Murdock do up at the house,” and the gardener sounded almost apologetic about that. “But I figured you must be hungry.”
Then yes, Templeton could smell the light scent of peas and a hint of ham, and his stomach growled. “A bit,” he admitted, and John laughed that free laugh of his at the sound.
It was good, that stew, better than Templeton would have expected from the damn near embarrassed way John had explained it to him. Warm and filling and just the right about of salt, mopped up with hunks of day-old bread from the kitchens at the house, and he sat cross-legged on his lover’s bed to devour every last bite.
“This is delicious,” he commented, about halfway through his bowl, John stretching his long body back on in the chair, feet up on the bed again, close enough to touch. “Where’d you learn to cook?”
John smiled, and shook his head, taking a bite of sopped bread. “The Army, kid. We had chuck wagons back when we were chasing Geronimo through the Arizona territories. Lots of dried meat, lots of beans...had to make it taste good for the boys.”
“You were a cook?”
“Officer,” John said, and poked Templeton’s leg with his foot, smiling a smile that faded too quickly. “Made it to major before...well. Before.”
“Before you came to work here?” Templeton asked, sensing an opportunity to get a bit of history there. “With the Colonel?”
John didn’t say anything for a minute, the only sound that of the storm still whipping around outside, and then rolled his head back. “Yeah, kid. With the Colonel.”
Templeton set his bowl aside for a moment, spoon and bread carefully balanced on the rim, and laid a hand on John’s foot. “Was it very bad?”
“Not...perhaps not as bad as what you were faced with in France. He didn’t...didn’t do that to me. But I had other struggles with him. Other...” and John stopped again, hesitant, and he sighed. “Other problems. He knew...what I was, and he offered me a deal. Said he would protect my secret. Told me he would protect me, that he understood. He never...never forced himself on me, but I was forced to watch him do it to others, no way to stop it. And then...”
He stopped, and Templeton ran his hand up his lover’s leg, feeling the pain in him, hurting for him. “Then what, John?”
“A boy died. Seventeen years old. One of my own...one I had been trying to get moved away to another posting, since I’d discovered the Colonel was beating him. That, that, I could not abide. But then...” and John drew a deep, shaking breath, and closed his eyes, voice cracking as he continued. Templeton sat up on his heels, laying hands on his lover’s knees, as the terrible narrative continued. “The entire fort knew how he’d...the body...the lad had been fucked right before he’d been strangled...and I was in charge of the investigation. The rumors began...I grew scared...” Then he shook his head, stood, paced away. “No, Temp, I can’t...”
Templeton rose from the bed and padded over to John’s side, laying a hand on the junction of neck and shoulder, laying his forehead down right there, cuddling close. “You can, John. You can.” He ran a hand around his belly, holding on. “Tell me, please.”
John leaned on the wall, big hand flexing against the raw brick, muscles tensing in his back, and Templeton stayed there. Rubbing the older man’s belly in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Holding close. Feeling anger and grief flooding through him, and finally, after long minutes, surrender.
“He told me that he would save me," John said, the rich timbre of his voice quaking with emotion. "He said that he was retiring and would take me with him, take me away from the Army. That he had great use for me in his company and if I stayed, I would be court-martialed for sodomy and murder. The Colonel had a statement from my...my fellow officer, from Russell...stating I was...what I am,” and John’s shoulders stiffened, he hit the wall, and when he spoke again, his voice was clogged with sorrow. “He killed that boy. Killed that boy to keep me with him. Killed him rather than let me take poor Timothy Edward away from there. You should have seen him, Templeton. He was such a beautiful lad...”
A great swell of pity rose up in Templeton’s chest. He could feel it in his throat, trying to choke him. All that pain. All that horrible pain... “D-did you love him?”
He’d meant the boy, but then what John said next hurt like a punch in the gut.
“Russell was...Russell, yes, I loved him. He was my first. I...he betrayed me, for a promotion, he betrayed me...”
“Oh, John,” Templeton groaned, unable to stand it any longer, the heartbreak this man had endured, and forced his way around, hugging into lean ribs. “John, oh, baby, oh god, I’m so sorry...”
A hand touched his face, urging him up, and soft, red-rimmed eyes met his own. A tear was sliding down one rugged cheek, but John paid it no heed. “It’s okay, kid,” he whispered, cradling Templeton’s face in warm, warm palms. “It was a long time ago. Long Island hasn’t been a bad life for me. There’s a solitude here that keeps me sane...”
“But he owns you,” Templeton replied softly, running a hand up and down the bare patch of skin, showing beneath the robe. “His own little toy soldier...”
That hand tightened, and John, amazingly, smiled. A fragile thing, that smile, but a smile nonetheless. “And you, his paper doll.”
It was so soft, so affectionate, Templeton couldn’t help but smile back, and crane his neck up for a kiss. “I suppose neither of us are playing by his rules?”
John growled a bit and gave him what he wanted, their lips colliding and coming apart again. “He’s a spoiled child, Templeton. A brat accustomed to getting his way in things. But we’re going to show him different, you and I. You understand that?”
“John,” he breathed, not sure what he meant by it, just needing to say it. He couldn’t keep track of all his thoughts, running in all directions. John, so solid against him. The hell that John had been through. How lucky he’d been, last night, to escape with his life. How lucky he’d been this morning, to feel that, to make love with a man he loved. Who Russell might have been, and how he ever could have given John up. John, warm around him. How horrible, how horrible this place was.... “Oh, John...”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” his lover said, conviction rumbling through him, cutting through everything in Templeton, focusing it down to the immediate. “He won’t hurt you, my love.”
“You’ll help me leave?”
“We leave. Together. Carefully, though, kid, carefully,” John whispered, pulling him back now, letting the close embrace trail off, holding his wrists lightly, leading him back to the bed. “He’s a man to be careful of. A man we shouldn’t underestimate.”
Templeton nodded, hearing a hint of steel in those words, wondering if that was Major Smith, instead of John-the-gardener, starting to come out. What would this man have been, as a commander? As his commander, those horrible gray days in the War? “So, we’re leaving now?”
“Yes,” John replied, smiling, stronger as he pressed Templeton back onto the bed, retrieving their dishes and walking them back over to his little kitchen. “We’re leaving. You and I. Unless you don’t want me to go with you?”
It was hesitant. Hesitant enough for Templeton to trust it. Yet...he had to know. Even now, he had to know.
“Are you going for me?” the younger man asked, curious, working his way back under the quilt.
John’s back hunched up over his little sink, and he didn’t answer right away. “No,” he finally said. “Not just for you. It’s been nearly twenty years since Timothy and Fort Hood. And,” and he turned, coming back over, untying the tie of his robe as he neared the bed, blowing out the oil lamp on his little table, throwing another log on the fire for the evening, “I spent a long time in thought while you slept, sweetheart.”
“Thinking?”
Casting the robe over the footboard, muscles flexing in the firelight, unconsciously beautiful, John smiled at him, and Templeton threw back a corner of the quilt. “Yes. Thinking. About what a coward I’ve been all these years, letting him hold myself over me.” He slipped in, right next to Templeton, bodies tight on the narrow bed, spooning up behind him, letting their legs tangle around the ankles. “And you, my brave man, finding the courage to leave...”
Templeton didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. “Only after he hurt me...”
“You think he didn’t hurt me?” John whispered in his ear, following those terrifyingly sparse words with a kiss.
Templeton started. “But...”
“Maybe not as he hurt you, but he hurt me,” John continued, soothing. “I was too ashamed of myself to let myself be whole, to stand away from him. But you, darling Templeton, you...”
It was husky, low, needy, and Templeton turned in his lover’s arms, feeling his cock rest at the crease of the older man’s thigh, starting to harden, but now wasn’t the time. “What about me?” he queried. “I haven’t left him, either. I’ve thought myself mine, all these years. It’s more of a hold than he has over you. For you, he ransomed your life...”
“You’re unashamed of who you are, who you love,” John replied simply. “You returned to him because you loved him, or at least, thought you did. I came with him because I was terrified. I wanted to take his protection, you wanted to give him affection. Whose reason was better? Who’s the stronger man, my love?”
It shook him to his core, and Templeton laid his head forward, ear to John’s bicep, surrounded by the soothing musk of his skin, kissing the hollow of John’s throat. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love you, John.”
“I know,” John replied softly, running a hand through the young man’s caramel curls. “I love you, Templeton.”
He breathed deep, holding it all in for a moment, and then exhaled, so, so slowly. “Is there a plan, Hannibal? Do you have any idea?”
Those lips touched to the crown of his head, followed by a light laugh. “Murdock told you about that name, then?”
“He says you were a great strategist.”
“Well,” and John chuckled again, “it’s not exactly fighting Apache, but I’m working on it. The holidays are coming up. Those should be useful to make our great escape.”
“Where will we go?”
The fire crackled, a log dropping deeper into the flames.
“Together?”
“Together.”
“West,” John said instantly. “Open skies, fewer people. A ranch, perhaps. No questions. Just you and me and long days in the fields and the bright, bright stars at night...”
“To make love under?” he teased, instantly realizing how much he wanted that.
“If you wish. We can do anything you wish...”
“Mmm,” Templeton sighed, snuggling in, loving the way this felt. Sweet lord in heaven, how long had it been since he’d held? Just held? Never had any partner before John held him, cared for him so, and he felt he could lay there forever, soaking in the affection, storing it up like a camel for the time between when he had to return to the Colonel, and when he would leave with John. “Right now? Anything I wish, right now?”
“Of course,” John murmured, tightening his arms, wonderful. “What would you like to do?”
“That book, the one you were reading earlier? What was it? Do I know the author?”
“None of that modern bullshit,” John growls. “One of the classics. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Have you ever read it? A young man’s led astray by his older lover in Paris, all his sins translated into a portrait his prior lover painted so lovingly for him...”
“His male lover?” Templeton asked, laughing a little, and much to his amusement, John blushed, just a little.
“That’s my interpretation of the work,” his lover said, stroking soft fingers across the cleft of his ass, and Templeton shuddered. “Oscar Wilde was a hedonist and a homosexual himself, a brilliant mind, brilliant prose...”
“I’ve never read him,” Templeton admitted, and rubbed his chin against John’s chest. “Can you...”
John nodded, and bade him sit up as he retrieved the book from where he had left it by his ashtray and his forgotten cigar. He opened an arm for Templeton as he settled himself back against the headboard, and the younger man let his head hit that broad shoulder as that arm wrapped around him.
“Shall I start at the beginning, love?”
“No. Just pick up, wherever you are,” he said, and laid a hand over the beat of his lover’s heart. He needed that voice, the comfort of it, the love he heard in it. “Just read to me.”
John opened to his place, held by a scrap of paper. “And remember, darling, this is the story of a man’s fall from grace. He’s about to meet the man who takes him away, down that road...”
“Why read it now?”
“Because it is beautiful, because these men loved each other in their own way, even if Mr. Wilde could not write it so,” John murmured. “And because Dorian Gray is the polar opposite of Templeton Peck, and it gives me hope, that the man you are is so much more than the man you seemed to be, the first time we met. So, so much more.”
Blushing a little, all Templeton could do was nod, and John kissed him again.
“Shall I begin?”
“Please...”
Another kiss, and John began.
“Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away,” those tenor tones read, their easy inflection beautiful. “He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them...”
The cottage was all twilight, the howling storm outside dark and inconsequential, and Templeton clung to his lover, the tide of words carrying him away.
Safe. For the moment, safe.
+++++
Water gurgled beside him, and Templeton looked over at the tub, his bathwater slowly draining, a little whirlpool sucking it all away. The mirror in front of him was fogged slightly. The towel around his still-wet waist pulled at his skin. The bottles of cologne, the Colonel’s choice for him, was right at hand. The goddamned ring was sitting in a little puddle of water on the granite valet top, right where he’d thrown it, the second he’d gotten back. The tub continued to gurgle.
The young man had no idea how he should feel. He didn’t know what it was he was feeling.
That morning had been one of the best of his life. Maybe the best. Certainly better than his first morning with the Colonel, when the older man had kissed his forehead and bade him roll over and taken him again, still slick, very sore.
This had been so much more than that.
Templeton had woken before John, face cold, the fire died to embers, snow caked half a foot high on the window panes, frosting out in icy pattern. He was still cuddled in to his lover’s sleep-softened limbs, long minutes spent listening to the soft wuff of his breath, the beat of his heart. Then those keen blue eyes had blinked open, a little smile formed on his lips, and before he could process what was going on, his lover had him on his back, kissing him deeply.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” John had murmured when they both pulled away for air, the quilt falling down around his bare shoulders. His silver hair stuck out at odd angles. His eyes were cloudy with sleep. “I thought I’d only dreamed you were here with me.”
Smiling back, Templeton smoothed down one of those errant locks, and kissed the round of John’s shoulder, rubbing his stubbled chin along after it. “I’m here, love.”
“I can’t quite believe it. You, us, finally...my sweet, sweet Templeton...”
There had only been one answer to the desire, the fear of absence, he’d heard in that voice, and Templeton had pulled his lover’s face to his, wishing he could sink forever into the blue of those eyes. “Make love to me again, John. I feel hollow without you inside me...”
And maybe, Templeton thought, staring at himself in the mirror, that was what he was feeling. Hollow. Empty. For after John had breached him for the second time, after they had shuddered through their climax together, after they had made coffee and read more and cuddled more and kissed more and talked about the plan and shared a cigar together, Templeton had had to put on his clothes once again. John had touched the ring of bruises on his neck as he’d wrapped the scarf around the younger man’s neck. And he’d slammed John back against the door and kissed him desperately.
“Templeton, love, stop...”
“I can’t go back up there, John. I can’t. Please, please, let’s just run today, let’s leave, right the hell now...”
“No, Temp. We can’t, not yet. Soon, but not yet...”
“John...please...”
“You have to go, kid. You have to go...”
But John had had tears in his eyes as he said it, as he bundled him out the door of his little cottage, out into the huge drifts of snow, looking back over his shoulder as he plowed through the endless white. John had stood in the doorway of his little cottage, and Templeton thought then that he would only ever feel warn there again.
Not even half an hour in the tub, in piping hot water, though, had taken away the chill of leaving John behind.
He hated the plan. Hated it, even though it was truly the only thing that made sense. He and John couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t leave at all, not without being searched for. That much was certain. So there would have to be an accident of some kind, something staged, something very, very real.
The holidays should afford plenty of opportunities for you to suffer something of that nature. Alcohol poisoning may be a good choice, or an automobile accident... let me work the details, lad. But in the meantime, you must play your part with the man. Don’t give him or Vance, the little bastard, a damned thing to suspect. You cannot trust a Lynch...
So only death would release him from the Colonel.
He’d feared it so.
The young blonde touched his own reflection in the mirror. “You’re a damn fool, Templeton Peck,” he muttered, and grabbed his Turkish robe off its heated rack, heading back into his bedroom.
“Temp! Did you have a nice bath?” the dark-haired butler asked, setting down the silver chocolate service on the dresser.
The damn thing had been in the Colonel’s family since the Revolutionary War, heavy and ornate but somehow beautiful in its own way, made by Paul Revere, if you asked Murdock, who always took great pleasure in using it. He polished it more often than anything else in the Lynch inventory. “Not bad,” he admitted, wrapping a towel around his still-damp hair, laying it up in a turban like an Ottoman, wondering how in the hell Murdock knew he was back. He hadn't seen anyone, coming back through the big, drafty mansion. “It was nice.”
“Hot water does wonders, my gran always said,” the other man said with a little nod, and produced a pair of cups with a flourish. “So does chocolate. You want some? Had cook do it special for ya.” And he waggled one of those cups, grinning. “Cause you’re sick, of course. All the staff know you haven’t left this room for the last day or so cause you’re so sick.”
Templeton wanted to smile. Wanted to reach out and tell this man, who really had become a dear friend over the past few months, that something hot and sweet right then was dead perfect. That he had been worried the staff would notice that he was not at the house all day yesterday and he appreciated Murdock telling them that he’d taken ill last night and did not wish to be disturbed in his own rooms. That he was unutterably grateful for an ally, a friend, all the kind little gestures, in this terrible place...
But he couldn’t say anything. No. His words stuck in his throat and his face got hot, and he couldn’t say anything, because there were tears rolling down his cheeks, tears Templeton couldn’t stop, a hot rain that couldn’t warm him at all.
Murdock was at his side almost instantly, leaving the cocoa to wrap an arm around his shoulders and guide him back to the bed, murmuring soft reassurances that Templeton could barely hear, barely feel. He was ashamed, ashamed of himself, his weaknesses, his selfishness that brought him to this point to begin with...
“Did it not go well?” the butler asked softly, sitting them both down on the edge of the bed, rubbing Templeton’s back for a moment. “Did somethin’ happen?”
Templeton scrubbed a hand across his face, thinking back to the feel of John’s cock within him, those strong arms and smooth words surrounding him, the incredible depth of emotion in the quiet gardener, all of it singing for him and him alone... “No. N-nothing, nothing bad, at least.” And he shook his head as Murdock stood and went back for the chocolate. “I’m such a fool, HM. When I came here, I thought...no, I can’t say that.” He turned his eyes up to stare at the crease of ceiling and wall, Murdock wrapping one of his loose hands around a delicate china mug, warmed by the liquid inside. “I knew what the Colonel was. But he...”
Murdock sat back down next to him, a cup in his own hands, and sighed a little as he laid his head down on Templeton’s shoulder. “Ain’t no bad thing, wantin’ to be taken care of,” he said slowly. “To want somebody to love you. To have some safety. Lots’o reasons people gravitate here, despite what the boss is.”
“Is that why you’re here, HM? Because you wanted safety?”
The butler shifted a bit, and pulled his head up, finishing half his cocoa in one go. When he spoke again, it was Lord Nelson, Order of the Garter talking. “I took a few blows to the head back when Hannibal and I were chasing the redskins, wot? The doctors all insisted I had gone mad for it. And the Colonel, in his great magnanimous manner, swore to keep me on if I was but to come back with him here to New York...” On New York, Murdock’s fake accent fell apart, and he faltered a bit. “So I guess I needed ‘is protection.”
“I didn’t need that from him,” Templeton replied, sipping at his cocoa, not tasting it, but feeling the warm slide down in to his belly nonetheless. “I wanted love instead, any way I could get it, and I thought...”
“Thought he might love you back?”
The soft drawl, back in that gentle voice, sent an inexpilcable shiver through the blonde man, and he shrugged, feeling wretched. “I thought he did love me, I tried to tell myself it was so. It was easy, Murdock. I had no idea what... but now, after John...I never knew...”
“Like butterflies in your belly? Like some bright light that washes through you?” Murdock supplied, smiling a little again, that dark mood washing off like a June rainstorm on afternoon grass. “You think about him when he ain’t there, like you could reach out and touch him...”
“You ever feel like that about anyone?”
Murdock nodded. “Once.”
And Templeton sensed an opportunity. Love...he’d never been in love before. Everything he’d felt before John seemed hollow and false in comparison. Everything he’d ever had before John had only ever been about sex, about being used, being plowed and cast aside. He wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure how any of it was supposed to work. “What’d you do about it?”
“Touched him. Kissed him. Made love to him. Stayed with him. Found a life together. Ain’t a great life, but he’s in it, so...”
“Bosco?” Templeton asked without really asking. He’d seen them together, watched them in the carriage house on the times when he’d come to get a lesson on engines from the big Negro and found them in a corner, talking softly, touching...
The butler’s gray-green eyes softened, the omnipresent hint of madness fading as he went very far away for a moment, and he shivered a little. “That’s why we need the Colonel’s protection. Back in my hometown, we’d both get lynched for somethin’ like that.”
Templeton nodded slowly, considering that. “So you stay here, for each other?”
“We’re free here,” the butler said quietly, and tossed back the rest of his cocoa like it was bourbon. “And I’d do anythin’ for Bosco. Anything.” Those gray-green eyes, like the Atlantic Ocean on a cold day, turned on him. "That’s part of lovin’ someone, Temp.”
“I’m not free here,” the young blonde replied, dipping a finger in his own cooling cocoa and sucking it thoughtfully. “Neither is John.”
“I know what the Colonel did to him, back in the day,” the butler said, that sane voice going flat and almost angry. “I know what he’s doin’ to you. Don’t hold with me...”
“John’s got a plan, HM,” he admitted. “But I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s...this whole thing...how did it go from pleasant to terrifying, buddy? How does everything reverse like that, just like that?” And he snapped his fingers
Murdock cocked his head. “I’ve known ol’ Hannibal for a long time, Temp. He’ll never hurt you.”
“I know that,” Templeton sighed, and the butler’s arm was back around him. “It’s this place, this fucking place...”
“You’re gonna leave,” Murdock said instantly, not even asking, jumping ahead to that conclusion instead.
Templeton nodded back. “We have to.”
“You wanna be together.”
“Yes,” he replied, without a moment’s hesitation, surprising himself at how quickly that came. “Yes, I do.”
“Then you gotta trust him, and he’ll trust you. That’s how John is. He’ll trust you to do your part. He’ll need you to.”
“You really think he’d trust me not to misstep and sink the whole enterprise?” he whispered, giving voice to the deepest fear, swirling up through the cold core of himself. “What if I fuck this up, HM? What if I lose him? What if he gets hurt?”
Murdock hugged him again. “Right now, I’d bet a mountain o’ gold that John has more faith in you than anybody else in the world..."
“Why?” he asked, a little perplexed.
And the answer, when it came...
“Cause he loves you, Temp.”
And suddenly, just from that half-confused comment from Murdock, Templeton felt the confusion cut away and warmth, certainty, sense flood back up through him. He could do this. He could. If they were behind him, if they were all behind him, if some....
Murdock placed a kiss right on the stunned blonde’s forehead, reaching out to squeeze his hand as he pulled the cup away. “Whatever you need, you can count on us.”
He shook himself, and smiled broadly at the man next to him. “You’re a good friend, HM.” And that, too, was a unique and wonderful thing, Templeton knew.
Murdock laughed, loud and just a little bit manic. “They’re gonna have the road clear by noon. The Colonel’s prolly comin’ back with Vance, so...”
“I’ll be ready,” he confirmed, as his own side of the Plan started to come together in his head.
He worked on it after Murdock left him to the cocoa and his toilet.
He thought about it as he selected just the right thing to wear for the evening.
He decided upon it as he slid that heavy gold shackle back on his finger, the band glinting in the electric light of the bathroom.
And Templeton acted upon it when the front doors opened a few hours.
Clothes a bit shabby, hair mussed exactly, the teasing hint of that favored cologne, some easy tears, to make his eyes puff red, just enough.
“Colonel,” he half-sobbed, sitting miserably on the bottom step of the main staircase, grabbing the attention of both father and son, joking as they shook coats out to servants. “Colonel, oh my lord, last night...last night...and after what I did...”
The Colonel rushed to him without a second glance, Vance looked twice and rolled his eyes.
Templeton didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Because with this, the game was on.
“Hush, my boy,” the Colonel replied softly, kneeling down to pull Templeton into his arms, right on cue, just as Templeton had intended. “Hush.”
“I missed you last night,” he whispered, letting himself cling as if he was that scared boy in France, once again. “I missed you, sir. Please, please, let me back in your bed. It breaks my heart to know I’ve disappointed you...”
“Shh,” the Colonel replied, pulling away to kiss him gently. “I know you’re sorry, Templeton. I know you understand these things I’m trying to teach you, but I feel as if there’s been this resistance from you, which results in such insubordinate outbursts.”
Vance was staring at them both. Templeton could see it over the Colonel’s solid bulk. He didn’t like the look in the son’s eyes, didn’t like it one bit, and his stomach turned to ice. Will faltered. Just for a moment. Something was there, some kind of intention lurking behind those shifting eyes, something like the way his father had looked on those days when they interrogated Germans, when they shot enlisted men who’d committed offense, when death was coming...
“How is he, father?” the lawyer drawled, knocking the snow from his boots onto the polished marble. “Your butt-boy there having himself a bad day?”
Templeton pushed down the spike of anger at the words, and clung tighter, burying his face in the shoulder of the Colonel’s suit coat. Letting himself shake a little, faking emotion he couldn’t feel. And he realized, suddenly, he couldn’t feel anything. Certainly nothing for the man holding him. It was strange, Where he’d once found strength, the assurance of safety, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. But he had to do this. Had to convince him, show him, give him no reason to suspect...
And then, the young man knew, there was this question of Vance.
Who, at that moment, scared him at a level that the Colonel never, ever had.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, kissing the older man’s neck, trying to work his way up to his mouth, knowing he’d be stopped with Vance around. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me...”
“Sweet boy, stop. It’s alright. It’s forgotten. Tonight, we shall put it all to rights,” was the answering little murmur, and then the Colonel left him there, turning back to his son, who had an eyebrow cocked at them both. “Do you have a problem, Vance?”
“Not a chance. Templeton and I are good friends, aren’t we, Temp?” and he flashed a falsetto smile that could have shattered glass.
Templeton returned it with one of his own shit-eating grins. The kind he’d used in his speakeasy when the mafia hoodlums were around again. “The best, Vance.”
“Wonderful. We’ll have to use this Christmas season to really get to know each other. Bond as family.” That smile was still firmly in place.
He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his suit jacket, wiping it across his nose as foppishly as he knew how. “I’d like that.”
There was a moment, two, where nothing was said. And then the Colonel, on his feet now and smiling a real smile, broke out in a racuous belly laugh. He made to leave, clapping Vance on the shoulder on the way out, shaking his head. “You two boys behave yourselves while I go attend to a few things. We’ll have dinner together, yes, and then cigars? We can discuss your upcoming appointment to the Bureau of Investigation, Vance. Sound good?”
“Wonderful, father,” Vance muttered blandly, and Templeton felt another small flutter of fear as the Colonel left the foyer, off to his office or to see Murdock or something like that. Away.
They stared at each other for a moment more, he and Vance, Templeton knowing that the other man wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing that wasn’t intended for him to see. A hopeful, weak, needy little boy. That’s what he needed to be to this man. The smallest target possible, the most unimportant thing in the world.
But most of Vance’s inheritance now belonged to him. Two hundred years of family wealth that Templeton didn’t want. Nothing to be done about it, though, nothing...
That look was shifting across Vance’s face, urged on, no doubt, by what Templeton was letting show in his own. A predator’s look, feral and hungry under that sardonic exterior, rising to the sight of what he thought was prey...
A stand-off. That’s what it was.
One he had to lose. For the moment.
And so Templeton dropped his eyes, slumped his shoulders, kept his voice low as he kept himself as submissive as possible, still sitting on the steps. “It’s good to see you Vance. It’s been a few months since the last poker game.”
“I know. I’ve been away in DC, Temp,” Vance said mildly, coming over, one hand on the banister, leaning down over him. “I’m in the Bureau as of January. Isn’t that exciting?”
“I know you’ve wanted it...”
“Don’t play cute with me,” the other man said gently, friendly, running a deceptively easy hand into caramel locks and yanking back, just a bit, so they were staring right into each other’s eyes. “I know what you are, Templeton, I’ve seen you play poker, you’re not some kid like he thinks...”
“Your father found me, Vance,” he said, not really faking the desperation, using it, knowing how much the lawyer liked seeing people squirm under his studiously calm thumb. “First over there, then in Chicago. He wants me here. He loves me...”
Vance laughed, and let him go, pacing away. “Loves you? He doesn’t love anybody, Temp, and certainly not the whore who’s living in his house.”
Those words cut, and caught him off guard. But Templeton had to respond, had to respond the right way, and he barely managed to get it out. Pushed down his thoughts of John and got it out. “I love him, Vance, that’s all I wanted. But I never wanted to take anything from....”
Vance whirled on his heel. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Templeton!” he snapped, the omnipresent genial, self-mocking tone slipping down, a bit of real fury coming through.
Templeton knew he had to react to that as well, and scrunched back into himself. “Sorry. Just...he’s in his twilight years. Don’t you want him to be happy in the time he has left? Besides, with me here, you don't need to worry about him while you're pursuing your career in Washington...”
“Then you think he’s going to die soon?” Vance said, lightly, innocuously, chilling Templeton to the bone.
“I...” he stammered, not knowing how to respond.
But then something heavy and loud thumped to the floor.
“Brough’ your luggage up from the car, Mr. Vance,” Bosco said, cap pushed up his head and sleeves rolled up against crossed arms. “You be wantin’ it in the usual room?”
“Pick it up, you lazy bastard, you know damn well what room it goes in,” the lawyer said, rolling his eyes and smiling at Templeton like they were both having a good laugh at this. “Poker tonight?”
“Sure,” he said, taking a deep breath, like he was relieved. “That’d be great.”
Vance winked at him as Bosco trundled up, semi-obedient, laden down with that luggage, and he clapped the big Negro on the shoulder as they headed up the stairs past him. “Baracus! Let’s get that stuff in my room before you decide to get lazy on me again...”
Templeton turned his head up, watching them pass, getting a small, encouraging smile from Bosco. The first real thing he’d seen since leaving his room earlier. And his head fell into his hands, suddenly overwhelmed, honestly and genuinely overwhelmed, as soon as their footsteps faded.
“John,” he whispered to the quiet foyer, to himself, finding no comfort in it. “John, please, make it fast.”
