Goldilocks: A Man, a Jersey, and a Tight End (22 page)

Joshua had to know he was cornered, as he only said, “Oh my gosh, I’ve forgotten something.” And he ran off toward one of the fenced corrals.

Brian pulled out his cell phone and dialed Scott’s number.

* * * *

Scott was carrying a bundle of sheets to the washer when his cell phone rang. He stuffed them in the machine and answered, “Hello, Sweetcakes.”

“You slut,” said Brian.

“You know it, sugar,” said Scott happily.

“If I were standing there, I’d pound you into the ground,” said Brian furiously. “Goddammit, Scott, you let me suck you off last night, and you didn’t even say anything.”

“What?” said Scott.

Brian’s voice was reaching decibels that could break glass. “I talked to Joshua, you son of a bitch!”

“Joshua?” said Scott. His brain seemed to be stuck.

“Oh he didn’t tell me the details, asshole, but I can just imagine. God. And what do you know about him, Mr. Can’t-keep-it-in-his-pants?”

“Now hold on,” said Scott.

And then Brian let Scott really have it. “I’m telling Paul,” he shouted, his voice a shriek. And disconnected.

Scott looked at his phone. He turned around and walked, a little quickly, back into the house. “Jim?” he called.

Jim came round the corner in a second. Scott’s voice had had that note that mama goats, mama sheep, and Mama Bear responded to immediately.

“What’s the matter?”

* * * *

There was a quick, somber family meeting, and everything was more or less cleared up.

“Sorry I freaked,” said Brian.

“Don’t blame you,” said Scott. “I wanted to call you all the way up in Wyoming, but I didn’t know how to explain it…”

Jim sighed. “I never told Paul or Brian either. It seemed irrelevant. Stupid of me. Sorry.”

Paul was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped, looking at the floor. By the time Jim and Scott had found him and calmed him down, Brian had already called. Paul had had a few minutes of honest-to-God fear. It hadn’t been pleasant.

“We never should have stopped using protection,” he said.

“What?” said three voices. And then everyone was talking and arguing and explaining.

* * * *

Outside on the front porch, Joshua kicked the porch swing into motion with a hard
thump
against the side of the house with his booted foot.

“You’re leaving marks on the house,” Freddie pointed out.

Joshua looked at him, one eyebrow up, some flash in his face, and he kicked the wall on the next swing even harder.

“Joshua? I said your boots are leaving black marks on their house.”

Joshua swung back, swung forward. Extended
both
booted feet now.
Thump.

Freddie put down the paper he’d been reading.

Thump. Thump.

The challenge on Joshua’s face was unmistakable.

“Stop that,” said Freddie.

Joshua threw his head back, his smile insolent. The swing swung back. Forward.
Thump.

“That’s it,” said Freddie, and he grabbed both Joshua’s arms, swung him up and off the swing.

“Hey!” said Joshua. “Get your hands off me, freak.”

Joshua yanked at the hold on his arm, as if to walk away, but Freddie didn’t release him. “You want to tell me what’s got you all in a twist?” he asked calmly.

“Let go of me, jerk.” Joshua struggled.

“Stop name calling,” said Freddie, and he laid a smack on Joshua’s rear end.

“Ouch! Crazy asshole!” Joshua struggled, but Freddie sat on the porch railing behind him, threw the gangly young man over his lap, and right there on the front porch, in sight of God and everyone, smacked Joshua hard, several times, on the seat of his jeans.

“Any more of that mouth, young man,” said Freddie, “and I’ll pull down these jeans and spank you properly.”

“Crazy. Asshole,” said Joshua, enunciating clearly.

“That’s it.” And Freddie stood, lifting Joshua and half carrying, half dragging the protesting young man around the corner of the house and into the rec room.

Joshua did seem to start struggling in earnest at this point, but Freddie just stripped the jeans down, sat down on a bench, and leaning with his full weight across the arm on Joshua’s back, he smacked that struggling bare behind until it was bright red and Joshua’s demands had turned to pleas and finally to sobs.

Freddie let him go, dragged him up, and held him.

“I’m sorry,” sobbed Joshua.

“I know you are. I just wish I knew why you felt like you had to do that.”

“It’s my fault,” Joshua said into Freddie’s shoulder.

“What is?”

“They’re all fighting because of me.”

“That hardly seems likely. What did you supposedly do?”

“I…I chased Scott. I knew he was a married man, but I followed him down here anyway. I knew it was wrong…”

“Scott? But Jim and Scott like you, Joshua. They aren’t fighting about you.”

Joshua sobbed against Freddie’s shoulder. Freddie stroked the shaking back until Joshua calmed. Then Freddie helped him dress and walked him over to the overstuffed chairs in the corner.

Joshua scrubbed at his face with his shirtsleeves, obviously miserable and trying hard not to show it.

Freddie cleared the long bangs out of Joshua’s face, felt the man’s head push into his hand like a dog’s seeking a pat. “C’mere,” he said.

Joshua almost resisted being pulled into Freddie’s lap, but when he did come, it was like he’d always been there.

Freddie stroked the silky hair, felt those long arms around him, the damp face against his neck, eyelashes blinking.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

* * * *

“Where’s Joshua?” asked Scott.

“I dunno,” said Brian. “He was on the porch when we were all talking, and I went out to apologize, and he was gone.”

“Joshua’s with Freddie,” said Jim calmly from where he stood at the sink.

“Where?” said Brian, heading to the back door, but Scott knew Jim’s looks and threw out an arm to stop Brian.

“Maybe we should wait until later,” said Scott.

Jim smiled, putting a plate in the drainer. “That’s a good idea.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

“Well, if you keep looking like
that
, he will.”

“Looking like what?” Scott wore that cherubic expression that only masked true devilry.

Joshua and Brian exchanged looks, and Joshua said, “All you need is two little horns comin’ outta your head, Scott.”

“Listen,” said Brian. “Try to look a little guilty. Then he won’t suspect anything.”

While Scott tried to look a little guilty but not, Brian said to Joshua, “You can’t tell Freddie.”

Joshua had been Freddie’s shadow the past week. Brian had learned to understand the wholly personal dynamic that every power exchange embraced, but he had never seen one where the dominant partner was so completely in charge of the submissive. Freddie had taken Joshua to get his hair cut. Freddie told Joshua what music to listen to and books to read. Freddie picked out Joshua’s
clothes
for him.

And they weren’t even a couple.

* * * *

“Isn’t there something strange about it?” he’d asked Paul one night. He lay on his belly, naked and spread legged on a towel while Paul massaged oil into his every crack and crevice.

“Mmmmm. Strange?”

“That they don’t have sex even, and Joshua does whatever Freddie tells him to.”

Paul worked Brian’s glutes with the expertise that only a man with a long-term relationship with those buttocks could have. “The mentoring relationship is an old institution and isn’t always sexual.”

His thumbs worked down and pressed the area just above Brian’s balls. Brian’s legs spread, and his butt pushed toward Paul.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, hon?”

Brian lifted his butt just a little more. “Daaaaddddyyyy.”

Paul smiled and climbed between Brian’s legs. “Coming, Brian.”

* * * *

Now Joshua looked worried and serious. “If Freddie asks me, I have to tell him.”

“See, that’s the thing,” said Scott. “No, you don’t.”

Joshua looked at Scott like he was talking Swahili.

“Well, never mind. Freddie doesn’t pay attention to things like this,” said Brian.

Brian had armfuls of candles, and he was setting them in little groups all over the inside of the rec room. He and Scott and Joshua had arranged the furniture as best they could and draped every ordinary surface with dark towels and sheets. Brian hoped that, by candlelight, the room would look very gothic.

And then they’d lead Jim in here to find Scott waiting for him on his knees with heavy shackles on his ankles and wrists and the new harness snugly fitted on him.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t pay attention?” said Joshua.

Brian and Scott looked at each other, and Scott raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing, Joshua,” said Brian.

“Never mind,” said Scott.

Joshua looked from one to the other. He was at the hero worship stage and couldn’t believe his friends could find any fault with Freddie.

Brian stood back for effect and said, “Hooee, Jim is going to have a heart attack.”

Scott stood surveying the room as well. “Last year, I didn’t remember, and I think the crazy old coot was actually hurt.”

“Remember what?” said Joshua.

“It’s kind of our anniversary.”

“Oh,” said Joshua. “You’ve been a couple for two years?”

Scott and Brian looked at each other, and then they both burst out laughing. “Something like that. It’s been two years since the first time I got a taste of Jim. Brian remembers, don’t ya, Brian?” And then they both were laughing again.

Joshua didn’t like it when the conversations went this direction. “Well, I’m going in. Freddie gave me a book, and I want to read it.”

“’Kay,” said Scott. He and Brian watched Joshua leave.

“Scott?” asked Brian as the door closed behind Joshua.

“Yeah?”

“Is Joshua a virgin?”

Scott considered this. “I didn’t think so when he told me about his boyfriend. But now I wonder. Maybe it never went that far. That might explain things.”

“You think Freddie knows?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t Mr. Control Freak love that?”

They were silent, thinking about it, and then Brian said, “So, what do I have to tell Jim to get him out here?”

* * * *

Jim was sorting laundry. This was no mean feat. In a household that consisted of four men, all with similar jeans, T-shirts, socks, and underwear needs, and all of different sizes and builds, sorting laundry involved reading each and every tag.

He was standing in front of the folding table with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and a pair of white Fruit of the Looms in his hands when Brian came around the corner with wide, worried eyes.

“Um. Jim?”

Jim glanced up and then, seeing Brian’s expression, removed his glasses entirely and set down the undies. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think
anything
. But. Um, could you come out to the rec room?”

That last delivered with the apprehensive urgency of a young man who had just done Something Regrettable.

So, Jim followed Brian across the lawn at a trot, and when Brian stopped at the door and hesitated Jim was prepared for any number of awful scenes.

He was
not
prepared for what he saw.

The room was pitch-black. Not just dark, but
black
, the darkness swimming with the flickering light of candles, so many of them that the center of the room seemed almost to swell and undulate with light.

At the very center of that magical aura, head bowed, arms bound, knelt Scott.

Jim forced himself to breathe.

He could see the bindings on Scott’s arms. Not the simple Velcro straps that Jim used most of the time—soft and easily removed by the wearer, if necessary. These were real shackles: thick iron, with the solid links of chains falling to the floor where they were fastened to similar irons around Scott’s ankles.

His pelvis was encircled with leather like a black garter belt, a cock-and-ball ring holding him firmly.

Around his chest was another thick band of black leather, an opening over each nipple, and in place of the nipple ring, Scott wore a shield with a barbell that attached to the leather vest.

The collar around his neck was heavy, and another long link of iron black chain hung from it.

His head was still bowed, the golden hair glowing in the candlelight.

“Scott,” said Jim. “Babe?”

He saw the chains move and the nipple ring glint as Scott took a deep breath. His voice was husky. “Happy anniversary, Jim.”

There was a silence. Jim could hear the candle flames.

“I…wanted you to know,” said Scott slowly, head still bowed. He took a deep breath. “I mean, I know I fight you, but…”

Jim sank to his knees in front of Scott.

“I’m yours, baby,” said Scott. “One hundred percent. Do what you want with me, Jim.”

“Scott.” Jim cupped Scott’s face and raised it so he could look at his lover. Scott’s eyes were bright and fierce, and his face was flushed.

“And this damned harness is making me hard as iron, Jim, so
while
you’re doing what you want, could you find it in your heart to fuck me?”

Jim couldn’t even speak. He nodded. Then he helped his shackled boyfriend to his feet and took Scott over to the bench where he bent him over. There was a butt plug attached to the harness, which Jim eased out of Scott.

From where his head lay on the bench, Scott said, “Can I hold you in my mouth, baby?”

Jim could barely stumble around to the other side of the bench. He fed his cock into Scott’s mouth and waited until he couldn’t bear it anymore, then went back to the other side. Pulling Scott’s legs apart as far as the leg irons would allow and holding Scott’s wrists against his back, Jim pushed his thick cock into Scott in one firm motion, and his lover cried out his name. The chains clinked, and Jim officially did what he rarely did; he lost control.