Chapter 86 - Leave the Home Fires Burning
As the night ends, several inhabitants of Freeman's try to find a little peace before people head out in search of Eric and Hugh.
Back to Chapter 85
I know it's late, I know you're weary
I know your plans don't include me
Still here we are, both of us lonely
Both of us lonely
We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?
Let's make it last, let's find a way
Turn out the light, come take my hand now
We've got tonight, babe
Why don't you stay?
Why don't you stay?
'We've Got Tonight' Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mj7SD9BPwcU
Sawyer had been thinking, but he still couldn't work out why he was out cold in the Emerald room and had an ugly bruise forming on his jaw. The gentle knock on the door drew him from his reverie and he called out, in hope of an explanation, "Come in."
One of the many Chinese servants appeared in the doorway, bowing respectfully.
"How'd I get here?" he asked the man, "What happened to me?"
The servant looked disconcerted and glanced over his shoulder to the hallway, as if someone there was about to strike him for telling the truth. "Mr. Naveen bring you here after fight. Mr. Vin punch you. You not remember?"
Even in broken English, the words themselves made sense, but why either of those things had happened still escaped Sawyer. His frown deepened and he shook his head. Immediately regretting that action as the thump of his headache returned, Sawyer winced. "Why?"
"Why he hit you?"
"Yeah, why?" Rubbing at his forehead, Sawyer didn't look up as the man answered this time, though a spike of memory of the punch itself stabbed him neatly where his hand touched his head.
"He say you bring big man from Oz here to get Eric. Eric gone now. Mr. Marton getting search party ready. They go find him soon. Mr. Marton and Miss Marg say you stay here; get better. I bring you something now?"
"What the fuck?" Sawyer's eyes widened in shock and his heart thumped against his ribs almost as painfully as his head. They thought he'd brought Hugh here to take Eric away? Shit! Jackman had seemed damned interested in Eric; that much was true, but Sawyer had never imagined the man was after taking the bouncer away from Freeman's. What on earth was that all about? And worse than that: why hadn't Sawyer spotted that something wasn't quite right about Hugh? Guilt spread through him. He'd been reading people for years in card-playing and he'd been fooled by a fucking Aussie convict. Anger tried to override the guilt, but his head spun and Sawyer had to grip the bedstead to stop himself from swooning.
"Bring me some hot water to wash in," he managed after a moment, holding himself together as he realized the servant was staring, "And hot coffee. I need... hot coffee. Plenty of it."
The Chinaman nodded, bowing his way out of the room, and Sawyer was alone once more.
Taking a deep breath, Sawyer shifted to lie back on the bed, wincing as his head met the pillow. Thinking over the things the servant had said, Sawyer finally focused on one that had escaped him before as he worried about why he'd been attacked.
Naveen had brought him here. Naveen. He thought about how he'd been attired when he arrived tonight and looked around the room, spotting his clothes neatly folded on a chair; his boots beside them on the floor. Naveen had undressed him-bar his trousers-and tucked him into the bed. What did that mean? That he was doing his duty to his client, or something more? A vague memory of a soft touch to his brow made him frown, and he wondered at it.
Several long minutes passed, but Sawyer could make little sense of Naveen's behavior, no matter how he looked at it.
Hugh returned to the front of his mind, and Sawyer let the guilt build. If something happened to Eric, it would be all his fault. Vin's words immediately before the punch came back to him with a jolt. The man was right; he had been thinking with the wrong head. There would be little forgiveness for this. But Marton had allowed him to be put in this room; what did that mean? Perhaps it was just for tonight because he'd passed out.
He had to find some way to make it up to Freeman's.
Just then another knock on the door startled him and he sat up. The hot water and his coffee, no doubt.
Without further preamble, the door opened to reveal Miss Marg holding a covered tray. "Good, you're still in bed where you should be," she said briskly as she crossed the room. "You're lucky I intercepted the servant, or you would have the wrath of Cook--as well as her presence--descending on you." Setting the tray on the bedside table, she winced as she got a good look at the blossoming bruise.
"As colorfully as that is blooming, your head has to be about pounding out of your skull. Here." Marg uncovered a raw steak to place on the worst of the swelling.
Sawyer shifted upright, or tried to, but Miss Marg was too insistent and he ended up flat on his back and with a hunk of meat on his face for his trouble.
He wasn't so sure he'd ended up with a better deal than he'd have got with Cook, in reality, but he wasn't about to complain. He knew when he was licked by a woman, and this was one of the times he wasn't going to fight it. Studying Marg's expression, he didn't say anything for a few minutes as he let the coolness of the steak soothe the ache in his jaw.
"I don't imagine I'm anyone here's best friend about now," he said eventually. "I swear to you, I had no idea what Jackman..." The name stuck in his throat for a second as he remembered how close it was to Matt's moniker. He continued, repeating the last words, "...what Jackman was after here. If I'd had a clue..." He closed his eyes briefly, and then met hers when he opened them, putting as much honesty into his expression as he could. "I'd never do anything to jeopardize this place."
"He bamboozled all of us," Marg responded shortly. "Now, how's your head? Any lumps from how you landed? Double vision? Is the pain tolerable?" Marg paused and snorted, "Any headachy pain?"
Lifting the covers, Marg peeked beneath and nodded briskly. "Good, you removed most of your clothing. Will be that much less to fuss with when Cook arrives." While she spoke, Marg fussed around herself, smoothing the comforter and then perching on the edge of the bed.
"So before you are bathed and cleaned and bandaged to within an inch of your life," Marg pinned Sawyer to his pillow with a piercing blue stare, "Just how good was he to con a con-man?"
Marg's questions came so fast it was impossible for Sawyer to decide which one to answer first, so he merely shook his head, which led to another wince due to his headache. Trying to stop her looking under the blankets also proved futile, so he gave up and managed to simply be glad he wasn't completely naked.
"Cook? No! Promise me you'll tell her I'm all right. I don't need anything a good night's rest won't provide. Please, Miss Marg?" he pleaded, sitting up and somehow managing to get past her insistence that he lie back down. His heart thumped hard as he handed her the steak back.
He couldn't see what the insistent black woman could do that Marg-and presumably Naveen-hadn't already done for him. He was even beginning to suspect that Naveen had sponged him down, going by the way his skin felt and the vague sandalwood scent that lingered around him. The last thing he needed was more handling by an over-zealous matron who probably thought he was much more seriously wounded.
Marg's last words made him blink, but he wasn't about to tell her-or anyone else now-how good Hugh was. It wasn't like Sawyer had been watching for tricks, but Hugh had seemed genuine enough, hadn't he? Sawyer thought back to their sessions and wondered what he could possibly have missed. Hugh was definitely interested in men, even if he wouldn't bend over; that was not in doubt. But maybe he should have realized that the way Hugh's eyes gleamed at the mention of Eric was a little beyond normal? How was he supposed to know it meant anything other than the man was homesick?
Scowling at his own stupidity more than in anger at Marg, Sawyer growled, "He's a slippery bastard, and I'll kill him if he shows his face here again. No-one gets away with that kinda shit... uh, excuse my language, ma'am.
"Do they know where he's headed? Marton's organizing someone to go after him?" For a few seconds Sawyer wondered if he should offer his own services, but a sudden throb in his head reminded him why sleep was probably a better option right now.
A burst of laughter escaped Marg before settling down to a few tinkling chuckles. "You'll have to stand in line behind everyone else who wants to skin the man alive
She patted Sawyer's bare shoulder and chuckled again."And don't worry about moderating your language in this situation. Stringing him up by his balls is the tamer of the colorful descriptions I've heard or thought tonight
She studied the gambler for a few minutes and then nodded decisively. "He couldn't have been that good to con all of us, could he?" It was obvious pain had lowered some of Sawyer's usual barriers, and Marg could discern not only anger and guilt in the green of Sawyer's eyes, but doubt too.
"There is something genuine and good about Mr. Jackman... or, he is the smoothest of all confidence men, yes
Sawyer snorted, hardly surprised that colorful words had already been bandied about tonight. But his mama had taught him that foul language wasn't suitable in front of ladies, and to his mind, Miss Marg was definitely a lady, no matter what Mama might have thought of her.
"Stringin' him up might be too good for him," he muttered.
Letting his frown wrinkle into a thoughtful pattern, Sawyer gave Marg another confused look. "I could swear he was harmless. I mean... he would have done certain things had I asked..." A slight flush rose on his cheeks as he admitted this, knowing Marg would understand exactly what he was talking about. "But he wasn't unnecessarily rough. And he got a number of bruises from chatting up the wrong people at Sailor Tom's. Surely he wouldn't have planned something so painful-I saw the marks, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a fun outing-simply to mislead me? Perhaps fortune just played into his plans..."
A thought occurred to him then, and he wondered if anyone knew the answer. He considered Eric's reaction when he'd 'introduced' the two, but there hadn't been anything odd about that; Eric hadn't stiffened or acted in the least bit odd at meeting Hugh, Sawyer was sure. And he was pretty damned sure they'd gone to a room together that night after he'd left them, and not just to talk.
"What does Hugh want with Eric? Did they know each other in Australia, d'ya think? Is Jackman even his real name?"
"Those are the critical questions we need the answers to. However, none will be forthcoming until we find Eric and his kidnapper," Marg sighed. "Marton and the boys have some leads, and more to check out before they set off in the morning
Major Karl had had the servant who operated Freeman's telegraph machine tapping and transcribing messages furiously in the time he'd been away from Marton's study. Along with taking a short Leave of Absence for a 'family' emergency, Karl found out from the Royal Navy boys that an Australian-bound ship was due into Monterey any day.
"Is there anything else you may know without realizing it?" Marg asked without any real expectation.
"So they're not going anywhere 'til morning?" Sawyer asked, frowning. "No, I don't think I can tell you anything. He only said he had work lined up here, but it had fallen through. No doubt the bast... uh... man wasn't about to tell me why he was really here, nor what caused him to leave Australia. And I don't think he told me anything that could be useful, or I'd have picked up on it sooner. Perhaps I could... well, in the morning... I am given leave to stay tonight, I hope?
Taking one of Marg's hands, he looked into her clear blue eyes, wishing he could have been smart enough to know his 'carrot' was far too good a find to be true. "I'm truly sorry to have brought such trouble to Freeman's, Miss Marg. I hope you and Marton will both believe that."
Giving the madam his most sincere apologies was about all he could do in the circumstances, and he only hoped that would be enough for everyone else here too
"I was afraid of that," Marg sighed again. "He did play his cards close to his chest." She met Sawyer's eyes and squeezed his hand, "I do believe you, and once we have Eric safe and sound at home, Marton will be able to breathe easier and get past his share of the guilt we all feel for being taken so swiftly by Mr. Jackman."
Marg stayed a while longer, reassuring Sawyer that he was welcome and that under no circumstances was he going to be booted to the street after Vin's violent attack. By overseeing the delivery (and consumption) of Cook's hearty soup, Marg guaranteed the bossy woman would not put in a personal appearance.
Sawyer, reassured and grateful, felt somewhat relieved that he was not being held to blame, although he knew that he would not rest properly until Jackman was caught and Eric returned to his rightful position. As Marg left him for the night and gave further assurances that he was welcome to stay as long as he needed to recover, Sawyer finally allowed his exhaustion from the stress of the whole ordeal to overcome him, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.
White Wing watched Far Rider descend the stairs, a small smile still in place. A slight tingle across his lips made him close his eyes, savoring the feeling. After a moment, he turned, opening his eyes and pushing through the door back to face his friend in the tower room.
"Take care of him for me, won't you?" he asked Wind, stepping into the brave's open arms and holding on tight. "I'll miss both of you; I hope you won't be away for long."
Pulling back slightly so he could look into Wind's handsome face, he lifted a hand to stroke at dark hair and smile sadly at his friend. "I would have shared strength with him if he'd wanted me to, but I'm glad he didn't; not tonight. It's too soon.
"But I will lie with you; you should have what protection I can offer, and I have need of you this night." He couldn't say more right now as tears were forming, and he didn't need to cry again. Closing his eyes before Wind could see, he sought the warm lips he knew well and wound himself tightly around Wind once more.
Wind in the Grass didn't have an opportunity to reply once White Wing molded himself into his arms and instigated a deep kiss. His eyes fluttered open when he tasted tobacco as well as White Wing. Coupling with Far Rider might be too early, but obviously kissing him was all right. That was a very good sign for the eventual success of his closest friends' marriage. Lifting his face away after a few more minutes, Wind tucked White Wing's head under his chin and massaged the back of his scalp.
"I have need of sharing strength with you as well, my friend. The charge of keeping your husband safe is one of great honor that I take very seriously. Grandfather* will watch over all of us while we are parted."
Running a hand down White Wing's back, Wind in the Grass smacked a kiss to the top of his head. "It has been a long trying night and I'd rather feel all of your soft frame against me on that sleeping surface for the rest of it, yes?"
"Yes," White Wing said simply. "The blankets will come soon, I'm sure. Until then, will you sit and sing to me?" White Wing could think of nothing more soothing than to have Wind in the Grass sing ancient songs in his melodious voice.
Letting go enough to lead his friend to the chaise, he sat down and bade Wind join him.
The narrow sleeping couch was surprisingly comfortable when Wind in the Grass stretched out on it and cradled White Wing against him. Smoothing his friend's glossy dark hair, Wind sang softly of Čhetáŋ, the hawk spirit, The People's guide over speed, dedication and good vision.
The pile of blankets and cushions arrived as well as a light meal of a hearty soup and more tea. Wind in the Grass chuckled when the young servant-boy kept sending glances at White Wing from beneath his lashes.
"You have another admirer, I see. You'll soon be too busy with your kind new friends Or-ly and Wohr-ik to miss Far Rider and myself."
White Wing blushed at Wind's words, and continued eating the delicious soup, which he was sorely in need of by now, since he had missed his dinner with Far Rider.
"I am glad of their friendship," he said, giving Wind a look which he hoped his friend understood, "but I will still miss both of you."
Rapidly, he wiped bread around the soup bowl, getting every morsel of the goodness before setting the bowl aside.
Stripping off his tunic, White Wing shifted the cushions and blankets until they seemed to be in a cozy heap that he and Wind could easily tumble into once they were done. He pulled off his moccasins, and sat down on the pile of bedding cross-legged, feeling almost nervous about coupling with Wind in the Grass in Far Rider's private space. The man had to know what they would do alone though; he should be familiar with the customs of The People.
"As we will miss you." Wind in the Grass also set aside his bowl and picked up White Wing's hand to lick away a last trace of butter. The corners of his lips curved up as he watched the pebbling of White Wing's nipples when Wind took a finger deep into his mouth.
"Chilled?" Wind asked with only a small hint of a smirk, "I have just the thing for that." He pulled White Wing closer and lowered his head to suckle one dark nubbin.
He knew White Wing was worried for their safety, just as he and Far Rider would rather not leave White Wing behind. Off and on he'd contemplated having White Wing come along, but this wasn't the open plains where the whites were still few. Despite the advantages of having White Wing's magic and strength near, the whites in this household would provide better protection than Far Rider and he could while traveling in this strange land on the edge of the Great Water.
Now also wasn't the time for more serious thoughts or discussions. The day would fully dawn soon and Wind in the Grass wanted White Wing to have pleasurable memories of sharing comfort, laughs, and their deep friendship, as well as sharing strength.
White Wing shivered delightedly and arched his back, uncrossing his legs and falling back onto the blankets as Wind followed him, still suckling-or as best as he was able in the circumstances.
Letting all thought go beyond what they were now doing, White Wing sighed as Wind moved over his body, worshipping with lips and hands.
They moved almost languidly, but it didn't seem moments before both were naked, and their cocks rubbed together, sending spirals of desire throbbing through White Wing's entire body. Wind's mouth was incredible; there were things he could do with his tongue that White Wing had never dreamed of. Kisses interspersed with the sucking and licking in other places soon had White Wing's spirit soaring and his voice following.
Licking his lips, Wind in the Grass sat back on his haunches and smiled softly at White Wing's languid figure sprawled on the pile of bedding in sated abandon. It was a look Wind loved to have a part in creating in his friend. White Wing's inner beauty seemed to glow and throb with every breath he took. Damp tendrils of hair stuck to his face and Wind brushed them carefully away before leaning down to kiss fluttering eyelashes.
He blinked when White Wing's face shimmered, and then a vision of Young Chief lying in a similar pose swam before his eyes. Wind squeezed his eyes shut and covered his young lover's body, needing the solid feel of White Wing's slim frame. Unfamiliar words echoed in his head 'I love yeh like that laddie...', and Wind whispered White Wing's name until the echoes faded and he was pulled close into his lover's arms.
When he eventually joined their bodies, their coupling was slow and languorous, designed to take White Wing soaring a few more times before Wind in the Grass joined him on one last journey, his seed pumping from him as White Wing's magic created a cocoon of power sizzling around and between them.
Once both were spent and lying tangled together in post-climactic bliss, White Wing let his thoughts roam. At one point in their love-making, Wind in the Grass had seemed almost as far away as he often felt himself, and White Wing wondered where his friend's spirit had gone. Something occurred to him that hadn't before, wrapped up in his own problems as he had been.
Kissing Wind's glistening skin, he met his friend's warm smile with one of his own. He kept his voice soft, unsure how willing Wind would be to discuss things that could well be impossibilities. "Is there someone who stirs your heart, Wind? Someone you would be bound to, if you could?"
"No," Wind in the Grass responded quickly-a little too quickly-while lowering his eyes and then nuzzling into White Wing's nape.
"I'm already bound in a myriad of ways to you and Far Rider." He blew a raspberry in the hollow of White Wing's collarbone. "And that's more than enough hassle for a mere brave to handle." When Wind raised his head, he hoped the teasing light in his eyes hid any unattainable fantasies about men he'd never thought to encounter again.
White Wing wasn't stupid, and he was sure there had to be something more behind the supposedly simple answer, but clearly Wind didn't wish to discuss whoever it was right now. With his friend about to go off for who knew how long and the night almost finished, White Wing decided that any probing for more information was probably best left to another time.
He laughed softly at the gentle tickling against his skin, and smiled at Wind fondly. "I'm sure you will have plenty to keep you busy, then."
I love you went unspoken, but White Wing was fairly sure Wind knew how much he cared, even though what they had was not the kind of overwhelming love he had shared with Swift Arrow, nor even the kind of bond he was beginning to form with Far Rider. Whatever difficulties there were in Wind's life over whoever it was he held in his heart, White Wing silently pledged with his eyes, he would do all he could to help his friend find happiness-eventually.
For now, as he pulled at the blankets around them and wrapped the pair of them in warmth, he murmured softly, asking that his spirit guides bind them both in protection from harm and give them the strength to do what was needed while they were apart.
Finally, exhausted beyond thought, White Wing drifted off to sleep, safe in the brave's arms.
Warrick chuckled to himself as he stepped onto the second floor landing at Inspector Stokes' rooming house. The man was either a recluse, or was rarely home to receive visitors, judging by the curiosity his arrival had stirred among the other tenants and staff.
The rain dripping down the back of his neck and off the fringe hanging over his eyes did not seem to faze the serving girl who'd opened the back door to Warrick. Hat in hand, eyes properly lowered; barely resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot, he was sized up and down four or five times. The envelope he carried was studied this way and that as if the girl could discern more than Mr. Marton's cultured handwriting on the front and his seal on the back.
At long last Warrick was allowed entrance into the dimly-lit kitchen, but only as far as the rag rug just inside the door. By the time he'd wiped his boots (and nearly polished out the scuffs) and had his overcoat and hat hung over a thread-bare towel, at least three people had 'happened' to wander into the kitchen. One at least attempted to act like it was intentional by plucking an apple from the fruit bowl. The most blatant was a fully-figured woman who sat herself at the table and made no bones about perusing Warrick's frame.
It was from her that Warrick learned the lady of the house was away for the evening while the maid dithered about allowing Warrick up to the men's floor unescorted. At long last the mousy servant led Warrick up to the base of the third floor landing, where along the way a few other tenants wandered past at not-so random intervals.
Heading to the third door on the left as directed (more than once, in case he forgot and disturbed some other tenant most likely), Warrick swiped some of the rain droplets off his brow and knocked on the door.
Expecting the often red-faced inspector he'd occasionally seen around Freeman's, Warrick's eyes widened when a small dark-eyed waif opened the door.
"I have urgent messages for Inspector Stokes from his Gentleman's Club. They require his personal attention," Warrick intoned stiffly as he worked to hold back a smirk that the policeman had himself a personal boy. His eyes traveled down to the slim limbs and bare toes peeking out the bottom of the too-large man's shirt, then quickly back up to the boy's face
"Mr. Marton is waiting for a reply. If you will please assist your uh... master in dressing, the messages need to be addressed privately."
"He's not here," Archie replied, his heart thumping.
The dark man in the doorway was tall and damp, but didn't seem menacing. In fact, he had a distinct sparkle in his green eyes. Archie studied his face for a moment before speaking again.
"I expect him soon though. Are you able to wait for him?" He wasn't sure if he should let a black man into Inspector Stokes' room, but then, he was half-Nipponese and had been sleeping in it for a few nights. If this man was some kind of servant to the owner of the Gentleman's Club the policeman belonged to, he should surely be trustworthy?
Archie wasn't sure what 'Gentleman's Club' implied in truth, because so far, every attempt Archie had made to engage his 'master' (for want of a better description) sexually had been rebuffed, though he hadn't given up trying. In fact, he'd been warming the man's bed when the knock came; reading what he could understand in Mr. Stokes' newspaper. He wasn't naked, thankfully, but it wouldn't take much to make him so.
"Do you want to come in while you wait?"
"He's not?" Warrick cleared his throat after his surprised question squeaked out. "Yes, I will wait. Thank you." He stepped across the threshold when the boy opened the door wider. The room was neat and tidy, and comfortably furnished. A few personal mementos held pride of place on the tall bureau next to a narrow wardrobe. Shelves near the gas stove in a corner held some crockery; enough for a basic meal to be cooked.
The Call* was spread out on the bed next to a small nest of pillows. "My apologies for the interruption, but it is a matter of utmost importance." Warrick perched on the edge of the one arm chair, knowing his trouser legs were still damp from the dash between the hired carriage and the back door. The Oriental boy was quite comely, if a little nervous-looking, Warrick observed as he wiped at another runnel of water dripping from his fringe.
"Please, go ahead and continue what you were doing. I can sit here quietly until the inspector returns."
Archie blushed lightly as he closed the door and made his way back to the bed.
"I'm Archie," he said, "Can I know your name?"
Folding himself up cross-legged on the mattress, Archie carefully arranged the shirt between his legs and smiled at the stranger. He was a very handsome black man, and the water dripping off him seemed to enhance the smoothness of his warm skin. His unusual-colored eyes captured Archie's attention and he squinted, thinking about it. Black men were usually brown-eyed, and if he thought about it, darker-skinned.
This man was a half-breed too! Excited at the thought of meeting someone who probably understood some of the issues Archie had dealt with--and almost as much, attracted to the man's obvious beauty and sensuality--Archie wondered if he liked boys.
"Nice to meet you, Archie. I'm Warrick." Warrick smiled and then frowned as Archie kept staring at his face.
"Do I have a smudge?" he asked, swiping once again at his brow. "Perhaps there is a rag I could use so I won't drip any more on your master's furnishings."
"No, you're fine," Archie gulped and then nodded. "I should have offered you a towel."
He scurried to the closet to find a small scrap of an old towel that he was sure Inspector Stokes wouldn't mind him offering the man, and moved closer to Warrick. Unthinkingly, he started wiping at Warrick's face, as he would have done for any customer at Mr. Henry's in such a situation.
It was intoxicating being so close to the man; his scent was incredibly alluring, and Archie could barely think beyond helping him get dry. A pulse of desire threaded it's way silkily through his veins and he gulped again, suddenly realizing how forward he was being.
"S-sorry," he stuttered, moving back a pace and holding the towel out as heat suffused his face.
"Please, you don't have to stop," Warrick said softly, reaching out carefully to capture the hand holding the towel. "You can see better, oui?"
Up this close, Warrick could see the boy was of mixed blood, and his smile softened even more. "Besides, I don't bite... unless you like that," he couldn't resist teasing. Knowing the inspector's sexual proclivities, it never occurred to Warrick that Archie wasn't the man's lover. The boy was nervous enough and putting him at ease that he was with a kindred spirit had to help.
Archie's wrist burned where Warrick touched it; sending electricity right through him. He felt unable to move as his eyes widened at the man's words. He blinked, staring straight into the dazzling eyes. Blood thumped through his system as it headed directly south and his mouth went completely dry.
This man couldn't mean what he said, could he? Not that Archie was into being bitten (although he'd allowed when he had to) but the clear implication was that Warrick's inclinations lay where his own did. Did he assume Archie was here for Inspector Stokes' pleasure?
He should move away. The inspector could return at any moment, and Archie was sure the man wouldn't approve of him doing things with Warrick, going by his behavior these last few days. But Archie didn't want to move away; he wanted to touch Warrick more; to relieve the ache inside him that had risen with his attraction. He had never felt so drawn to anyone before, though he had certainly been with a lot of men in his eighteen years.
Incapable of leaving the spot where he was, Archie's lips parted unconsciously and his tongue dampened them as he began wiping Warrick's face where he'd left off. The man's lips were incredible, and Archie found himself shifting even closer, wishing he could kiss them.
The closer Archie got, the harder Warrick found it to glance away from the waif's kissable soft lips that he kept dampening, much to the detriment of Warrick's libido. He found himself leaning in, one hand extended and hovering near Archie's shoulder.
The sound of a key in the lock startled both of them as the door opened to reveal Inspector Stokes.
"Unhand him!" Instantly Nick's service pistol was out of his pocket and aimed at the mulatto's head. "He is an innocent boy; not a plaything like at your employer's establishment!"
The gun held in an unwavering grip, Nick narrowed his eyes. "Archie, step away and come stand behind me," he ordered in a soft voice. Mrs. Porter's serving girl had stopped him when he'd entered the boarding house to inform him a 'colored' servant from his Club was waiting in his rooms. Expecting one of the many Chinese servants, the sight of the mulatto accosting his young charge immediately had Nick on full alert.
"I've not touched him." Warrick spoke as softly, hands held out as he met the policeman's eyes, although it was hard not to look down the barrel of the gun pointed at him.
"I would have expected more restraint from a member of Mr. Freeman's staff." Nick spoke over the other man. He'd seen this new worker around Freeman's and assumed by the attire the mulatto wore that he was like the East Indian, Naveen. "Especially one of his Dungeon Masters."
"Dungeon...? What? Wait!" Warrick stammered, eyes wide. "Please, I've not touched or sullied or done anything to your lover." Archie did remind Warrick of Orli in some ways, but 'innocent' the waif definitely was not, if the scent of arousal earlier and the not-so subtle hints from the boy's lip licking was an indication.
"Can we put that down and please start over? Mr. Marton has a serious issue he needs your assistance with." Warrick half-motioned to the envelope sticking out of his pocket.
Archie had leapt up at Inspector Stokes' entrance, his heart hammering in fear, especially when he saw the gun. Unable to speak at first, his widened eyes took in the scene, and the words eventually registered.
Dungeon Masters.
Knowing only that there was no way Warrick could be such a thing, going by his kind words and friendly manner, Archie shook his head when Nick ordered him to stand behind him, and didn't budge from his spot a couple of steps from Warrick.
His face reddening as Warrick accused him of being the policeman's lover-almost as far from the truth as it was possible to be-Archie almost opened his mouth to object, but Nick still hadn't lowered the gun and he worried that his savior was actually considering using it.
Then Warrick spoke again and Archie finally found his voice from somewhere. "Please," he murmured, "he tells the truth, Mr. Nick. He was damp from the rain, and I was only helping him dry off. I was the one who approached him. It's me you should be angry with; I'm sorry."
He bowed his head, shoulders slumping in the manner he had often used to deflect Mr. Henry's anger. Allowing his most regretful look up from under furrowed brows, he could only hope that the inspector would be as swayed from antagonism as Mr. Henry usually was by the submissive behavior. If so, it wouldn't take much to change the man's annoyance to desire, and once Warrick left, surely this time he would want to use Archie's mouth or bum to relieve his tension.
Too afraid to even so much as glance at Warrick, he shivered where he stood and tried not to think how much he wished he could offer himself to Warrick now rather than Stokes.
"Angry with you?" It wasn't the mulatto's softly spoken request and calling Archie his lover of all things, but Archie's quiet, fearful plea that had Nick putting away his pistol and turning to the boy. "I'm not angry with you, child. Come here, though, please?" Nick's eyes softened as he sent a wavering smile to Archie.
When the boy hesitated, Warrick stood slowly, knowing the gun could reappear at any moment. "Sir, the boy is frightened, let him be and blame me for us getting off on the wrong foot." He also smiled softly at Archie and curled his fingers in to resist reaching out to comfort the poor waif who looked even smaller all hunkered in on himself in the too-large shirt.
The inspector put away the gun and smiled at Archie, but before Archie could do more than take a step towards him, Warrick stood and spoke. Archie felt a warmness curl around his heart at the beautiful smile he was offered by the dark man.
"I am Warrick, sir, and although I am one of Freeman's whores, Dungeon Master is definitely the furthest from my job description. I would never harm or defile anyone, especially your Archie here," Warrick stated earnestly. "Please; Mr. Marton sent me with utmost urgency to elicit your assistance. Mr. Eric has been kidnapped and possibly is being whisked back to Australia..."
"Eric?" Nick tore into the envelope Warrick handed him and read the missive quickly. "Good God! I met that man," he mused, running a hand over his close-cropped hair as he paced.
Inspector Stokes was distracted from Archie's return smile to Warrick by the news about 'Mr. Eric'--whoever he was--and Archie frowned briefly as Stokes began to pace, then offered another smile of thanks and relief to Warrick. He was extremely glad to hear that Warrick was not a 'Dungeon Master', in any case. He would have been very disappointed if it had turned out Warrick was such a thing, although he'd never believed it anyway.
As Inspector Stokes paced and fired questions at him, Warrick moved to stand near the entry and answered whatever he could. He took liberties enough to nod Archie back to his nest of bedding and newspapers on the bed when he noticed the boy yawning and shifting from foot to foot while he tried to follow the men's conversation.
There was not a whole lot of information available, and time had been lost by no one in the household realizing Eric had been kidnapped. Nick shook his head as he jotted a few notes on the margins of Mr. Freeman's letter. Between the Army connections of Major Heinz and Mr. Bean's shipping contacts, the rosters and schedules of any ships up and down the entire coast should be easily available. But which way would that Australian, Jackman, travel out of the city, especially using the disguise of an undertaker?
Nick paused to sit on the armchair, tapping his pencil against his teeth. He had a connection that might be able to check with the Southern Pacific Railroad. Records for the ferries that dashed back and forth across all points of the Bay would be fairly easy to get his hands on, even this late in the evening.
"I'll need to return to the station." Nick looked up at long last. "I agree with Mr. Marton that we'll have to use you as a courier, due to the sensitivity of the matter," he sighed. Sending feelers out to look for a particular Australian undertaker was simple enough, but keeping who the information was for away from certain political factions was another. Nick would have to take Mr. Marton's assurances that this Warrick was trustworthy with the confidentiality of their business matter and that he could also be trusted not to harm the innocent young boy dozing on his bed.
Archie had ostensibly gone back to reading the newspaper, but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open as the conversation went on between the inspector and Warrick. The cadence of their speech lulled him into a light doze as he lay on his stomach across the bed with a thin section of local news under his nose.
The door opening brought him out of the catnap, and he blinked up at Stokes, realizing the man was telling him he was to be left alone with Warrick while the policeman went off on some errand to do with the missing man. Nodding, but too surprised to say anything, he shifted on the bed and risked a brief glance in Warrick's direction. Then Inspector Stokes was telling him to go to sleep properly and that he'd be back as soon as he could. Giving him a last reassuring smile and Warrick a slightly sterner look, the man disappeared out the door.
Leaving Archie and Warrick alone together.
The sun was rising over the city and hills to the east when Sean finally climbed to his suite. Throat dry and scratchy from too many cigars in succession while he and Marton poured over area maps, plotting the most likely route Jackman may have taken, Sean yawned and twisted his neck to pop it.
At least their all-night efforts had paid off. Warrick had returned with a confirmed schedule of an Australia-bound mail ship. Inspector Stokes still had some other sources to investigate, namely any merchant ships in port who were practitioners of Shanghaiing. Marton refused to believe Jackman could have sold Eric into that nefarious and dangerous type of slavery, but Sean agreed with the inspector that all ideas needed to be explored.
Grudgingly, Marton had agreed to send Warrick back out. Once Sean rejuvenated with a couple hours sleep he'd head back to the wharves and the lad could courier messages between his offices and Stokes. If there were any rumors about one or two large Australians shipping out to the Orient, they'd hear about it.
The suite door snicked open and Sean paused, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took in the visions of loveliness curled near the center of his bed. Removing clothing as he approached, Sean toed off his boots before leaning over the edge.
"Craig love, as gorgeous as ye look spooned against me Little One, I'd rather be where you are," Sean whispered in a low husky tone so Orli wouldn't be disturbed (although only the crown of the laddie's head was visible above the bedding).
Yawning and stretching lightly as Sean spoke, Craig pouted out from under the bedding. He gave Orli a small pat, but the boy didn't even stir. "It's warm in here. Couldn't you just get in too?"
He and Orli had been sent up when their bosses started getting into routes and planning and it was clear they'd be at it for hours. The two of them had been too wound up to sleep at first, but it hadn't been difficult to find something to do to wear them out. It was Craig's first time with the lovely Orli, and although he hadn't fucked him, they'd certainly had fun, and sleep wasn't long in 'coming' once they had both done so.
Craig knew he was probably more trusted with the youngster than almost anyone else around, but no-one had said they shouldn't enjoy themselves, and Orli certainly seemed to need it. He was delightful too--all Boone had implied and more.
"Come on," he murmured in a low and suggestive voice, "Marton won't mind." Craig knew he'd probably get told to sod off, but it was cold out there, and he wasn't even sure if Greg was in their bed to warm him up again. It was way too early to be moving in his opinion, anyway.
Chuckling, Sean sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to brush a kiss across Craig's plump red lips. "Marton will mind, as he was looking forward to your toasty self warming his bed."
Craig was a delightful scamp and an adventurous lover in bed. As enjoyable as Craig's offer sounded, all Sean wanted after the last number of trying hours was to sink himself into his Orli until exhaustion shut down in his head the myriad thoughts and plans and lists of things that needed to be addressed
"Now scamper ye minx." Sean sat up to start opening his trouser buttons. "And no pouting; there's a lovely big cock awaiting you down the hall. Snuggling up to the sleepy lad beside you is as adventurous as I'm capable of right now."
Even with their louder whispers, there still was no movement from the mop of curls and lump under the bedding that was Orli. "Which is a good thing, eh?" Sean's eyes twinkled as he stood to shuck off his trousers. "Since it looks like ye've worn out me lad."
Craig's smile grew at the thought of Marton waiting for him. It hadn't occurred to him that his boss would still be looking for him at this hour, and for once he might be getting the man to himself (not that he minded sharing with Liv most times).
Sean didn't seem annoyed at the thought that he'd been playing with Orli, anyway, which was good. He had been worried that Sean might be a little possessive of the boy-despite Sean's way of spreading himself about, and the fact he'd accepted Warrick in Orli's bed so often-but there didn't seem to be any sign of that.
Part of Craig's thought in playing with Orli tonight had been to check on his mental state as well, but Orli certainly didn't seem very bothered by the thought of being sexually involved with people other than Sean (and Warrick and Boone, it had to be said). Craig no longer worried the boy would have issues with the job he'd soon be taking up, although he might still bear watching; not all of the clients were as attractive as the men he'd been with so far.
Struggling upright reluctantly, Craig grinned at Sean. "He was tired before we even started, if you must know, but he was still pretty keen. He's lovely, Sean." He gave Orli a fond look and played with a loose curl on the boy's forehead. "He's going to be such an asset here. Thank you for bringing him 'home'."
Finally managing to lever himself out of the bed, Craig found his robe where he'd left it on the floor, and covered his nakedness before stepping close to Sean to offer him a kiss.
Slipping his hands around Craig's waist and then down to cup his bum, Sean pulled the lad close as he returned the kiss. He licked in past Craig's lips, humming when Craig's tongue twined with his
"Of course he's lovely. How could you doubt I'd bring you home anyone other than an asset?" Sean's tongue made a circuit of his lips when he lifted his head at long last. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as he felt the reaction of Craig's body through the sole barrier of Craig's robe. "And I think you're sufficiently warmed enough to make the trip down to Marton's suite."
The kiss stirred more than Craig's imagination, and it was obvious Sean was aware of it. "Mmm," he smirked, drawing away. "Snuggle up with Orli while you can. I'm sure there will be much to-ing and fro-ing tomorrow. Uh... today, I suppose by now, actually. Sleep well, if you can."
Nodding one last time at Sean, Craig drew his robe tighter and took his leave. Hopefully Marton hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Lifting the covers carefully, Sean slid into the spot still slightly warm from Craig's body. There was still no movement from his Orli as he aligned himself to the lad's backside. As always, Sean was amazed at how perfectly they meshed; the smooth expanse of Orli's back warmed all Sean's chest and belly. The soft curve of Orli's bum fit perfectly in his lap as Sean tangled their limbs together. A sigh escaped Sean as he propped his head on a hand and tucked his other arm under Orli's to pull his sleeping lover closer.
It didn't take Craig long to reach his employer's suite, and he was pleased to have his light tap answered by Marton in not much more than Craig was wearing. The promise of earlier when he'd been in the man's lap rose at the sight of his smile, and Craig slipped eagerly through the open door and into Marton's arms.
"I don't suppose we have long," he whispered, "but if I can send you off with something good to remember, I'll gladly do so."
Feeling Craig's semi-hardness against his hip, Marton's smile of greeting widened.
"That's the best idea I've heard all night," he purred leaning down to kiss along Craig's long neck to the fresh mark that could only have been made by the delicious major earlier in the evening.
Loosening the tie on Craig's robe, Marton skimmed his fingers over his special boy's smooth skin to shuck it off while he slowly backed Craig to the bed. Lifting his head to smirk sexily when the back of Craig's knees hit the edge, Marton gave him a little push down to the surface and then opened his silky dressing gown and let it flutter to the floor.
"Come, have at whichever bits you would like to remember first." Holding his arms out to his sides, Marton's smirk grew until his eyes, crinkled at the corners, flashed heatedly.
Craig landed with an 'oof' on the soft surface, then came up onto his elbows to watch Marton. His own smile grew as his boss stripped off his robe, and it didn't take a second asking for him to sit up properly to take stock of what he wanted to remember.
Marton's cock curved upwards deliciously, tempting him. But he couldn't make it too easy. Reaching out, he ran fingertips through the hairs curling low on Marton's belly as he peered cheekily upward.
"First of all, I'd like to remember how hairy you are," he said huskily. His own skin was almost as smooth as Orli and Boone's, although he didn't shave places that they did quite so much. But the springy curls that adorned Marton's body were an incredible turn-on for their contrast to Craig's body.
Purring contentedly, Marton's eyelids nearly fluttered closed. "And what I'd like to remember is the feel of this pelt," Marton ran a hand slowly down his front until it covered Craig's, "covering the smooth expanse of your skin."
Still moving slowly, Marton crawled onto the bed over Craig until they were chest to chest and groin to groin. He rocked once, another purr rumbling from him as the scent of Craig and Major Karl filled his senses.
Craig murmured small needy noises as Marton covered him. His boss was seriously the most sexy man he knew, and while he never minded sharing him-especially with Liv, whom he loved dearly-it was a wonderful treat to have Marton to himself for a change.
His hairiness felt delicious against Craig's skin, and Craig licked at Marton's sexy lips, demanding entrance. Rocking his own hips up to meet those pushed into him, Craig spread his legs, allowing Marton nearer to the place he sought.
"Patience, my love." Marton licked at his lips, damp from their kisses. "Keep that up and I'll want to slide right into you without making sure you're open and slicked for my intrusion." Marton's breath hitched then at the thought that Craig might still be prepared from his session with Karl. The major's scent of soap and horse still lingered on Craig's skin and Marton inhaled deeply before attacking again the small love bite on Craig's neck.
"I'm ready," Craig insisted lowly. He and Orli hadn't gone that far, but Craig hadn't washed after he'd been with Karl earlier. Although it was some hours since, he knew that it wouldn't take a lot of preparation for him to take all that Marton offered. Besides, he suspected that Marton rather relished the idea of sharing the remnants of Karl's desire. Briefly, he wondered if he'd ever get opportunity to have both of them in bed with him at the same time.
"Do what you will," he muttered, shivering as Marton bit into already bruised flesh.
Moving to nip at another spot on Craig's neck, Marton raised his head. "Oh I will, my lovely silken-tongued Craig," he purred lowly and then, after a few shallow nudges to test Craig's readiness, Marton entwined their fingers over Craig's head and slid home, making them both gasp in pleasure.
"God, yes," was all Craig could manage as Marton took him. It was the most sublime feeling, having him buried so deeply inside.
While Craig was not a stranger to male coupling and derived much enjoyment from men such as Karl and the other few regulars who knew how to give as well as receive, it truly did make a difference when it was someone whom he felt a little more than simple fondness for, and who seemed to care for him also. He would not say he was 'in love' with Marton exactly, nor that the man felt such a strong emotion in his regard either, but Craig had been Marton's 'boy' longer than any other here now, and as such, there was certainly 'love' of a sort between them in some small measure.
"Please," he begged, wriggling in encouragement as Marton paused and gazed down at him with lust-blown eyes. "I'll die if you don't move now."
Tossing his head back to laugh, Marton's lower body sank deeper into Craig. "Now that could be a challenge." Marton pulled nearly all the way out slowly and then pushed back in fractionally. "Another night shall we test how slow I can move and how far I can push you until you 'risk' expiring?"
Craig was just what Marton needed tonight. The familiarity between them as they made love was the perfect small respite from the worries weighing heavy on Marton's shoulders.
No one hurt one of his boys, or dared steal anyone in his care out from under him. He was as anxious as Vin to get out and find Eric, but he had to be the calm one in control, and organize a plan to swiftly find which direction to search.
Leaning down to kiss Craig deeply, Marton at last set a steady pace until Craig was shuddering beneath him and Marton's orgasm washed over him.
Shuddering as his climax began to spiral closer, Craig took himself in hand to finish the task. As Marton reached his peak and thrust even harder into him, he tightened muscles and jerked upward, finding his own release.
Marton collapsed down onto him without leaving his body and Craig tightened legs around him for a moment, basking in the ripples of after-pleasure, before letting his aching limbs flop back onto the bed. The drumming of Marton's heart against his own was fast but rhythmic, and he felt his eyes grow heavy at the steady beat, suddenly aware how late it was and how little sleep they'd both had.
"You'll be up again soon, love; rest now, eh?" he mumbled, rolling out from under Marton as the man drew out of him wetly. They could shower in the morning; Marton probably much sooner than Craig. Snuggling closer as Marton murmured something unintelligible, he let the bigger man pull blankets over them as sleep drew him under.
Word count: ~9321
Glossary of Terms:
Grandfather/Tunkshila: The Lakota also refer to Wakan Tanka (Great Mystery/Spirit) as Tunkshila (Grandfather).
The Call: The Call was a period newspaper in San Francisco.
On to Chapter 87
Back to Chapter 85
I know it's late, I know you're weary
I know your plans don't include me
Still here we are, both of us lonely
Both of us lonely
We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?
Let's make it last, let's find a way
Turn out the light, come take my hand now
We've got tonight, babe
Why don't you stay?
Why don't you stay?
'We've Got Tonight' Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mj7SD9BPwcU
Sawyer had been thinking, but he still couldn't work out why he was out cold in the Emerald room and had an ugly bruise forming on his jaw. The gentle knock on the door drew him from his reverie and he called out, in hope of an explanation, "Come in."
One of the many Chinese servants appeared in the doorway, bowing respectfully.
"How'd I get here?" he asked the man, "What happened to me?"
The servant looked disconcerted and glanced over his shoulder to the hallway, as if someone there was about to strike him for telling the truth. "Mr. Naveen bring you here after fight. Mr. Vin punch you. You not remember?"
Even in broken English, the words themselves made sense, but why either of those things had happened still escaped Sawyer. His frown deepened and he shook his head. Immediately regretting that action as the thump of his headache returned, Sawyer winced. "Why?"
"Why he hit you?"
"Yeah, why?" Rubbing at his forehead, Sawyer didn't look up as the man answered this time, though a spike of memory of the punch itself stabbed him neatly where his hand touched his head.
"He say you bring big man from Oz here to get Eric. Eric gone now. Mr. Marton getting search party ready. They go find him soon. Mr. Marton and Miss Marg say you stay here; get better. I bring you something now?"
"What the fuck?" Sawyer's eyes widened in shock and his heart thumped against his ribs almost as painfully as his head. They thought he'd brought Hugh here to take Eric away? Shit! Jackman had seemed damned interested in Eric; that much was true, but Sawyer had never imagined the man was after taking the bouncer away from Freeman's. What on earth was that all about? And worse than that: why hadn't Sawyer spotted that something wasn't quite right about Hugh? Guilt spread through him. He'd been reading people for years in card-playing and he'd been fooled by a fucking Aussie convict. Anger tried to override the guilt, but his head spun and Sawyer had to grip the bedstead to stop himself from swooning.
"Bring me some hot water to wash in," he managed after a moment, holding himself together as he realized the servant was staring, "And hot coffee. I need... hot coffee. Plenty of it."
The Chinaman nodded, bowing his way out of the room, and Sawyer was alone once more.
Taking a deep breath, Sawyer shifted to lie back on the bed, wincing as his head met the pillow. Thinking over the things the servant had said, Sawyer finally focused on one that had escaped him before as he worried about why he'd been attacked.
Naveen had brought him here. Naveen. He thought about how he'd been attired when he arrived tonight and looked around the room, spotting his clothes neatly folded on a chair; his boots beside them on the floor. Naveen had undressed him-bar his trousers-and tucked him into the bed. What did that mean? That he was doing his duty to his client, or something more? A vague memory of a soft touch to his brow made him frown, and he wondered at it.
Several long minutes passed, but Sawyer could make little sense of Naveen's behavior, no matter how he looked at it.
Hugh returned to the front of his mind, and Sawyer let the guilt build. If something happened to Eric, it would be all his fault. Vin's words immediately before the punch came back to him with a jolt. The man was right; he had been thinking with the wrong head. There would be little forgiveness for this. But Marton had allowed him to be put in this room; what did that mean? Perhaps it was just for tonight because he'd passed out.
He had to find some way to make it up to Freeman's.
Just then another knock on the door startled him and he sat up. The hot water and his coffee, no doubt.
Without further preamble, the door opened to reveal Miss Marg holding a covered tray. "Good, you're still in bed where you should be," she said briskly as she crossed the room. "You're lucky I intercepted the servant, or you would have the wrath of Cook--as well as her presence--descending on you." Setting the tray on the bedside table, she winced as she got a good look at the blossoming bruise.
"As colorfully as that is blooming, your head has to be about pounding out of your skull. Here." Marg uncovered a raw steak to place on the worst of the swelling.
Sawyer shifted upright, or tried to, but Miss Marg was too insistent and he ended up flat on his back and with a hunk of meat on his face for his trouble.
He wasn't so sure he'd ended up with a better deal than he'd have got with Cook, in reality, but he wasn't about to complain. He knew when he was licked by a woman, and this was one of the times he wasn't going to fight it. Studying Marg's expression, he didn't say anything for a few minutes as he let the coolness of the steak soothe the ache in his jaw.
"I don't imagine I'm anyone here's best friend about now," he said eventually. "I swear to you, I had no idea what Jackman..." The name stuck in his throat for a second as he remembered how close it was to Matt's moniker. He continued, repeating the last words, "...what Jackman was after here. If I'd had a clue..." He closed his eyes briefly, and then met hers when he opened them, putting as much honesty into his expression as he could. "I'd never do anything to jeopardize this place."
"He bamboozled all of us," Marg responded shortly. "Now, how's your head? Any lumps from how you landed? Double vision? Is the pain tolerable?" Marg paused and snorted, "Any headachy pain?"
Lifting the covers, Marg peeked beneath and nodded briskly. "Good, you removed most of your clothing. Will be that much less to fuss with when Cook arrives." While she spoke, Marg fussed around herself, smoothing the comforter and then perching on the edge of the bed.
"So before you are bathed and cleaned and bandaged to within an inch of your life," Marg pinned Sawyer to his pillow with a piercing blue stare, "Just how good was he to con a con-man?"
Marg's questions came so fast it was impossible for Sawyer to decide which one to answer first, so he merely shook his head, which led to another wince due to his headache. Trying to stop her looking under the blankets also proved futile, so he gave up and managed to simply be glad he wasn't completely naked.
"Cook? No! Promise me you'll tell her I'm all right. I don't need anything a good night's rest won't provide. Please, Miss Marg?" he pleaded, sitting up and somehow managing to get past her insistence that he lie back down. His heart thumped hard as he handed her the steak back.
He couldn't see what the insistent black woman could do that Marg-and presumably Naveen-hadn't already done for him. He was even beginning to suspect that Naveen had sponged him down, going by the way his skin felt and the vague sandalwood scent that lingered around him. The last thing he needed was more handling by an over-zealous matron who probably thought he was much more seriously wounded.
Marg's last words made him blink, but he wasn't about to tell her-or anyone else now-how good Hugh was. It wasn't like Sawyer had been watching for tricks, but Hugh had seemed genuine enough, hadn't he? Sawyer thought back to their sessions and wondered what he could possibly have missed. Hugh was definitely interested in men, even if he wouldn't bend over; that was not in doubt. But maybe he should have realized that the way Hugh's eyes gleamed at the mention of Eric was a little beyond normal? How was he supposed to know it meant anything other than the man was homesick?
Scowling at his own stupidity more than in anger at Marg, Sawyer growled, "He's a slippery bastard, and I'll kill him if he shows his face here again. No-one gets away with that kinda shit... uh, excuse my language, ma'am.
"Do they know where he's headed? Marton's organizing someone to go after him?" For a few seconds Sawyer wondered if he should offer his own services, but a sudden throb in his head reminded him why sleep was probably a better option right now.
A burst of laughter escaped Marg before settling down to a few tinkling chuckles. "You'll have to stand in line behind everyone else who wants to skin the man alive
She patted Sawyer's bare shoulder and chuckled again."And don't worry about moderating your language in this situation. Stringing him up by his balls is the tamer of the colorful descriptions I've heard or thought tonight
She studied the gambler for a few minutes and then nodded decisively. "He couldn't have been that good to con all of us, could he?" It was obvious pain had lowered some of Sawyer's usual barriers, and Marg could discern not only anger and guilt in the green of Sawyer's eyes, but doubt too.
"There is something genuine and good about Mr. Jackman... or, he is the smoothest of all confidence men, yes
Sawyer snorted, hardly surprised that colorful words had already been bandied about tonight. But his mama had taught him that foul language wasn't suitable in front of ladies, and to his mind, Miss Marg was definitely a lady, no matter what Mama might have thought of her.
"Stringin' him up might be too good for him," he muttered.
Letting his frown wrinkle into a thoughtful pattern, Sawyer gave Marg another confused look. "I could swear he was harmless. I mean... he would have done certain things had I asked..." A slight flush rose on his cheeks as he admitted this, knowing Marg would understand exactly what he was talking about. "But he wasn't unnecessarily rough. And he got a number of bruises from chatting up the wrong people at Sailor Tom's. Surely he wouldn't have planned something so painful-I saw the marks, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a fun outing-simply to mislead me? Perhaps fortune just played into his plans..."
A thought occurred to him then, and he wondered if anyone knew the answer. He considered Eric's reaction when he'd 'introduced' the two, but there hadn't been anything odd about that; Eric hadn't stiffened or acted in the least bit odd at meeting Hugh, Sawyer was sure. And he was pretty damned sure they'd gone to a room together that night after he'd left them, and not just to talk.
"What does Hugh want with Eric? Did they know each other in Australia, d'ya think? Is Jackman even his real name?"
"Those are the critical questions we need the answers to. However, none will be forthcoming until we find Eric and his kidnapper," Marg sighed. "Marton and the boys have some leads, and more to check out before they set off in the morning
Major Karl had had the servant who operated Freeman's telegraph machine tapping and transcribing messages furiously in the time he'd been away from Marton's study. Along with taking a short Leave of Absence for a 'family' emergency, Karl found out from the Royal Navy boys that an Australian-bound ship was due into Monterey any day.
"Is there anything else you may know without realizing it?" Marg asked without any real expectation.
"So they're not going anywhere 'til morning?" Sawyer asked, frowning. "No, I don't think I can tell you anything. He only said he had work lined up here, but it had fallen through. No doubt the bast... uh... man wasn't about to tell me why he was really here, nor what caused him to leave Australia. And I don't think he told me anything that could be useful, or I'd have picked up on it sooner. Perhaps I could... well, in the morning... I am given leave to stay tonight, I hope?
Taking one of Marg's hands, he looked into her clear blue eyes, wishing he could have been smart enough to know his 'carrot' was far too good a find to be true. "I'm truly sorry to have brought such trouble to Freeman's, Miss Marg. I hope you and Marton will both believe that."
Giving the madam his most sincere apologies was about all he could do in the circumstances, and he only hoped that would be enough for everyone else here too
"I was afraid of that," Marg sighed again. "He did play his cards close to his chest." She met Sawyer's eyes and squeezed his hand, "I do believe you, and once we have Eric safe and sound at home, Marton will be able to breathe easier and get past his share of the guilt we all feel for being taken so swiftly by Mr. Jackman."
Marg stayed a while longer, reassuring Sawyer that he was welcome and that under no circumstances was he going to be booted to the street after Vin's violent attack. By overseeing the delivery (and consumption) of Cook's hearty soup, Marg guaranteed the bossy woman would not put in a personal appearance.
Sawyer, reassured and grateful, felt somewhat relieved that he was not being held to blame, although he knew that he would not rest properly until Jackman was caught and Eric returned to his rightful position. As Marg left him for the night and gave further assurances that he was welcome to stay as long as he needed to recover, Sawyer finally allowed his exhaustion from the stress of the whole ordeal to overcome him, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.
White Wing watched Far Rider descend the stairs, a small smile still in place. A slight tingle across his lips made him close his eyes, savoring the feeling. After a moment, he turned, opening his eyes and pushing through the door back to face his friend in the tower room.
"Take care of him for me, won't you?" he asked Wind, stepping into the brave's open arms and holding on tight. "I'll miss both of you; I hope you won't be away for long."
Pulling back slightly so he could look into Wind's handsome face, he lifted a hand to stroke at dark hair and smile sadly at his friend. "I would have shared strength with him if he'd wanted me to, but I'm glad he didn't; not tonight. It's too soon.
"But I will lie with you; you should have what protection I can offer, and I have need of you this night." He couldn't say more right now as tears were forming, and he didn't need to cry again. Closing his eyes before Wind could see, he sought the warm lips he knew well and wound himself tightly around Wind once more.
Wind in the Grass didn't have an opportunity to reply once White Wing molded himself into his arms and instigated a deep kiss. His eyes fluttered open when he tasted tobacco as well as White Wing. Coupling with Far Rider might be too early, but obviously kissing him was all right. That was a very good sign for the eventual success of his closest friends' marriage. Lifting his face away after a few more minutes, Wind tucked White Wing's head under his chin and massaged the back of his scalp.
"I have need of sharing strength with you as well, my friend. The charge of keeping your husband safe is one of great honor that I take very seriously. Grandfather* will watch over all of us while we are parted."
Running a hand down White Wing's back, Wind in the Grass smacked a kiss to the top of his head. "It has been a long trying night and I'd rather feel all of your soft frame against me on that sleeping surface for the rest of it, yes?"
"Yes," White Wing said simply. "The blankets will come soon, I'm sure. Until then, will you sit and sing to me?" White Wing could think of nothing more soothing than to have Wind in the Grass sing ancient songs in his melodious voice.
Letting go enough to lead his friend to the chaise, he sat down and bade Wind join him.
The narrow sleeping couch was surprisingly comfortable when Wind in the Grass stretched out on it and cradled White Wing against him. Smoothing his friend's glossy dark hair, Wind sang softly of Čhetáŋ, the hawk spirit, The People's guide over speed, dedication and good vision.
The pile of blankets and cushions arrived as well as a light meal of a hearty soup and more tea. Wind in the Grass chuckled when the young servant-boy kept sending glances at White Wing from beneath his lashes.
"You have another admirer, I see. You'll soon be too busy with your kind new friends Or-ly and Wohr-ik to miss Far Rider and myself."
White Wing blushed at Wind's words, and continued eating the delicious soup, which he was sorely in need of by now, since he had missed his dinner with Far Rider.
"I am glad of their friendship," he said, giving Wind a look which he hoped his friend understood, "but I will still miss both of you."
Rapidly, he wiped bread around the soup bowl, getting every morsel of the goodness before setting the bowl aside.
Stripping off his tunic, White Wing shifted the cushions and blankets until they seemed to be in a cozy heap that he and Wind could easily tumble into once they were done. He pulled off his moccasins, and sat down on the pile of bedding cross-legged, feeling almost nervous about coupling with Wind in the Grass in Far Rider's private space. The man had to know what they would do alone though; he should be familiar with the customs of The People.
"As we will miss you." Wind in the Grass also set aside his bowl and picked up White Wing's hand to lick away a last trace of butter. The corners of his lips curved up as he watched the pebbling of White Wing's nipples when Wind took a finger deep into his mouth.
"Chilled?" Wind asked with only a small hint of a smirk, "I have just the thing for that." He pulled White Wing closer and lowered his head to suckle one dark nubbin.
He knew White Wing was worried for their safety, just as he and Far Rider would rather not leave White Wing behind. Off and on he'd contemplated having White Wing come along, but this wasn't the open plains where the whites were still few. Despite the advantages of having White Wing's magic and strength near, the whites in this household would provide better protection than Far Rider and he could while traveling in this strange land on the edge of the Great Water.
Now also wasn't the time for more serious thoughts or discussions. The day would fully dawn soon and Wind in the Grass wanted White Wing to have pleasurable memories of sharing comfort, laughs, and their deep friendship, as well as sharing strength.
White Wing shivered delightedly and arched his back, uncrossing his legs and falling back onto the blankets as Wind followed him, still suckling-or as best as he was able in the circumstances.
Letting all thought go beyond what they were now doing, White Wing sighed as Wind moved over his body, worshipping with lips and hands.
They moved almost languidly, but it didn't seem moments before both were naked, and their cocks rubbed together, sending spirals of desire throbbing through White Wing's entire body. Wind's mouth was incredible; there were things he could do with his tongue that White Wing had never dreamed of. Kisses interspersed with the sucking and licking in other places soon had White Wing's spirit soaring and his voice following.
Licking his lips, Wind in the Grass sat back on his haunches and smiled softly at White Wing's languid figure sprawled on the pile of bedding in sated abandon. It was a look Wind loved to have a part in creating in his friend. White Wing's inner beauty seemed to glow and throb with every breath he took. Damp tendrils of hair stuck to his face and Wind brushed them carefully away before leaning down to kiss fluttering eyelashes.
He blinked when White Wing's face shimmered, and then a vision of Young Chief lying in a similar pose swam before his eyes. Wind squeezed his eyes shut and covered his young lover's body, needing the solid feel of White Wing's slim frame. Unfamiliar words echoed in his head 'I love yeh like that laddie...', and Wind whispered White Wing's name until the echoes faded and he was pulled close into his lover's arms.
When he eventually joined their bodies, their coupling was slow and languorous, designed to take White Wing soaring a few more times before Wind in the Grass joined him on one last journey, his seed pumping from him as White Wing's magic created a cocoon of power sizzling around and between them.
Once both were spent and lying tangled together in post-climactic bliss, White Wing let his thoughts roam. At one point in their love-making, Wind in the Grass had seemed almost as far away as he often felt himself, and White Wing wondered where his friend's spirit had gone. Something occurred to him that hadn't before, wrapped up in his own problems as he had been.
Kissing Wind's glistening skin, he met his friend's warm smile with one of his own. He kept his voice soft, unsure how willing Wind would be to discuss things that could well be impossibilities. "Is there someone who stirs your heart, Wind? Someone you would be bound to, if you could?"
"No," Wind in the Grass responded quickly-a little too quickly-while lowering his eyes and then nuzzling into White Wing's nape.
"I'm already bound in a myriad of ways to you and Far Rider." He blew a raspberry in the hollow of White Wing's collarbone. "And that's more than enough hassle for a mere brave to handle." When Wind raised his head, he hoped the teasing light in his eyes hid any unattainable fantasies about men he'd never thought to encounter again.
White Wing wasn't stupid, and he was sure there had to be something more behind the supposedly simple answer, but clearly Wind didn't wish to discuss whoever it was right now. With his friend about to go off for who knew how long and the night almost finished, White Wing decided that any probing for more information was probably best left to another time.
He laughed softly at the gentle tickling against his skin, and smiled at Wind fondly. "I'm sure you will have plenty to keep you busy, then."
I love you went unspoken, but White Wing was fairly sure Wind knew how much he cared, even though what they had was not the kind of overwhelming love he had shared with Swift Arrow, nor even the kind of bond he was beginning to form with Far Rider. Whatever difficulties there were in Wind's life over whoever it was he held in his heart, White Wing silently pledged with his eyes, he would do all he could to help his friend find happiness-eventually.
For now, as he pulled at the blankets around them and wrapped the pair of them in warmth, he murmured softly, asking that his spirit guides bind them both in protection from harm and give them the strength to do what was needed while they were apart.
Finally, exhausted beyond thought, White Wing drifted off to sleep, safe in the brave's arms.
Warrick chuckled to himself as he stepped onto the second floor landing at Inspector Stokes' rooming house. The man was either a recluse, or was rarely home to receive visitors, judging by the curiosity his arrival had stirred among the other tenants and staff.
The rain dripping down the back of his neck and off the fringe hanging over his eyes did not seem to faze the serving girl who'd opened the back door to Warrick. Hat in hand, eyes properly lowered; barely resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot, he was sized up and down four or five times. The envelope he carried was studied this way and that as if the girl could discern more than Mr. Marton's cultured handwriting on the front and his seal on the back.
At long last Warrick was allowed entrance into the dimly-lit kitchen, but only as far as the rag rug just inside the door. By the time he'd wiped his boots (and nearly polished out the scuffs) and had his overcoat and hat hung over a thread-bare towel, at least three people had 'happened' to wander into the kitchen. One at least attempted to act like it was intentional by plucking an apple from the fruit bowl. The most blatant was a fully-figured woman who sat herself at the table and made no bones about perusing Warrick's frame.
It was from her that Warrick learned the lady of the house was away for the evening while the maid dithered about allowing Warrick up to the men's floor unescorted. At long last the mousy servant led Warrick up to the base of the third floor landing, where along the way a few other tenants wandered past at not-so random intervals.
Heading to the third door on the left as directed (more than once, in case he forgot and disturbed some other tenant most likely), Warrick swiped some of the rain droplets off his brow and knocked on the door.
Expecting the often red-faced inspector he'd occasionally seen around Freeman's, Warrick's eyes widened when a small dark-eyed waif opened the door.
"I have urgent messages for Inspector Stokes from his Gentleman's Club. They require his personal attention," Warrick intoned stiffly as he worked to hold back a smirk that the policeman had himself a personal boy. His eyes traveled down to the slim limbs and bare toes peeking out the bottom of the too-large man's shirt, then quickly back up to the boy's face
"Mr. Marton is waiting for a reply. If you will please assist your uh... master in dressing, the messages need to be addressed privately."
"He's not here," Archie replied, his heart thumping.
The dark man in the doorway was tall and damp, but didn't seem menacing. In fact, he had a distinct sparkle in his green eyes. Archie studied his face for a moment before speaking again.
"I expect him soon though. Are you able to wait for him?" He wasn't sure if he should let a black man into Inspector Stokes' room, but then, he was half-Nipponese and had been sleeping in it for a few nights. If this man was some kind of servant to the owner of the Gentleman's Club the policeman belonged to, he should surely be trustworthy?
Archie wasn't sure what 'Gentleman's Club' implied in truth, because so far, every attempt Archie had made to engage his 'master' (for want of a better description) sexually had been rebuffed, though he hadn't given up trying. In fact, he'd been warming the man's bed when the knock came; reading what he could understand in Mr. Stokes' newspaper. He wasn't naked, thankfully, but it wouldn't take much to make him so.
"Do you want to come in while you wait?"
"He's not?" Warrick cleared his throat after his surprised question squeaked out. "Yes, I will wait. Thank you." He stepped across the threshold when the boy opened the door wider. The room was neat and tidy, and comfortably furnished. A few personal mementos held pride of place on the tall bureau next to a narrow wardrobe. Shelves near the gas stove in a corner held some crockery; enough for a basic meal to be cooked.
The Call* was spread out on the bed next to a small nest of pillows. "My apologies for the interruption, but it is a matter of utmost importance." Warrick perched on the edge of the one arm chair, knowing his trouser legs were still damp from the dash between the hired carriage and the back door. The Oriental boy was quite comely, if a little nervous-looking, Warrick observed as he wiped at another runnel of water dripping from his fringe.
"Please, go ahead and continue what you were doing. I can sit here quietly until the inspector returns."
Archie blushed lightly as he closed the door and made his way back to the bed.
"I'm Archie," he said, "Can I know your name?"
Folding himself up cross-legged on the mattress, Archie carefully arranged the shirt between his legs and smiled at the stranger. He was a very handsome black man, and the water dripping off him seemed to enhance the smoothness of his warm skin. His unusual-colored eyes captured Archie's attention and he squinted, thinking about it. Black men were usually brown-eyed, and if he thought about it, darker-skinned.
This man was a half-breed too! Excited at the thought of meeting someone who probably understood some of the issues Archie had dealt with--and almost as much, attracted to the man's obvious beauty and sensuality--Archie wondered if he liked boys.
"Nice to meet you, Archie. I'm Warrick." Warrick smiled and then frowned as Archie kept staring at his face.
"Do I have a smudge?" he asked, swiping once again at his brow. "Perhaps there is a rag I could use so I won't drip any more on your master's furnishings."
"No, you're fine," Archie gulped and then nodded. "I should have offered you a towel."
He scurried to the closet to find a small scrap of an old towel that he was sure Inspector Stokes wouldn't mind him offering the man, and moved closer to Warrick. Unthinkingly, he started wiping at Warrick's face, as he would have done for any customer at Mr. Henry's in such a situation.
It was intoxicating being so close to the man; his scent was incredibly alluring, and Archie could barely think beyond helping him get dry. A pulse of desire threaded it's way silkily through his veins and he gulped again, suddenly realizing how forward he was being.
"S-sorry," he stuttered, moving back a pace and holding the towel out as heat suffused his face.
"Please, you don't have to stop," Warrick said softly, reaching out carefully to capture the hand holding the towel. "You can see better, oui?"
Up this close, Warrick could see the boy was of mixed blood, and his smile softened even more. "Besides, I don't bite... unless you like that," he couldn't resist teasing. Knowing the inspector's sexual proclivities, it never occurred to Warrick that Archie wasn't the man's lover. The boy was nervous enough and putting him at ease that he was with a kindred spirit had to help.
Archie's wrist burned where Warrick touched it; sending electricity right through him. He felt unable to move as his eyes widened at the man's words. He blinked, staring straight into the dazzling eyes. Blood thumped through his system as it headed directly south and his mouth went completely dry.
This man couldn't mean what he said, could he? Not that Archie was into being bitten (although he'd allowed when he had to) but the clear implication was that Warrick's inclinations lay where his own did. Did he assume Archie was here for Inspector Stokes' pleasure?
He should move away. The inspector could return at any moment, and Archie was sure the man wouldn't approve of him doing things with Warrick, going by his behavior these last few days. But Archie didn't want to move away; he wanted to touch Warrick more; to relieve the ache inside him that had risen with his attraction. He had never felt so drawn to anyone before, though he had certainly been with a lot of men in his eighteen years.
Incapable of leaving the spot where he was, Archie's lips parted unconsciously and his tongue dampened them as he began wiping Warrick's face where he'd left off. The man's lips were incredible, and Archie found himself shifting even closer, wishing he could kiss them.
The closer Archie got, the harder Warrick found it to glance away from the waif's kissable soft lips that he kept dampening, much to the detriment of Warrick's libido. He found himself leaning in, one hand extended and hovering near Archie's shoulder.
The sound of a key in the lock startled both of them as the door opened to reveal Inspector Stokes.
"Unhand him!" Instantly Nick's service pistol was out of his pocket and aimed at the mulatto's head. "He is an innocent boy; not a plaything like at your employer's establishment!"
The gun held in an unwavering grip, Nick narrowed his eyes. "Archie, step away and come stand behind me," he ordered in a soft voice. Mrs. Porter's serving girl had stopped him when he'd entered the boarding house to inform him a 'colored' servant from his Club was waiting in his rooms. Expecting one of the many Chinese servants, the sight of the mulatto accosting his young charge immediately had Nick on full alert.
"I've not touched him." Warrick spoke as softly, hands held out as he met the policeman's eyes, although it was hard not to look down the barrel of the gun pointed at him.
"I would have expected more restraint from a member of Mr. Freeman's staff." Nick spoke over the other man. He'd seen this new worker around Freeman's and assumed by the attire the mulatto wore that he was like the East Indian, Naveen. "Especially one of his Dungeon Masters."
"Dungeon...? What? Wait!" Warrick stammered, eyes wide. "Please, I've not touched or sullied or done anything to your lover." Archie did remind Warrick of Orli in some ways, but 'innocent' the waif definitely was not, if the scent of arousal earlier and the not-so subtle hints from the boy's lip licking was an indication.
"Can we put that down and please start over? Mr. Marton has a serious issue he needs your assistance with." Warrick half-motioned to the envelope sticking out of his pocket.
Archie had leapt up at Inspector Stokes' entrance, his heart hammering in fear, especially when he saw the gun. Unable to speak at first, his widened eyes took in the scene, and the words eventually registered.
Dungeon Masters.
Knowing only that there was no way Warrick could be such a thing, going by his kind words and friendly manner, Archie shook his head when Nick ordered him to stand behind him, and didn't budge from his spot a couple of steps from Warrick.
His face reddening as Warrick accused him of being the policeman's lover-almost as far from the truth as it was possible to be-Archie almost opened his mouth to object, but Nick still hadn't lowered the gun and he worried that his savior was actually considering using it.
Then Warrick spoke again and Archie finally found his voice from somewhere. "Please," he murmured, "he tells the truth, Mr. Nick. He was damp from the rain, and I was only helping him dry off. I was the one who approached him. It's me you should be angry with; I'm sorry."
He bowed his head, shoulders slumping in the manner he had often used to deflect Mr. Henry's anger. Allowing his most regretful look up from under furrowed brows, he could only hope that the inspector would be as swayed from antagonism as Mr. Henry usually was by the submissive behavior. If so, it wouldn't take much to change the man's annoyance to desire, and once Warrick left, surely this time he would want to use Archie's mouth or bum to relieve his tension.
Too afraid to even so much as glance at Warrick, he shivered where he stood and tried not to think how much he wished he could offer himself to Warrick now rather than Stokes.
"Angry with you?" It wasn't the mulatto's softly spoken request and calling Archie his lover of all things, but Archie's quiet, fearful plea that had Nick putting away his pistol and turning to the boy. "I'm not angry with you, child. Come here, though, please?" Nick's eyes softened as he sent a wavering smile to Archie.
When the boy hesitated, Warrick stood slowly, knowing the gun could reappear at any moment. "Sir, the boy is frightened, let him be and blame me for us getting off on the wrong foot." He also smiled softly at Archie and curled his fingers in to resist reaching out to comfort the poor waif who looked even smaller all hunkered in on himself in the too-large shirt.
The inspector put away the gun and smiled at Archie, but before Archie could do more than take a step towards him, Warrick stood and spoke. Archie felt a warmness curl around his heart at the beautiful smile he was offered by the dark man.
"I am Warrick, sir, and although I am one of Freeman's whores, Dungeon Master is definitely the furthest from my job description. I would never harm or defile anyone, especially your Archie here," Warrick stated earnestly. "Please; Mr. Marton sent me with utmost urgency to elicit your assistance. Mr. Eric has been kidnapped and possibly is being whisked back to Australia..."
"Eric?" Nick tore into the envelope Warrick handed him and read the missive quickly. "Good God! I met that man," he mused, running a hand over his close-cropped hair as he paced.
Inspector Stokes was distracted from Archie's return smile to Warrick by the news about 'Mr. Eric'--whoever he was--and Archie frowned briefly as Stokes began to pace, then offered another smile of thanks and relief to Warrick. He was extremely glad to hear that Warrick was not a 'Dungeon Master', in any case. He would have been very disappointed if it had turned out Warrick was such a thing, although he'd never believed it anyway.
As Inspector Stokes paced and fired questions at him, Warrick moved to stand near the entry and answered whatever he could. He took liberties enough to nod Archie back to his nest of bedding and newspapers on the bed when he noticed the boy yawning and shifting from foot to foot while he tried to follow the men's conversation.
There was not a whole lot of information available, and time had been lost by no one in the household realizing Eric had been kidnapped. Nick shook his head as he jotted a few notes on the margins of Mr. Freeman's letter. Between the Army connections of Major Heinz and Mr. Bean's shipping contacts, the rosters and schedules of any ships up and down the entire coast should be easily available. But which way would that Australian, Jackman, travel out of the city, especially using the disguise of an undertaker?
Nick paused to sit on the armchair, tapping his pencil against his teeth. He had a connection that might be able to check with the Southern Pacific Railroad. Records for the ferries that dashed back and forth across all points of the Bay would be fairly easy to get his hands on, even this late in the evening.
"I'll need to return to the station." Nick looked up at long last. "I agree with Mr. Marton that we'll have to use you as a courier, due to the sensitivity of the matter," he sighed. Sending feelers out to look for a particular Australian undertaker was simple enough, but keeping who the information was for away from certain political factions was another. Nick would have to take Mr. Marton's assurances that this Warrick was trustworthy with the confidentiality of their business matter and that he could also be trusted not to harm the innocent young boy dozing on his bed.
Archie had ostensibly gone back to reading the newspaper, but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open as the conversation went on between the inspector and Warrick. The cadence of their speech lulled him into a light doze as he lay on his stomach across the bed with a thin section of local news under his nose.
The door opening brought him out of the catnap, and he blinked up at Stokes, realizing the man was telling him he was to be left alone with Warrick while the policeman went off on some errand to do with the missing man. Nodding, but too surprised to say anything, he shifted on the bed and risked a brief glance in Warrick's direction. Then Inspector Stokes was telling him to go to sleep properly and that he'd be back as soon as he could. Giving him a last reassuring smile and Warrick a slightly sterner look, the man disappeared out the door.
Leaving Archie and Warrick alone together.
The sun was rising over the city and hills to the east when Sean finally climbed to his suite. Throat dry and scratchy from too many cigars in succession while he and Marton poured over area maps, plotting the most likely route Jackman may have taken, Sean yawned and twisted his neck to pop it.
At least their all-night efforts had paid off. Warrick had returned with a confirmed schedule of an Australia-bound mail ship. Inspector Stokes still had some other sources to investigate, namely any merchant ships in port who were practitioners of Shanghaiing. Marton refused to believe Jackman could have sold Eric into that nefarious and dangerous type of slavery, but Sean agreed with the inspector that all ideas needed to be explored.
Grudgingly, Marton had agreed to send Warrick back out. Once Sean rejuvenated with a couple hours sleep he'd head back to the wharves and the lad could courier messages between his offices and Stokes. If there were any rumors about one or two large Australians shipping out to the Orient, they'd hear about it.
The suite door snicked open and Sean paused, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took in the visions of loveliness curled near the center of his bed. Removing clothing as he approached, Sean toed off his boots before leaning over the edge.
"Craig love, as gorgeous as ye look spooned against me Little One, I'd rather be where you are," Sean whispered in a low husky tone so Orli wouldn't be disturbed (although only the crown of the laddie's head was visible above the bedding).
Yawning and stretching lightly as Sean spoke, Craig pouted out from under the bedding. He gave Orli a small pat, but the boy didn't even stir. "It's warm in here. Couldn't you just get in too?"
He and Orli had been sent up when their bosses started getting into routes and planning and it was clear they'd be at it for hours. The two of them had been too wound up to sleep at first, but it hadn't been difficult to find something to do to wear them out. It was Craig's first time with the lovely Orli, and although he hadn't fucked him, they'd certainly had fun, and sleep wasn't long in 'coming' once they had both done so.
Craig knew he was probably more trusted with the youngster than almost anyone else around, but no-one had said they shouldn't enjoy themselves, and Orli certainly seemed to need it. He was delightful too--all Boone had implied and more.
"Come on," he murmured in a low and suggestive voice, "Marton won't mind." Craig knew he'd probably get told to sod off, but it was cold out there, and he wasn't even sure if Greg was in their bed to warm him up again. It was way too early to be moving in his opinion, anyway.
Chuckling, Sean sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to brush a kiss across Craig's plump red lips. "Marton will mind, as he was looking forward to your toasty self warming his bed."
Craig was a delightful scamp and an adventurous lover in bed. As enjoyable as Craig's offer sounded, all Sean wanted after the last number of trying hours was to sink himself into his Orli until exhaustion shut down in his head the myriad thoughts and plans and lists of things that needed to be addressed
"Now scamper ye minx." Sean sat up to start opening his trouser buttons. "And no pouting; there's a lovely big cock awaiting you down the hall. Snuggling up to the sleepy lad beside you is as adventurous as I'm capable of right now."
Even with their louder whispers, there still was no movement from the mop of curls and lump under the bedding that was Orli. "Which is a good thing, eh?" Sean's eyes twinkled as he stood to shuck off his trousers. "Since it looks like ye've worn out me lad."
Craig's smile grew at the thought of Marton waiting for him. It hadn't occurred to him that his boss would still be looking for him at this hour, and for once he might be getting the man to himself (not that he minded sharing with Liv most times).
Sean didn't seem annoyed at the thought that he'd been playing with Orli, anyway, which was good. He had been worried that Sean might be a little possessive of the boy-despite Sean's way of spreading himself about, and the fact he'd accepted Warrick in Orli's bed so often-but there didn't seem to be any sign of that.
Part of Craig's thought in playing with Orli tonight had been to check on his mental state as well, but Orli certainly didn't seem very bothered by the thought of being sexually involved with people other than Sean (and Warrick and Boone, it had to be said). Craig no longer worried the boy would have issues with the job he'd soon be taking up, although he might still bear watching; not all of the clients were as attractive as the men he'd been with so far.
Struggling upright reluctantly, Craig grinned at Sean. "He was tired before we even started, if you must know, but he was still pretty keen. He's lovely, Sean." He gave Orli a fond look and played with a loose curl on the boy's forehead. "He's going to be such an asset here. Thank you for bringing him 'home'."
Finally managing to lever himself out of the bed, Craig found his robe where he'd left it on the floor, and covered his nakedness before stepping close to Sean to offer him a kiss.
Slipping his hands around Craig's waist and then down to cup his bum, Sean pulled the lad close as he returned the kiss. He licked in past Craig's lips, humming when Craig's tongue twined with his
"Of course he's lovely. How could you doubt I'd bring you home anyone other than an asset?" Sean's tongue made a circuit of his lips when he lifted his head at long last. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as he felt the reaction of Craig's body through the sole barrier of Craig's robe. "And I think you're sufficiently warmed enough to make the trip down to Marton's suite."
The kiss stirred more than Craig's imagination, and it was obvious Sean was aware of it. "Mmm," he smirked, drawing away. "Snuggle up with Orli while you can. I'm sure there will be much to-ing and fro-ing tomorrow. Uh... today, I suppose by now, actually. Sleep well, if you can."
Nodding one last time at Sean, Craig drew his robe tighter and took his leave. Hopefully Marton hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Lifting the covers carefully, Sean slid into the spot still slightly warm from Craig's body. There was still no movement from his Orli as he aligned himself to the lad's backside. As always, Sean was amazed at how perfectly they meshed; the smooth expanse of Orli's back warmed all Sean's chest and belly. The soft curve of Orli's bum fit perfectly in his lap as Sean tangled their limbs together. A sigh escaped Sean as he propped his head on a hand and tucked his other arm under Orli's to pull his sleeping lover closer.
It didn't take Craig long to reach his employer's suite, and he was pleased to have his light tap answered by Marton in not much more than Craig was wearing. The promise of earlier when he'd been in the man's lap rose at the sight of his smile, and Craig slipped eagerly through the open door and into Marton's arms.
"I don't suppose we have long," he whispered, "but if I can send you off with something good to remember, I'll gladly do so."
Feeling Craig's semi-hardness against his hip, Marton's smile of greeting widened.
"That's the best idea I've heard all night," he purred leaning down to kiss along Craig's long neck to the fresh mark that could only have been made by the delicious major earlier in the evening.
Loosening the tie on Craig's robe, Marton skimmed his fingers over his special boy's smooth skin to shuck it off while he slowly backed Craig to the bed. Lifting his head to smirk sexily when the back of Craig's knees hit the edge, Marton gave him a little push down to the surface and then opened his silky dressing gown and let it flutter to the floor.
"Come, have at whichever bits you would like to remember first." Holding his arms out to his sides, Marton's smirk grew until his eyes, crinkled at the corners, flashed heatedly.
Craig landed with an 'oof' on the soft surface, then came up onto his elbows to watch Marton. His own smile grew as his boss stripped off his robe, and it didn't take a second asking for him to sit up properly to take stock of what he wanted to remember.
Marton's cock curved upwards deliciously, tempting him. But he couldn't make it too easy. Reaching out, he ran fingertips through the hairs curling low on Marton's belly as he peered cheekily upward.
"First of all, I'd like to remember how hairy you are," he said huskily. His own skin was almost as smooth as Orli and Boone's, although he didn't shave places that they did quite so much. But the springy curls that adorned Marton's body were an incredible turn-on for their contrast to Craig's body.
Purring contentedly, Marton's eyelids nearly fluttered closed. "And what I'd like to remember is the feel of this pelt," Marton ran a hand slowly down his front until it covered Craig's, "covering the smooth expanse of your skin."
Still moving slowly, Marton crawled onto the bed over Craig until they were chest to chest and groin to groin. He rocked once, another purr rumbling from him as the scent of Craig and Major Karl filled his senses.
Craig murmured small needy noises as Marton covered him. His boss was seriously the most sexy man he knew, and while he never minded sharing him-especially with Liv, whom he loved dearly-it was a wonderful treat to have Marton to himself for a change.
His hairiness felt delicious against Craig's skin, and Craig licked at Marton's sexy lips, demanding entrance. Rocking his own hips up to meet those pushed into him, Craig spread his legs, allowing Marton nearer to the place he sought.
"Patience, my love." Marton licked at his lips, damp from their kisses. "Keep that up and I'll want to slide right into you without making sure you're open and slicked for my intrusion." Marton's breath hitched then at the thought that Craig might still be prepared from his session with Karl. The major's scent of soap and horse still lingered on Craig's skin and Marton inhaled deeply before attacking again the small love bite on Craig's neck.
"I'm ready," Craig insisted lowly. He and Orli hadn't gone that far, but Craig hadn't washed after he'd been with Karl earlier. Although it was some hours since, he knew that it wouldn't take a lot of preparation for him to take all that Marton offered. Besides, he suspected that Marton rather relished the idea of sharing the remnants of Karl's desire. Briefly, he wondered if he'd ever get opportunity to have both of them in bed with him at the same time.
"Do what you will," he muttered, shivering as Marton bit into already bruised flesh.
Moving to nip at another spot on Craig's neck, Marton raised his head. "Oh I will, my lovely silken-tongued Craig," he purred lowly and then, after a few shallow nudges to test Craig's readiness, Marton entwined their fingers over Craig's head and slid home, making them both gasp in pleasure.
"God, yes," was all Craig could manage as Marton took him. It was the most sublime feeling, having him buried so deeply inside.
While Craig was not a stranger to male coupling and derived much enjoyment from men such as Karl and the other few regulars who knew how to give as well as receive, it truly did make a difference when it was someone whom he felt a little more than simple fondness for, and who seemed to care for him also. He would not say he was 'in love' with Marton exactly, nor that the man felt such a strong emotion in his regard either, but Craig had been Marton's 'boy' longer than any other here now, and as such, there was certainly 'love' of a sort between them in some small measure.
"Please," he begged, wriggling in encouragement as Marton paused and gazed down at him with lust-blown eyes. "I'll die if you don't move now."
Tossing his head back to laugh, Marton's lower body sank deeper into Craig. "Now that could be a challenge." Marton pulled nearly all the way out slowly and then pushed back in fractionally. "Another night shall we test how slow I can move and how far I can push you until you 'risk' expiring?"
Craig was just what Marton needed tonight. The familiarity between them as they made love was the perfect small respite from the worries weighing heavy on Marton's shoulders.
No one hurt one of his boys, or dared steal anyone in his care out from under him. He was as anxious as Vin to get out and find Eric, but he had to be the calm one in control, and organize a plan to swiftly find which direction to search.
Leaning down to kiss Craig deeply, Marton at last set a steady pace until Craig was shuddering beneath him and Marton's orgasm washed over him.
Shuddering as his climax began to spiral closer, Craig took himself in hand to finish the task. As Marton reached his peak and thrust even harder into him, he tightened muscles and jerked upward, finding his own release.
Marton collapsed down onto him without leaving his body and Craig tightened legs around him for a moment, basking in the ripples of after-pleasure, before letting his aching limbs flop back onto the bed. The drumming of Marton's heart against his own was fast but rhythmic, and he felt his eyes grow heavy at the steady beat, suddenly aware how late it was and how little sleep they'd both had.
"You'll be up again soon, love; rest now, eh?" he mumbled, rolling out from under Marton as the man drew out of him wetly. They could shower in the morning; Marton probably much sooner than Craig. Snuggling closer as Marton murmured something unintelligible, he let the bigger man pull blankets over them as sleep drew him under.
Word count: ~9321
Glossary of Terms:
Grandfather/Tunkshila: The Lakota also refer to Wakan Tanka (Great Mystery/Spirit) as Tunkshila (Grandfather).
The Call: The Call was a period newspaper in San Francisco.
On to Chapter 87