by Lee Benoit
Author's note: "Endicott Rex" takes place after the events of "Dragonwalker" from Another Fine Mess edited by Syd McGinley.
Chapter 1. The Feckless Page
It all starts out with a perfectly innocent lunch.
I bop into Zorro's to meet David and some journalist friend of his who wants to do a story about the amazing dragon dogs of Endicott. I say a quick hi to Bennie, who makes eyes at my uniform, and who can blame her? I'm a ravishing combination of working class chic and military dash, if I do say so myself. The uniform is my own creation, seersucker coveralls with a shiny brass zipper, my name embroidered on an oval patch on the chest, and the official crest of my position on the sleeve: a flying dragon with a leash held by a golden hand. It's fabulous.
David's friend is impressed, I can tell.
"Mr. Thorne, a pleasure. Thanks for taking the time." He's at least ten years older than me, which makes him years younger than David. I wonder how they met.
I buss David on the cheek and notice that he blushes a little. Is it delight in the attentions of my hot, young, uniformed self, or embarrassment at being kissed in front of his friend? I let it go as we dig into paninis and Italian sodas, and I race to keep up with Perry Manton's questions. This is my first official interview, and I don't want to mess up.
Manton doesn't ask about my job as the Town of Endicott's official Dragon Wrangler, or even too much about the dragon-dogs themselves. He doesn't even ask about my new outreach program with at-risk kids in Burgess County, that teaches them how to care for dogs, dragon or otherwise. Anyone knows dragon dogs are amazing, but it breaks my heart that no one thought these kids were amazing until now. I'd love to tell this big-city reporter that, but a second look at his studiously slick look and I realize anything real I say will be lost on him. Instead he asks how I think it's possible that most of the dogs of Endicott (except the terriers) can turn into dragons on an order from me. He doesn't seem to know that David can also call the dragon natures of some dogs. I wonder how well they know each other, after all.
I fumble my way through that question and the next ones about my powers. I'm feeling a bit out of my element, just like in Town Council meetings, where all the old guys who hired me look to Chief instead of me whenever they need an answer about the dragon-dogs. Why isn't David jumping in? He could help. I wouldn't mind.
Bennie clears our plates and brings coffee and cranberry-orange hemp cupcakes with soy-cheese frosting (I think this was yesterday's special, too, and hope these don't become a regular menu item). She's forgotten Chief's coffee moratorium, and I'm so grateful I don't even correct her, though I know I'll be confessing to Chief later. He'll notice, for sure.
I dive into the coffee and try to think as Manton starts in with questions I'd really prefer not to answer, questions about my time in the psych ward right after Endicott's dogs started manifesting their scaly, flying, fire-spitting abilities. He asks about how they almost destroyed the town before Chief sprung me and I got them under control. I'm really uncomfortable with all this and shoot David a helpless look, which is a stupid thing to do because David is as blind today as he was yesterday. You'd think his dark glasses would remind me, but I just forget.
"Am I making you nervous?" Manton asks, and I notice how slick his smile is. Expensive orthodonture and a really good haircut. Even for a big-city reporter. "How about you tell me how the town of Endicott is profiting from the dogs, eh?"
That question burns my britches, but I'm still trying to be all official and professional.
"You're not what I expected," I mumble as I fiddle with the tab on my zipper. I know I come across young and insecure, so I sit up straighter and look Manton in the eye. Colored contacts, I'm almost certain. "You're not asking about the good stuff. About how amazing the dogs are when they fly, or all the good work I'm training them to do." I'm so proud of them all, and I want them to have their day in the limelight.
"Those things are a matter of public record, Mr. Thorne," Manton says. "My readers want to hear about the juicy bits." He pauses, and I resist the urge to look to David for support again. How can this guy be David's friend? "They want to know about your relationship with Endicott's Fire Chief, a man twenty-five years your senior. They want to know how your lover got you a job with the town when you're barely qualified to pull espressos in this second-rate café. Now, come on, Endi. Give me the goods."
I'm so hurt and surprised I can feel myself heating up. It's a good thing Lomi isn't with me today 'cause I just know she'd be shooting flame about now. How could David set me up like this? I'll be asking him later, for sure, but I can't pitch a hissy in front of this smug bigshot reporter -- he'd love it too much.
I stand up and turn to David. "I gotta go," I stammer. "Late for a meeting."
As I blunder past Bennie, caffeine singing in my blood, I hear the reporter say, "Well, he certainly is green, isn't he, Davey? How charming."
I hate him all the way to Chief's office.
***
Naturally, Chief notices right away I've had coffee.
A month ago I would have sworn up and down there wasn't a kinky bone in Chief's fine, fine body. Dominant? Yes, indeedy. Commanding? Uh-huh. Toppy, masterful, authoritative -- pick your alpha-dog adjective, and Chief's got it in spades, which trips all my kinks, let me tell you.
But kinky himself? I'd have taken an oath on The Leatherman's Handbook that I was the bent one around here.
I think maybe I'd even have been right.
But that was a month ago. Aside from the whole dragon-dog thing, which is huge, Chief let fly with the revelation that he had the highly inappropriate hots for me, his mentor's grandson. And then the town's brightest lights made me Lord High Dragon Wrangler and gave me an office next to Chief's in the fire house.
Me as an agent of the state is almost as implausible as Chief being kinky. Mercury must be in retrograde or something 'cause here I am, standing in front of the big desk in his office like a naughty schoolboy. A naughty, illicitly caffeinated schoolboy.
"What were you thinking, Endi, agreeing to an interview without vetting the reporter?"
I decide to stall. "Vetting the reporter?" In place of the obvious pun about vets, I raise an eyebrow and wait.
"Yeah, kiddo. You call the paper, make sure his credentials are bona fide. Run the request through the PR office."
"Endicott has a PR office?"
That gets me a smile, even if it is a rueful one. "You haven't been trained to handle the press. You should have come to me or Ed." Ed's the mayor, some distant relation of Chief's, and evidently savvier about public relations than a boy toy in coveralls, which is what I'm feeling like as this conversation goes on.
"But David said..." I begin.
Chief cuts me off. "You trust David Espada too far. We don't really know anything about him, and he did turn up in town just as the dogs started doing their wings and scales thing."
That's too much. "Chief, David is my friend. He's the one who got me out of lock-up, and he's teaching me to use my powers for good, not evil." I know I sound like a comic book, but honestly, David isn't the bad guy here. I thought Chief was starting to like David. At least I hoped he was.
Chief shakes his silvery head and drums his thick fingers on the polished desktop. "All I'm saying is, you need to learn circumspection. Especially around the dog issue."
Circumspection? When Chief breaks out the fifty-cent words I know he's serious. Dead serious, which doesn't explain the twinkle in his steely eyes when he looks at me. Even with him sitting while I'm standing, I feel like he's looming over me. A nice little shiver dances up my spine, making my ears hot and the short hairs at my nape prickle.
"Come on, boy, we hav
e a council meeting now. Maybe I'll spank some media savvy into you when we get home tonight."
Oh, gods! I hope he means that literally!
He gives me that wicked, wicked look all through the interminable meeting. All my doodles come out looking like flying pricks, and I wish, when it's time for me to stand and deliver my report, that I'd bothered with underwear this morning.
***
When I was little, Grampy called me "buddy." Then I got older, and it was "young man," especially when I was in trouble, which was daily there for a while. I remember the proud thrill I got when I was almost grown and Grampy called me "kid" for the first time. It was what he called any man younger than he was, including Chief. It meant I was a man, too.
But no thrill from my childhood gets to me quite as completely, head to toe and inside-out, as Chief calling me "boy."
When he says it in uniform, it's the best ever. It's all rumbly and rough and means sex is in my immediate future. Oh, man.
He's saying it now, and he's still in uniform -- well, blue shirt with the gold patch on the sleeve and the bars on the collar, and black work pants and suspenders. I have wet dreams about his dress uniform, and his turnouts, but the everyday work togs are damned fine, too. Where was I?
Oh, yeah, he's rolling toward me calling me "boy" and wearing his work clothes, but something's wrong. I thought I might be getting my first erotic spanking tonight, but Chief looks angry. He'd never hit me in anger.
"Chief, I'm sorry I blew the interview." Confession is good for the soul; Grammy always said so.
If I were a romantic fool I'd say Chief is my soul, half of it anyway, but really I'm just hoping contrition might be good for my love life, too.
Chief slumps onto the sofa and lays his head back like he does when he's had a really rotten day, so I'm guessing my strategy isn't working.
"Want a blow job?" I'm not above begging.
"Endi, Endi," Chief says without raising his head. This is bad. Usually he can't help but look at me, and when he looks at me we're usually okay. Or at least when he looks at me we're usually fucking, or thinking about it, or basking in afterglow.
Shit. I'm babbling. At least I didn't say any of that out loud.
"I don't want you at risk, Endi."
Shit on the half-shell. When Chief gets all protective, the sex goes down the crapper. Chief's not just older than me, he's older than my dad was. But the age thing isn't the weird part -- it's the part where he saw me grow up, knows every embarrassing thing about me. Almost. There are a few things I did when I took classes over at the community college in Spencer that I never told anyone. But that's not the point. Chief's being protective, and that means he's seeing me as the kid he drove to the emergency room a thousand and one times.
I fight like hell not to be that kid when I'm with him. "I'm okay, Chief." Can we get to the fellatio now?
Chief finally looks up. "Come here," he says. There's no "come hither" note there. He might as well be saying "we're out of bread."
Hope springs eternal, so I sashay over to him and subside onto the sofa as gracefully as I can, making sure my thigh brushes his.
All I get is a companionable arm around my shoulders. "Look, Endi. You're real good at looking after the dogs, and the outreach program you started is going great. But think about it. We don't know anything about why the dogs in Endicott turn into dragons. That journalist may know more than we do. He may not even be a journalist. We have more questions than answers right now."
Wow. Chief sounds kinda paranoid, not that I'd ever tell him so. The dogs are such a miracle, why can't he just accept them like I do? "So, what should I have done? Turned the tables and grilled the reporter?" I try not to sound like I'm challenging him.
He gives me an exasperated look. "Never mind, Endi. I'll talk to David tomorrow and see what he knows about this guy. Then we'll see about any interviews."
I made this mess, so I say, "I'll talk to David, Chief. Then we can decide what to do."
Chief's silent for a minute, and I can almost hear the gears turning in that sexy, conspiracy- theorist brain of his. "Do you know why David and I are uneasy around each other?"
Whoa, that came out of nowhere. "Um, no." They are uneasy, though, like two alpha dogs circling each other, right from the first night I introduced them when David first moved to town and the dogs started transforming.
"We're both tops, Endi. You know what that means?"
I shoot him a "duh" look from under my hair.
"We can sort of smell it on each other, you know?"
Ooh, I like where this is going. I scoot closer to Chief's side.
"At first I thought he wanted you, and I couldn't stand the idea of anyone topping you. You're such an innocent."
I suppress a snort. What Chief doesn't know won't hurt him, right?
"That's when I realized that if you're really a sub, if that's part of your nature, it had to be me."
"You what?" His moustache ripples like it does when he's trying not to smile and I bite my lip for interrupting. His eyes zero in on my mouth.
"It had to be me topping you."
"You and no one else, Chief." He has no idea the extent of the crush I nursed for him ever since back when Grampy still called me "young man."
"But I'm having a hard time separating topping you at home from being your boss."
Technically, the mayor is my boss, but Chief is the one who does the day to day stuff, so I let it slide.
"And I don't know if you're really a sub, or if you respond to me that way because it's how I'm wired."
Oh, man! How can I prove that having Chief dominate me is part and parcel of the fantasy? It's the reason no other boy ever held my attention for more than a few months. Maybe I need to shatter that innocence myth once and for all.
"I've been dominated, you know. A couple of boyfriends would tie me up. One used to blindfold me. It was hot."
The look Chief gives me is almost pitying, not the heated awareness of sexual equality I was counting on. I'm losing ground here.
Chief's hand comes up into my hair and squeezes rhythmically. At least we're still connected.
"That was play, Endi. If I top you, it won't be play."
"But you already top me." I know it's a stupid reply the second it's out of my mouth. Chief isn't talking about fucking. "I mean," I backpedal, "I know you're talking about something more."
"Yes, I am," Chief says and his hand stills on the back of my neck. He uses it to draw me down against his chest. I can't help closing my eyes and breathing deep. Chief just smells so delicious.
"But I need to know that you trust me, and I need to know you'll keep this separate from work."
"Yeah," I say. "No one cares that we're involved."
"They don't matter," he says, and I'm grateful that he didn't call me on my comment. Plenty of people have a problem with me and Chief, but most of them wouldn't dare say a word about it to Chief's face.
"This is a whole 'nother level, Endi." He turns my face up so I have to look him in the eye. "And there's no going back."
I am speechless, which, if you know me, is something. Chief notices and smiles, square teeth showing under that steely moustache. A real smile, and it goes right to my crotch. I wriggle happily, glad we have everything sorted out until Chief's big hand lands on my hip.
"Be still."
Oh. Fuck. Yes.
"Tell me you want this."
"I so want this. Please?"
"I'll stop if you want me to."
"If I say no?"
"Yes, or if I think you need me to."
I nod mutely, and the world turns upside down.
Literally. I'm over Chief's lap in a trice, my head on the armrest and my legs sprawled down the length of the sofa.
I'm already breathing hard. Then Chief's hand comes down, not very hard, just rubbing my ass through my coveralls, and I'm barely breathing at all past the clot of anticipation in my throat.
Can I handle this?
I feel...vulnerable. Slightly out of control. And a little scared. But I have to admit, as the second blow lands, that I'm still waiting for the divine transportation of the submissive experience.
Five more swats through my coveralls and I'm still not there.
"Get up," Chief says, kinda husky.
Are we done already? I slide off Chief's lap, my ass only distantly warm, and try to hide my disappointment. I try to burrow into his arms. Maybe I can get his mind back on that blow job, salvage something of this evening.
But Chief stops me. "Stand up and unzip."
Naked with Chief is always better than clothed, so I scramble up and face him while I draw down the zipper from my throat to my pubes, two brass teeth at a time. I watch Chief realize I've got nothing on underneath.
"Bad boy," he growls. He grabs my wrist and yanks me back over his lap, and this time I can feel his boner through his Dickies. There's no waiting as -- snap -- a barehanded slap lands on my upturned butt. Both cheeks at once. Chief sure has big hands. This is more like it.
Or so I think at first. After a half-dozen more swats, I'm squirming and my ass feels swollen, like sunburn only more sudden. "Chief, ow!" I yell and try to wriggle off his lap. This just plain hurts!
"Not so fast, boy." A second hand presses my shoulders down before coming to rest on the nape of my neck. One thumb briefly rubs the skin behind my ear and I realize that I can't get up without spoiling everything.
I'm definitely scared now. Of how this feels, of what it's doing to Chief. Of what it means for us.
I feel so exposed, so... there. There's no getting away, not now that a tiny part of me wonders if I might want to. I really had no idea what I was agreeing to. But I trust Chief. I do. So I decide this is a good scared.