by L. A. Witt
Mike was getting a grill going with a metal contraption he’d filled with coal, and Chris was putting on a brew.
“Tea? Really?” Stefan asked near Frank.
“No alcohol.” Frank turned his head towards him. “You fire everything you have already? Or did you save some for the evening?”
Stefan cupped himself. “Who’s asking?”
Frank, old boy, you walked into that one.
“You might want to chat up the other guys. For the next part of the day.”
Stefan raised an eyebrow. “What happens next?”
“Well, the guys who want to get fucked and abused choose that tent, and the others that one.” Frank nodded to the respective tents. “One side’s prisoners, the other’s . . . victors. Guards. Captors.”
“And you’ll just make tea and turn sausages for those who’ve worked up an appetite? Camp cook?” Stefan’s voice cut deep.
I know you’re disappointed, boy, but it’s not that simple.
“I told you. I like watching.”
Stefan’s jaw muscles tensed as if he were chewing on something. “Then why did you bring me here?”
“Introduce you to some good, sane people to play with. Figured you’d fit in with these guys, and you’ve made a big impression already, so—”
“Frank.” Stefan stepped so close they were chest to chest. Almost eye to eye, except Frank was taller. “Don’t think you can fuck with my head.”
But you with mine?
Frank regarded him impassively. “Just repaying in kind.”
Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of game?”
“You tell me.”
“Frank.” Stefan lowered his voice a little, and his tone softened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You know damn well I’ve been looking at you the same way. I don’t like playing games. Why don’t we—”
“I don’t fuck men who work for me.”
“Is that the only reason?” Stefan glanced around the campsite, at the men talking and flirting as they broke down equipment and cleaned it. His gaze returned to Frank. “Because it seems to me like I’m the only man here who works for you.”
Frank closed his eyes and exhaled, then glared at Stefan. “Leave it alone, all right?”
Stefan showed his palms. “All right. I’m not going to push. But don’t act like this is all coming from me.”
“What?”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘mixed signals’?” Stefan turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Frank shook his head and watched Mike and Chris preparing tea and food over the fire. They both glanced at him, but neither spoke. At least, not until Chris wandered away, and Mike looked up from laying sausages on the grill. They seemed to be pretty traditional bangers, too, none of the fancy artisan stuff that Mike normally preferred.
“Why not be open with him?” Mike kept his voice down. “Might be easier for him to—”
“Because he works for me!” Frank tossed his gloves and mask down. Mike jumped, and Frank sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mike peeled the lid off a jar of red sauce. “And I get it, mate. I do. Some things don’t need to be broadcast all over the place at work.” He looked Frank in the eye. “But he’s got a point about mixed signals.”
Heat rushed into Frank’s cheeks. “You think so?”
Manoeuvring a squeeze tube of mustard into place beside the other condiments, Mike nodded. “Honestly? From the time you guys got here earlier, I was fully expecting you to tell us you two had been fucking for a while now. You know . . . that vibe.”
Frank exhaled, guilt tightening in his chest. He’d been so caught up in his own fantasies and the not-so-subtle flirtation coming from Stefan, it hadn’t occurred to him he might also have “I want you” written across his forehead. “What do you suggest?”
“You know exactly what I suggest. I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
“I suppose I can talk to him in the car on the way back.” Frank searched the group for Stefan and found him sitting beside Chris, a hand over his thigh and some serious eye contact going on. Jealousy hit first, but he couldn’t deny the relief either. Stefan had someone else to hold his attention. He and Chris could blow off some steam, they could all eat, and then Frank and Stefan could clear the air in the car on the way back home.
That was the plan, anyway.
Aside from Mike, Geoff, and Frank, who tended to the food, the guys scattered in pairs, threes, and fours, some going into the tents, some into cars. Frank even thought he saw a couple wander out onto the field. The otherwise quiet forest was filled with the low, constant murmur of amorous moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp, yelp, or roar. They quieted a little at a time, and blissed-out men with untucked T-shirts and rumpled hair shuffled back to the campsite to eat.
Chris and Stefan were the last to come back. Chris could barely walk. Even Stefan’s gait had a slight hitch to it. They grabbed food, then pulled a couple of chairs together and made eyes at each other while they ate. By the time they were tossing their paper plates and plastic cups into the trash bag, Frank knew where the night was headed.
“Hey, Frank.” Stefan stood. “Chris is going to give me a lift back into town. That all right with you?”
Frank swallowed. They needed to have this conversation. Probably sooner than later, especially if he wanted to keep Stefan on Market Garden’s payroll and avoid any bad blood between them. But it could wait a night. Let the kid enjoy himself.
“Sure. Yeah.” He gestured at the car. “You need anything out of the boot?”
Stefan shook his head. “All my gear’s out here. So I’ll, um, see you tomorrow night? At work?”
Frank nodded and gave a cautious grin. “Don’t forget to save some for the paying clients.”
Stefan chuckled. “Don’t worry.” He winked. “There’s plenty of Stefan for anyone who wants a bite.” And then he walked away.
Chris and Stefan didn’t waste any time. Within five minutes of the conversation with Frank, Chris’s taillights were disappearing down the dirt road.
Geoff put a hand on Frank’s arm. “You okay?”
Frank nodded. “Yeah. Kid hit it off with Chris, so . . .”
Mike appeared at Frank’s other side. “You didn’t get a chance to tell him, did you?”
“Not yet.” Frank shook himself and turned away from the darkened driveway. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow night at the Garden.”
Mike and Geoff exchanged a look, one Frank had seen a hundred times in the past. Though he wasn’t in the mood for much tonight, he was both relieved and receptive when Mike put his arm around his shoulders. “We’re going to pack up here pretty soon. Do you want to come back to our place?”
“Yeah.” Frank took one last glance at the driveway. “Yeah, I think I will. Thanks.”
Mike and Geoff didn’t live that far from Frank—twenty minutes by car further into Kent—and he wasn’t in the mood to face his own empty, too large house. Taking Stefan to the field had been a bad idea, even though it had worked as planned, and he was rattled. More so than he wanted to admit. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts tonight, so he followed his old friends’ taillights out of the forest and back to their nice mock Tudor. More bedrooms than they could fill on their own, as Mike had said once.
Frank parked his car next to theirs inside the large garage. He was relieved to be off the road. He wasn’t thinking very clearly about anything except that feisty ex-soldier. Yeah, it was definitely good to not be alone tonight.
“I’ll feed the cats.” Mike headed off to the kitchen, while Frank hung up his jacket.
“Go, have a shower.” Geoff nodded towards the upstairs. “We’ll find a couple beers and start the fireplace. Or do you want to sleep?”
It wasn’t quite ten yet. Way too early. “I’ll have that shower.” Frank went upstairs.
Every room in the house was comforta
ble and cosy, even a little bit too much so, with frills that nobody really needed, like intricately carved mirror frames and antiques scattered everywhere. The bathroom was the kind of place where the towels matched small elements in the decor, but the walk-in shower was one of the best Frank knew, spewing out a thick wall of water from four angles with enough pressure to revive him.
He didn’t linger, and quickly towelled off and changed into his clean jeans and T-shirt.
When he came back down, Mike had put some nibbles on the table. Cheese cubes, olives, chorizo bites, crackers, and a six-pack of some type of French artisan beer. Mike took being gay very seriously like that.
He settled on the couch while Geoff got the fireplace going, and the natural fire warmed the room in no time at all. Mike joined them a little later, hair still damp, and Geoff managed to peel the three cats off his lap long enough to head upstairs for a shower, too.
Frank held out some fingers to Jackson, the leader of the feline pack, and the Russian blue sniffed at him and then decided to tolerate his existence for the time being.
“So.” Mike ran his fingers through his wet reddish curls. “You are going to tell him, yes?”
Frank sighed and impaled an olive on a toothpick. He popped it into his mouth and then carefully scraped the flesh off the stone. First time he’d stayed over, Mike’s derision for stoned olives had nearly cost him a molar.
“It’s a work thing. It’ll spread.”
Mike slid closer and put a hand on his thigh. “But you want that guy.”
“I do, but . . .” Frank sighed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’ll see. He and Chris are going to have spectacular sex and pick out the curtains next week. Long as he still works for me . . .”
“You’re kidding yourself, big guy.” Mike touched his head to Frank’s. “That sounded pretty miserable.”
“Oh, fuck off.” But the protest was halfhearted at best. “Can I have one of those beers?”
Mike grabbed a bottle, popped the top, and handed it to him. Without a slim glass with ice or whatever abominable habits he’d picked up from his lifestyle magazines, thank God. Beer needed to be consumed like a goddamned beer, not a cocktail or a wine cooler.
Frank heard footsteps, and they both turned as Geoff padded barefoot into the room. All the camouflage paint was gone from his face, though a hint of green still darkened the edges of his blond hair. He’d traded the camo pants and tactical vest for a pair of snug and undoubtedly expensive jeans and a black tee that stretched perfectly across his chest and abs. These two even made dressing down and slacking off look classy.
Frank had to admit this was much nicer than sitting in track pants and an old jersey in front of his television with store-bought beer and munchies that weren’t nearly as civilised as the ones artfully arranged on Geoff and Mike’s coffee table. Especially since the company was a distraction from the lack thereof in his own house.
One of the cats sauntered closer and crouched down, eyeing the food.
Mike quickly leaned forwards and snapped a finger at her. “Don’t even think about it.”
The cat straightened. Glared at him. Frank snickered; that face had “bitch, please” written all over it.
Mike snapped his fingers again. “Get away from the table.”
She sat down and narrowed her eyes as only a cat could do, creating the most elegant, dignified picture of go fuck yourself Frank had ever seen.
Geoff snorted. “Guess she told you.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mike glared at Geoff, then turned to the cat again. “That’s enough of your sass. Out.” He pointed at the living room doorway.
Naturally, the cat didn’t move.
“I have a better idea.” Geoff got up and picked up the tray of munchies. “You want any more of this?”
Frank shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Mike?”
Mike shook his head too.
Geoff took the tray back into the kitchen, the cat hot on his heels.
“Cats. I swear.” Mike rolled his eyes. “They’re higher maintenance than he is sometimes.”
“I heard that!”
Frank laughed. “I think I’ll stick with goldfish.”
“Didn’t you kill the last couple you had?”
“I wouldn’t say I killed them.” Frank lifted his hands. “The cause of death was undetermined.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure there was a full coroner’s— Geoff, goddamn you!”
Frank looked towards the kitchen. Geoff was nowhere in sight, but the cat came trotting out with a piece of cheese in her mouth.
Geoff appeared, innocence writ large across his face. “What?”
Mike groaned. “God. No wonder she begs.”
“Begging, hell.” Geoff dropped onto the couch beside Frank. “She was this close to shanking me if I didn’t give her something.”
Frank laughed. “Definitely sticking to goldfish.”
Geoff eyed him. “I thought you killed—”
“I did not kill my fucking fish!” Frank sighed dramatically.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling.” Mike patted his leg. Then his expression turned serious, and Frank barely resisted groaning. He knew where this was going. “Okay. So. Stefan.”
“Yeah. Stefan.” Frank took a long swallow of beer. “What about him?”
“Assuming he doesn’t elope with Chris tonight”—Geoff sidled up closer to Frank—“has it occurred to you that maybe there’s chemistry between the two of you for a reason?”
“Besides the fact that he’s hot and pushes all my fetish buttons?” Frank shrugged. “Guys, let it go. He’s hot. He’s promiscuous. He’s obviously a good fuck.”
Next to Frank, Mike shivered and reached for his beer. “God. Yeah.”
“Mike.” Geoff glared at him.
“It’s okay.” Frank chuckled. “Isn’t like I’ve claimed him, you know?”
Mike’s cheeks darkened a little. “Yeah, but I did kind of feel bad moving in on someone who—”
“Moving in on him?” Frank snorted. “Nice try. I saw the whole thing. Yank captured you and claimed his spoils. All you did was lie there and take it.”
“Not going to argue with that.” Mike closed his eyes as he shuddered. “Fucking hell.”
“I’m getting details from one of you.” Geoff pointed sharply at Mike, then Frank. “Someone better tell me what the hell happened out there, since no one had the decency to film it.”
Frank laughed. To Mike, he said, “You know, we could drag this out for months. Feed him little details here and there.”
Mike stroked his chin. “Hmm, yes. We could.”
“I hate you both,” Geoff muttered into his beer. He took a drink and set the mostly empty bottle on the coffee table. “Anyway. To be serious for one bloody minute, I really do think you and Stefan should clear the air. Even if he and Chris do shack up and elope before sunrise, you two still have to work together. And whatever it is that clicked between you, it should be addressed.”
“And I’ve known him, what, a week?” Frank shook his head. “I can’t put my life story out there for him and hope he’ll keep it under his hat.”
“No, maybe not.” Geoff moved a little closer still and put his hand on Frank’s leg. “Except I don’t think he’ll believe you for a second if you try to convince him you’re not interested. That cat’s already out of the bag.”
Frank rested his hand on top of Geoff’s. “Then let’s hope Chris makes it a moot point.”
Mike looked at them, one to the other, then squeezed Frank’s other thigh. “You guys wanna kiss, I’ll grab the camera.”
Frank huffed, and then Geoff took his chin with two fingers and lifted his head just that little bit before touching his lips to Frank’s. Damn. Frank felt the tension slip from his shoulders. It was a friend’s kiss, a mate-with-benefits kiss. Maybe a mercy kiss, but he’d known Geoff long enough to take that from him.
He kissed back, surprised that Geoff was so tende
r, like he thought Frank was actually hurting. Frank managed to close his eyes and enjoy it, though he felt keenly that Mike’s hand was sliding up his thigh towards his groin.
When Geoff broke the kiss, Mike took Frank’s mouth and kissed him too, this one a different taste, feel, smell. Familiar, friendly, not dangerous at all. Care, respect, friendship. Rely on us, those touches said. Being crowded by two hot guys belonged to the better things in life.
One of them, or both, pulled at his shirt, tugging it free and then over his head. The first slide of open palm across his chest almost made Frank jump; he hadn’t realised how goddamned starved he was for touch. It wasn’t about Stefan. It was the whole goddamned situation, keeping other guys at bay by whatever means necessary.
Those barriers didn’t exist for these two, though. And that they cared about him despite everything, that was a bloody miracle.
“It’s okay, we got this,” Mike said in his ear. “Lie back.”
Frank settled against the large designer cushions and managed, barely, to open his arms and put them around both men, idly stroking and caressing their shoulders, necks, while they half-covered him, taking turns kissing him.
He’d almost forgotten how good that felt, that slow gentleness, no pressure, no performance to beat, no macho posturing, merely touch and drifting and an arousal that built but didn’t have to go anywhere.
Geoff knelt down to take off his shoes, then slid his hands up Frank’s ankles, calves, thighs, spreading his legs enough to kneel between them. Frank tensed when a flat hand rubbed over his groin, then traced the outline of his cock.
“Bedroom?” Geoff’s voice sounded rough.
Frank nodded and managed to get his mind together enough to sit up and blink.
The fire had died down to embers, so Geoff slid the heavy glass pane down that would contain it, and then clapped his hands. “Let’s go.”
Frank followed them upstairs into the master bedroom, which took up the whole attic, rough-hewn beams standing out starkly against the white carpet. Several of those beams had hoops and rings attached that allowed the guys to do quite interesting things with ropes and restraints. When Mike got going, this room could look like a three-dimensional spiderweb, with one lucky Geoff trapped and totally helpless somewhere in the middle.