First, thank you to my betas, Puff and the divine Ms. M. If not for them, this story would be less in both form and content. Their patience and persistence are an asset to me.
Also, to Molly, for lending me her support system. They are awesome, Molly. I don't want to give them back.
And, to the Professor. You kick great butt, sir. Thank you for being the rock when I needed you.
Also, to his love light, thank you for the scene. Giddy thanks you too. If you think of anymore, please do
not hesitate to share.
And, to all the people who kept asking. No, I haven't gone away. Thank you for letting me know you still care. You all are the best!
My apologies to Rabbitt. I did not forget you, luv, never. You are also an inspiration. Heck, that pink furball with the drum has absolutely nothing on you! Keep it coming. . .
Most of all, I'd like to thank the Powers That Be for answering our prayers 'yes' almost a year ago.
This story is for you, poppet.
Grow stronger with love.
Arabian Nights: In a Grain of Sand
The small, slender figure sat slumped sullenly in the seat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest in the classic stance of defiance as he listened to the large grandfather's clock in the corner ticking off the minutes.
He hated this room. Stuffy and over blown, it reflected the personality of its inhabitant. Glancing up momentarily at the balding, grey-haired man sitting across from him, the seated youth stretched his legs out in front of him and tightly crossed his ankles.
The headmaster frowned at the chair occupant's posture. This only caused the young man to slump farther into the leather cushions - a frown also marring his smooth features - and push his full lips out in a pout.
"Mr. Evers, we here at Cambridge pride ourselves on our forward thinking . . ." Headmaster Roth said as he sharply rapped the pencil against the desk's surface. "Because of your father's. . .um, position in this community--"
"You mean the money he's poured into this sinkhole," the young man muttered under his breath.
"--In respect for him, we have allowed you. . .certain, liberties--"
Young Evers snorted derisively.
"The matter of your hair, for instance--"
At the reference to his hair, he smoothed his hand over the heavy rope that flowed over his shoulder. Evers had let it grow that long only because it annoyed the hell out of his father and this pompous bag of wind.
"--and, your academic record, although quite impressive in some areas, is, at best. . ." the man paused, searching for an adequate word, "erratic," he finished dramatically.
The young man snorted again. He excelled in what interested him. The rest, well, the rest could go hang.
"Mr. Evers, you've been here at Cambridge for barely a year. You can't have fashioned a truly informed opinion of the school in that short period of time. Surely, it's no hardship to give us more of a chance than you seemed to be willing to in the past."
He snorted rudely again, causing the headmaster to turn a brilliant shade of red.
"Fine," he said after several moments of silence had passed. "Perhaps your father can better deal with you, then."
"If you can pry him away from his office long enough to notice he even has a son," the younger Mr. Evers grumbled angrily.
~~
A furious Loren Evers stood before the defiant form of his only child, who, at the moment seemed intent on rudely ignoring his presence by staring out his dorm room window. "Explain yourself," he demanded sharply.
"There's nothing to explain," the young man said, his back still to his father.
The elder Evers took a step closer. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?" he asked, his voice cracking.
This made the young man turn to face him. "No," he said, eying his father with caution.
"Justin, I told you when I enrolled you in this school that it was your last chance."
He nodded. "You said that about the last school, and the one before that."
Loren threw up his hands. "I meant it this time."
Turning back to look out the window, he said, "I never wanted to come here in the first place. I asked to go to Paris to study art, painting, music, any or all of them with one of the masters there."
For the hundredth thousandth time since this child's birth, Loren Evers cursed the day he had walked through that garden in China--
"What kind of career in there in those things, Justin?" he screamed at his son, his tiny son who looked more like his mother than a man. 'More than a woman than a man,' he thought bitterly. "There is nothing wrong with this school. I went to this school, as my father before me and his father before that."--
And his eyes fell upon the tiny figure standing there on a bridge tossing crumbs of bread to the birds below--
"I am grooming you to take my place one day."--
And he lost his heart. . .and his mind--
"But that isn't what I want!" Justin screamed, spinning to face his father, green eyes flashing in a fit of anger. They had had this argument countless times before. The elder Evers had never listened to him before, there was no hope of him listening now.--
And, for a moment, Anyi once again stood before Loren, in all her beauty and splendor, angry at the (da) gui zi who had no poetry in his soul. Who saw the world in only the basic of colors. The clumsy bird, that she had tried to teach to fly--
And together they had created this sonnet. "Justin--" he began soothingly. When he would have been happy with a simpler tune. A plainer tune. A manly tune. Oh, Anyi. Why did you leave me with this child? I don't know what to do with him. And, saints help me, sometimes I wish he had never been born.
"For once, just once, you selfish bastard, will you consider someone else's feelings besides your own?" the younger man snarled.
That statement caught the senator in such a wave of guilt that he lashed out. The slap that followed surprised both of them.
After a moment of stunned silence, the younger man fled the room, leaving his father to stare at the offending hand as if it no longer belonged to the rest of his body.
Oh, Anyi, beloved. I think I've truly done it this time.
~~~~~~
A tall figure stood atop a sand dune, the rising winds whipping sand into swirls at his feet and lifting the folds of the Bisht he wore like great bird wings around him. The creamy color of the gauzy material blended into the background of the desert around him, making him almost invisible.
The precise folds of a black Ghutra covered his head, a cream and black striped Igaal holding it in place so that, from a distance, he resembled a sheik of ancient times complete with nomad tribe surrounding him. In truth, his name was Patrick Choate. He was an American employed by his government in an agency so secret that even the president knew little about it. He and his team were undercover on a mission to gather information on the activities of one R. Kenneth Woods, smuggler, arms dealer, drug lord and, recently, white slaver. They had been here for six months on a surveillance assignment that seemed unending. Choate (code named, Viper) was bored out of his skull with this inactivity and never wanted to see another grain of sand for as long as he lived.
Silently he wished for something to happen. Anything to happen.
His inner voice warning him to be careful what he wished for.
~~~~~~
Gideon Kuschel, of the West Devonshire Kuschels, pushed the heavy fall of blond hair from his face as he watched the smaller man unpack. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, being Justin Evers' friend was the hardest thing he had ever done in his nineteen years of life.
Young Evers had arrived at the army post just a few weeks after the letter he had sent saying he was coming. In that letter Justin had asked Gideon to hide him from his father until he could get in touch with his maternal grandfather. Justin seemed convinced his grandfather would send him enough money to come to China to stay with him, or go to Paris to study.
"What if he doesn't?" Gideon had to ask as the young man settled in. "What if he tells your father where you are?!"
Justin shook his head emphatically. "He'll take me in or give me the money to go where I want. He understands me. Better than my father ever could."
"Justin, what about your father?"
The dark-haired young man paused in the act of stuffing clothes into a drawer. "What about him? He'll be well-rid of me, Giddy. I was only an inconvenience for him, anyway. He cares more for his political career than he ever could for me."
~~~
Gideon's father, the Sudan base commander, had proven just as distracted when it came to his son as Justin's father had been. Readily accepting the explanation of Justin's father being off on a holiday he didn't want to participate in. The Elder Kuschel ignored both boys, happy for someone else to entertain Gideon and keep him out of the way.
After breakfast that morning, Justin idly doodled in a drawing tablet while Gideon sat staring out of the window. "Is it always so hot here?"
"Yes," Gideon said as he nodded distractedly. His father was off on maneuvers leaving them to their own devices. . .again.
"What do you do?"
Gideon turned, looking at him in confusion. "Do?"
"To entertain yourself."
Kuschel stared at his friend still not understanding.
"I'm bored, Giddy," Justin said at last.
The blond-haired young man shrugged. "Amil usually goes to the market, this time of day. I suppose we can go with him."
Justin brightened. "Atmosphere! Excitement! I can take my book and charcoals. Make some sketches."
Gideon smiled. He didn't have the heart to tell his enthusiastic friend that he'd find little worth sketching in the market place.
Two hours later, Kuschel pulled at his friend's sleeve. Justin stood, mesmerized by the sights and sounds, both hands and his clothes covered with smears of charcoal as he filled the huge sketch book he carried with page after page of drawings.
"Let's go, J.C.," young Kuschel whined. "Amil is finished and I'm sweaty and hungry. I want to go home."
"One more minute," Justin said distractedly as he turned yet another page in the book and wandered away to begin a new drawing.
"But you said that an hour ago!" Gideon whimpered reluctantly as he began to follow. Just as the blonde stepped forward a man pulling two camels crossed his path. By the time the way was clear, Justin had disappeared.
~~
Young Evers stood sketching a man shaping clay at a potter's wheel when he thought he heard a soft cry of anguish. Closing his book, he edged cautiously around the side of a dingy grey tent.
There, he heard it again. This time louder and more distressed.
"Hello?" he called out. "Are you all right in there? Should I call someone to help?"
Suddenly, a flap in the side of the canvass flew back. "'ello, pretty."
Spinning around to face the speaker, Justin found himself confronted by one of the unsavory sort that populated the area.
Young Evers could just see in the half-light beyond the man's shoulder. Inside the tent three girls, all about his own age, huddled together on the dirt floor. They were dirty, obviously terrified, and bound by their hands and feet.
"Help us, please!" one screamed before someone pulled her by the rope out of his field of vision.
Justin then focused on the face of the man standing before him. "What. . ." he said with all the courage he could muster, "what's going on here?"
"No cause fer alarm, pretty," the man cackled as he moved closer.
"Grab 'im," came a voice from within the confines of the tent.
Hearing that, Justin began backing away. "Then leave me alone!" he said loudly, hoping to attract the attention of someone nearby. "What are you doing in there? Who are those girls?"
"Get 'im," the voice repeated, "b'fere 'e gits away!"
Justin turned to flee, but he was a moment too late. Strong hands caught him by the collar of the shirt he wore.
"Aww, pretty," the rough-looking seaman said as he pulled him back into the tent, securing a hand over the young man's mouth. "'ere, let us gi' ye a 'and. Can't 'ave you runnin' off blabbing ta the law 'bout what ye seen, can we? 'ere, now!" he squealed as sharp white teeth clamped down on his fingers. "The li'l bugger bit me!" Snatching up a not too clean piece of coarse fabric, he stuffed it into Justin's mouth. "This'll keep yer quiet," he snarled as he picked up another and tied the gag tightly around Justin's face.
Justin blinked back the tears in his eyes as the other occupant of the tent stepped forward.
"What 'ave we 'ere?" The man asked, taking Justin's chin with rough fingers and turning his head first this way, then that.
"'e's pretty fer a boy, ain't 'e?" asked the one who had captured him.
"Aye, that 'e is." He released the frightened young man.
"What'da we do wid 'im?"
"Git the men ta pull up stakes, just 'n case 'e ain't alone. We'll take 'im wid us. Might as well gi' a few coins fer 'im. Nice as 'e is, sumbody'll probably pay ta git between those cheeks 'o 'is," he said as he drew a heavy sack over Justin's head.
~~
Gideon stood in the center of the pathway and looked around. There on the ground were Justin's sketchpad and charcoals. Their young owner had vanished into thin air.
~~~~~~
Commander Kuschel stood, one foot in the stirrup, the other on the ground, as his son rushed into the post's yard. "Gideon, have a care," he admonished, hastily pulling on the horse's reins to calm him. "You're frightening the horses."
"Can't find him! Got there! Gone!" the young man panted as he held up Justin's book. "Found his stuff--"
"Slow down! I can't follow a word you're saying. What?"
"Gone!"
"Gone? What's gone?"
"Justin!"
"What do you mean, he's gone?"
"Market. One minute - there. Next minute - gone."
"Are you sure, Son? If I remember, in school you two were forever the pranksters. Maybe he's hiding. Playing a good one on you."
The younger Kuschel took a step back and frowned. "No!"
"Look, Gideon--"
"How can you think that?! While we're standing here talking, anything could be happening to him!" he said frantically waving the sketch book in the air.
"All right! All right! Montemark!" he bellowed to the men standing behind him.
A very young recruit broke ranks, racing up to their side. Skidding to attention, he saluted smartly. "Yessir?"
"You go with my son. Help him search for his friend."
Gideon turned horrified eyes on his father. "One soldier?" he screeched indignantly. "You send one soldier to search for a potential kidnap victim?"
It was the elder Kuschel's turn to frown. "Gideon, you're overreacting. The boy's probably just lost. We have patrol, son. I'm not splitting my troops up to search for someone probably hiding out to get a good laugh from all this." The commander pulled himself up into the saddle.
"This isn't a prank, sir!" Gideon screamed up at him in frustration.
"You watch your tone!" his father told him sternly.
Gideon's mouth snapped shut as he huffed out an aggravated snort of disgust.
"I'll expect an apology when I return from patrol," the commander said angrily as his horse danced in a circle. Getting him under control, the man turned them back to face his son. "An apology from both you and your 'kidnapped' friend."
Gideon watched his father's retreating form. The man was absolutely no help! He'd have to take matters into his own hands. Again.
~~~~~~
Choate looked up at the sound of someone in his tent's outer chamber.
He sighed, since he had been expecting no one, and steeled himself to face Mukhtaar ben Dhaamin again. The old man had several daughters, most past marriageable age. He had offered each man in Omega team one, or all of them, since their arrival in the camp because the females were a drain on the old man's resources, and the potential for snaring a wealthy husband from the group was high in his eyes.
But Choate was not interested. Although single and healthy, he had no intention of becoming ben Dhaamin's, or anybody else's, son-in-law.
Silently, praying to any gods who looked out for government agents that this mission would soon reach its desirable conclusion, Choate waited.
"Viper," came Stealth's urgent whisper, "they need you on the horn."
Minutes later, Viper sat in front of the unit's comm. The state-of-the-art wireless radio sat on a table that took up most of the wall on one side of the room, housed in the camp's only stationary building, the Infirmary. The power pack that supplied energy to run it would have powered a small Egyptian city and was concealed in the cellar, the antenna that sent out the signal was disguised as a tower.
"You are kidding, Brown?" the agent snapped after his superior had explained the reason for the call. "In case you've forgotten, we're on a mission."
"This won't jeopardize your cover in any way, Viper."
"How do you know that, Brown? I can't just go traipsing around the desert on an SNF. Send somebody else."
"You're the only team we have in the area close enough, Viper. Figure out some way to use this to your advance."
"We might be too late already," the agent said angrily. "Woods only keeps them, what, 3 days before he moves them on. It's been more than that. I need to use my time to stop him, not waste it chasing phantom leads."
"Just try, Viper. I've got heavy hitters on two continents breathing fire up my ass on this one."
"I don't like it, Brown," the agent snarled.
"You don't have to like it, Viper, just be the damn cavalry."
The line went dead.
~~~~~~
Justin huddled in a ball in a corner of the cell. He had no idea how much time had passed since his abduction from the market, nor did he know where they had been headed in that truck. When they finally stopped, they had secured his wrists and ankles with a length of rope and dragged him off to this room in a castle-looking dwelling. But this was not like any fairy tale he had ever heard.
The young man curled up tighter. At least they had refrained from touching him. They had not fed him, either, only quick sips of brackish water. He ached, and he stank, and he was hungry. And young Evers felt very, very sorry for himself right now.
Suddenly, the cell door swung open and there stood three men, silhouetted against the light of the hallway.
"Who's there?" Justin called loudly. "Where am I? I want to go home, do you hear me? I'm an American citizen! You can't treat me like this--"
"Be quiet."
Justin blinked. "Who are you?"
"He is pretty enough to look at. . .but that mouth will lessen his value."
"You could always cut off his tongue."
One of the shadows laughed and Justin blinked several times to clear his vision.
"His tongue is a valuable asset."
"Do you want him?"
One of the shadows laughed again. "No. I like my men to be men, not pretty baubles."
"Who are you? I want to go home! I am an American!" Justin screamed.
"Shut him up, Jamal. But don't mark him. I don't want to damage the merchandise."
And the shorter of the three shadows moved forward cutting off Justin's view of the other two.
~~~~~~
Meanwhile, back at Choate's compound he removed the headset. Scowling at the radio, the agent thought truly evil thoughts.
"What's up, boss?" Stealth's voice came from behind him. "New assignment?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes and no. We're still on the gunrunner."
Stealth waited a full 30 seconds before asking, "And?"
"And now we have to find some senator's son."
"What makes Brown think he's out here?"
"The Estate 'hounds' tracked him here. He's supposed to have gone to stay with a friend, but disappeared while they were on an outing to the marketplace a couple of days ago." He looked up at his teammate. "Brown says this kid is pretty."
"Pretty?" Hoss asked.
Stealth raised an eyebrow. "As in?"
"Woods' fodder," Viper confirmed.
"You think he's got him?" Stealth asked.
"I'd bet the farm."
Hoss nodded. "So, what are we going to do?"
Choate shook his head. "Take al Zharad up on his offer of a slave."
"But, how's that going to get you the boy?"
"I have to convince him it's not females I'm interested in without making him too suspicious."
"That shouldn't be too hard. You've turned down every woman he's offered you. He's bound to start to suspect something."
"Maybe so."
~~~~~~
Twenty-five miles from Choate's camp, a stone fortress stood on the top of a rocky crag in the mountains. Years ago, it had belonged to a rich prince. Now it housed, R. Kenneth Woods, scourge of the desert, arms dealer, white-slaver and his glorified pimp and procurer, Kareem al Zharad.
Right now, they were having yet another discussion about the American 'sheik'.
"But he has money," the Arab was saying as his defense.
"If you weren't such a whore, Zharad," Woods told him as he looked down his nose at the little man, "you'd know that money isn't everything."
"Only to those who have the luxury of having it," Kareem snarled under his breath.
"What if he's a 'plant' and he's trying to trap us?"
al Zharad glanced up at his use of the word 'us'. "I've had my people check him out. He's legitimate."
Woods scoffed. "Any half-good government 'plant' could get past your people, Zharad."
Kareem hated when this infidel used his name in that condescending tone. Smug bastard! "I have had him in my home. We have talked for hours. He is legitimate."
Woods eyed his companion critically. "You believe this?"
al Zharad frowned. Hadn't he been saying this all along? "Yes," he said, trying not to snap impatiently.
Woods looked lost in thought for several moments. "How many are in his household?"
"He told me has no family, but he has associates. . ."
"How many slaves, Zharad," Woods interrupted impatiently.
Kareem frowned again. "Many house servants. No body slave."
"But you have shown him some?"
al Zharad nodded. "He did not find them to his liking."
"Did he tell you what he was looking for?"
The smaller man shook his head. "He says he is not looking."
"Perhaps he has enough women in his household?"
"He has a few, but they are old. More servants, I think."
"Hmm," Woods said thoughtfully, "He has no pleasure slave, but none of the women you showed him interested him?"
"No."
"Perhaps they were. . .too exotic?"
"I have a fair mixture of all races, Woods. He turned down them all."
"He has brought these. . .associates of his with him when he visits you?"
"I have never seen him without them."
"How do they. . .act towards one another?"
al Zharad looked confused. "Act?"
"Yes. Are they friendly? Do the act like employer and employee? Business partners?"
The little man shook his head. "They are warm, friendly to each other."
A gleam came to the man's eyes. "Like friends?"
The little man nodded. "More."
"More than friends?"
"Yes?"
"Brothers?"
al Zharad thought about it. "Now that you mention it, more than that."
Now Woods nodded. "You think, they could be. . .more to each other?"
"It is. . .possible," he said cautiously. He hated dwelling on some Western decadent ways. And not completely comfortable with the turns of this man's mind.
"And you still think he is legitimate?"
al Zharad nodded. "I think. . ." he paused, "I have watched him when he thought I was not. And, yes."
"Then why bring him to me?"
"I think the new one I brought to you. . .I think this man Choate will be interested in him."
Woods scowled, stroking his chin. "The little one? Hmmm. I would like to get him off my hands quickly. There's the smell of trouble about him." He paused. "All right, Zharad. Bring this man to my compound tomorrow night and we will see if I get him to take the him off my hands."
~~~~~~
"What is it?" Aces asked his boss as they sat around the evening meal.
Choate tore open the envelope and extracted a folded card. After taking a moment to read it, he said, "It's from al Zharad. It seems his employer wants to meet with me tomorrow."
"Does he say why?" Hoss asked, his cheeks bulging with food.
Choate looked up at him and frowned. "Swallow," he said sternly. "It just invites me."
"You think it's about the guns?" Hoss asked after carefully swallowing the contents of his mouth.
"It's too soon," Stealth told him.
"Avery's right. This is about something else."
"You think it's the boy?"
"I hope so. I don't want anyone in that man's hands, let alone a child."
~~~
Hoss adjusted his Bisht for the second time.
"You look fine," came a reply in a deep voice from behind him.
The large man looked back over his shoulder at his team leader. "I look like the support pole for a circus tent."
This made Viper laugh as he followed his third-in-command up the walkway of Woods' compound.
As compounds went, this one was not one of the more impressive ones the two had been in. Small on the 'warlord' scale, but both men knew Woods had big plans for the future.
al Zharad shifted nervously next to them. Hoss smiled, he knew he made the little Egyptian nervous, and pressed closer into the other's personal space.
A man who introduced himself as Jamal, Mr. Woods' personal assistant, opened the door. "Make yourselves comfortable," he told them as he ushered them into a large room furnished with several couches and low tables. "Mr. Woods will be out shortly." Then he bowed low as he backed through the door.
Viper quickly settled himself among the cushions on the divan. Hoss had to take his time, for, even though, the furniture was spacious, it was not built for someone of his height and girth.
Woods didn't keep them waiting long. "Don't get up, gentlemen," he said as Viper and Hoss started to rise. "We are very informal here. You're guests." He clapped his hands sharply. "I hope you are hungry. My chef has outdone himself tonight."
"At the risk of sounding rude, Mr. Woods, al Zharad says you have something that might interest me. Before I get too comfortable, I would like to get the business part of the evening out of the way," Viper said gruffly.
Woods blinked at the American's tone, unused to being reprimanded, but recovered quickly. "Of course, Mr. Choate." He clamped his hands again and Jamal came forward quickly. Woods spoke a few words to him and he left through a back door. "I have quite a selection for you this evening, Mr. Choate. Both for your visual and sensorial pleasures, I hope."
After several moments, Jamal reappeared pulling four women by the rope that tethered them together. All the women were young, each more beautiful than the other, and all looked terrified out of their wits.
Choate studied them carefully, committing each face to memory, silently making a promise to each one that he would save them. That they would be back in the shelter of their families before too long instead of trapped in someone's bed.
"You find nothing to your liking, Mr. Choate?"
Woods' voice cut through his musings. The agent glanced back at the man who now wore a sly smile on his face.
"The small one with the dark hair, perhaps?"
That had been the one Choate had been staring at last.
Choate shook his head. "They are all fine, Mr. Woods."
"But not to your liking, I take it?"
"They are all fine," Choate repeated, a bit impatiently. "This is what you had to show me?"
"Zharad tells me you find none of his available stock your liking, either," he said thoughtfully.
Choate held the snake's gaze for a long moment before severing the connection by slowly and deliberately shuttering his eyes in a classic look of boredom.
"Hmm, perhaps it is this particular category of the stock you dislike."
"Say what you mean, Woods," Choate growled impatiently.
"Perhaps it isn't women you want. Perhaps your tastes are for something. . . different?" He clapped his hands again. "There's no need to be coy, Choate. We are all adults here." The snake's smile grew slyer, if that were possible. "I think I have something that will interest you." He waved his assistant out and the man disappeared taking the females with him.
Moments later, two men came through the same door, carrying the limp figure of a young man by the arms between them. Woods and al Zharad were watching the display. They missed the brief squeeze Hoss gave his teammate's arm, and the imperceptible nod Choate gave him in return.
"What is this?" Choate asked mildly as they lay the barely conscious body on the floor at their feet.
Woods cleared his throat. "A. . .um, recent acquisition. I'm afraid he's rather small for an adult, not suited at all for labor. But as a pleasure slave. . ."
"He looks young," the agent said, looking down at him with great interest.
"He's an adult, I assure you. Young, yes, but the young can be more easily taught." Woods rubbed his hands together as his vision turned to some inward scene.
"What's wrong with him?" Choate asked as he leaned over and pressed a finger to the side of the young man's throat, feeling the sluggish pulse.
"He. . .he was. . .reluctant," Woods finished smoothly. "But he can be very animated."
Choate looked squarely into the man's eyes. They seemed to defy the agent to say anything.
"You've 'sampled' him, then?" the agent asked, carefully keeping all emotion from his face.
Woods smirked. "I would have, tonight," he confessed, still keeping his eyes locked on Choate's. "I sample all my stock, except the virgins. Intact virgins are too high a commodity to waste, including the males."
"What makes you think he's a virgin?"
"I didn't say he was. But, he is a tasty morsel. Nice and tight."
The agent frowned his displeasure. "You've examined him?"
Woods nodded. "I did it myself."
Choate looked at the man sharply.
"Could you blame me?" Woods laughed. "From the way he closed over my finger, he's been handled before. Handled and liked it."
To hide the look on his face from his host, Choate reached down and pulled up the shirt the young man wore. The big agent had no idea how long he could sit and hold a conversation with this man without killing him. "He's dirty," he said as nonchalantly as he could while picturing the things he wanted to do to this man.
"Yes, but that's easily remedied," the oily man said with a dismissing wave of his hand.
Running appreciative fingers across the smooth, narrow chest, Choate nodded his assent, then gently turned the young man over. "No scars. No marks."
"None. I chose to drug him rather than have him beaten."
Slipping his hand down the captive's pants, he ran fingers over the smooth firm buttocks, checking for welts. Nodding distractedly at the young man's moan. For a moment, the agent wondered at the young man's level of consciousness. Was he aware of his surroundings, or totally out of it? Did it matter whose hands were on him? Of did he moan this way for anyone?
"You just kept him drugged?"
Gently, ever so gently, Choate ran an assessing finger around the tight rosebud of the young man's anus checking for lesions, for swelling. The man-child groaned again as he moved his hips back towards the questing finger to take more of it in. Choate glanced up in time to catch Woods' smug look before turning his attention once again to the young man on the floor before him.
"Just a mild sedative, nothing addictive, I assure you."
As gently and quickly as he could, the agent felt the tight passage for abuse. Finding none, he pulled the pants back up. Choate turned the young man over. With all the finesse of a buyer looking at a prize stud, he reached down and cupped the genitals, giving them a gentle squeeze.
The young man moaned once more, the narrow hips lifting slightly to press himself more firmly into Choate's palm.
"Yes," Choate whispered, forgetting a moment how to breathe as the throaty quality of that moan sent a tingling along his spine. "Nice." The agent licked dry lips.
"I'm glad you like," Woods all but purred. "That hair alone is enough to make him attractive to some. He is a bit smaller than I like. Too delicate for my tastes. Although, his lips are nice. Don't you think?"
The slimy quality of the man's voice brought Choate back to himself. "Yes, but all that's not enough, if he's troublesome."
Woods shrugged. "I'm sure a man like you will have no problem curing him of his willfulness. I thought you'd relish the challenge. The big, bad American."
Choate chose to ignore that statement. "Where did he come from, Woods?"
"You know I can't tell you that, Choate. Do you want him? I can give you a good price on him."
Viper glanced at Hoss who nodded. "How much?"
"One hundred fifty thousand."
Choate looked back sharply. "Pounds?"
"Gold dinars."
"Keep him, Woods. I wouldn't pay that much for him even if he wasn't trouble."
"But he's young. Healthy."
"Not that young and healthy."
The broker's lips thinned into a tight line. "What is your offer, then?"
The agent settled back on the couch. "Two thousand American."
Choate thought the man would choke.
"You are crazy?" he hissed.
"I am if I pay you a hundred fifty thousand gold dinars for some rich man's spoiled brat son." He lifted one of the young man's hands and turned it palm outward. "Not a callus." Running a finger across it. "Smooth. Soft. This child hasn't done a lick of hard work his whole life." Viper looked down as the body shuddered with his touch.
The young man watched him through slitted eyes. With a 'catch' to his heart, the agent realized they were green, deep, dark emeralds.
"You aren't buying him for hard labor, Choate," al Zharad sneered.
"I'm not buying him at all if you don't come down on the price."
"Let's not toy with each other, Choate. We know why you're buying him, and a pleasure slave is worth a lot more than you're offering."
"Then sell him to someone else."
Woods blinked in surprise for the second time that evening. "I will," he snapped peevishly.
"Then, our business is concluded. Good day." Choate began to rise. He made it halfway to the door before he heard,
"Five thousand, Choate."
The agent stopped, looking back at the huddled form. "Two," he said softly, remembering the feel of him.
"Four."
Glancing up sharply, the agent snapped, "Three."
Their host shook his head in disgust. "Three-fifty."
"No, Woods. Three or nothing," Choate said, his voice hard. "The whole lot is not worth three-fifty."
"I can get three-fifty apiece for the females."
"You aren't selling me the females," Choate reminded him calmly.
The broker ground his teeth together. "All right," he snapped. "All right. Three thousand dollars. But only if you throw in a case of guns."
"If I throw in a case of guns, the boy is free."
Woods looked as if he were going to stroke out.
"Look at it as a business incentive. If I like him, then we can do business again."
"And if I don't like the guns?"
The agent's look turned to one of disgust. "I only deal in quality merchandise, Woods. Ask anyone who's done business with me." He paused waiting for his host to give in.
"Two cases of guns."
"No deal, Woods. But I'll tell you what, if he pleases me, I'll see what I can do on the price of your next order."
The man thought it over, hard. The agent could see the struggle of something now warring with the promise of something in the future track across his face. Choate was assured of his reputation as an arms dealer, the Estate had seen to that.
"Fine," he snapped at last.
"Good." Choate leaned down and scooped up the young man. "Make arrangements for delivery of one case of M1s," he said to Hoss.
"You are a hard man, Choate," Woods said as Hoss stood up, extracting a notebook and pencil from the folds of his Bisht.
"You don't know just how hard, Woods," the agent said as he gently eased the limp form over his shoulder. "But you will," he added in a soft, but deadly whisper.
~~~
Justin sat straight up, looking wildly around him. He rested in the center of a mound of huge cushions stacked on a sleeping platform that rose about a foot off the ground. Blinking, his eyes finally focused on his surroundings. He was in a tent. No, in the sleeping section of a tent. Brass braziers supported by chains and posts from the ceiling burned, emitting a low light. A drape of heavy gauze separated the room he was in from the one just beyond.
He was in a tent. But whose?
Suddenly, the curtain moved aside to reveal the imposing figure of a very large man. As he stepped into the room, Justin thought, Oh, such a man he was, too. Tall and strong, well-defined muscles showing through the light shirt he wore. Dark hair curled around his face and neck. Thick lashes framing chocolate
brown eyes, laugh-lines decorating the corners.
"Ah, you're finally awake," he said, smiling as he stepped farther into the room. He knelt beside the platform and placed the large tray he carried on the low table next to it.
"Who. . .who are you?" Justin stammered.
"My name is Patrick Choate. Close friends call me 'Paddy'. You can, too, if you like."
"Where am I? How did I get here?" He looked down at his nakedness. "Where are my clothes?"
"You're at the one of the larger oasis in the area, more specifically, in my tent, in my bed."
Justin blinked in surprise. "Your bed? How did I get in your bed?" he asked shakily.
"I traded for you with a man named Woods last evening."
The young man blinked again. "You. . .bought me?"
"Not exactly. No money changed hands, only merchandise."
"Merchandise?" Evans asked stupidly.
"Yes. You for a case of M1s."
"M1s?"
"They go for quite a tidy sum on the black market."
"You. . .bought me with guns?" Justin asked, still not believing what he heard. "As in 'own'?"
"Yes. I guess I did," Choate said with a dazzling smile. "That makes you all mine."
The smaller man drew himself up indignantly. "You can't buy people!"
"I can't?" Choate laughed. "I bought you." He began uncovering the dishes on the tray. "And, since you're wondering, your clothes were unsalvageable. I had them burned." He looked up into Justin's face. "Are you hungry?"
"I demand to be taken to the American Consulate!"
The agent laughed softly. "Come. Eat. You have to regain your strength." He held a piece of fruit out. "Here."
Justin struck it from his hand. "I want to be taken to the American Consulate. NOW!" he screamed, a look of defiance settling on his face.
All traces of amusement vanished from Choate's face. He reached out and grasped Justin by the nape of the neck and shook him like a rag doll. Forcing the smaller man to his knees the agent pressed his face into the cushions.
"Pick it up," he growled, deep, low and with deadly calm.
When Justin failed to obey, he increased the pressure of his hand on his neck to compensate for the young man's struggle to sit up. "Pick it up. Either with your hand or your mouth. The choice is yours."
He waited another moment in a show of defiance.
"Last time or I'll make the choice for you."
Slowly, Justin's hand crept out from where it had been pinned beneath him to retrieve the piece of fruit. Blindly, he held it up to the agent.
Releasing his grip enough so that Justin could sit up, Choate hissed, "Eat it."
The look of defiance once again crossed the delicate features, but just as quickly vanished as the full, lush lips parted enough to take in the food.
Gently, Choate lifted Justin by his shoulders, replacing him in the center of the nest of cushions. Releasing him, the agent sat back on his heels. "Behave yourself and you will be treated kindly. Disobedience will always lead to punishment. Understand?"
Slowly, Justin nodded, great, green eyes watching the man apprehensively as he rubbed at the reddened marks on his neck.
"Good. Now, eat." He held out the bowl.
Justin frowned, those lips pressing into a taut line a moment before reaching out to take the bowl from his 'owner's' hand.
"Good. When you finish, I'll brush and braid your hair."
"I can braid my. . ." the rest of the sentence died on Justin's lips at the look the hard man sent him. Ducking his head, he quickly went back to the task of eating.
Later, after they had finished, Choate motioned him forward. "Sit here," he said gruffly, indicating his lap.
'Here' was entirely too close to the big man to be comfortable, Justin hesitated.
"Do you need another lesson so soon, little boy?"
That gruff question roused him from his speculation. Justin crawled on his hands and knees across the pillows to Choate.
Seeing the spectacle of the naked young man moving on his hands and knees towards him proved almost more than the agent could stand.
"What are you going to do to me?" Justin asked, disgusted that his voice trembled.
Choate reached out and pulled the young man the rest of the way, settling the warm body between his thighs. "I'm going to comb and braid this mass you call hair, before it tangles too much and I have to cut it. And that would be a shame," the agent said softly.
Justin squirmed, feeling like a steak on a hot griddle. His bare bottom tingled and burned from contact with the unyieldy flesh of this man's thighs. Self
consciously he clasped his hands in his lap to cover his privates. He felt his ass cheeks rub up against the heavy muscle of the man's and. . .oh, shit!
Young Evers quickly brought his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs to hold them in place.
Unseen behind him, Choate smiled. The little imp had embarrassed himself.
Picking up the brush from the cushions beside them, he asked, "I told you my name. Who are you?"
After the first few strokes of the brush against his scalp, Justin had to fight back a contented purr. It had been so long since someone had done this simple thing for him. Not since he was a child. Not since his mother had died. He choked back tears. "Justin," he murmured, swallowing hard. "Evers."
The brush stopped. "Am I hurting you?"
"No," the young man quickly assured him.
Starting to brush again, the agent asked in a quiet, nonchalant tone, "How old are you, Justin?"
Melting into the soothing sensation, Justin's answer came as barely audible. "Nineteen, I'll be twenty in three months."
So, he wasn't a child! Choate breathed with relief. "And why aren't you in school?"
The blush that crept up the bowed neck told the older man the tale.
"Got more than you bargained for, did you?" He shook his head as he lay the brush aside and gathered the now smooth mass in his hands. Dividing it into sections, he expertly twisted the thick locks into a smooth braid that rested between small shoulder blades.
Wrapping his arms around the smaller frame, Choate pulled Justin back until the young man's back rested up tight against his front. "Es tan hermoso (You are so beautiful)," his whispered, kissing the long column of throat now exposed to him. "And so sweet." He kissed it again. "Y tan dulce. Tengo gusto del gusto de usted "
Justin again squirmed against him as the deep baritone of the agent's voice washed over him, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.
Smoothing the glossy black hair from the young man's temple, the agent placed a kiss there. "Duermes, ahora, dulce," he said, settling the small body more securing in his arms.
Even though Justin didn't understand the order, his eyes drifted closed and he followed it anyway.
~~~~~~
"You know. . ."
That deep baritone brought Justin just to the fringes of wakefulness.
"That round, naked little butt of yours is a tempting target."
This statement brought him awake with a start. His head jerked around. Gazing over one shoulder, he found Choate watching him and noticed his nude bottom pointed straight in the air. Grabbing the bedclothes, Justin hastily covered himself.
"I couldn't quite decide what I wanted to do with it first, though."
Was everything this man said going to make him blush? Justin thought angrily as he averted his gaze.
"Not a morning person?" Choate said with a laugh.
Justin glanced up at him with a frown.
"Well, that look answers my question. If you want breakfast, you have to get a move on."
"I don't have any clothes, remember? You want me to go naked?"
"If it were just you and me, yes. But there are other people in the camp and I'd prefer not to give them a show, especially not with my personal property. . ." Choate took note of the tightening of the young man's jaw at the words 'personal property' and smiled to himself. He held out a swath of deep purple material. "I suppose this will do until I find something else."
Justin pulled his legs under him and rose up on his knees, careful to keep the bedclothes tucked tightly around him. "What is it?"
Choate shook it out to reveal a billowy-legged pair of pants and a vest. "I'll show you how to tie the loincloth, and this," he said producing a long length of colorful cloth, "goes around your waist. I have slippers for your feet." He watched the young man for a moment. "Well, let's get about it now. They've almost finished serving. You'll have to hurry if you expect to fetch something decent for us to eat."
Justin's hand halted in the act of reaching for the cloth. "Us? You expect me to bring your breakfast to you?"
Choate nodded. "And lunch and dinner if I'm here, which is rarely. You'll also see to the cleaning of my clothing, keep the living quarters in order, draw my bath, wash my back--"
"I will not!" Justin said indignantly, as he stiffened his back and glared at the agent.
"Oh?" Choate asked as he smiled humorlessly.
"No! You're a grown man! And I am not your servant--"
"But you are," he said, his voice low and calm. "I paid for you. I have a bill of sale. As a matter of fact, if you displease me, I can have you beaten, beat you myself, sell you to someone else, take you back to Woods and demand my money back--"
"You wouldn't!" Justin breathed in horror.
Choate stopped his teasing at the look on the imp's face. "No." He moved closer. "But what I would do is pull you out of that bed, take you across my knees and spank that pretty ass of yours until you couldn't sit down." He looked Justin squarely in the eye.
"You. . .wouldn't," Justin countered, although his voice showed his doubt.
"You'll find our, if you don't get out of that bed and into these clothes. . ." Choate challenged.
Justin thought about it for the blink of an eye. The look on the agent's face motivated him to climb out of the bed.
"Good choice, chiquito. Now, this is how to wrap a loincloth. . ."
~~~
Justin pouted and mumbled to himself as he struggled to balance the covered earthen dishes of food in his hands while carrying a loaf of bread tucked under his arm.
Sorely tempted to walk through the open gate, the still too fresh memory of this morning's threat kept the young man's feet on the path to Choate's tent.
"Well, g'day, mate. You're a new face."
Justin stopped and looked behind him. There stood a tall, slender man with a shock of platinum-blond hair. Behind him stood a human mountain.
"That's Viper's new slave," the behemoth said.
"I am not a slave," Justin retorted, bristling at the comment.
The thin man laughed as he held both hands up before him as if to ward off an attack. "Okay, all right. I didn't mean any harm, mate. Just making your acquaintance."
"Who are you?" Justin asked, suspiciously.
"Friends of the Viper's."
Now, totally lost, Justin frown as he asked, "Who?"
"Choate. The big man you've been staying with in the blue tent."
"Why do you call him Viper?"
The two men looked at each other.
"It's a nickname," the big one said. "Like they call me 'Hoss', and him, 'Stealth'."
Justin eyed them curiously. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Do they call you Hoss and him Stealth?"
The great man scratched his head. "Why?"
"Because they're nicknames, dingo."
"But I said that, Avery," Hoss said.
"I know you did. I was explaining to the boy."
"But you just repeated what I said. How was that explaining?"
Justin shook his head and turned back towards the blue tent to take the big man his breakfast before he came looking.
The two continued their argument long after he'd walked out of hearing range.
This place was a loony bin.
~~~
Hours later, a young Evers lay stretched out on the cushions, his eyes slowly drifting shut. Full. Full enough to pop. The big man had made him eat everything he'd placed on his plate. He said Justin was too skinny.
Always a finicky eater, Justin had never finished a plate of food in his life. And, although his 'owner' had not loaded the plate with food, he didn't take 'no' or 'full' for an answer, either.
"Still sleepy, brat?"
Justin looked up from his half-doze. Choate stood in the center of the room watching him.
"Take the dishes back to the kitchens and you can take a nap. I might even rub your back as a reward."
Justin's lip crept out in a pout as he sat up. "Isn't there someone here whose job is to take care of things like that?"
Choate smiled. "Yeah. You."
Justin found his mouth closed by the big man's finger under his chin, then he pulled the smaller man to his feet. The dishes were shoved into his hands and him sent on his way with a light swat on his bottom.
On the way to the kitchens the young man wondered why he had put up no struggle nor fight.
Coming back from the food tent, Evers mumbled angrily to himself about bullies and murder in the desert. Suddenly, he stopped. Music? Did he hear music? Beautiful music. European? Classical? Out here?
Following the sound as if in a trance, Justin located the source. In a large tent off to the side of the camp, four young women sat in a semi-circle, each playing an instrument.
Justin stood in the entrance to the tent, enchanted by the exotic sound.
Suddenly, one young lady, from the look of her not too much older than Justin himself, looked up. She smiled.
"It's beautiful," Justin told her shyly.
Everyone stopped playing to look up at the young man.
They smiled at him.
"Don't stop. Please," Justin told them anxiously as he came closer. "I play myself. I haven't heard music that fine in a long time."
They all watched him with great eyes, obviously not understanding a word he said.
For a moment, Justin found himself at a lost what to do. He motioned for them to sit down, then pointed to himself and smiled.
They all looked at each other then back at him and nodded.
He sat, cross-legged in a place they made for him. "Please. Please," he said, motioning in the air with his hands again. "Play. More." He mimicked the motions of playing a flute with his hands and smiled.
His actions started a frenzy of chatter among them, their hands motioning through the air like an excited flock of birds while they conversed.
After a few moments, the youngest one smiled back at him as she jumped to her feet and raced back through curtains in the back of the tent.
Fear seized Justin. As he sat wondering what she had thought he had said, she came back carrying a case.
With a shy look, she held it out to him.
"What? What is this?" Justin asked as he took it with tentative hands. Laying the case in his lap, he slowly opened it. Inside, resting in red velvet, was a elegant flute.
The young man looked up in shocked surprise. "This. . .this is beautiful," he breathed reverently.
She made the motion of him picking it up.
"Me?" Justin shook his head. "No. No. I can't." He looked around the circle.
The other women nodded their assent, looking at the young man anxiously.
Cautiously, Justin took the musical instrument from the box. It was exquisite craftsmanship. New. Polished to a high gleam. Taking the mouthpiece from its resting place, the young man clicked it into place.
Smiling, he raised it to his lips. . .
"What are you doing in here?!"
Everyone in the room cringed at the deep, booming voice, and all heads turned to its source.
The Viper stood in the entrance way to the tent, his hands on his hips, a frown on his face.
The young girl who had given Justin the flute said something to the agent, then all the women began to talk at once.
The Viper endured the 'cadence' for a few minutes, trying unsuccessfully to insert a comment in here and there. Finally, he barked one word loudly and the women stopped, staring at him, then Justin.
He said something else and they all began to giggle.
This caused Viper to frown even more. "Let's go, brat," he said gruffly.
"But. . ."
"I said, let's go."
Slowly, sadly, the young man too the flute aparrt, placed it back in its velvet nest, and closed the case. Then tried to hand it back to the young woman, who shook her head, pushing it back at him with her open hands, speaking rapidly in her native language.
Suddenly, Justin felt himself lifted and turned. Clutching the case with both hands, the young man found himself tossed over the big man's shoulder as the agent spun on his heel and walked from the tent.
The ladies called something to them and all began to giggle at the response Choate made back to them from over his shoulder.
Justin clutched desperately at the case all the bumpy ride back to the large blue tent. Once inside, the big man slowly lowered the small figure he carried to the ground.
Young Evers watched him apprehensively.
"What were you supposed to do?" he asked, shaking a finger in front of large, green eyes.
"I did it," Justin said defensively.
"The 'come right back' part?"
He pouted. "You didn't say come right back."
Choate's mouth closed with a snap. The boy had him there. "I didn't say stop off in the women's tent, either."
"I was. . .distracted," he said, lamely.
"That kind of distracted can get a valuable piece of your anatomy lopped off, brat," Choate told him wryly.
Justin threw him an indignant look. "It wasn't like that! I heard music. . ."
Viper held up a silencing hand. "No. Don't explain. Stay out of the women's tent."
"But. . ."
"I mean it, little boy! We are guests here and unless you want to find yourself married or worse, a eunuch, I'd suggest you stay in here for a while."
"A prisoner?" he asked in a small voice.
Choate hung his head at the hurt expression on the young man's face. "No. Not a prisoner." He looked up again. "Stay here, querido. Until I tell you otherwise," he said softly. "It won't be long." And he left.
~~~
It was past the noon meal before Choate could return to the blue tent. ben Dhaamin had been understanding about the agent's new 'slave's' mistake and assured him no retribution was forthcoming. That none of the women had been offended, that they thought the 'child' was cute and were happy the 'sahib' had found someone to make him smile. Shaking his head at that comment, he approached his tent.
Music? Did he hear music?
Elbowing the entrance flap aside, he saw, silhouetted against the sleeping chamber's drape, the young man sitting on the sleeping platform, his legs crossed beneath him, playing the flute.
A soft melody filtered out to the agent. Sweet. Sad. Haunting. Sensuous. Glorious.
Cautiously, Choate moved across the room, opening the drape, placing the food he carried on the table.
The young man looked up, pausing.
"Don't stop. I want to hear more," he commanded as he eased himself into the cushions. "I didn't know you could play. It is beautiful," he said earnestly.
Justin blushed at the tone the agent used for his compliment, and smiled around the mouthpiece as he began another tune. This one not as sad, but even more alluring than the first. The agent felt its melody wash over him almost like a caress.
"You are very talented," he said softly as he lay on his stomach upon the cushions and looked up.
Justin smiled again, noticing for the first time, the strange light in the agent's eyes.
"How long have you played?"
Maintaining a note with the fingers of one hand, he used the other to hold up five fingers, then curled them into a fist and spread them out fully once more.
"It is lovely, dulce. If I had known it would make you this happy, I would have given it to you sooner. I brought the instruments as gifts. This one was extra."
Justin stopped playing. "The flute is yours?"
Choate shook his head. "It's yours now."
The agent couldn't help himself, he had to lean forward on his elbows and kiss the slightly open lips of the astonished young man.
"Mine?" Justin said in awe when his owner released his mouth.
"You don't want it?"
"Mine?" he repeated breathlessly.
"Yes," Choate laughed. "Unless you don't want it."
But the young man's attentions had focussed inward. "I used to play my mother's." Justin's fingers tightened on the delicate instrument. "Not as nice as this one." He looked away. "Until my father broke it," he said in a whisper. "I. . .I. . ." Evers looked back. "Thank you."
Choate frowned briefly, then smoothed his features. "De nada, querido," he said softly as he wondered what kind of father this child had. Shaking off the dark thoughts, he smiled. "Time to show you what needs doing around here. We can play later."
~~~
That evening, Choate surprised his men by showing up at the communal baths.
"We thought you'd let your slave bathe you, boss," Aces called out as he ran the soapy cloth over his chest.
"I told him he could have the tub," Choate said, sliding into the steamy hot pool. "He's not used to work. The kid looked about ready to drop."
"Don't think it's the labor that's tiring him out," Stealth said softly as he leaned over to hand his boss the soap.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Choate growled indignantly as he took the cake of soap.
"Nothing," Stealth said with a laugh as he sat back. "He is a cute kid, tho'."
"Yeah, he's a doll," Hoss told no one in particular.
Suddenly the men in the tub became quiet. It took Hoss a moment to notice.
"What?" he asked, looking around in alarm. "What did I say?" Then he glanced over at the closed look on the Viper's face. "You don't think he is?"
Slowly, a smile opened up the agent's face. "Yes, John. I think he's a living doll, you're right."
And everyone laughed.
~~~
The sun had just begun to creep up over the horizon and lighten the inside of the tent.
From the half-shadows, Justin watched his 'master' as he slept. He, himself, had been up for about an hour, awakened by the call of nature to find himself not alone in the bed. The large presence behind him in the cushions had been close enough to touch, to feel his warmth, his closeness, without any true physical contact.
The smaller man had crept from the cushions as smoothly and as quietly as he could to keep from disturbing the larger. Choate had shifted closer to the spot he had just vacated, but did not awake. Justin slipped off to find the privy.
Now, after slipping back into the tent just as silently, he found himself sitting, watching the man sleep.
He was big. Well-formed muscles defined and accentuated by the play of light and shadows over them. The skin stretched smooth and nearly hairless across them, glowing from time in the sun.
Justin's fingers itched maddeningly. Itched to reach out and touch, trace, caress, fondle. Damn. He had to do something else, quickly!
Seeing something gleaming white in the corner, he went to investigate. Lying on top of a low table, he found a case full of papers in envelopes, and folders, a pen and a pencil.
Pulling out a clean sheet of paper and taking the pencil, Justin took one of the folders for a makeshift easel, settled comfortably on the cushions, and began to draw.
~~
Choate felt uneasy. Coming awake slowly, he realized the source. . .an empty bed.
"Dulce?" he called softly into the dimness of the chamber. Receiving no answer, he sat up, glancing around until he located the young man curled in a ball at the foot of the bed.
Getting up, he padded, naked, to tower over his sleeping 'slave'.
Gently, Choate reached out and scooped him up in his arms. The young man murmured sleepily, curling close to Choate's body for warmth as a pencil and paper fell from his hand.
After settling him once more into the cushions and pulling the light covering over him, Choate went to gather the fallen items.
Turning the paper until he could see, he stepped closer to the light of the brazier.
'It was him,' he thought in astonishment at the mastery, at the attention to detail. 'The talent this one had,' Choate told himself, looking back at the figure in his bed. 'And he belonged to him. He is mine. Mine. And I will never give him back,' the agent thought fiercely as he quietly placed the paper in his case and closed it.
He then crawled back into the bed, this time slipping up behind the small figure and enclosing him in a tight embrace.
"Paddy," Justin whispered, still soundly asleep.
"Sí, dulce," he said softly, his lips close to the small ear.
"Mmmm," Justin thrummed as he wiggled his butt to get it settled closer into the curve of Choate's lap, and he settled into the embrace. "Mine," he said softly, crossing his arms over the larger ones that held him.
"Sí, dulce, de suyo." Viper smiled as he kissed the smooth expanse of neck before settling down himself.
~~~
Justin woke again, this time the sun burned high in the sky and his cock was rock hard.
Squirming a little to try to ease his discomfort, he found someone had placed a line pole between his thighs.
"A fine way to wake, isn't it?" came a deep voice from behind him.
Justin froze.
"Shhh, dulce," the agent soothed. "It's all right. Here."
Large hands lifted his hips, then pulled the smaller man back firmer against the hard chest. Throwing one tree-sized thigh over the smaller one, Choate found the leverage he needed and began to move.
Slowly, the granite-like erection began to thrust, in and out of the pocket formed by Justin's thighs, the pressure provided by the weight of the agent's leg across him.
Pre-cum slicked the way, turning the movement into a glide - in and out, in and out, the hard wall of Choate's groin impacting the soft curve of Justin's ass with a mild slap. The only other sound being soft grunts from the large man and moans from the smaller.
"Feel good, dulce?" the agent asked as he pulled the young man closer. "I can make it feel better." This said with a growl as he enclosed both large hands around Justin's erection.
The groans Evers had been making became growls, then purrs and settled into thrums of pleasure as he added the movement of his own hips to counter the thrusts made by his 'master'.
"Ahhh, better," the young man hissed as he closed his own hands over those of his bedmate and picked up the speed.
So good. It felt so good. Too good to put into words, so they let the feelings just wash over them.
Leaning back, Justin rested his head in the hollow of his lover's shoulder as he moved.
Choate settled into the rhythm, finding a pace both of them could follow as he inhaled the sharp musk of arousal from the young man moving against him, fighting the urge to devour him whole.
"Paddy," Justin whimpered, as his back arched into a bow up against the hard wall of his lover's chest.
"Sí, amor. Esta bien. Si te haces pedazos. Yo te recogere." And he closed his lips on the tender flesh of the young man's neck and nipped sharply with his teeth.
Justin gasped at the sharp pain, then growled at the harsh rasp of tongue that soothed it. Bucking hard into the warm well formed by the big hands in front of him and wiggling his hips against the heat behind him. . .he came.
Choate groaned deep in his throat as the young man in his arms seemed to melt into molten lava and sensations of heat and pressure and passion and pleasure overwhelmed him. . .and he came.
~~~
It took the agent a moment to steady his legs as he stood by the side of the bed. Fighting the urge to remain wrapped around the tender young morsel that now graced his life, Choate had risen, washed and dressed to go to a meeting with his men.
Reluctantly turning away from temptation, he left the tent, blinking at the fading light. They had spent the better part of the day in bed together. With any luck, the plans for that evening would be as fulfilling.
~~~
Justin turned over and stretched. He felt so. . .delicious. He didn't recall ever feeling this relaxed or. . .content. Why?
Then he remembered.
Paddy.
At the sound of that name echoing in his mind his dick sprang greedily to attention like a pet responding to its master's voice.
"No!" he hissed, as if talking to a sentient thing. But the stubborn, acquisitive thing would not be denied.
Justin took it by a strangle hold with both hands and his hips began to move as if by their own will. Images from the morning crept back into Justin's conscious thoughts as he was once again swept away by passions he could not control. Desire for this man who owned him swelled inside of him, filling him with such an overwhelming sense of lust and need and want and. . .(love), that it made it impossible to breathe for a moment. For a moment, he thought he would die. For a moment, he was pulled beyond the boundaries of his body and this room and into something bigger than he. . .better than this. . .
"Paddy!"
And he came again.
~~~
Now, standing in the shadows of the tent, Justin once again tried to reason out his need to escape. This man, this person who he barely knew, had stolen his soul.
The young man found himself hungering for his handsome 'master' shamelessly. He had to get away. He had to, before. . .before it was too late.
"Justin?"
The young man jumped with a startled yelp and spun towards the sound of his name.
"Why are you standing out here in the dark?"
Young Evers looked up into the face of his tormentor. Make him hate you. Make him hurt you so you'll hate him! "I was trying to get away," he said defiantly.
Choate stood still a moment, studying the young man in front of him, then leaned inside the tent to place the food he carried out of the way. Straightening, he asked, "You were?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me."
"I want to go home."
"Why?"
"Why do I want to go home?"
"Yes."
"When I can stay here and be owned by you?" he hissed angrily.
"Yes," came the calm reply.
This brought Justin up short and left him floundering for an answer. Why, indeed?
"Ahh," Choate said sagely, "I thought as much." He put his hand in the small of Justin's back, steering him back within the safe haven of the tent.
"You're awfully sure of yourself," Justin mumbled irritably.
"No, querido," the agent replied as he ran his hand lovingly across the firm rounded flesh of the young man's backside, teasing it down the dark crevice in the center. "I am sure of you."
And he reached out to pick up the food, leaving Justin standing there, a faint blush blossoming on his face as a raging erection tented his clothing.
~~~~~~
"Dulce."
Justin almost dropped the pitcher and goblet he held. That name! The timbre of that voice. The young man bit his lip, hoping the sharp pain would distract another part of his body from its automatic response.
Not trusting his voice not to give him away, the smaller man only glanced back over his shoulder.
"You can leave the tent, but don't go farther than the Infirmary and the Kitchen."
That circle covered nearly half of the encampment. The rest were the stables and storerooms, things that didn't interest him.
"All right," he said, turning back to the task at hand.
"And stay away from the outer walls."
"Yes, Paddy," he whispered.
"The tent needs straightening, and there's plenty of laundry. That should keep you busy for a while." Choate watched knowingly for his 'slave's' back to straighten in outrage.
He didn't have to wait long.
"And, I brought you these."
The young man turned, the anger on his face vanishing as soon as he saw what the man carried.
"Can you use them?"
Justin slowly put the pitcher and goblet down and reached out to take the sketchpad and box of charcoals from the agent's hands. "When. . .where?" he stammered in confusion.
"It should keep you busy until I get back."
Justin looked up sharply. "Get back?"
"I have to go away for a few days."
A look of confusion settled on his face. "Away?"
"Yes."
The young man frowned. "To buy more slaves," he said softly.
The agent shook his head. "I have all I need right here."
The look in the larger man's eyes made Justin swallow hard.
"I have a meeting to go to in the city."
"I can't go with you?"
Choate shook his head sadly. "You'd be too much of a distraction." Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly across the young man's. "Next time."
Justin shuddered at the intimacy of the contact. "Will you be gone long?"
"Four days."
"Four. . ."
Choate cut off the rest of the screech with his mouth, lifting the young man up against his body with an arm around his back.
Justin stiffened for a moment before he tossed the paper in one direction and charcoals in the other to free his hands and wrap them around his 'master' as he opened his mouth wider.
~~~~~~
After four of the seemingly longest days of his life, the agent returned to the oasis.
Choate anxiously handed off his horse's lead to the large man waiting there.
"Where is he?" he asked, the soft tone of his voice belying the riot of emotions swirling within him.
Hoss smiled. "You ask that like you expect me to tell you he's gone."
His leader turned dark, flashing eyes on him. "Is he?"
The intensity of that look caused the large man to back up a step. "No, Viper," he quickly reassured the anxious man. "He's in your tent. Although he's hopping mad." The huge man smiled remembering.
"Why?"
"Maybe it was the outfit you left him?"
"He found it, did he?" Choate said with a laugh.
"Found it and threw it away. Stealth rescued it and put it in the office for safe keeping."
The smile widened; the agent hadn't expected the young one to give in readily to the idea. He had bought the clothes the same time as the pads and charcoals. "So, you think he'd object to wearing it?"
"Oh, yeah." Hoss' eyes glittered in amusement. "He wore the clothes he had until even he couldn't stand his smell. He washed them this morning. Now, he's sitting naked, wrapped in a sheet waiting for them to dry."
Choate found he didn't like the idea of anyone seeing his diminutive captive in his naked splendor. If it had been anyone else but his team. . .
"Viper?"
Choate was snapped back to the present to look up into his teammate's knowing smile.
"I asked if you were hungry?"
"A little. I'll get something later," he said gruffly as he stalked away. "See that I'm not disturbed," he called over his shoulder.
Hoss' smirk widened at his boss' retreating form. Stealth owed him on this one.
~~
End, part 1
****
Tick. Tick. Tick. on to part 2. . .