A Summer Reprieve
The sun was warm after a long, damp winter, illuminated the street, drying the rain from the previous night and warming Michael's face as he stood in front of the residence hall. John was to be arriving shortly, and he realized he was very anxious to be gone from this town; he was anxious to be away from Marcus and the dark cloud that seemed to be over him since the winter.
After the day of their encounter in his rooms and Marcus' declaration afterwards, they had hardly spoken. Stuart in his artless, friendly way, tried to smooth things over between them by being jovial and making sport of them, but Marcus was having none of it. He had told Stuart about it all, and he had listened with openness and curiosity and, in the course of their conversations, became closer, more steadfast friends.
Stuart's attempts were of no help. Marcus was taciturn, sometimes rude and made a great show of going about with the very girl Stuart had pretending to be mooning over. Michael felt uncomfortable in their presence and he had to give Sarah all the credit, since she knew something was unspoken and tried to resolve it, but Michael knew how impossible it would be to do so. Marcus was indeed fulfilling his role as a man and she a woman and thus there was no point, he believed, in trying to resolve this. They would be on their own path and that was that.
He had returned home several times in the course of the winter and now spring, John spending weekends in his bed but also being very careful not to be obvious. Michael felt he could trust Maggie and Susan, who seemed to be modern girls, but the thought of Mrs Rideout knowing this about him filled him with fear.
He had spoken with John about this dilemma and was surprised to hear him say, “Oh, you needn't fret about Mrs Rideout, but it's Susan we need to be careful about. I took the liberty of speaking with Maggie. She is a fine girl and her brother...well...he's like us. We have no worries with her.
Michael had asked, “Why are we not to worry about Mrs Rideout?”
John smiled almost slyly and said, “Well, I heard that before she came to work here she was living in Dundee and she says with a friend. But I got the impression this was more than a friend, because when I asked her why she came south to us, she looked very uncomfortable and said something about some friendships not lasting.”
Not understanding, Michael said, “I'm not following...”
“This “friend” was a woman and they had been living together for years. Michael, when two woman of a certain age live together, it is accepted by some that they are more than friends. And I think this to be true. Someday I intend to find out, but we have no worries when it comes to Mrs Rideout.”
“'But the “Mrs”?”
“My lad, it's all part of the ruse. She sounds more respectable as a “Mrs” does she not?”
Michael had to agree and felt naive.
He saw the motorcar coming along the street and was suddenly happy, smiling. When John emerged, he could not but smile even more. He wanted to throw his arms around the man and hold him in the street, but he knew this was impossible.
After stowing his bags, he got in the car and they drove off, both grinning like schoolboys. Michael took John's free hand and gripped it tightly, saying,
“I've missed you.”
John smiled and said, “I've done nothing else but miss you.”
They talked of the end of term and the coming summer and Michael held John's hand the whole way, feeling as if he was coming back to life at the touch.
Once the motor was parked, John said, “I must attend to the new gardener...he's overwhelmed by the state of things, I fear.”
Michael laughed and said, “I didn't know we required a new gardener.”
“You remember Sidney? Your father hired him years ago, but now he can barely manage. He finally told me he was done, so there you are. I hired Fergus, Fergus Galbraith...I thought I put this in my last letter.”
Michael felt abashed and mumbled, “You did. I'm sorry. I remember the name but lost why you mentioned it.”
They were quiet for a moment, then John said, “And I think he is one of us, if I've read him rightly, which is good."
Michael looked at him a moment. “You seem to have an agenda.”
John smiled broadly, saying “That may be so, but I would have hired Fergus in any case. He seems a fine man and a wise gardener. This will be a challenge for him...the gardens have been left too much on their own.”
For the next few days, Michael slept late and didn't do very much, but he found he watched John, in his position as, he realized, manager of the estate, work. He seemed so competent and sure of himself, ways of being he found inspiring as neither of these qualities had been asked of him when he was younger. He also became increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that his employee was sleeping in his bed most nights.
He knew that this occurred at other estates: the kitchen maid sleeping with the Laird of Whathaveyou, but this was not, he hoped, a situation where he was taking advantage because of his position and that he paid John's wages.
In bed he brought this up, asking John how he felt.
“I had not given it any thought...but I do see what you're saying. But Michael, I was the one I think who pushed myself on you, if I remember rightly. So I see no advantages being taken except by me.” He leaned over and kissed Micael on the cheek, the slid beneath the sheets until his face was between Michael's legs and he nuzzled his way under his balls, and Michael could feel his tongue exploring, his lips slurping at the base of him, his mouth engulfing his cock. He was moving quickly, swallowing him to the root, using his hand to help with the sharp, intense climax that Michael reached with a choking cry as he coated the inside of John's mouth.
Michael lay, gasping, and finally, when John emerged from under the blanket, said, “What was that for, I might ask?”
John swallowed, grinning, and said, “Just proving that I get to do what I want with you, not the other way around!”
The next morning, Michael took his tea out to the gardens, enjoying the bright spring sun as it flashed off the dew on the grass and the shrubs, dazzling and clear. As he walked past a hedge, he heard the sound of clippers and then a tall man with dark hair came into view. He turned his startling blue eyes on Michael and his face changed to concern.
Michael could see this and wanted to put him at ease. “You must be Fergus...I'm Michael McLaren. I'm very happy to meet you,” and he put out his hand.
Fergus put down the clippers and wiped his hand on his trousers, then took his. He smiled and Michael was struck by how handsome he was and felt a little guilty for it. He seemed to be John's age, or perhaps older. He had a sly thought that he knew why John had hired him, and he intended to bring this up in the evening.
Fergus said, “I'm pleased to be working here, and to meet the owner at last. I will say you are younger than I would have expected for the big muck...I should say, the owner.”
Michael laughed, delighted. “I'm not much of a big muck, but yes, I do own all this. I lost my parents last year...from the war, and the Flu.”
Fergus winced and said, “I've put my brogue in my mouth, have I not? I don't mean any disrespect to you or your parents.”
“You needn't worry. It's just the truth and you can make sport of me all you want. I am trying to run things differently now that I'm on my own. You'll find John sees things as I do.”
“Well I'm glad of that.”
Michael thought a moment, then asked, “Are you living upstairs?”
“Yes, I have a room with the others, thank you. You have a fine house.”
“It is rather nice, and rather grand. There is so much space I hardly know what to do with it. Well, Fergus. I will see you when we eat. I generally eat below stairs with everyone as I feel a bit strange eating all alone.”
Fergus looked surprised and said, “There's much to learn on my first week. Until this evening.”
With that he continued his work and Michael continued his walk.
When everyone had finished their dinner, the rest went to bed except Michael, John and Fergus. They sat at the big table with their cider. John went to a cupboard by the table and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He filled three glasses and raised his, saying, “Slainte and welcome Fergus!”
They raised their glasses and drank. Michael could tell that John had plans now that he could read the subtle shifts in him. He knew that producing the whiskey was a statement. He poured them three more. Michael felt a little light-headed, but happy. John finally said to Fergus, “Tell us about yourself. Where were you before you washed up here?”
Fergus finished his glass and placed if carefully down. He licked his lips, then said, “Oh, well, I've been here and there. I was gardener at a big house near Newcastle for a time. Before, when I was just a lad I, worked as an under-gardener not far from here. I told you this, John, when I came to be interviewed.”
John nodded, and said, “You haven't a girl?”
“Ach, no. I haven't the time nor the interest.”
Michael knew in that moment that John had been right about Fergus. How did he know these things? How could he tell?
John poured a little more whiskey in their glasses and said, “Well Fergus, you are not the only one to have no time for girls.”
There was silence in the room and Fergus looked from John to Michael then back. John had a sly grin on his face. “Do you mean to say...” and he stopped, his brows furrowing, then continued, “That you and Michael...?”
Trying not to laugh, Michael said, “Yes, that is what he is saying.”
Fergus took his glass, shaking his head as he threw back the whiskey. He pushed it toward John to be re-filled. “I need fortification to begin to understand all this.'”
It seemed to Michael that the more he drank, the more his accent went north into the highlands. John looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Michael, taking this as a message, stood up and said, “Why don't we go upstairs? I think we may be more comfortable.”
Fergus looked startled and he ran his hand through his dark hair. “You mean...?”
John rose and said, “Follow us.”
The three climbed the stairs from the main floor to the first floor. John stopped at Michael's bedroom door which John opened and ushered the others in. John sat down on an armchair in the corner and extended his legs. Michael, as if receiving a message from John, sat on the bed and patted the space next to him. Fergus sat, looking uncomfortable. Michael said, “Fergus, do you know how fine a man you are?” He put his hand on Fergus' leg, giving it a stroke, then he said, “Do you understand what we are hoping you would like right now?”
Fergus looked down at Michael's hand then back up at him. A very slow smile appeared on his face. “I'm beginning to see what you're saying.”
With that he leaned forward and kissed Michael, holding his shoulder in one hand, the other reaching down to unfasten Michael's trousers. Michael laughed as he struggled and stood up, peeling them off. He sat back on the bed and pulled Fergus' head down and he began to lap at his hardening penis, exploring the ridges with his tongue, then running his lips up and down the length. Michael was struck by how different his mouth felt than John's. He looked over at John who was still in the chair but with his trousers around his ankles and fisting his cock, watching them intently.
At the same time as sucking Michael even deeper, Fergus unfastened his own trousers awkwardly, and slid them off, kicking them to the floor and lay back down on his stomach, mouthing the end of Michael's cock. He was struck by the sight of Fergus' white buttocks on the dark bedclothes; it seemed almost forbidden to see them. Fergus was grinding himself into the fabric and Michael pushed his mouth further down on his cock, almost choking him.
Michael looked over at John and saw that he was naked, and they smiled at each other. John got up and walked over to the two men. He moved to Michael and ran the end of his cock over Michael's lips. Then, with a hand on the back of Michael's neck, thrust his cock deep, and he grunted into John's flesh. He pushed his hips forward into Michael's throat several times, then pulled out, his cock shiny. He stroked Fergus' back then to his round, muscular backside, feeling the heft of him. He got on top of Fergus and ran his cock along the line of Fergus' ass cheeks saying, “I hope you can take me, Fergus.”
His mouth full of Michael, Fergus only moaned. John leaned backward and opened the drawer in the little table beside the bed and pulled out, Michael realized, his little bottle of oil. He then spread Fergus' muscular globes and drizzled oil along his cleft, rubbing in the liquid, pressing his fingers inside the man. He began to slowly, but steadily slide his cock into Fergus, bracing himself on his back, who continued to make low sounds as he swallowed more of Michael's cock. Michael put his hands on Fergus' head as if to brace himself while he thrust harder. He had the thought that this was an initiation, that they were testing and welcoming this man into the home.
John, having slid all the way into Fergus, began to flex his hips into him, his muscular buttocks clenching with each thrust. He was propped up on his arms above Fergus, watching Michael's cock disappear into his mouth. Michael saw John sink lower on his arms until his face was beside Fergus' and he licked at Michael's cock as it slid out of Fergus' mouth.
Michael threw his head back and gasped, then pulled Fergus off his cock. “I'm not ready to end yet...I want to take him now.”
John looked up and smiled. He pulled himself up and slid out of Fergus. He and John changed positions and Michael pushed himself in to Fergus who gasped, “So the both of you are to have me? I suppose I deserve it being so cheeky to you Michael.”
Michael laughed. “I imagine that's true,” and he wrapped his arms around Fergus' torso and began to fuck him steadily and Michael, dizzy with excitement, saw that John was sitting watching, and his cock had a long stream of liquid running from the head. He moved his mouth toward it and began to lick the flowing liquid, loving the taste of him. John laughed and pushed himself into his mouth, mashing Micheal's face so his cock reached deep. Michael groaned, his mouth full, as he fucked Fergus even harder.
Michael knew that he had reached the limit, that he had reached the peak of stimulation and he began to make gasping sounds around John's hard flesh in his mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut as an explosion went off in him, ignited by the tip of himself deep in Fergus and he felt himself wanting to fuck right through Fergus, pouring all his pent up pleasure in and through the man.
John, watching him reach this climax, had one of his own and he held Michael's head while he poured into his mouth, and Michael had the almost mad thought that the spurts into his mouth were now a river of seed that flowed down his body and through his cock into Fergus. Michael swallowed hungrily as John moved backward, sliding out of Michael's mouth, a trail of juice landing on Michael's chin and he ordered, “Fergus, sit up. I want you.”
Michael pulled out of him and Fergus sat back on the sofa, his cock almost glowing and red as John leaned down and began to fist him rapidly, while resting the end in his mouth. Fergus grimaced and gasped as his body clenched and he cried out. Michael leaned down and licked the white liquid leaking out of John's mouth.
When Fergus relaxed – almost collapsed - John sat up and swallowed. Michael kissed him, enjoying the taste of Fergus's seed, then pulled Fergus' face to his, sharing their tongues.
He leaned back regarding Fergus for a moment. “I hope you feel welcomed to my house.”
Fergus began to laugh suddenly, throwing his head back and he gasped, “Michael McLaren! I have never felt so welcomed in all my life.”
John got off the bed and stood up, extending his hand to Fergus, who took it almost formally. John said, “We might have asked you to share our bed, but we don't want to alarm Susan or Maggie if they come in.”
“But,” Michael said, “We will have you again I hope.”
Fergus wiped his brow and, picking up his trousers, and said, “I would be please to. I hope you still feel you can order me about, Michael.”
It was Michael's turn to burst with laughter. “I'm sure I will take great pleasure in it.”
Fergus nodded, a little smile on his face. He pulled on his shirt and found his socks and with a mock formal salute he left the room.
John climbed back into the bed and lay on his side next to Michael, a leg draped over his. Michael could feel his sticky cock, still half hard, tucked into his thigh. Michael was staring at the wall where a wardrobe sat.
“John...you see that wardrobe?”
John lifted his head and looked. “It's a vast old thing.”
Michael snorted, “Yes, but what I just now remembered is it conceals a door, a door to what used to be my parents' bedroom. My mother wanted to have easy access if I needed her so she had it put in. When I grew, she stopped using it and put the wardrobe in. You see what I'm thinking...
John sounded happy and said, “That if we used these rooms we could get to each other without it being known. But it will seem a strange thing for your employee to sleep in a family bedroom.”
Michael was just then realizing the same thing, and said, “Yes, that is a problem.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I hope we haven't made things complicated for Fergus.”
John was silent for a moment, then said “I don't think we need worry. Fergus seems a steady man and knows what he wants – and doesn't.”
“Yes, I think you're right.” He was silent, stroking John's belly, then said “I had a letter from Stuart today. He sounded well. I wondered about asking him to stay for a time this summer.”
“Then you must. I am glad you have friends now. I often imagine you alone here as a boy. Were there any others to run wild with?”
Michael kissed John's neck, then said, “No. We have many friends nearby, but when I was a boy they had girls, or none at all. I tried to chum about with on the farms or in the village, but they were frightened of me. Can you credit it? Me?”
John pulled his head up and kissed him. “You were a lonely one, Michael. I am sorry.”
When Michael woke, John was gone – which was how most mornings started. He seemed to get up, Michael thought, before the birds. He lay in bed, half asleep, wishing John was still there. But the light grew brighter in the room and the early summer sunshine came in and the sounds of life outside louder and Michael felt compelled to go out and meet the day.
He came down to breakfast to find he was the last one, save Mrs Rideout who was sitting with a cup of tea and the newspaper.
“I am the last to rise, I suppose? You look so content...I don't want to intrude...”
She looked at him fondly and said, “Michael...it is your kitchen is it not?”
Michael laughed. “It seems like your kitchen.”
“Well, that is true. But you take my meaning.”
Michael went and found some eggs, and a pot of tea. He was still becoming used to serving himself although Mrs Rideout liked to serve sometimes, but he always wanted to feel as much on an equal footing as the others as possible.
He sat down, sipping from his cup gratefully. He regarded the cook for a moment. He realized she was younger than he at first thought: her face unlined and her hair thick and brown under her cap. He reached for a piece of toast in the rack and smeared butter on it. He suddenly found himself asking,
“Mrs Rideout, John tells me you came from Dundee...?”
“Aye, that is true.”
He realized she looked uncomfortable, but he pressed on. “And that you had been living with a friend there?”
“A friend, yes.”
“A good friend?”
She looked more uncomfortable, but said, “I suppose that is true.”
Michael took another sip of his tea as if he needed strength. He swallowed and asked, “She was a very good friend?”
Putting down her paper, she glared at Michael as if he had said too much and a part of him wondered if this was true. But he pressed on, feeling this conversation was essential.
“I only ask because...” and he wondered if he could continue, but forced himself to say “the kind of friend I think you had in Dundee is the kind of friends that John and I now are, if you take my meaning.”
She looked startled and blinked at him for a moment. She gulped down some tea and put the cup carefully on the table. She smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle in the newspaper and then sighed.
“I do take your meaning and I am not surprised. And I am grateful for your curiosity. I have not told anyone this but it seems John has worked it out and now I understand why.”
“Like finds like, I suppose?”
“Yes, Michael, I think this is so.” She was quiet for a moment, making a pattern with her finger on the table then looked up and asked, “How long have you and John...”
“Since before Christmas.”
“I knew there was something between you. But thank you Michael for speaking of this. It has been no small burden to me to keep this secret.”
Michael reached out his hand and took Mrs Rideout's for a moment and they smiled at each other.
Later, Michael sat in the study – that used to be his father's study in which he now felt like an imposter – and wrote a letter to Stuart suggesting he come for a few weeks in July. Satisfied, he drove to the village and posted the letter, spent some time buying some supplies for Mrs Rideout, and returned, enjoying the soft breeze, the bright sky and the dabbled shade from the old trees that lined the drive to the house. How much the world has changed, he thought, but how much more it had not, and how much it needed to still change.
