The Accident

 


"Peter Jackson speaking."

"Mr. Jackson? Are you the Peter Jackson that lives at 3405 Maple St.?"

"Yes, what is this about?"

"Are you a contact of Mr. Russell Jackson of the same address?"

"Yes, what has happened?" Peter snapped, holding the phone tight to his ear.

"Mr. Jackson, this is Gladys from Safety Net. We've filed an accident report:
with air bags deployed, at a site in the city. Mr. Russell Jackson has you as a
source of contact. Paramedics were sent when no contact could be made for Mr.
Jackson. They are on scene and are transferring him by medevac helicopter to St.
Michaelmas Hospital. You should go there as soon as you safely can. Can I call
you a taxi?"

Peter sat down hard; he had come to his feet when the second question was asked.
Now he held the phone and stared out the window of his office. He could not seem
to get air into his chest. The phone was a bother like a buzzing – he absently
hung it up without saying a word. He couldn't seem to breathe. Russell, he
thought... Russell's been in an accident.

He didn't notice his office door opening. Robert came in, and with one look at
Peter; he pressed his friend's head down between his knees. Peter, feeling the
hand, started to fight the movement when Robert's voice cut though the fog in
his brain.

"Breath, Peter. Breath. Stay still."

Robert played rugby, and Peter had no choice but to stay where he was. Slowly,
the fog began to clear. Peter was breathing and he was suddenly covered in a
cold clammy sweat. He started to shiver as his body temperature dropped... due
to the shock.

He heard a muttered 'bloody hell' and Peter was on his office floor with his
legs up on his couch cushions, a warm cloth was being wiped over his face, and
he could hear Robert's voice.

"Peter, Peter... come on, mate, stay with me here, Peter." And felt a sharp slap
to his face. With his legs up, and his blood pressure returning to normal, he
raised his hand and caught Robert's before it could slap him again.

"I'm all right," he muttered.

"Like hell! You damn near passed right out. Just lay there and breathe before
Rose calls 911 would ya, please? Just lay there and breath. You want me to call
Russ, Alan? Lay down, mate, or so help me I'll keep you down. What is it?"

"Accident. Russell. Safety Net called he's at St. Michaelmas Hospital. I have to
get there... they couldn't talk to Russ. I have to go."

Peter tried to get up. Robert pushed him back down to the floor.

"You're not going anywhere, mate, just lay still for a second. Rose, get some
water or something... he's as white as a sheet. No, don't call 911, just get
some water."

Robert kept his hand on Peter chest. The roaring in Peter's ears faded away.

"There, you're getting better. Let's keep you down, and I'll find out what's
happening."

At that, the intercom buzzed. Robert picked the phone up.

"Yes Lacy, what's up? No, they called Peter too... he is in a state — almost
passed out. Yes, Michaelmas Hospital. No, I don't know... they didn't say. You
do? God, you're a treasure. OK. He should be on his feet when you get here. Can
you go with him? I'll get Alan. Great! OK, see you in a few."

Rose set the water on the desk, and together they helped Peter into his chair.
He was breathing better and his color was returning — and he felt like a fool.

Rose handed him the water and kept her hand on the glass as she helped him take
a sip. He glared at her.

"Don't you be glaring at me, young man. You do as your are told. I have you now,
relax. You don't know anything, so just breathe and take a few more sips...
we'll get this sorted. You just sit there and don't cause me any more trouble.
Lacy will be here in a minute and you will go with her to the hospital. You just
sit still. We secretaries have it under control — Administrative Professionals
to you, young man."

Her soft hand wiped his face with the cloth again. Her gentle movements at odds
with her stern voice. She was the go-to person on his floor. She had been at the
company for ages and did not suffer fools well. However, if she felt you were
good at your job, she was a godsend of help on how to get things done. She
stepped back as Lacy entered the office, carrying a leather portfolio and her
purse and coat.

"Come on, Peter, the cab is waiting. We'll get your car to you at the hospital,
but I don't want you driving now."

She ushered all of them out of the office, hugged Rose, and told her to mind the
fort. Then told Robert to go collect Alan from his office and take him to the
hospital, but to come inside because she might need wheels. She waited for
Robert to get his cell phone from his desk and gave him Alan's office address,
and they descended in the elevator. The cab was waiting at the main door, and
they were off.

Peter was just staring out the window as the cab moved though the heavy
mid-morning traffic. He was feeling lost. He wanted Russ – he wanted this to all
be a bad dream.

"Let me wake up," he muttered.

Lacy looked at him, and gave him a quick tight hug.

"Peter honey, you are awake. We don't know what has happened, but he's in a good
hospital. I have all the medical stuff here," she said, pointing at the
portfolio. "Yours, Alan's, and Russell's so we have that covered. Now listen to
me and listen carefully. You are going to have to be strong for Alan and for
Russell. I know it's hard and I know you don't want to. However, you don't have
a choice. Alan is going to be a mess just as you are, but we are going to need
at least one of you together. So pull it together young man. You can do this.
Just think of how Russell would handle it and you'll be fine!"

She brushed her fingers though his hair and kissed him on the cheek.

"We need strength right now," she added. "If you want to wail and scream and
break down you can, but not now. I promise you I will find a place for you to
vent but for now you have to be that tower of strength for your partners. You
may have to be harsh with Alan. You might have to be very hard just to get him
through the next few hours. That is OK; he'll understand when he calms down.
However, for now you have to be the rock. Can you hold your family together? Can
you do this for Russell? Can you be strong for him and for Alan?"

Her words were hammering at him. He was a man and he was a grown up. Sure he was
also a brat but that was private. Russell was the Top, and he was the man in
charge. Peter had Topped Alan many times and had been Topped by Russell for
years. Still, he knew that wasn't just for the bedroom; it was where he felt
safe. Russ always handled the big stuff. They all wanted that. Russell was a
Top; it was stamped on him — through him – and it felt so good when Peter saw
him take charge. He blushed slightly, knowing that many times that included him
being placed over Russ' knee for a hard spanking, but that too made him feel
safe. Now, there was no safety net. He had to man up; he hated the thought of
it. He knew how. Hell, he had lived it for years.

Lacy watch him as he held this internal discussion. She didn't know everything
about the relationship between the three men. She worked closely with Russell,
and was overjoyed when first Peter entered his life, then a bit shocked and lost
when Alan joined them a few years later. Still, she didn't pry. She had had a
great deal of respect for Russell and she knew him to be a good man. She was his
Administrative Assistant and she knew Russell very well and watched and helped
the company grow. She was pleased each time she met 'the boys' as Russell called
them. They were well behaved and polite. She grinned at the thought of the night
Russell asked her if Peter could be put to work at the company. Russell was so
worried about showing any favoritism that she had to talk him down a few times
when Peter had made the few mistakes that he made.
She saw Peter straighten in the seat, and his head came up and his shoulders
went back. He scrubbed his face with his hands for a second. Then he nodded at
her.

"Yes, Mrs. Wilson, I will. I can do this as long as I have you here to help."

The cab stopped at the emergency entrance and they went into the emergency room.

Peter seemed to grow as he walked across to the emergency room front desk. Lacy
Wilson saw him take charge, in his head, as he gave the nurse his name and
Russell's. He got a curt nod and the obsequious clipboard full of forms. Lacy
Wilson opened the portfolio and looked at the forms. She quickly replaced each
one with one already filled out. She had done this each year, updating as she
went. She had a set for each of the men. Russell's was finished the second week
of the year and Alan's had been updated just recently.

The nurse looked with suspicion at the completed paperwork, but accepted it
along with the verification of Russell's personal doctor and his insurance card.

No, she didn't know what had happened, and she didn't have any information as of
yet. She just knew that he had been brought in by the paramedics and the doctors
were working on him. She would get the information as soon as they knew
anything. Please have a seat, she would call them when she knew something.

Robert entered the lobby of Alan's office building; he had called the
supervisor's phone number. She was waiting for him, and took him through to the
call center. Alan was at his cubicle working on a call when Robert touched Alan
on the shoulder. Alan looked up in confusion.

"Alan? I'm Robert. I work with Peter. Peter wanted me to come and get you. There
has been an accident."

Alan's face went pale, and he disconnected his call. His supervisor told him it
was OK, and he should go with Robert. Sara looked over her cubicle, with a
question on her face, as Alan gathered his jacket and his messenger bag. She
reached out to touch his arm as he stood.

Robert swiftly told Alan what he knew — that Russell had been in an accident,
and he was to take Alan to the hospital. They would sort out cars later. Peter
said he didn't want Alan to drive. It was a long silent drive as Robert drove;
he glanced over to see the pale face of Alan as he sat hunched in the car seat.
Alan flew out of the car as they pulled into the ER driveway, and dashed though
the door. Alan threw himself into Peter's arms and hugged him; his breath
hitching . Peter held him tight, whispering: "I've got you, babe. I have you
now... deep breathes. I need you to keep it together till we know something, can
you do that? Huh, Babe? Just maintain until we find out, OK?"

Alan could hear the worry and pain in Peter's voice; he stayed locked in his
arms drawing on Peter's warmth and strength. With a nod, he wiped his eyes with
the back of his hand and straighten. Peter could see the gesture. It made Alan
look so young and so vulnerable with the tears streaking down his face. Lacy
handed him a Kleenex and he blew his nose, and then threw himself onto a seat.
Lacy took Robert aside. Swiftly she gave him instructions – he was to go back to
the office and get Peter and Alan's keys first, then get their cars and drive
them to their house, taking one of the people in the pool to help. Lacy had
gotten ahold of one of the company's drivers and rented a car. He was to arrive
at the hospital, and he would take care of getting all of them where they needed
to be. Once done, Robert was to fill in for Peter but he was to keep his cell
on. She didn't think she would need him but something might come up. Then she
joined the boys to wait.

***

Russell had been running a bit late. He had seen his boys off to work, spending
a bit more time today with Alan since he didn't need to be in until 10 am. They
all had breakfast and then Peter left for work. Alan and Russ had spent a few
minutes, after kissing Peter goodbye, discussing dinner and the plans to go food
shopping. Alan was slowly taking over that chore for all of them as his cooking
abilities improved. Still, Russ was more than happy to go shopping with him
since he was more interested in food than Peter — who would eat anything, they
both chuckled. Alan rolled his eyes. They might be able to go after work when
Alan got home about 8 pm. Or if that was too late they might go the next day,
which was Friday, and Alan had that day off this week.

Russ was pointing out that pork chops were great but there was nothing wrong
with a leg of lamb either. Alan had never even thought of lamb. So they were
looking though cookbooks and thinking about lamb when Alan glanced at the clock
and let out a curse, it was 9:30 he best get a move on or he would be late and
that old bitch would have things to say. Russ swatted him on the jeans for the
old bitch remark, and kissed him thoroughly. They walked out to Alan's car and
he kissed Alan again as Alan slid into the driver's seat.

Then pulling out his cell, Russ called Lacy Wilson and asked if anything new was
happening and he would be in about 10 or so.

Russ got into his Lexus and started down the drive. He was mentally reviewing
his day – the contracts had been signed so that was off the burner, however the
Morrison account needed looking into. Maybe he should call Lacy to set up a
lunch date with Morrison. Thinking of the lunch date, he wondered to himself if
he should look into having Alan take some lessons at the cooking school or to
see if they offered courses at the local community college. Maybe he would want
to become a chef. The call center wasn't going to do much for him; he found it a
boring job but the pay was OK and he did have benefits. Still, Russ thought; as
he drove down the street, he isn't enjoying work. It's just some place he goes.
Maybe he should talk to Peter about it—get his opinion—when out of the corner of
his eye he saw the front-end of a pickup coming right at him. A split second
before impact he wondered: where was that stop sign?

The front-end of the pickup slammed into the passenger's side front panel and
the passenger's side door. The Lexus' safety systems took over, locking the seat
belt. Russ was hurled toward the passenger's side, then stopped as the seat belt
locked. The kinetic energy caused the side air curtains to deploy. The seat belt
stopped his side movement and the force pulled him back hard against the
driver's side air curtain. His briefcase, on the passenger's seat, became a
missile; its hard handle cracked him on the temple, opening up a laceration
before rocketing back toward the floor well. The force of the accident pushed
the Lexus sideways, and Russ' hands were not in control. He was pushed into the
other lane and another car plowed into his on the drivers side, causing the
front air bags to deploy, trapping him between two cars. The sensor alerted the
Safety Net System to send out an alert, and the paramedics were called. The
force of the accident, and the restrains of the seat belt, caused a rip in Russ'
liver and he began to bleed internally. Paramedics were on the scene in less
than three minutes. The driver of the truck had not been using his seat belt and
the steering wheel crushed his chest, causing a rib bone to punctured his heart
and caused him to die at the scene. The other driver was unhurt, so the
paramedics only had to worry about Russ. They noted loss of consciousness and
possible liver damage. Due to the seriousness of the injury, the Safe Flight was
called. The paramedics reported no evidence of period of lucidity they landed in
less than four minutes at the hospital. Russ was rushed in for a CAT scan and
emergency operation. Both showed a slight midline shift, and a tear to the
liver. The internal bleeding was stopped, and the scalp laceration was sewn up.
He did not regain consciousness. The hope clearly was that since his body and
mind were quiet and focused on internal function, the liver would have it's best
environment to heal.

The ER doctor talked to the surgeon and the neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon was
worried about a subdural hematoma. The surgeon was worried about the liver
laceration — but at the moment the patient was stable, and was transferred to
the ICU. Dr. Kurt Ward, the surgeon , rubbed his hand over his face as he walked
to the consulting room, hearing the page for Peter Jackson.

Kurt Ward was there, and waiting, when the three people entered the small room.
The older guy looked about 23, the younger guy looked about 20 – his eyes were
red, and his hand was clutched in the other guy's hand. Following them was a
woman with a leather portfolio and a no-nonsense air.

He was tired; he was just finishing up his 10 hour shift. He tried to look
hopeful but after 10 hours in the ER he knew it didn't work.

Alan leaned against the desk and demanded to be taken to Russell. Dr. Ward was
used to the way people handled stress; he wasn't offended. He saw Peter pull
Alan down onto a chair, putting both his hand on Alan's arms, keeping him there
with a stern look.

"I've got this, Babe!" he commanded.

It was a tone that made Alan look away and then down to his feet, Kurt grinned
seeing the younger man being brought up so short and so calmly. He did know
about brats, and Alan reeked of one. Peter looked like he was in charge, but he
looked very unsure when he wasn't looking at Alan, and he looked more toward the
woman as she cleared her voice.

"Doctor, I'm Lacy Wilson, Mr. Jackson's Administrative Assistant. This is Peter
Jackson, his partner, and Alan Jordan his other partner." She made the
introductions. "What can you tell us?"

Dr. Ward cleared his throat and answered her. "So far, Mr. Jackson has had a
serious accident. He suffered a tear in his liver, and the neurosurgeon is
concerned about a possible subdural hematoma. Due to the liver tear, he has lost
a great deal of blood. He was bleeding internally when they brought him in. We
were able to stop that, but the liver is very fragile right now. He has not
regained consciousness and was unconscious at the scene. We have done a CAT scan
and we are concerned about a midline shift. So in effect; he's in a coma. The
machines are helping him breathe and the automatic body functions are working at
this time. Due to the strain on the liver we have left the head injury alone at
this time. He is in the ICU right now and being monitored continuously."

Kurt was speaking slowly as Lacy Wilson was writing all this down. He noticed
Alan get even whiter, and Kurt reached for an ampule of smelling salts should
the kid pass out. He heard Peter gasp, and then wasn't sure which guy might need
the attentions of a doctor first. Alan turned toward Peter, and said with a
quiver, "Pete?" As Alan stood, Peter engulfed him in his arms and clung to him.
Alan was clinging to Peter and he was softly crying on his shoulder. Kurt saw
Peter hold him closely but kept his eyes on Lacy. She smiled at him and he
nodded.

***

The salt sea breeze and the roll of the waves were making Russell very drowsy.
He drained his beer and put the empty back into the cooler. As he dropped the
empty in the cooler, his hand touched the melting ice. He grinned and picked up
a small melted piece. He glanced over to Art who appeared to be asleep on his
blanket; his eyes covered by his sunglasses and his hand relaxed by his sides.

"Don't even think it, boy!"

Russ heard, but it was too late and the chip of ice was in the air and landed on
Art's chest. With a whoop, Russ was up and running from the blankets toward the
surf.

"Why, you little brat. I am gonna tan me some tail, boy." Art roared, and was
after him in a flash.

Art heard Russ' laughter as he ran into the surf. He tried to dive in and swim
away but he didn't take into account the training Art had as a younger man. Art
easily caught him and threw him over his shoulder, slapping his hand down on the
wet speedos, inches from his head. Art carried him out of the surf. Russ was
giggling and laughing as Art's hand continued to spank his upturned bottom. Then
he heard Art grunt. He was carried across the sand to a palm tree; which was
growing first up about three feet, then it made a graceful turn to grow up
higher and higher, making a seat just high enough for a man to sit on. Art sat
down and draped Russ across his speedoed lap and then started to spank his
upturned bum — the licks landing with a sharp sting and burn. Russ was kicking
and begging and promising to be good, all the while, giggling and laughing as
Art spanked his butt.

"I can see these have to come down, boy." Art growled as his hand hooked inside
the scant material of the skimpy swimsuit, peeling the tight material down and
away from Russ' naked butt.

"Now I have me a bare butt to work on!"

Art grunted as his hand spanked that bare upturned butt.

Russ could feel Art's cock swell inside his swimsuit, and his own cock was
responding to the spanking as it always did when they were playing. The stinging
took on an erotic heat. Soon, he was moaning and humping his butt up into the
air to meet that hand.

"Now I have you where I want you, boy."

He heard Art chuckle as he was lifted and carried to the blankets. His swimsuit
was removed. Looking up he could see his man — powerful, strong, and naked — his
cock hard and proud. Russ rolled onto his belly, and smiled as Art straddled
him. Leaning forward, Art kissed the back of his neck; his tongue tasting the
salt spray of the ocean. Then he ran his tongue into Russ' ear. Russ' butt was
hot and stinging, making his cock react as he pressed it into the blanket. He
heard the sound of the lube opening, and the feeling of the cool gel, then with
a gasp; he felt Art's hard cock at his opening — probing, sliding up and down,
then demanding entrance. With a moan of lust, Russ relaxed and Art's hard cock
entered his lover's body. They were moving as one — back and forth — their
pleasure rising and climbing, raw male and powerful, until they both reached
climax... at the same time. With a hoarse shout, Art held him tight as his hard
cock shot, and then Russ' shot underneath him. Art started to move off .

"Don't!" Russ whined. "Just stay there on top of me a bit longer. I love it when
you Top me — totally all warm and sexy."

Art lay back down on his lover, feeling his heated butt and the sigh of
contentment, as he gathered the boy in his arms.

"This is the best vacation, Sir." Russ muttered into his arm.

"Just you and me alone on this island, what could be better?"

Russ flexed his butt just to let Art know he was still there, and he felt the
kiss on his shoulder blade.

"Not much, my boy, not much," Art whispered.

That night Art cooked steaks on the grill, and they made love on the huge wide
hammock on the wide porch — all night — laying and making love. Hearing their
moans of pleasure and the roll of the surf, each man took his fill of the other.

***

Russ was alone. It was cold, and his head hurt. He didn't know where he was, but
he knew he was looking for something. He heard strange beeps from machines. One
of them kept getting louder and louder. He looked around for Art... for the
beach... for anything, but there was nothing but a white place. The beeping kept
getting louder, and his head hurt worse. He cried out. To his surprise, he heard
his voice — deeper and in pain; crying out not for Art, but for Peter and Alan.
Just before he passed out, he wondered: who the hell were Peter and Alan, and
where was Art? Then he felt alone and cold again. Empty. He was drifting. He
didn't know were he was. Everything hurt. He was cold and naked. Art... he had
to find Art. Art would help. He called, and he seemed to walk forever, but he
didn't seem to be moving. Tears were running down his cheeks. He needed to find
Art . He was so alone and so cold.

"Art!" he screamed. "Where are you?"

Then he was warm and in a dark room. He had the ghost of that terrible headache
and he still felt chilled. He looked over and he knew this room, and he grinned
at the form in the bed beside him. With a trembling hand he reached out. He was
so frightened that his hand would past though Art's body. Yet is was warm and
solid. He could feel his heartbeat and could smell the Old Spice aftershave he
used. Russ has teased him about that for years. Now, it was the most comforting
scent he could think of. He moaned softly, and lay his head on Art's chest. His
arm reaching around Art in an embrace. There was a sleepy response as Art's arm
went around his waist. He heard a sleepy query.

"Bad dream?"

"The worst!" he replied, and then felt the weight of sleep pull at him, pulling
tightly. He clung to Art's warm strong body as he fell asleep.

***

Kurt Ward's beeper went off for the tenth time. He tried to explain to Alan, the
younger, why he just could not see Russ. He sighed, and pulled out the beeper.
He said he had a emergency and he had to go. He rushed out of the consulting
room and down to the ICU in time to see Russ' bed being pushed down to the
emergency operating room. The interns were reading off the readings from the
machines. He opened the door to the scrub room where the neurosurgeon was
scrubbing at the sink. It was the damned subdural hematoma; they would have to
go in and drain it. Did he want to assist? Kurt started to scrub in — his mind
blocking out the vision of the two young scared-looking men and the lady in the
waiting room as he started to do his job for the 12th hour of the day.

The ER nurse came into the room looking at the two young men with worry written
all over their faces. She briskly ordered them out, then kindly mentioned that
the added surgery would take hours to complete and perhaps they should go home
get something to eat and get some sleep. She said she had their phone number and
would call. Peter's face took on the totally stubborn look, and Alan just shook
his head. The nurse looked at Lacy and sighed. Then suggested they should at
least get something to eat and directed them to the cafeteria.

Lacy led them to the cafeteria. She tried to avoid the coffee and anything high
in caffeine. Alan got some chocolate milk; Peter grabbed a coffee. Lacy could
see they were both a mess. Alan kept saying he just wanted to see Russ — what
the hell was wrong with that? Peter was getting fed up, and when Alan said he
was going to find Russ and Russ' room, Peter's hand slammed down on the table
and he started to inform Alan what he could and what he could not do. Both young
men were stressing out — worry and the lack of any knowledge was driving them
all a bit spare. Lacy was as worried as the boys were.

Finally she stood up.

"This is what we are going to do!" she said, in a forceful tone. "There's a car
from the motor pool outside. Robert has it, and he is going to take you two
home." She held up her hand like a traffic cop. "I don't what to hear it, I
don't, you are going home! We are not going to live in this drafty hospital.
Robert's taking us to your home and then I am going back to the office. The
doctors and the nurses have all numbers. You two are going home. NOW."

With that she began walking to the exit. Peter looked shocked but got up. Alan
cursed and followed as well. Soon they were in the car and headed home. Robert
pulled into the driveway and Lacy got out with Peter and Alan.

"Are you two going to be fine here? I can stay, but frankly I think you both
need some time to relax a bit. Grab a shower and get some sleep; this is going
to be a very very long day and a very bad one. We can do this... we can... and
we will get though it all in one piece — just stay put." She glared at Alan, and
repeated, "STAY PUT."

For the first time, Peter grinned at the look on Alan's face.

"We'll be fine, Ms. Wilson, and we'll both stay put. They'll call here, or your
office, and we're better off here than haunting the hallways and waiting rooms
of the hospital.
Thank you for everything."

Lacy Wilson hugged Peter and then Alan.

"It's Lacy to both of you. Now, get inside and try to relax. You need to lean on
each other now... Russ would demand it," she said, and kissed them both and went
back to the car in the drive.

Peter was enveloped in a tight hug from Alan. Alan began to cry softly as Peter
moved them both upstairs.

Peter quickly stripped them both, and pushed Alan into the huge shower in the
bathroom. Both men washed each other gently. After they dried, Peter took Alan
into his arms; holding him tight as they lay on the huge bed — now so empty
without their Top.

Robert pulled in front of the building and dropped Lacy off at the entrance. She
hurried though the door up to the offices of the company. Entering her own
office she then walked though to Russ' office. The late afternoon sun was
streaming though the windows as she sat down, hard, on the couch. She was
exhausted trying to keep things in check, and trying to keep Alan and Peter on
track had taken a lot of effort. Still, it had kept her own fears in the
background. Now with nothing to hold them back, they came rushing forward and
with a sob she began to cry. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and
Rose was there, holding out a glass dark with whiskey.

"Here, Love, take a sip... you need it"

Rose sat down next to her, picked up her own drink, and put her arm around
Lacy's shoulders. Lacy sighed, and relaxed into the one-armed hug as she took a
healthy pull of her drink and let the warmth run though her. Then they sat in
the late afternoon sunlight waiting for a call.

***

Russ wanted to go out to the bars and Art had said: not tonight. Russ argued and
argued. He wanted to go out, damn it. With a bang, he slammed the bedroom door
and started to get dressed. He was NOT going to stay in this house, he was going
out. Suddenly, his arms were trapped at his sides as Art grabbed him in a hug.
Russ was struggling and yelling. He was going to do what he wanted to do. He
yelled. He wasn't going stay home and be here with this old FART!

Art marched him to a corner of the bedroom and pushed Russ into the corner. With
a curse, Russ bounced out and turned. Art's large hand swatted his butt. Clad in
just his briefs it stung. The force of the swat pushed him back into the corner.

"Stay put, brat," Art said, his voice was calm. Russ reared out of the corner
only to meet Art's large descending hand. The hand spanked hard across Russell's
butt with a loud crack.

"Corner," Art said again.

"No!" Again the hand landed. "Stop that!" Russ yelled.

"Corner. NOW!"

With a yank, Russ was pulled against Art's hip, bending his brat over. Art began
to land hard stinging swats across the thin cotton briefs. Above the sound of
the spanking came the yelping and gasping as Art administered the first real
spanking Russ had ever received.

"I want to go OUT!" Russ yelled, stamping in frustration.

Art's voice was calm.

"You have made that very clear, brat. However, I said: no you are not going out,
you are staying here. You have been out every night this week, and you still
have chores and work to do. You can have a night here getting your chores and
your work done or you can do the work and the chores with a hot sore butt — it
is your choice. Now are we going to continue this discussion with the paddle, or
are you going to behave? You don't scare me, brat, I can handle you, and I know
you are upset but this is what we decided. Your temper might have scared off
other men that didn't care as much for you as I do, but I know you. I won't
leave... I won't allow you to push me around or away. You are mine as much as I
am yours!"

Art's hand was just resting on the heated butt of his brat as he spoke in a
calm, measured tone. Art had seen this building — he knew there was going to be
a show down and he was determined to win. They had discussed their relationship
several times. He knew that Russ had never had anyone who would take the time
and the effort to stand up to his temper. Each time his temper won, Russ was
left alone and in a worse space than when he had started. Art had seen it before
and he knew it might look, to an outsider, like he was forcing himself on Russ.
However, Art knew this was a façade. He needed to get though it, and he needed
Russ to understand he was not afraid of him or his temper. It hurt him to see
his brat struggle, but he also knew that it was basically acting out. Russ was a
man-boy and he did not have the knowledge to understand the full force of what
this type of relationship was.

Russ had never been so angry; he was raging both inside and out. His butt was
smoking, and this bastard wasn't letting him go. He was grown up; he wasn't a
child. He didn't need to be told what to do. He was a man and he could do what
he wanted. Art didn't own him. The frustration was choking him; he could not
understand he just knew he was raging. His temper had always been very close to
the surface. He learned early that he could get his way by letting it out. That
scared him because somewhere inside he knew he wasn't in control of it. It was
like a wild thing: if he let it, that temper would take over. This was the first
man he met that didn't seem to be frightened by it. The temper scared Russ, but
Art didn't seem to be scared — not of Russ, not of the temper, not of anything.

No, his mind roared, he was going to do what he wanted to do. He reared up and
was ready to fight. No one was going to do this to him; he was in charge. The
thing was: he could not move a inch. Art's arm felt like it had become an iron
bar holding him down. He cursed and yelled, he tried to kick, and once, he even
tried to bite that hated force that was holding him down. All the time, Art's
other hand kept spanking and spanking. The sounds were of a titanic struggle.
Russ, however, could not move a inch. The frustration was so great that he
thought he could shoot beams of hate out of his eyes and destroy everything.
Still, the hand kept spanking.

Suddenly, the frustration bent just a little. A hard lick landed across his butt
and he howled. His face was wet. Tears were dripping down his face with that
slight — ever so slight — bend in that frustration. He felt like the entire
universe shifted. Then he was sobbing, crying, like a little boy. He was being
held by a man — and this man stayed, he didn't leave, he stayed. The hard licks
had stopped, but that arm — that arm of iron will — was still holding him in
place. The other hand was resting on his burning butt. He was safe. He knew it
like a huge blinding light engulfing the room. He was safe. This man loved him —
he stood by him, he spanked him, he cared for him... and he wasn't afraid. The
tone and the strength of the crying changed like great bouts of broken glass
were being expelled from his body. Russ sobbed and sobbed. The fear — the terror
of being alone — wasn't there. He could relax.

Art had seen it coming as well. Russ had been stiff, and the fear and the temper
were very much in control at the same time. Russ felt the frustration crack his
whole body flushed . It was an opening. Art saw it, and he continued to spank
that bared butt. He was not going to lose this man-boy he had grown to love...
he was not. His hand landed harder as he felt the break. He felt it. Though his
hand, and though his arm held Russ, he felt that frustration break.

That once hated hand began to rub up and down his back. A warm voice was above
him telling Russ: it was okay... let it go... you are loved... you are safe...
I've got you... over and over again. The words were like a benediction — warm,
not harsh and cold — full of warmth and caring. Russ cried and cried. It seemed
like hours went by... his face hurt, his eyes hurt, his chest hurt so bad yet
tears kept coming, slipping out of his eyes. He was lifted and laid down on his
side. Those arms, those hard strong arms, held him. The warm smell of Art was
everywere. He closed his eyes, and let sleep and healing take him.

Art felt like he had been coshed and run over by a raging bull. Once he was sure
that Russ was out like a light, he staggered into the living room, and collapsed
on a chair. With a quivering hand, he reached for the phone. Then the phone on
the other end picked up; he could not talk. All he could do was gasp.

"Phillip!"

"Art? What happened? Are you at home?" Came the concerned answer.

"Phillip!" It was all he could say as his own tears burst out of him.

"Hold on, Art, we're on the way." Came the calm reply.

Phillip entered the apartment, and took one look at Art slumped in the chair. He
went to the bar and poured a generous shot of brandy into a glass and held it to
Art. Robert, his partner, quietly went though the apartment, and found the
sleeping brat in the bedroom. The emotional toll was so great that Russ didn't
move as the light came on.

Robert looked at the sleeping brat. His butt had a reddened pattern of hand
prints and bruises. Looking carefully, and touching lightly, Robert determined
that the brat had gotten a serious spanking. He would be sore, and very very
tender for quite a few days, but there was no serious damage. Of course, he
grinned, the brat would feel like he had been skinned alive and dipped in acid.

Robert shut off the light and left the room. He made his way down the hall, and
he could hear that Phillip, his Top and partner, was helping Art. Well, right
now, he was just listening to the guilt and pain in Art's voice as he berated
himself for being too hard on his boy. Phillip looked sharply at Robert, and
caught his nod that things were OK before he sat back down on the chair across
from the suffering Top.

Art's words of self-castration were running down, and the silence was filling
the room. It was not a comfortable silence. Robert busied himself at the bar,
and returned to the chairs with a drink for Phillip and another brandy for Art.
He did not take either the couch or another chair, but knelt beside Phillip.

"I have always found this excessive breast-beating to be rather nauseating ."
Phillip said, in a cold authoritarian tone.

"You are a Top for God's sake, and for the sake of your brat act like one!" He
continued, his voice sharpening.

"I assume you held it together enough to call me after he fell asleep." He
drawled, in a faint scornful tone.

Robert had seen the evidence, and he thought the brat got nothing more than he
deserved. He continued gathering steam.

"You have been harping on us for weeks that he has been pushing and pushing. You
stepped up. This is what we do, and you know it, so stop it. I prepared you and
I know my skills, and you should have more faith in yours. I would not even let
you play if I didn't think you knew what you were doing. Now stop this, you
diminish both of us." Phillip's words hit home. Art flushed then looking at the
glass, he took a pull of the brandy. He sighed, and fell back into the chair.

"Sir?" Robert said. At Phillip's nod he continued. "Art, listen to me, I am a
brat. I know what a well-spanked butt looks and feels like," he said, grinning
at the man, then smiling at his Top. "You do too. Yes, he got a good spanking,
and from what we gather it was well-deserved. Everyone knows about the emotional
outpouring from the brat. We make it clear and are very vocal. There isn't much
said about the emotional beating the Top takes. Yes, you feel like you damn near
killed him, but I can tell you were in control, You had a fight and you won. I
don't think he will be broken or cowed. Sore? Sure. Thoughtful? We can but hope,
but then you know us brats... we can be very very fickle," he finished, grinning
up at his Top.

Phillip's hand cupped the side of his brat's face, in a gesture that was full of
love and caring, and answered his partners grin.

Phillip bullied Art into the shower and then into clean clothing. Robert checked
again on the sleeping brat then Phillip put Art to bed. As Art laid down, his
arm went around his brat. With a mummer of something, Russ' head found Art's
chest and Russ slipped deeper into sleep. As Art was drifting, he realized he
was now holding his prize – his brat and his love. With a deep sigh, Art fell
deeply asleep.

***

Alan woke up for just a brief second. He didn't know why he was in bed. Then it
all came rushing back. He gasped and then he began to tremble. He looked over at
Peter who was sharing the pillow. Alan grinned at the sight of Peter asleep.
Then the fact that Russ was not there – and was in a hospital without him, made
him slowly and very careful begin to ease his way out of the bed. He knew Peter
would say 'no' and he didn't care. Russell was HIS and he wanted to be with him.
He got out of the bed leaving Peter asleep. He didn't know where his keys were,
or Peter's keys, or actually how to get back to the hospital, but he was on his
way. He made his way downstairs, into the kitchen, and he opened the
refrigerator. He pulled out the container of chocolate milk and took a huge
pull. It looked like it was early evening to him, and he was sure he could just
walk into the hospital and act as if he was visiting. However, he wasn't sure
where Russ was. Taking another sip of milk he thought about that for a second.
He poured a glass of the milk, and walked into the downstairs family room.
Sitting down at the computer he turned it on and waited a short time for
everything to come online. There was an email from Lacy Wilson. 'Ahh... she will
know,' he thought, as he read the email.


Peter and Alan:
I have not heard anything as to Russ' condition since we left the Hospital. He
was still in surgery the last time I called . The surgical wing phone number is
555-7562
- Lacy

Alan looked at the clock, hmm, about twenty minutes ago. Alan called the number
and got the same answer: no, they didn't know, and no, they would not allow
visitors — not in ICU anyway, and certainly not until the patient was out of any
danger. The voice on the end of the phone lost, for just a moment, that
professional voice.

"You all are better off where you are than here, so stay put. Believe me, we
have all the numbers, and here you would be uncomfortable and under foot. Just
relax and let us do our jobs, please. Calling every five minutes is not
helping."

"Well, shit!" snapped Alan, as the call was disconnected. "Now what am I going
to do?"

"Well, I would suggest you come here and give me a hug." Came Peter's voice. "I
see you have experienced the joys of the hospital services as well as I did
about ten minutes ago."

Alan went to Peter, and once his partner's warm strong arms went around him, he
started to cry.

"Peter, I want Russell," he sobbed into Peter's neck.

Peter's hand rubbed up and down his partner back, soothingly, feeling the chill.

"Yeah, babe, I know. I do to."

Peter walked Alan back to the bedroom; his hand on the back of Alan's neck. Alan
went where he was taken. He was surprised when Peter slipped back into bed and
feel a sleep. Alan looked down at his former savior, friend and lover. As sleep
took Peter, Alan could see his face relax. Alan saw Peter the man — the man that
had saved him in the alley all that time ago; the man he didn't know, but the
man that taught him how to live rough. The hot dude that shared the secrets of
life on the edge, and even slept with him. Alan had seen that man again today.
At the hospital, Peter had taken charge... he was not a brat, he was a Man. Alan
wasn't. He was a mess, and looking down at his sleeping partner/lover/fellow
brat, he saw the strain Peter had been under drift away as he sank deeper into
sleep.

Alan remembered that night when they met at the bar — the hug, the joy in
Peter's voice; they had sat next to each other after Alan changed out of his
dancing clothes and had another beer. When he came back from the back room, he
saw Peter as a man — young, hot, and buff as hell. He was also giving off that
'I'm in charge' vibe. Alan had remembered that vibe, and just looking at Peter
sitting at the bar waiting for him; he could sense it. It made Alan feel younger
and unsure of himself. Yet, at the same time, he liked the feeling because it
seemed to include him; like Peter was in charge of him as well.

He remembered those feelings — when he and Peter had stayed together in that old
rattrap. He remembered how Peter would steer him around sometimes with his hand
on the back of his neck. It made Alan feel so safe and cared for. Now Peter was
back.

Alan didn't try to hide his grin as he slipped onto the bar stool next to Peter.
This was great. He didn't know where he came from, and right now Alan didn't
care. Peter was next to him again and he felt safe.

Peter held up his beer bottle, and Alan crossed it with a clink.

"Alan, can we get out of here?" Peter said, nodding at Carl; who was behind the
bar giving Peter a look, and trying to get Alan's attention, to see if Alan was
OK.

Alan grinned, and nodded to Carl; they had a signal. Alan grinned, and both he
and Peter got up, and Alan went to Carl and said goodnight. Pulling Peter along
with him, he introduced Carl to Peter. With a wry grin, he introduced Peter as
his brother — his much older brother, he said with a quip. Carl grinned, and
answered him. "Yeah," he said, as he polished a glass. "There is a lot of that
going around, but if you say he is OK then that is fine, and be safe, OK?"

***

"Peter? This is Phillip. I have just been contacted by a Mrs. Lacy Wilson. I
understand that you and that youngster are stressed right now. However young
man, this is not how you treat family. Robert and I are on our way."

Peter replied: "Yes, Sir" and the call was disconnected.

Alan was looking at Peter.

Peter sighed. "Well, that was Phillip, and he and Robert are coming here."

"Oh shit," Alan said. "The Top's top and his sidekick... we are doomed."

***

Russ came to in the middle of the living room. He didn't feel very well but he
was happy to have the dreams stop. He looked around the comfortable room and
sighed, feeling safe and at home. It was very quiet. Where were the boys? he
wondered. Still, it was home and for some reason he felt that he had been very,
very far away and gone for a very long time. He sat in his chair, letting the
peace of his home fill him.

"Feeling a bit better, boy?" Art asked in a strangely gentle tone.

Russ started. Art was sitting on the couch and he had the strangest look on his
face. If a ghost could look weary he did.

"You look like shit... if I may be so bold, Sir." Russ said with a slight
chuckle.

"Well, I have been rushing about a bit, brat, and I have to say it's all your
fault." Art sighed, and relaxed deeper into the couch. "What say you come over
here for a second?"

Russ sighed and got up. He loved Art and he enjoyed seeing his former Top...
even in ghost form. But sitting next to him was hard because he wanted to hold
him and he tried several times, and each time his arms passed right through his
former lover and Top... it freaked him out. Still he got up, surprised at how
tired he felt and all, and fell on the couch. Russ got the shock of his life
when Art's arm came up to steady him.

"I felt that, Art!"

And his hand reached out and touched Art's sinewy arm. He could feel Art's
warmth, and a wide grin broke over his face. His arms reached around Art and
held him tightly against his body; he could feel the hard warm body against his.
Art's arms returned the hard hug and then, hoping against hope, Russ leaned
forward and kissed his former lover. His lips were warm, he smelled of Old Spice
and he tasted of Art. Russ felt his tears begin to flow down his cheeks.

"I never got to say goodbye," he cried, his arms rubbing Art's body, kissing him
again.

"I know, boy, I know," Art said, returning the kiss and holding Russ as tight as
Russ was holding him.

"I have wanted to hold you for so long, Sir."

Art chuckled. "Almost as long as I have wanted to, brat."

Russ didn't care why. Right now he was safe in the arms of his Top and lover. He
felt so warm and safe. He sighed as his fingers traced Art's cheek and lips,
reveling in the feel of his lover and Top.

"Why now?" Russ asked, lazily.

He didn't much care right now. He was safe, he was being held... and he could
feel Art.

"Well," Art replied, in a very careful tone. "What's the last thing you remember
about today, brat?"

"Nothing much," Russ replied, thinking back and feeling even more tired. "I was
thinking about lamb, and Alan and I were talking about that and laughing about
the way Peter will eat anything. Then I was thinking he best get to work, and we
kissed goodbye. I was driving to work thinking about the Morrison account,
and..."

"And...?" prompted Art.

A sharp pain lanced into Russ... and then it faded slightly.

"I was thinking about getting Alan to take some cooking courses and..." The pain
returned.

"And?" Art repeated.

"A truck... a truck ran that stop sign. All I could see was the truck." Suddenly
Russ felt a pain balloon in his head. "Art!"

"Hush, boy. Hush now... I've got you." Art said in a very calming voice.

Russ moaned slightly. Then the pain was gone and he was in his home on the couch
wrapped in Art's arms.

"Art?" Russ asked in a quavering voice. "What's happened? Where are the boys?
Why is it so quiet in here? I should be able to hear them in the house. Where
are they? Why can I touch you, Art? Tell me. OH God, Art, I'm scared. What has
happened?" He struggled to get up to look around. Art's arms were as strong as
he remembered. He couldn't move – he was so very tired, and his head hurt.

"It's OK, boy, just settle down. Settle down, young man. Now!" Art said, in the
'I will be obeyed' voice Russ had not heard in years. He settled and was quiet.

"Yes, sir."

The pain was fading. He could think again, and felt Art still there holding him
like he did when they were first getting established and he needed to settle.
Art's arms were holding him against Art's chest, his head next to Russ' ear, and
he was repeating over and over again: "I've got you... I've got you..."

The old training kicked in and he could feel himself relax.

"OK?" Art asked. "Now listen up... this is important. There has been a serious –
possibly critical – accident. You were hit – and hit hard. The car is toast. You
are in – or have been in, or might still be in – a coma. I am not sure how it
all works. You have been dragging me back though time and space with your
walkabout, without your body, remembering the times we were together. Let me
tell you, that's not easy for this old ghost. So, yeah... I am pretty tired.
Still," he chuckled softly, "I hadn't realized how horny we were back them."

Art's arms tightened as he nipped Russ' ear.

"Now there is a choice you have to make, boy. I'm here kinda in the middle.
Peter and Alan are in the real world, and you are kinda in between right now.
Soon, if I don't miss my guess, you are going to see a light. That is your
choice son, I can't help you there. You might want to go into it. You might be
better off. I might be able to find you there. Peter and Alan sure won't, and
you'll be gone to them and to Lacy and the rest of the real world. I don't know,
boy, if you have the strength to fight it and return. You've been pretty banged
up and I don't know if you'll recover. I know the light. I know you won't feel
any pain and you might be really happy... you might not. Not many people get
this choice. So you have to think, boy, think.

"Remember how you felt when I had to leave? Do you want your boys to go through
that? I know you don't, but you may not have that choice. You might be too far
gone. I just don't know.

"I do know that I am thrilled I was able to be here with you and hold you once
more to kiss you goodbye. Whether or not you will still be able to see me in the
real world, well... I don't have an answer for that either. I don't feel like
I'm moving on anywhere but, then again, I'm not sure how it works.

"So Russell, you have a decision to make. I can't help you, I just don't know.
I'm just happy I am able to feel you and hold you and tell you that you are a
good man. You were a good boy and a great bottom, but you were always meant to
be a Top. I was the luckiest Top in the world to have loved you."

Tears were streaming down Russ' face as he turned and clung to Art.

"I am so scared Art... so scared, Sir."

Art's arms were still around him as he kissed Art. Their lips met, and Russ put
all the longing and missing he could find into that last kiss.

"I love you, Art."

"I love you, brat, but I can't do this for you. Can I count on you to think,
boy, not to goof off... to do the right thing? You are a Top now... you have two
boys to look after."

Russ felt Art's lips kiss his again – warm and living – and yet they were
fading. He tried to tighten his arms but he could feel Art leaving. Then he was
alone. Not in his house but in an empty white place.

He was feeling light-headed, and the dizziness was making standing up hard. This
time it was not cold, just empty and everything was white. He sat down. He
looked at his hand; warm flesh, colored and alive. This hand that had just been
around Art. He raised it to his face and he could smell the faint scent of Old
Spice. The movement and the smell steadied him. He felt very tired but he didn't
seem to have that terrible hollow headache. He kept his hand to his face. The
warm hand and the smell of Art calmed him a bit.

Then he felt a warm glow start to build. The white was all the same and he
couldn't tell if he was in a room or in a huge white place. He sat, leaning on
his knees. The warmth was growing, filling wherever he was. It felt so good and
so welcoming. He could relax. He could let go. He was so tired but the warm glow
seemed to fill him. He wanted to just let go. It kept filling the area. It was a
warm feeling... a welcoming feeling. A promise of healing and love entered his
mind, and his whole body felt like it was blossoming with health. He was feeling
strong, feeling young yet virile at the same time. He couldn't tell if it was
external or internal. It just felt so good.

He wasn't sure, but his body knew he had been in pain for a time, and the warmth
and the strength kept flowing into him, or coming from him. It was so good. He
wanted to dance. He wanted to run and enjoy his body again. He knew somehow,
that he had been immobile for a longer period of time than usual. Russ laughed,
then took a deep breath and he could feel his lungs like they were new,
expanding and filling. He got to his feet. He was still in a white place but
this was different: he was loved here, cared for. Not only that – he was wanted
here. It was like coming home after a long trip seeing his loved ones. Loved
ones like Peter and Alan. He glanced around seeing only the white place but he
seemed to be able to feel they were very close. He pressed his hand to his face
and he could almost feel Art as well. It was like they were all here. He just
couldn't see them, but it was a feeling like he couldn't see them... yet he knew
he would. Nothing could feel this good. Nothing this good would leave his boys
and his former Top out of his life.

He tilted his head. Yes, he could smell Lacy's perfume, faint but there. And,
and was that...? Yes. It was his mother's perfume. He laughed in joy; tears of
happiness had begun to run down his face. He was feeling them. He could taste
the salt of these tears. He raised his hand again to wipe his face, and the
scent of Old Spice filled his nose. Wait! Wait a minute, what did Art say? The
light. Naw, Art had to be wrong. This was wonderful... this was heaven, this was
peace. Russ had never felt like this before.

Through the joy and the warmth he heard, in his head, Art's voice. But it wasn't
the happy tone. He heard Art with the 'What did you do, boy?' tone. Russ sat
back down. He slowed his breathing and tried to think. Peter. Alan. Why should
they not be here. Where were his boys? No, this wasn't right. He was flying on
this feeling; they should be here to share it. Everyone he loved should be here.
He look around and all he could see was white.

Then it hit him. It hit him hard – that terrible night so long ago. The pain of
losing Art, the terror and numbness. Those tears... they were not tears of joy
then. Then he remembered that awful empty feeling: Phillip, who Russ had been
more than a little scared of, was holding him like a baby; he could feel
Phillip's tears wet his shirt. Robert was gray. Oh, that night. That terrible
night in the harsh, unforgiving light of the ER room. The flashing lights of an
ambulance, people talking, and the police standing there.

He was cold again.

Was he doing that to Peter? To Alan? Was he leaving them alone? "No." He heard
his voice hoarse and weak. No, he would not leave his boys. They needed him. He
needed them. He needed that quirky grin of Alan's when he knew he was in trouble
and trying to get out of it. He needed to see Peter's bull-headed expression
when he disagreed with Russ. He needed to hear them laugh, he wanted to hold
them; to feel their warm skin against his. He wanted to see that wondering,
warm, loving expression of Peter's when they made love. The look of wonder,
after all Peter had been through. He was always so full of wonder when he was in
bed with Russ and Alan. He remembered the gasp of Alan's when he first saw Russ
– naked and hard. His mind flashed back to the first time he spanked Alan... the
tears and frightened yelling, the kicking as Alan's butt got red and sore. His
mind flashed back to the first time he held Peter after he spanked him. The
heavy weight, holding his brat. Feeling the release and feeling the trust of
Peter. Peter, the wounded man-boy, trusting him to make it better. Alan the
boy-man. That worried expression; his eyes would jump like he expected Russ to
kick him to the street.

No, he wasn't finished. They needed him. He needed them. No, this was great,
this warmth, but without his boys he could feel it dim. The sharpness of the
feeling of wellness faded. "No." He heard his voice but it didn't shout, it
croaked. No! Not without his family. Not now, he wasn't done.

"Peter," he cried. "Alan, I won't leave... I won't."

Then there was a terrible crash of total pain – and he knew nothing.

***

Peter slammed the weight bar to the length of his arms – he was going to kill
him. He slammed the bar up again – he was going to paddle him. He slammed the
bar up again sweat was running off his face – he was going to lock him in the
bedroom.

Peter felt his hands slip. He grunted and locked the bar back into place.
Grabbing a towel, he sat on the weight bench; his arms trembling. He wiped his
face and he started to cry. He wasn't good at being in charge... he needed Russ.
Alan was being a total brat, and Peter knew that Alan trusted him to pull him
back. Russ would. Russ would be pulling both of them back, but Peter had no out.
He had to be in charge.

So far today, he had stopped Alan from going to the hospital, once, by car... so
Peter took his keys. Then he looked and saw Alan unlocking Peter's car. He got
there just in time and locked the door each time Alan had tried to use the
remote, by using his remote.

Alan was going to do what Peter told him to if he had to spank his butt into
next week. They were staying in the house and waiting for the call. Until Peter
said so, Alan could just stay in the bedroom .

It was wrong. Peter knew it the second he'd turned Alan over his knee. He felt
such a rush of anger. He wasn't spanking; he was hitting. Russ would never do
this in anger. Peter was revolted. Shaken to the core, he pushed Alan off his
lap.

With a curt stay in their room, he'd fled to the small gym off the kitchen.

Peter walked to the bedroom suite to check on his lover and fellow brat. Alan
was sobbing into his pillow – sobbing and getting louder and louder. He was
working himself into a state, and Peter was hit with a wall of guilt.

"Babe... Hey, Babe?" Peter said in a quiet tone, sitting down on the bed. Alan's
entire body tensed and he moved away.

"Go away, I hate you!" Alan sobbed into his pillow. "You didn't even hug me, you
just whaled on my ass. You were mean!" His crying increased. Peter lay down next
to his lover, pulling him into a hug.

"Oh, Babe, I'm sorry. I was just getting so angry and I had to get away. I
didn't want to hurt you. Warm that butt... sure, but you were out of line. But I
kept getting madder and madder so I left. I'm not Russ. I'm a brat too, you
know. You get to rant and run around, and I have to be this strong man holding
us all together. I just kinda lost it a bit. Aww... Babe, come on. Please? I
feel terrible. I was spanking in anger. I am so sorry."

Alan saw Peter's face. He saw the shame and the guilt. He wasn't hurt – Peter
didn't really get into spanking him – but it was a shock; it had scared him.

"Well, I guess I forgive you, even though you are a jerk, I was pretty nasty
too."

Peter held out his hand. Alan threw himself into his arms and they fell back on
the bed in a hug. Both of them saying they were sorry. They lay together for a
long time, Peter hugging and kissing Alan. After a time, Alan pushed Peter away.

"Does this me I can get outta here?" he said with something of his old twinkle
in his eye.

"Nope. You're grounded, brat."

Alan snapped. "Yeah... well, you stink. You need a shower, big mean old Top."

Peter got up and stripped off his tee and shorts, getting a low wolf-whistle
from Alan.

He went into the bathroom and started the shower running. It seemed like the
water was washing away his guilt, as well as the sweat and dirt. He could
breathe again. Peter leaned against the shower, letting the hot water run over
his body. Even in the hot shower, the chill of what he had done in anger cut
through him. God, Russ will kill me, he thought as he soaped his body.

Alan heard the water start. He rolled over and hissed, as his bare butt rubbed
across the sheets. He listened for a second, then he threw on a shirt and
carefully pulled up his jeans. Walking to Russ' dresser, he opened the top
drawer and there he saw what he was looking for: his spare key.

All right, hospital, here I come. Peter will forgive me when I find Russell, he
thought as he silently let himself out of the bedroom and dashed down the
stairs. He was out the door and into his car. He started the engine and turning
his car around, he stepped a bit too hard on the gas, causing his tires to
squeal. Peter heard the engine from the bathroom where he was drying off.

"That little monster... I am going to murder him!" he shouted, dashing for the
stairs in just his briefs. He threw the door open and was shouting Alan's name
and saw that brat wave as Alan started down the driveway.

He is pissed, Alan thought as he turned to look, and then he slammed on his
brakes just in time to avoid running headlong into a huge, black Lincoln Town
Car pulling up the drive. Alan put his car in reverse and backed up the drive.

Phillip and Robert came forward, and Phillip was out of his door and to Alan's
in a flash, opening the door. His hand grabbed Alan's arm, firmly pulling him
from the drivers seat and marching Alan up to Peter.

"Yours, I believe," he said in his stern tone of voice. "I am sure you boys will
have a credible explanation for Peter to be running around in his underwear. I
cannot wait to hear it."

Peter just stood there. He looked behind Phillip and saw Robert with a wide grin
on his face as he began to get the luggage from the car. Alan went to Peter and
hugged him. His face was white and Peter could feel him shaking

"I've got you, Babe," Peter said, hugging the younger man tightly. "Why don't
you get upstairs to the bedroom and wait for me. I'll be up as soon as I get
them settled. K?"

Peter swatted Alan on his jeans, heading him toward the stairs. Peter turned to
look at the two men as they all entered the hallway.

"Coffee?" Robert said.

Peter lead them both to the the kitchen. He was still a bit nervous around
Phillip but Robert's warm grin was helping. He reached for the coffee and
noticed his hand was trembling. He felt a warm, heavy arm go around his
shoulders.

"Peter, I'm a Top, I am not an ogre. Russell is one of our oldest and best
friends. We came as soon as we could get here. Just relax." Peter sagged at the
kind, gruff voice. Phillip steered him to one of the captain's chairs at the
kitchen island. "Let Robert make the coffee. Just settle down for a minute."

Peter sat at the island, his head going down onto his arms. Phillip kept rubbing
the almost naked man's shoulders.

"Let us help, son."

Robert was apparently very skilled at finding things, and the coffee was being
made. The warm smell filled the room. Peter lifted his head, remembering he was
the host and he knew what Russ would want him to do. Phillip had a mug of coffee
and Robert was making another one. Peter's shoulders went back and he looked at
the two older men.

"Would you like something to eat? I can fix you some lunch. I want to check out
the guest bedroom. It's down here on the first floor down the hall. I am sure
it's made up and ready. Shall I take your bags?" he asked, trying to be the
host.

Robert's warm hand cupped his face and said in his warm voice: "Honey, we've
been here several times before... we know the lay out. Just chill out and sit.
I'm waiting for the Chief of Surgery to clear my privileges at the hospital. I
might get more information. We have things in hand."

"Besides that, young man," Phillip said. "You have a brat waiting upstairs. That
is best to be dealt with quickly. It does no good to keep a brat waiting too
long, as I am sure you know. Buck up and deal with that and we will stay down
here and out of the way."

Peter walked into the master suite and closed the door. The drapes were closed
and the room was darkened. He saw his lover/fellow brat standing in the corner;
his jeans already down and his briefs at half-mast. His beautiful bottom was
exposed and he was leaning against the wall. Peter sat down on the bed.

"Alan," he said and held out his hand.

Alan turned and shuffled across the room until he was standing in front of
Peter. Alan was looking at the floor and when he started to speak, Peter almost
had to strain to hear what he said.

"Pete, I'm so sorry I took advantage of you and then tried to book out to see if
I could find Russ. I know you're in charge and I've been pretty awful lately. I
didn't mean to make you feel so bad this morning. I was just scared 'cause you
were so mad. I know I was wrong." Then, as if his nerve left him, he glanced at
the closed door.

"They won't hear, will they?" he asked in a little boy voice.

"They're downstairs," Peter said as he settled Alan over his knee – his hand
resting on that bare butt, his other arm across Alan's hip to steady him. Then
Peter started. He may have spent most of his time play-spanking Alan but he knew
how to give a good spanking. Soon the sounds were loud in the room and Alan's
bare butt was turned from a pale ghost of pink to bright red. Alan tried to be
cooperative; however, as the hand landed over and over again he jerked and
twisted, his voice was rising and he was yelping, and then the tears began.
Peter heard the tears start and then, with a few harder licks, he stopped his
spanking, and the room was loud in its silence – the only sounds being of Alan's
crying and Peter's breathing.

Peter's hand was now rubbing Alan's back, murmuring soothing sounds.

"I've got you, Babe, I've got you... it's all over now. It's OK... I know, I
know Little Dude, I know. But you have got to listen to me. I want you safe.
Please, Alan I need you to listen. We'll get it all figured out, but you need to
chill. I want him too. I hate this not knowing but all we can do right now is
hang in and hold on to each other. I love you so much, Little Dude!"

Alan sobbed, and Peter pulled him up and into a hug, half holding and half
rocking his partner, and wiped away the tears and the snot. Holding a Kleenex
for Alan to blow his nose, Peter continued to hold and to comfort his young
partner.

Alan heard the tone and heard some of the words, but he was crying out his guilt
and his shame at pulling a fast one on Peter. When he heard the 'Little Dude',
he broke down and sobbed again – it was their special term.

Peter picked him up, laying Alan down on his stomach, and got a warm, damp
washcloth. He gently wiped Alan's face. "You rest here little man. I'll come and
get you, OK?"

Alan nodded, sniffing a bit more and begged, "Don't go... just stay for a few
minutes, please?" Peter gave in and lay back down, snuggling into a lying-down
hug against his almost naked partner, holding on to his little man; his hands
slowly sliding up and down Alan's back.

As was usual with Alan, the emotional toll of a real spanking knocked him almost
to sleep. It was only a few minutes before Peter felt him slip away. Gently
moving off the bed, Peter got dressed and then covered his sleeping partner with
a light blanket and let himself out of the room.

Peter entered the kitchen seeing both men sitting there. He was a bit unsure of
his place. Still, it was his house. Robert got up and motioned for Peter to take
a seat. Then he turned to the stove and began to cook. It looked to Peter like
he was making a grilled cheese sandwich. Phillip was still sitting there
drinking coffee. When Robert was through, he put the sandwich and a large glass
of chocolate milk on a tray and went out of the kitchen. Phillip nodded to his
coffee and looked up into Peter's worried eyes.

"Everything back under control for now?" he asked, in his kind tone of voice.
"Come, we should have a chat. Peter, I have known you for a few years now."
Phillip said slowly as if organizing his thoughts. "Russell and I have been
friends for a very long time. We, both Robert and myself, knew Art and we were
thrilled when Russ came into Art's life. We were there when he lost Art and we
did what we could do to help Russell pull through that horror.

"I have to say, I am proud of that man. Art taught him well. What you might not
know is Russ had as many troubles getting on this pathway as you and Alan have
had. So this is really a continuation of a family. It is as close as we can
manage to family right now. So WE are here to help."

Peter looked surprised at this man. Peter had always been a little scared of
this strong and powerful older Top. He had seemed so stern and foreboding. When
Russ was around, he felt more protected from this man, and now he was hearing
things said to him that Russ would say.

"If I don't miss my guess, you are having a very hard time right now. You are
who you are Peter. You are Russell's brat, and partner to him and Alan. Right
now I am sure you are all over the place, and I am proud of you that you are
keeping it together. I imagine that it's very hard to spank or deal with Alan,
when he is doing the things you want to do. That is the problem. You want to
retreat into brat mode. Your personal strength and your training under Russell
are making you understand that you HAVE to be, well... for lack of a better
term, a Top for now. After all, someone has to keep the world running in some
semblance of order for you and for Alan. You were elected and it just plain
sucks for you right now."

Peter's eyes widened as Phillip placed his arm around the younger man. Suddenly
he was against this man... a man he had always been a bit afraid of. Yet the
tender tone of voice and the laying out of his fears was so comforting that he
was able to relax.

"Now Peter, we don't yet know how things are going. Russell may be fine. He
might wake up and heal, he might not... we might lose him too. You have to be
aware of that. You have to think long and hard about doing what you want to do,
and what is best for you and Alan. Any way it happens, Russell is going to be
laid up for a time. You are going to have to shoulder the burden of running this
family. It isn't fair but fair is not the way this old world works. Can you do
it? Is what you have now worth the pain and the sadness of not having a Top to
look to, and being the Top that Alan will need. Do you love him enough to do so?
Can you do that?

"I know, son, that this is a lot and you don't need to answer right now. What
Robert and I are here for is to help. If you want, I can be a Top Emeritus of
sorts. I am not your Top nor am I Russell but I might be able to help. I won't
spank or punish you or Alan, but I might be able to help you find your footing.
I am not your Top but I do know how it works." He added with a grin. "That is
what I'm offering to you both at this time."

When Peter saw the grin, it was like he saw under the stern exterior of this
man. Russ had always told him that Phillip and Robert were his oldest and
closest friends. Russell trusted them – totally.

Peter was taken aback slightly by the gift being offered, and he knew it was
important... and he was grateful it was being offered. Peter nodded slowly,
working his mind around everything that was said.

"Can we just play it by ear for a bit?"

Phillip grinned that surprisingly warm grin and hugged the younger man.

***

Robert entered the darkened bedroom. It was hard to see, just dimmed by the
drapes across the windows. Setting the tray on the low table, he went and opened
the drapes, letting in the bright early afternoon sun. Alan stirred and woke. He
started to roll over and his butt hit the sheets and he winced. He jumped from
the bed when he heard a man's voice chuckling.

Robert sat back on the loveseat in the bedroom and looked at the sleepy
well-spanked brat fumbling for something to put on. Finally, he wrapped the
light blanket around himself and huffed at the man while rubbing his
tear-stained eyes.

"What do you want?" Sounding closer to a whine than a question. Alan was awake
and he was feeling the very good job Peter had done to his backside, which was
making him sad and irritable at the same time. He wanted Russell. He wanted
Peter. Hell, he wanted them both. Not this man.

"I come bearing gifts... a wonderful grilled cheese and a large glass of
chocolate milk. Russell told me once that it was your sovereign cure-all."

Alan walked carefully over to the tray, and grinned as the smell of the grilled
cheese hit him and he was suddenly starving.

"The Top and the baby Top are downstairs plotting, so I thought we might have
this time to talk," Robert said kindly, as he placed a pillow on the loveseat,
patting it for Alan to come and sit down.

Robert did all this with such a feeling of normality and with a warm grin. Alan
slowly and carefully sat down and reached for the sandwich.

***

He was hot. He hurt – everything hurt – and his throat hurt and was so dry. He
lay there for a few minutes, almost panting with just the effort of waking up.
Then he heard a noise and he cracked open his eyes. It was a vision of pure
loviness... a glass of water. The straw was placed against his lips and it hurt
just to suck on that tube. The water seemed to evaporate in his mouth. The dry
tissues were demanding more and more fluid. He sucked again and it tasted better
than anything he had tasted before.

"So you decided to stay with us, Mr. Jackson?" Said a kind voice with a
Caribbean lilt.

It was coming from above the arm holding the glass. He tried to raise his head
but it seemed to weigh too much and he just closed his eyes again. He sipped the
straw again, and the universe spun. He decided to open his eyes this time, but
that was totally weird because it was dark. He thought it was morning when he
took his drink... he had remembered the brightness of the room. Now it was dim,
dark. It had the feeling of nighttime – and well-advanced nighttime as well.
Russ' first thought was how long? He tried to figure that out... he was up to
the conversation with Art...

Then the universe turned over again, and he was opening his eyes and the room
was bright.

He turned his head. His mind told him his hand was being held by Peter. Alan had
the other hand. He opened his eyes, feeling their presence and strength.

Hey, he wanted to say, but all that came out was a kinda murmur. He could see
Peter's head on the bed next to his hand and he felt the breathing as Peter
slept. Russ turned and looked for Alan and saw the shining tear-filled eyes .

Tears un-noticed dropped on the blanket as Alan leaned over and kissed him. At
the slight movement, Peter's head shot up. Russ looked into the eyes of the two
men he loved – and his own tears began.

END