Pairing: Chris and Justin
Words: favoritism; fisted; enthrall; virginal


Christian knows it's a sign of favoritism that the ruler of this
country is giving him this privilege.  Much more than just pure
favoritism, but also a test, to see if he respects the morals of
this exotic country, so different from his own.  To the eyes of
most of his countrymen, this place's ways are debauched, and the
offer is a test, to see if Chris is really what he seems.

It is a test, he believes, but not one of his morals or his ethics. 
It's rather a test of whether he is enough 'like them' for them to
be able to treat with him.  It's a problem he's run across before
in his checkered diplomatic career, but never one quite this
dramatic.

He surveys the array of children, some of the elder ones lounging,
some of the younger ones playing.  All guaranteed to be virginal,
all to be concubines and playthings for the favored and wealthy.

And he is supposed to choose one of these for his own and be bound
to him in a way that his civilized acquaintances would see as a
bastardized cross between slavery and a wedding.

Justin turns his head to the girl next to him.  "Where is he from?"
he asks her.  She doesn't know.  No one knows.  It's not
surprising.  While they're all very well educated, and informed of
world events, they are not privy to the *immediate* concerns of
their homeland.

Chris strolls around the room.  He has his hands clasped together
behind his back.  His suspicion is that the guards are more there
to prevent the children's own natural curiosity about their bodies
from making an appearance, but he has no doubt that they would take
care of him quite efficiently if he started taking liberties.

He immediately discards the girls.  All of them look far too young,
and he *would* end up married if he returned home with a blushing
and beautiful young woman at his side.  He doesn't even think about
those who are too young to merit the designation of 'young woman'. 
It would be like thinking that way of his infant sisters.

No.  It will have to be a boy.  A boy he could presumably use as an
assistant later, and will be capable of making his own way in the
world should things come to that.

Justin watches speculatively as the man moves toward him.  This
visitor is short and dark, his hair cut short in a foreign style. 
And he has a beard!  None of their men have beards.  He tilts his
head, considering which this man will pick.  Someone small.  All
the visitors pick a personal servant smaller than they are.  Justin
is going to be big, his tutors fear.  He knows, therefore, that
he'll be given to a warlord.  But this man is interesting.  Justin
watches avidly as the man's eyes slide over the girls, focusing on
the boys.

Too young is a consideration for the boys as well.  Chris has no
doubt that he'll be required to put on some show of sexual interest
in whomever he chooses, and he will not choose a mere child.  So it
must be one of the boys who are lounging, aware of their sexuality,
but not comprehending how that will be used.

He circles the three oldest, and stops finally in front of the one
with the most insolent look on his face.  This one, he thinks, will
best survive.

Justin looks up as the man stops next to them.  Lance smirks and
then blushes.  Justin envies his ability to do so on command.  No
matter how hard Justin tries, he can't seem to control his blush. 
Nick's hand twitches behind Lance, and Justin looks over at him. 
They both roll their eyes at the same time, knowing Lance may well
make another conquest.

Lance has left the grounds before.  He's been chosen, and taken
home.  Only to have the old, old man who'd taken him die in a fit
from the mere thought of such a lovely young thing in his bed. 
Justin sees that Lance *is* smaller than the man.  He'll miss
Lance.

Chris appraises the boy.  He doesn't like the blush.  Insolence,
yes.  Blushing, no.  He turns his eyes toward the other two.

Justin's still watching Lance's act.  He doesn't notice the man's
attention shifting.

The lanky blonde is appealing, but looks even more innocent than
the blushing blonde.  Naivete is also something Chris can't afford
to coddle.  He studies the third, the one with the curly hair, who
looks to grow big.

Justin feels eyes on him, and raises his gaze.  He blinks.  The man
is looking at him.  He doesn't really know why, but he finds
himself unable to look away.  His mouth goes dry.

Chris stares down this one, testing to see when he'll back off.

Justin raises his chin proudly.

"You'll do," Chris says.  "This one," he says to the guards, who
stand motionless and silent, although he knows they heard him.

Justin throws a startled look at Lance and Nick, and rises to a
kneeling position.

"Yes, you," Chris says.  The boy will have to be formally presented
to him, he knows.  He can't just take him and go.  But he suspects
there would be considerable leeway granted if he wanted to, say,
inspect the goods.  He sees no purpose in doing so though, as the
goods, such as they are, are already well displayed.  "Do you
understand my language?" he asks in his own tongue.

"Yes, sir," Justin replies.  He speaks twelve languages, though
they were torture to learn.

"Good," Chris says approvingly.  That's better than he'd expected. 
"Can you read or write?  Do you know your numbers?"

"Yes, sir.  In several languages," Justin assures the man.  To be
fair, he adds, "Many of us do."  He gestures gracefully to Lance
and Nick.

Chris's eyes narrow.  He makes his tone gentle.  "Are you saying
you would rather not be chosen?"

Justin bows his head, bending to touch his forehead to the floor in
apology.  "No, sir.  I was trying to be fair, sir."

Chris represses a sigh.  He acknowledges to himself that there was
no way to ask that question without making it into an accusation,
not given the difference in their positions.  He nods.  "I will see
you again soon."

Justin says, "Thank you, sir."

He can't quite resist the urge, not when there's no need to and
every reason to want to maintain his own position in this society. 
He reaches out and runs his hand over and through the boy's hair,
before turning and leaving.

Justin keeps his traitorous blush to the floor.

~~~~

The day goes on in an elaborate ritual of courtesy and manners. 
Like an endless array of tea parties, except here it's cool drinks,
not hot ones, due to the difference in climate.  It's the same
formal, getting-to-know-you gathering that a tea party would be at
home, except here the setting is much more elaborate.

It means the same thing though.  They don't know him and they don't
trust him.  He talks funny, he dresses funny and they don't know if
they can make a deal with someone who can't possibly understand or
respect who they are and what they value.

He hopes his choosing of this boy will help them believe that he
does.

Justin is delivered to the afternoon meeting of minds.  He kneels
in his heavy robe, next to the potentate.

The gifting ceremony is very short, and very formal.  Justin offers
his hand at the correct time, to be cut.  His blood mixes with the
pomegranate juice, and is passed over to the man.  It's during the
ceremony that Justin learns this man is a northerner.  He thinks he
hears something like 'Krees' as a name, and the man is the 'Lord'
of the Kirkpatricks.

After the ceremony, meetings are adjourned for the day.  Justin
knows it is now his time to perform, once they are returned to
Chris's rooms.

Chris undoes the heavy clasp of his neckpiece as they enter his
quarters.  He'd arrived in his traveling clothing and, as was his
usual custom, modified his formal clothes to fit wherever he ended
up.  Here, he'd almost abandoned his clothing entirely, settling on
an elaborate piece of jewelry to convey his rank and station. 
However, despite how much cooler he may be while dressing this way,
he still has a heat rash where the neckpiece rests, and it gets
worse as his stay goes on.

Justin stays just inside the door, waiting for his directions.

Chris sets the neckpiece aside, and then notices the boy.  "And
what is your name?"

"I have been called Justin, sir," Justin says.  He assumes the man
knows that Justin's name is at his whim.

Chris nods.  "That name will do.  Why don't you tell me what you
know and can do?  Acquaint me with your abilities."

"I can make that go away," Justin says, indicating Chris's neck
with his eyes.

"Really?" Chris asks speculatively.  "If you would, then."  He
doesn't repeat his earlier request.

Justin picks up a light cream and a powder from the dressing table. 
"Would you sit?  I shall answer your question as I work."

Chris eyes the powder distrustfully.  "I don't want the rash
covered up.  That would only worsen it."  But he sits.  To do
otherwise would imply a distrust of Justin that borders on accusing
the boy of insolence.

Justin wipes Chris's neck with cool water and begins carefully rubs
the soothing, medicinal cream over the rash as he speaks.  "I speak
12 languages.  I read and write only 7 of those.  I know my
numbers, and a good bit of maths.  I am trained in music, and can
sing passably, and play some local instruments.  I dance well, and
have been trained in some basic martial arts.  I am able to sew,
weave, spin and work in leather.  I can cook a variety of local
basic food, and some more elaborate dishes for formal dinners.  I
can, of course, make myself presentable in any situation.  I am
trained to care for your needs, and the needs of your other
belongings.  I know how to care for everything from armor and
weaponry to fine fabrics and children."  After the cream is coating
the rash thoroughly, Justin lightly dusts it with the powder.  "To
keep from smudging," he tells Chris, "and to absorb future body
oils.  If you powder the neckpiece and your skin before wearing it,
this will happen less.  I can also make an absorbent backing for
the neckpiece, should you dislike the powder."

"Thank you," Chris says.  He turns to face the boy.  "Courtesy is
my way.  If I address you without it, then you may assume that I am
giving orders that are not to be argued with.  I am a diplomat.  I
travel from country to country and am often in dangerous
situations.  Only in those will I forgo the use of manners.  To be
good at what I do, one must not get angry in any situation, no
matter who is causing it, whether it be a servant or the ruler of
a great country."

"I understand."

"How old are you?"

"I'm not sure, sir.  Sometime in the rainy season, I shall be
either sixteen or seventeen."

Chris nods.  Old enough for him not to feel like a complete
pervert.  He thinks about putting the boy off until later with the
excuse of work.  But, while the excuse is real enough, his most
important work right now *is* Justin.

Justin asks, "Was there anything else you wished to know, sir?"

Chris regards him for a long moment.  "Are you frightened?  Of me,
of tonight?"

Justin considers.  "I don't think so.  I'm not frightened of you. 
Not like that.  I am somewhat tentative on the exact details, which
makes me nervous.  I like to know how to do what I do, so I can do
it correctly."

Chris smiles a little.  It makes his eyes kind instead of
searching.  "You'll do."

"I hope so.  If you are unsatisfied with me in the morning, you are
entitled to choose another."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  I know I made the right decision."

"I am flattered, sir."

Chris smiles again.  The boy's self-confidence is charming from one
expected to be compliant and biddable.  "During my stay here, I
have been seeking my bed later than this and rising late as well. 
In the future, I may stay up much later than you.  At night, I
expect you to go to sleep in my bed when you are tired.  I would
rather have you well rested when I need you than exhausted.  But,
for tonight, we'll go to bed together."

Justin, embarrassingly, blushes.  But he keeps his face fully
raised and his eyes fully opened.  "Yes, sir.  And what should I
call you, sir?"

"Sir will do for the most part.  In bed," Chris regards Justin with
a more lascivious look, "endearments will do, if you must call me
something."

Justin can feel his lips wanting to curve into a smile, but his
training warns that this is not a time for lightheartedness, no
matter how humorous the look on Sir's face is.

Chris moves over to sit on the bed, fastening his gaze directly on
Justin.  Neither of them is wearing much.  The heat here is
stifling well into the dark hours.  He gestures to Justin. 
"Impress me."

"How, sir?"

Chris doesn't quite groan.  That answers a question he hadn't asked
directly -- how much did Justin know of what was expected of him. 
"Come here."

"You wish me to impress you sexually?" Justin asks, moving closer
to Chris.

"I wished to discover what you know and what you're capable of."

"I am capable of anything you wish me to do," Justin answers
immediately.  It's one of the answers they're trained in.  "And I
have been told of a great variety of acts.  We do not... practice
them.  It would make us worth less to some visitors.  However, if
you wish, there are training areas.  While you have no need of me,
I can attend one of these, and learn more things to please you."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  Anything I want you to know that you
do not, I will teach you."

"That is the thought of our trainers, sir," Justin agrees.

"A wise one, obviously," Chris says, beckoning Justin forward to
stand between his knees.

Justin sways as he steps forward, dropping the heavy robe that is
his only apparel from his shoulders before taking his place so
close to Sir.

Chris reaches out and touches the boy.  "Beautiful," he says in
frank admiration.

Justin bows his head, looking down.  He is expected to impress this
man?  How, when he has only words to guide him?

Chris has never had a virgin, not even when he was one himself. 
His impulse is to treat Justin gently, even tenderly.  But his
impulse may jeopardize his mission here.  He can't give in to it. 
Instead, he says, "Undress me."

Justin kneels down and unties the front of Sir's light tunic.  The
pants, though, are strange and it takes him a moment of fumbling to
find the clasps that hold them closed.  Then Sir stands, and Justin
pulls the pants down, and then the undergarments Sir wears.  Sir is
naked.  Justin wonders if he ought to -- but Sir said he would
teach Justin, so Justin waits for further directions.

Chris reaches out for Justin, putting his hands on the younger
man's ass, pulling him in close.  Their differing heights keep the
contact between them from being as direct as possible, but he rubs
against Justin anyway.

Justin settles his hands on Sir's shoulders, lightly rubbing the
firm skin.

Justin does not rub back, and that makes up Chris's mind for him. 
He lets go of Justin and lies himself back on the bed.  He motions
to his groin.  "Please me."

"Hands or mouth, sir?" Justin asks, kneeling down.

"Not sir," Chris says harshly.  "Never sir in bed."

Justin leans down and puts his mouth over Sir's penis, sucking
lightly to get used to the feeling.

That isn't an answer, and Chris knows he'll have to deal with it --
and that he won't be able to deal with it until after they leave
here.

It's guilty pleasure when he comes in Justin's mouth, and Chris
pulls the boy up.  "Good.  Very good."

Justin smiles at the praise.  "Thank you," he says quietly.  His
mouth tastes-- There's nothing to be done, he'll get used to it. 
He swallows repeatedly when Sir turns to check the light on the
wall.

Chris knows the boy is uncomfortable and probably unhappy.  He
doesn't know how to make it better for him, not without revealing
more than he wants to.  Instead, he takes refuge in further
harshness.  "If you must relieve yourself, go ahead.  Just return
quickly."

Justin nods, rising to walk to the garderobe unselfconsciously.  He
pisses, washes his hands, and returns to the bed.  He lays next to
Sir and looks at the other man.  He smiles a little, feeling good
about having done well.  He pleased Sir, and brought him release,
and Justin's body did not overcome his training.  He smiles a
little wider, feeling even more accomplished.

Chris turns on his side, throwing his leg over Justin's and
wrapping his arm over Justin's chest.  "Sleep now," he says, and
trusts the boy will not murder him in his slumber.

Justin curls close to Sir, pressing himself firmly against the
other man.  He wants, more than anything, to sleep like this, close
to someone.  He hasn't done so since he was very young.  He sighs
happily and turns his mind to sleep.

~~~~

When Chris wakes, late in the morning, Justin isn't in the bed with
him.  He rises, or starts to, but sees Justin kneeling by the bed. 
"How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Justin says.  "Maybe a half hour."

Chris nods.  Acceptable, if only here.  He doesn't like the idea of
the boy just kneeling there though.  "If you have no duties, I
would prefer that you remain..." he settles on a phrase,
"convenient."

"Yes," Justin says, thinking he's close enough to the bed for 'sir'
to be a problem.  He crawls back onto the mattress and looks at
Sir.

"Good."  Chris regards Justin for a while.  In his view, a servant
and a sexual partner are separate things.  His experience with all
kinds of people, from kings to slaves, has taught him that it pays
more to be polite to those who serve than those who rule.  A man
hears loudest words he has never heard before.  A king may hear
nothing but flattery all day long, while a slave hears only abuse.

But that is his belief, not what Justin or his people believe and,
to them, even to Justin himself, kind treatment might be a cruelty
by itself.  He doesn't know.

He does know, though, that practicing the morals and manners he was
taught as a child in another country such as this one is more
likely to get him killed than to serve him well.

He presses Justin back onto the bed and runs his hand over Justin's
chest.  Justin is lying flat and he is above him, eyes on Justin's
body, not his face.  "In the morning," he says, continuing his
exploration, "I expect you to lay out my clothes.  I may have
several sets or I may wear the same set for most of the day."  His
hand moves lower.

Justin's breath catches slightly.  "Yes," he answers.

"At present, my custom is to take my morning meal in company.  As
you are not my servant, you need not accompany me on any of my
ordinary visits.  I believe though," he says, as his hand cups
Justin's hip, "that you should escort me to the evening banquets
and other such social occasions."  He lays down, head on Justin's
stomach, to better watch his hand as it toys with Justin's thighs,
avoiding the main point that, to Chris's relief, is very emphatic
about its desire to be made.

Justin's hands twitch restlessly against the rumpled sheets.  "Oh,
yes," he breathes.  "That would be... good..."

Chris runs his nails lightly over the more delicate skin of
Justin's inner thigh.  "I have not decided yet whether you will
need additional clothing for that.  What you have is undoubtedly
suitable for your position, but perhaps not formal enough."

"I have formal clothing," Justin assures Sir.  They're all given
clothing appropriate to several situations when they leave. 
Usually, one set for housework, one for bed play, one for some
talent they possess and one for formal situations.  Justin, because
of Sir's situation, was also given traveling clothes.

"Oh, good," Chris says and runs a finger down Justin's cock.

Justin bites his lip to stifle a moan.

Chris hears the abruptly indrawn breath and raises his head to look
at Justin and see the lip drawn into Justin's mouth.  "Make all the
sound you like," Chris says.  "I enjoy hearing them."

Justin replies with a soft shocked sound as Sir's hand closes
around him.  "Oh," he whispers, hips beginning to rise to Chris's
hand.

Chris smiles.  "That's better."  He puts his head back down so that
he can watch.

Justin's hands fist in the sheets and he begins earnestly
responding to Sir's touch.  He moans, gasps, whimpers and cries
out.  Wordlessly, of course.  He does not know what to call Sir.

Chris's smile has turned into a wide grin.  The boy's very
responsive, which is good.  The idea of mutual pleasure doesn't
bother him the way the idea of using the boy for himself alone
does.  He wonders if this is the boy's first orgasm.  Surely it
can't be.  Justin must have touched himself at least.

Justin's breath shudders as the pleasure rises in him.  He knows
that this is the point where he must always stop, in pleasuring
himself.  Unless told otherwise, of course.  He's shaking as if
he's just completed the physical trials, and he feels so strangely
toward Sir for making him feel this.  He hopes that Sir does not
stop.

Chris keeps moving his hand.  He'd introduce the boy to the wonders
of oral sex, but judging by Justin's reaction to this, he thinks
that should probably wait a while.

"Please?" Justin asks at last, when he can stand no more.  He looks
down.  "Please?"

Chris's hand slows as he looks up at Justin, surprised.  "Yes," he
says as he assimilates the request.  "Yes, always."

Justin releases, crying out as he thrusts up against Sir's hand.

Chris misses the moment, but it's almost as good seeing Justin's
face and feeling the tension in that wiry body release.  He works
Justin a little while longer, until the boy's hips have stilled
somewhat, then wipes his hand on Justin's leg.  He moves back up
the bed, putting his arm over Justin's chest, and just watches him.

Justin breathes heavily.  He feels Sir moving up beside him and
turns his head, opening his eyes.  "Thank you."

Chris kisses him.  Nothing elaborate.  Kissing requires more
willingness and participation than sex, and he means it as a
gesture of affection.  "I enjoyed that."

Justin touches his lips.  "I did as well."

Chris chuckles.  "Good."

Justin smiles.

Chris rolls his hips against Justin, letting him feel his own
erection.

"How may I pleasure you?" Justin asks.

"Show me what you've learned.  Something different from last
night."

Justin nods.  He takes a deep breath and rises from the bed,
fetching oil from his belongings.  He kneels near Chris's hip. 
"May I use this?" he requests.

Chris nods.

Justin nods back.  He pulls out the stopper and allows some of the
oil to drip over Sir's penis.  He rubs at it with both hands,
spreading it evenly.  One slick hand he uses to reach back, as he's
been taught.  His finger slides into his body and he continues
stroking Sir.  He does as he's learned, one finger, then two,
ignoring the faint hurt.  They're told it hurts, sometimes.  No
more, or he won't be right for it any more.  He kneels over and
holds Sir's hardness steady as he holds himself open and tries to
lower himself correctly.

Chris's mouth is open wide.  He hadn't anticipated Justin doing
anything like this.  He winces in sympathy as the boy sits down. 
Chris reaches up to hold Justin's hips steady.  "Not yet," he says,
when the boy starts to move.  "Wait and get used to it."

Justin nods, keeping his face turned down.  He does the exercises
in breathing that he's been taught to relax the body and calm the
mind.

When the boy looks more comfortable, Chris lets go of his hips, and
wraps a hand around the boy's limp penis.  "Go ahead when you feel
ready."

Justin nods and lifts himself.  The movement is awkward, when it's
real.  Though they've practiced all the movements that would be
needed for sex, it's different while having it.  Sir's hand clasps
him again, in a clear signal for Justin to demonstrate arousal.  It
takes focus, he finds, to remember his movements, ignore the
sensations that are un-pleasurable, and convince his body to harden
again so soon.

Chris is surprised to find the boy getting hard again so soon,
especially when Chris is the first person to ever be inside him. 
He'd intended for his hand to provide a little extra stimulus for
Justin so that it would be easier for him to ignore any pain.  But
the boy's renewed arousal is obvious.

Justin raises his head and displays himself.  He knows that he's
pretty.  He's supposed to be pretty.  He shows that now.

Chris doesn't know how to tell the difference between what Justin
wants to do and what he's been trained to do and what he's doing
only because Chris ordered him to.  Chris strokes Justin's chest
with his free hand.   "Slow, beautiful.  Don't rush it."

Justin cocks his head.  "Beautiful?" he questions, rocking slowly.

Chris nods.  "You are.  Gorgeous, sexy, lovely."

"Used in place of an appellation," Justin notes, tightening his
body around Chris.  "This is an 'en-deer-ment'?" 

Chris laughs.  "Yes.  Also, pretty one, darling, dear, sweet, love. 
And you can use my name if you wish."

Justin moves slightly faster on Chris's hardness.  "What is it?"

"In bed or alone, you may call me Chris.  My name is much, much
longer."

"Oh.  Yes, Chris."

"I like the way that sounds when you say it," Chris says, and
watches Justin between slitted eyelids.  It's morning and it's been
entirely too long without sexual gratification.  Looking up at the
beautiful young man straining above him, it doesn't take long for
his body to grant him a much needed release.

Justin gasps.  Chris's body says that he's finding release. 
Justin's body thinks this is perhaps the strangest thing it has
ever felt.

Chris groans with satisfaction as he comes and Justin doesn't stop
moving on him.  It's delicious.  He'll grow addicted in no time at
all.

Justin stills only when Chris pushes him away lightly.

"No, no," Chris says when Justin moves to get off of him.  "Up, not
off."  He tugs Justin up his body and Justin is very hesitantly
kneeling over his chest, then reaches for Justin's erection,
bringing it toward his own mouth.

Justin leans forward, giving Chris better access.

Chris hums approvingly and takes it in as far as he can comfortably
go, then moves his hands to Justin's buttocks, encouraging him to
thrust.

Justin shifts slightly, sliding himself in and out of Chris's
mouth.  These are things he's learned to *do*, never to have done
to him.  It surprises him.

Chris stops pulling, and just fondles Justin's ass, massaging the
area so recently used.

Justin presses more into Chris's mouth and wills himself to come.

Chris is a little impressed by the boy's control.  Maybe he has
practiced techniques to keep himself from orgasm.  That doesn't sit
well with Chris, but then, it wouldn't make him any happier if the
boy instead pretended to enjoy something he hated.

Justin draws back.  "May I lay down?" he asks.  His legs are
trembling.

"Yes."  Chris waits for the boy to lie down then raises himself up. 
He strokes the boy's belly in a soothing way, wondering what the
best way is to ask what's wrong.

Justin stretches, pointing his toes and then flexing them.  He
rolls his shoulders a little to release the tension in his neck. 
"What is it, Chris?"

Chris admires the stretching.  "What?  Oh.  I'm not sure why you
wanted to stop.  I'm not upset that you did, I'd just like to know
why."

"Stop what?" Justin asks, alarmed.

"Ssh, sweetling," Chris says, still petting the boy.  "It's only
that if I've asked you to do that, you don't need to stop before
you're finished."

Justin flushes at the perceived failure on his part.  "My legs," he
says.  "My legs hurt, and I didn't want to fall.  I'm sorry," he
adds miserably.

Chris kisses him softly.  "That's a good reason."

Justin touches his lips again when Chris pulls back.  "What's it
called?  In your language, when the lips press?"

"A kiss.  Kissing.  Is it something not done here?"

"It isn't common, but we know of it.  I just did not know the word. 
I could not say that I like it, when you kiss me."  Justin looks up
at Chris, studying the other man's face.

"Do you dislike it?"

"I want you to kiss me again," Justin whispers.

Chris puts his hands carefully on either side of Justin's face and
kisses him.  Not so chastely this time, but moving his lips,
showing Justin how it can be.

Justin's hands raise, coming to rest lightly on Chris's chest and
side.  He mimics Chris's movements, kissing back.

"Nice.  Very nice," Chris whispers against Justin's lips.  "But I
do have things to do today besides you, pretty one.  It's time to
rise for the day."

"Yes, Chris," Justin says dutifully.  "Shall I call for a bath?"

"Please."  He gets up and begins looking through his clothing. 
He's been fending for himself quite easily.  The normal morning
routine would have a bath already waiting in one of the outside
rooms, taken care of by servants who arranged things so smoothly
that Chris rarely saw them, but things will no doubt be different
now.

Justin stands and dons his robe from yesterday.  He steps into the
hall and sends a servant to prepare the bathing room.  In Chris's
home, preparing the bath will be Justin's position.  Here, there
are many to help.  Justin returns to Chris.  "If you tell me what
you wish to wear, I will prepare your clothing," he says.  "The
bath will be ready momentarily, and I will see to your comfort
there."

"Thank you," Chris says and begins explaining his wardrobe to
Justin.  He shows him what is for mornings, what is for afternoons
and what is for evenings, and the difference between his formal and
his more casual clothing, as well as where his traveling clothing
is stored.  "Any changes you wish to suggest would be acceptable,"
he adds.  "As you count as an expert on your own culture, I would
appreciate any help you are able to give."

Justin considers the clothing Chris has been wearing for afternoons
to be of far too heavy fabric.  "How long will we be staying here?"
he asks.

"Until my assignment has been completed or the potentate tires of
me and sends me away.  I think it's a favorable sign that he gave
you to me.  As of this point, we have not yet discussed what
business brought me here other than in the vaguest of terms."

"I see.  And you have no need of me this morning?" Justin
questions.

"No.  I will need to change clothes as the heat gets more intense,
but other than that, I do not require you until it's time for the
dinner this evening."

"I will try something different for afternoon clothes then.  A
lighter fabric, when it is hottest, may help."

"Thank you.  That sounds like an excellent idea."  Chris heads
eagerly toward the bath and the carafe of cool water that usually
accompanies it.

Justin hurries after Chris, after carefully gathering his morning
clothes.  In the bathing chamber, Justin hangs the clothes, so that
the steam will take the wrinkles from them.  Chris strips and
climbs into the bath, and Justin kneels next to him and washes him.

Chris allows the familiarity, as he has not from the other
servants.  He made a point of telling them he wanted his privacy
when he first arrived here, and has gotten it.  He knows it implies
that he is secretive and has things to hide, but he is, in effect,
an ambassador from a foreign land.  And the only real difference
between an ambassador and a spy is that he couldn't be killed out
of hand.

Justin says, "If you wish the potentate to stop playing with you,
compliment his third wife, if you see her.  She is the smallest,
and has long hair worn in braids.  She attends evening meals with
him, on occasion.  She is the smartest woman here, and she makes
many choices for this land."

Chris nods.  "I will.  But I think it is more what you say that
will matter."

"What I say?  To you?"

"About me and about yourself."

"I don't speak to anyone but you," Justin says.  "Well, unless you
were planning to host a party.  Then I'd have to speak."

Chris shrugs.  He thinks perhaps Justin may be surprised who seeks
out his company today and idly inquires into his thoughts.  It is
the way he himself would operate, and he does not think he is
dealing with stupid people.  "Then I am worried over nothing."

Justin frowns.  "You assume that people will ask me," he says
slowly.  "You do not know -- I am not allowed to speak to them.  I
am yours, and yours only."

"But you must speak to some.  To arrange for the bath to be brought
in and taken out, and to get clean coverings for the bed and the
like."

"No, we have signals.  And all the things I will need to clean your
quarters will be delivered here when you leave.  I will use them,
and leave them outside, and they will be taken away.  In any case,
I may not speak to anyone beyond that.  Nor be seen not in your
presence by anyone of rank, nor flaunt what is yours when we are in
others' presences."

Chris puzzles over 'flaunt what is yours' for a minute before
realizes that Justin means that, when he is seen, he must be
modestly covered.  "I didn't know that.  Thank you for the
information."

"You are welcome.  I will try to tell you all I know about such
customs, if you wish."

"I would like that.  In my profession, knowledge is the most
valuable commodity.  And little things are as important to know as
big things."

For the remainder of the time before Chris leaves, Justin speaks on
the culture and customs of his people.  Chris breakfasts and
dresses, and dons his powdered neckpiece as Justin helps him and
speaks.  Justin starts with the potentate, and his household, and
works his way down.  He is only just beyond the household when
Chris must leave for meetings.

It is a long day, as it always is.  The ability to make lively
conversation is one of Chris's finer qualities, even if he has to
occasionally watch himself to make sure that he doesn't misstep. 
His open-mindedness and ability to see any custom as sensible or
ridiculous make him well suited for his position, but part of him
wishes to break the rules rather than to follow them.

His hosts are watching him more closely than ever.  With his
breakfast companions, who are the least connected with the throne,
he mentions only that he is grateful to the potentate for the honor
shown to him.

As the day moves on though, the rank of the people he speaks with
increases.  As it does, he gradually adds more detail and broadens
the conversation to cover their own body servants, for those who
have them.  He finds out, without needing to ask directly, that
Justin has told him the truth about only being allowed to speak to
him and is pleased.  It means he will be able to be open with
Justin and not have to hide all of his motivations and feelings.

He returns to his suite in the early afternoon for a change of
clothing.  A nap is customary at this time of day, but not all take
one, and depending on whether anyone wishes to speak with him, he
may or may not rest.

Justin raises his eyes as Chris enters.  "Sir," he says warmly. 
"Would you dine?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No, thank you.  I am being constantly
overfed during the day.  The only thing I wish is something cool to
drink."

Justin nods and rises, setting aside the pants he's been sewing, to
fetch a cool carafe of juice from the next room.  "Would you sit?"
he asks.

"Yes, thank you."  Chris finds a seat in the shade by a window, a
palm tree keeping the sun from coming in.  The cushion is
elaborately patterned in deep green silk with metallic threads.  An
emperor would not be ashamed to sit on it.

Justin follows, sitting on the floor in front of Chris.  He begins
unlacing Chris's strange boots.

"I have the afternoon free today," Chris says.  "Probably because
everyone's trying to make something out of last night and what I
told them and didn't tell them this morning.  And probably your
carriage as well."  He reaches out and runs his hand through
Justin's curls.  "I apologize for my curtness last night.  I had
thought that you might be inadvertently used against me as a spy."

"I had not noticed you behaving in such a way."  Justin pulls off
Chris's boots and begins washing his feet with cool water and
cooling herbs.

"No, you probably wouldn't," Chris says, watching him.  He should
probably protest the service, but he's tired and hot and it feels
good.

Justin finishes by wrapping cool, damp cloths around Chris's
ankles, and laying one behind his neck.  After, of course, removing
the neckpiece.  "Is this better?" he asks, placing light fingers
against the heat rash.

"I really can't tell," Chris confesses.  "But your hand feels
good."  Justin's hand is cool like the cloths.

Justin smiles.  "You speak sweetly."

"I'm glad you think so, given that we're likely to be together for
a long while."  Chris points to the other end of the cushioned
window seat.  "Come up here and sit with me a while."

Justin does so, curling himself onto the pillow and looking at
Chris.

Chris swings his feet up and turns sideways so he can look at
Justin.  "I should say first that I consider what happened
yesterday to be binding on me.  I will take care of you and you
will have a place with me for as long as you wish it.  I do not,
however, consider it to be binding on you, as you had no choice."

"You do not want me to stay?"

"I wish you to stay," Chris says, not taking his eyes off of the
boy.  If he bolts, it could prove disastrous.  "But I want you to
do so because it is your wish as well."

"You are kind.  This is what I am meant to be.  I would not know
what else to do."

Chris spreads his hands.  "If you wish me to return you to your
family, I will.  Or if, during our travels, you should decide you
like a certain place and want to stay, or that you have found a
person who you wish to stay with other than me, you will be free to
do so."

"My... family?"

Chris raises his eyebrows.  "Do you have a family?  Mother, father,
sisters, brothers, other relatives?"

"No," Justin says simply.  "Why do you call that a family?  Does it
just mean people related to you?"

Chris thinks for a moment, and selects what he thinks is the right
word from Justin's own language.  He says that, and adds, in case
he's wrong, "It means people who you are related to, who you care
for and wish to be with."

"Oh.  We don't have those.  We're raised not with our family.  With
the trainers, and other pretties."

"Ah."  Chris doesn't ask if Justin will miss them.  Justin's spent
his whole life watching people go, and now Chris is all he has. 
"Then there is only one other thing I needed to speak with you
about now."  He sighs, trying to think of a way to say it.

"Yes, sir?"

"What we do in bed.  Most of what I said and did before was based
on the assumption that other people would find out what you
thought.  The truth is that, after we were gone from this place, I
intended to stop touching you in that way.  Now, however, I can
stop forcing myself upon you.  You are welcome in my bed, but never
required to be there."

Justin looks at Chris as if waiting for Chris to say he's telling
a tale.  Chris does not.  "You don't want me that way?  Or you do,
but not enough to miss it?"

"I want you.  I enjoyed what we did."

"Then why do you say these things to me?"

Chris looks at him and tries to figure out how to explain the
complexities of two different cultures and his own personal ethical
system to a boy who has grown up believing that he will only ever
be a slave.  "Because I need you to understand that I will not do
any of those things again with you unless you want me to."

"I want to please you," Justin says, feeling helpless.

Chris reaches forward and pats Justin's arm.  "You do.  You've
already made my life easier and more comfortable.  I'm very pleased
with you."

"I want to please you sexually."

Chris tilts his head to examine Justin's expression.  "Because you
will feel like a failure if you do not, or because you enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed what we did," Justin says.  He remembers the feeling of
it... he shivers at the memory.  "It's my place to bring you
pleasure."

"Then I would be happy to do that with you," Chris says softly.  He
scoots closer, and puts an arm around Justin.  "Very happy."

Justin leans against Chris, waiting to be pushed away if he is
wrong.  Chris does not push him.  Justin lays his head on Chris's
shoulder.

Chris moves a little closer and brings his hand up to stroke
Justin's hair.  There's many other things he could say, but they
aren't necessary.  Justin seeking comfort from him is the proof.

Justin nuzzles Chris's hand.

"I was thinking of taking a nap, if you'd like to join me."

"Yes, sir."

That sounds wrong.  "Don't call me sir, not in private, unless I'm
giving you orders or you're unhappy with me.  Taking a nap is a bed
thing.  If you do want to, say, 'Yes, Chris', or just 'Yes'."

"Yes, Chris, I want to.  Could you try on the pants for me, before
dinner?  I think they're correct, but I'm not sure."

"Would now be good, or after we nap?"

"Now would be well."

Chris nods, kisses Justin's forehead and stands.

Justin hurries ahead to get the pants.  "I've made two.  This for
morning, when it is still hot and talks are formal, no?  And this
for afternoon, when the heat is upon us and talks are more casual." 
The first set of pants is light, but looks much like Chris's
foreign attire.  The second is more what Justin is used to, loose
and baggy, allowing air to circulate next to the skin.

"The morning pants will do well.  I'm not sure these," Chris says,
brushing at what he's wearing now, "are formal enough, even for the
afternoon.  Perhaps with some embroidery?"

"Oh, yes.  But I must size them correctly first, so the embroidery
moves correctly."

Chris gives Justin a half-bow.  "I am in the hands of a master.  I
will stop correcting one who knows far more than I do."

Justin doesn't understand, but he reaches out to unfasten Chris's
breeches anyway.

Chris puts his hand on Justin's arm to steady himself as he steps
out of the clothing.

Justin kneels, holding the new pants in place for Chris to step
into.

Chris gingerly puts his foot into the leg.  The material's much
thinner, and Justin guides his foot for him.

Justin fastens the waist of the pants with ties, and then does the
same at the ankles.  The fit is fairly good, actually.  They are
perhaps an inch too long.  "Would you sit?" he requests.

Chris sits, and then looks up expectantly.  "Is this right?"

"How do they feel to you?"

Chris spreads his legs, then crosses them, then sits up, folding
his legs under him.  "Comfortable.  They won't tear, will they?"

"No.  They're very strong.  Have you a symbol?"

"Like a badge or a crest, you mean.  Hmm."  Chris gets up and goes
through his packed belongings.  He doesn't have much use for his
family's personal insignia here, so he has it tucked away.  He
brings out the items and shows them to Justin.  "These are my
family's personal colors," he says, passing the garment to Justin. 
"The colors and pattern are specific to our clan.  And this," he
says, holding the dagger on his palm so that Justin can see the
design on the hilt, "is our family's crest.  My neckpiece has my
country's symbol."

Justin examines them carefully.  "Will you leave this where I can
see it?  That I might duplicate it on the garments."

"I would rather you not duplicate the pattern," Chris says, setting
the dagger down.  "I'm not very fond of it.  It's traditional, and
I don't wear it except when I have no choice.  You may use the
colors and the crest though."

"Very well."  That's what Justin had thought to do.  He leans
forward.  "This style of dress is said to have been adopted by the
wealthy men because of its ease of wear.  And ease of access."

"Ease of access?" Chris asks.

Justin unties the ties at the waist and bends his head over Chris's
lap.  "Yes."

Chris gasps, startled, but his hands immediately go to Justin's
hair, petting him.  "The wealthy are spoiled."

"Shall I spoil you?" Justin asks.  He makes sure his breath fans
against Chris's newly exposed penis.

"Please?"

Justin takes Chris into his mouth and begins sucking; trying to do
what Chris has done for him.

Chris is undone this time by the thought of easy access and
beautiful young things on their knees.  He comes embarrassingly
quickly.

Justin swallows and lays his face against Chris's knee, waiting.

Chris finds Justin's behavior to be unbearably cute.  He's glad he
took the time to explain things to Justin -- even though he doubts
Justin understood what he was trying to say -- because it would be
easy to treat Justin like a beautiful, but essentially brainless,
pet.

Chris urges Justin to stand up and feels the front of his pants. 
Justin is hard.  Chris smiles, remembering being that young.

"Would you like to be inside me this time?" he asks, still touching
Justin.

Justin shakes his head, frightened.  "I do not know enough.  I do
not wish to hurt you."

"Did I hurt you?" Chris asks, pulling Justin closer, and laying his
head against Justin's stomach.

Justin does not know how to answer.  He makes a dismissive sound.

"Then we won't do that again for a while."  He hugs Justin, then
stands.  He strips off the pants and lays them aside, naked now. 
"Come to bed with me, and I'll return the favor.  I want you lying
down this time so you do not have to stop before you're done."

Justin follows Chris, and lays down on the bed.  He looks up at
Chris and feels safe.  It's strange, as he's only known this man a
short time.  But Chris has been very good to him.

Chris smiles down at him, then removes Justin's flimsy clothing,
taking his pants completely off, then kneeling down between his
legs.  "Touch me if you like, but try not to pull my hair."

Justin reaches out and touches Chris's beard, before Chris can
move.

Chris still and lets Justin do what he wants.

Justin smiles.  "Feels funny," he notes.  "Different."

"It helps me look dangerous," Chris says, making a growling face at
Justin.  "Without it, I look young and witless."

Justin grins.  "You are humorous."

"Thank you," Chris says, kissing Justin's hand, before lowering his
head and taking Justin's erection in his mouth.

Justin finds, to his surprise, that it's as shockingly good today
as it was this morning.  He clings to Chris's shoulders, working
his hips in controlled little thrusts against Chris's face.

Chris is deeply gratified by Justin's open response to him. 
Justin's not jaded or hardened.  Chris knows what those are like
and prefers to avoid sexual activity if the variety that needs to
be paid for is the only sort available.

Justin whimpers.  His knees bend, wanting to draw up around Chris. 
He moans, and his hips thrust roughly for a moment.  Chris does
something, and Justin's hands tighten, and he screams, coming.

Chris swallows, and keeps swallowing until Justin's cries turn into
mere whimpers.  Then he pulls away and wipes his mouth.  "Nap now,"
he says, pecking Justin on the mouth.

Justin's brow furrows.  "Kiss?" he requests.

Chris puts his hand on Justin's chest and pushes himself up,
kissing Justin.

Justin kisses Chris and notes the different taste.  He touches
Chris's lips.  "Me?" he asks, blushing.

"Yes."

Justin ducks his head.  "Nap."

Chris kisses him again, and then lies back down and closes his
eyes.

~~~~

Justin wakes before Chris, and lays quietly.  Chris sleeps with his
mouth open, making soft sounds.

When Chris wakes slowly, Justin's lying there next to him.  Chris
yawns and stretches.  "Good nap."

Justin nods.

Chris yawns again.  "I should see whether anyone has graciously
requested my presence for a before dinner chat."

"Yes."

Chris rolls on his side to look at the boy.  "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Justin says.  "I don't understand.  I wish to stay with you. 
I do not wish you to leave.  Why should it be so?"

"Maybe you like me," Chris suggests, stroking Justin's cheek.

"Of course I like you.  But it is unseemly of me to wish you always
be with me."

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Chris says warmly.  "We won't
be here forever, and once we leave, it'll no longer be unseemly."

"No?"

"No.  Different cultures think of things in different ways.  Once
we leave, you'll no longer be my," and Chris puts in the word used
in this place, which has no exact equivalent in his own tongue,
"you'll be my companion and assistant."

Justin looks at Chris in horror.  "I won't be?  What am I to do,
then?"

"Accompany me, take care of me, spend as much time with me as you
wish, all of that."

"Oh."

"It'll make more sense once it's happening," Chris says, trying to
soothe him.  "You're always welcome with me."

Justin smiles at Chris, because that is what he is meant to do. 
"I'll check to see if anyone wishes to meet with you."

"Thank you."

Justin gets up, pulls the heavy robe about him, and goes out to
greet the messengers.  He returns, saying, "There are two.  One man
from the vizier, and one from the potentate, requesting you attend
the formal banquet this evening.  The private one."

"Separate invitations, or both for the banquet?"

"Separate.  The vizier wishes to speak to you before."

Chris sighs.  "Then I have to get up."  He stands and pads over to
Justin.  Wrapping his arms around him, he breathes in deeply.  "I
don't wish to leave you either."

Justin ducks his head against Chris's neck.  "I shall dress you,"
he whispers.

"Thank you," Chris says, kissing Justin's ear.

Justin nods.  He dresses Chris, and sends him for his meeting. 
Justin is left to set out Chris's clothing for the banquet.

The meeting with the vizier is an interesting one.  The vizier
sounds him out -- very politely and obliquely, of course -- to
Chris's financial situation and what belongs to him as himself and
what belongs to his family, and then talks about where Chris will
go next and when he will see his homeland again and so on.  Chris
is amused by it for some time, until he figures out why the vizier
is asking these questions.  He's being asked his intentions.  The
man is proving to discover how well Justin will be taken care of.

Chris keeps his grin to himself and answers all of the questions
fully and honestly.  It seems to him as though his business here is
nearly complete if they're worrying about what will happen when he
goes.

Justin is ready for the banquet when Chris returns.  He has only to
don his robe.  But he is waiting to dress Chris.  "How was the
talk?"

Chris is nearly bouncing.  He hugs Justin and whirls him around,
laughing.  "I think we're almost done here."

Justin clings to Chris.  "Oh?" he asks breathlessly as Chris sets
him back on his feet.  "Good?  Are you eager to move on?"

Chris nods.  "I feel like I've been here forever.  It's a nice
enough place, but I'm ready to move on."

Justin nods, no reply coming readily to his tongue.  "Shall I dress
you?"

"It'll be all right," Chris says, hands moving on Justin's back. 
"It'll be strange."  Very strange, he amends mentally.  "But you'll
be with me."

"Yes, Chris," Justin says, smiling finally.

Chris kisses him and grins.  ""What pretty things am I wearing
tonight?"

Thus given leave, Justin dresses Chris in a cross between the
clothing Chris brought, and items of local derivation.  A small
turban, Chris's heavy tunic, light pants, gathered into Chris's
boots.  A jeweled belt and scabbard for Chris's dagger -- peace
tied, of course -- and the neckpiece.

"I look like a barbarian, don't I?" Chris asks, peering at himself
in the mirror.

"No."  Justin wraps his arms around Chris from behind to affix a
medal to his tunic.

Chris leans into Justin.  "I owe that to you, then."

Justin shakes his head.  "You were never a barbarian here."

"No?  Your people must be very tolerant and accepting then, because
I have it on good authority that my own countrymen find me to be
extremely barbarous."

Justin shakes his head.  "You're silly."

"Why, yes, I am."  He turns to Justin.  "Now.  What lovely things
are you wearing?"

Justin holds his arms wide, displaying his dancing costume.  "But
no one other than you will see it."

"And you're beautiful in it.  But what will you be wearing?"

Justin finds his robe, carefully wrapping it around him to cover
all of his body, from the high neck down to the hem touching the
floor.  He wraps his own turban, pulling the face wrap over so only
his eyes show.

"That's..."  Chris is more than a little surprised.  He's been
assuming a lot of wrong things.  When Justin said he wasn't to
flaunt what belongs to Chris, Chris had assumed that meant that
Justin would be wearing something like he himself is now.  Like the
regular servants wear.  He'd also assumed that everyone he's seen
clad like Justin was a wife or a concubine or daughter.  He's been
quite wrong.

Justin frowns.  "Is it inappropriate?  Shall I dress after your
customs?"

"No, it's very appropriate for tonight.  I think."  Chris frowns. 
"Maybe it isn't.  The point of this -- at least, what I *think* the
point of this is, is to show that I honor your people's customs. 
If I simply adopt them without making any changes, that could be
seen as paying mere lip service to those customs.  While, if I
change them, then I'm showing how I have interpreted those customs
in the light of my own culture."  He thinks some more, then grins
brightly.  "It's an interesting problem, definitely.  I love
interesting problems.  Yes, I think you should dress more like I
do."

Justin nods.  He removes the robe and turban, and then the clothing
underneath.  He stands naked, looking through his bag.

Chris goes to his own clothing.  Most of it won't fit Justin, but
that's not really why he's looking.  He fishes out a ring and a
long sash in his clan's colors and pattern.

"Will these help?" he asks, coming to stand next to Justin.  "You
would wear the ring, and something in my colors would help
reinforce the idea that you belong with me."

"Yes," Justin says.  He holds finds a pair of floaty, but opaque
harem pants and pulls them on, and then dons a short robe.  He is
again covered from neck to thigh, but less clearly hidden.  He
accepts the sash.  "How do I wear it?"

"I can think of several different ways, but like this might look
well."  Chris loops the sash around Justin's neck once, and then
lets the ends fall forward, draping down the front of Justin's
body.  "And you need a turban and boots."

Justin lifts his turban, removing the face cover, and replaces it
on his head.  He finds a sheer sash from his belongings and drapes
it across his face instead.

"Much better," Chris says approvingly.  "Your hand, please?"

Justin asks, "Which?" and offers them both.

"Your right hand," Chris says, taking that one and testing the ring
for fit.  It slides onto Justin's pinky.  "Not quite where I wanted
it to go, but it'll do."

Justin says, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"  Chris looks up, smiling at him.  "Did you deliberately
grow your fingers too big?"

"I wasn't big as a child," Justin says.

"How terrible of you to grow into a large adult," Chris says,
kissing Justin's hand before dropping it.

"I know," Justin agrees.  "Are these acceptable?" he asks,
displaying the 'boots' he'd been given for travel.  They're fabric
stiffened with laces of small rope wrapped around them and
tightened for wear.

Chris frowns.  "For tonight, yes.  Permanently?  No.  We'll have to
find you something else.  Those don't look all that comfortable or
at all good at keeping out water." 

Justin finishes dressing as the gong sounds to call them to the
dinner.  Justin searches through his bag, coming up with a
decorative collar and cuff.  "Do you think I should wear this?" he
asks.

"Cuffs, yes.  Collar... no," Chris says, after a moment.  "It'd
interfere with the sash."

"The cuff is yours.  The collar is mine.  They match, to show you
own me."

"Hmm.  All right then.  If it has symbolism, then that's probably
a good thing."

Justin fastens the cuff on Chris and arranges collar and sash on
himself.  "Ready?"

"Yes."  Chris holds out his arm for Justin.  "Tuck your hand under
my forearm and rest your hand on top."

Justin does so.  "I must behave correctly while we dine," he says
to Chris.

Chris nods.  "I don't know what appropriate is, so I can't advise
you there.  I will follow your lead."

"I will behave as the other personal servants do," Justin replies. 
They're walking down halls he's never seen before.

"No excessive bowing and scraping to me," Chris says.  "Do as you
must, but I would rather you behave as though you're fond of me
rather than servile."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'll try not to embarrass you," Chris adds.

Justin smiles.  "Yes, sir."

Chris grins and they continue walking.

~~~~

Chris makes Justin eat from the table!  At the *same time* as
everyone else.  Justin wishes the floor would open up and swallow
him.  People comment on the length of his neck, and on the skin
revealed there.  They comment on his pleasing visage, and Chris
beams and *agrees with them*!  Justin knows that Chris is unaware
that people are making fun of them.  He knows Chris doesn't
understand that these people are *stealing*, by being openly
appreciative of something meant for Chris alone to appreciate. 
Justin keeps his face averted when possible, serves Chris, and
tries to ignore the whispers.

Chris is aware of the undercurrents in the room.  He's not
precisely sure why the undercurrents exist, in other words, which
specific rules he's breaking.  He does understand, though, that the
reason for the indiscreet laughter is his treatment of Justin.  It
bothers him for Justin's sake.  Justin understands very little of
why these games are played.  Chris himself is cautiously pleased at
the way things are unfolding.  He's been watching the important
people -- the vizier, the potentate and the potentate's wives.  And
the way that they look at himself and Justin is much different than
the way those in Chris and Justin's immediate vicinity do.

He thinks he's getting somewhere, and Chris is careful to show his
approval of Justin and to guard Justin against the worst of the
remarks.  These people here see only a pampered toy out of its
place.  The people he must impress will see how Chris will treat
Justin in the days to come.

Finally, Justin settles on a cushion at Chris's feet.  It is his
place, and the other personal servants are doing the same.  Justin
keeps his head bowed and waits for the talks to begin again.

Chris passes a plate down to Justin and then puts his hand on the
back of Justin's neck, stroking it with his thumb.

Justin closes his eyes and leans subtly into Chris's hand.  His
work for this evening is done.  Now he is just another piece of
furniture, here to be, not to act.

The after-dinner conversation is desultory, as trivial and
unimportant as the dinner conversation had been.  Chris keeps
petting Justin and observing.

Now that he knows who the robed figures are, he's intrigued by how
many of those present take short walks during the evening.  Based
on his own understanding of human nature and the coarseness of the
dinner conversation, he's fairly sure what's going on there.

He whispers to Justin, "You mentioned easy access earlier.  Is that
what I'm seeing happen here, with people going out and coming back
in a few minutes later?"

Justin inclines his head under Chris's hand.

Chris nods triumphantly.  "I thought that was too frequent to be
merely a desire to relieve themselves.  Or," and he controls a
snicker, "is it only a different sort of relief?"

Justin nods again.  "Do you wish to walk?" he whispers.

"No.  Not unless you're uncomfortable."

This time, Justin shakes his head.

"If you are, just let me know," Chris says, even though he's fairly
sure Justin would do no such thing.

Justin shakes his head again.

Chris doesn't chide him.  Justin's coping very well as it is with
all the changes Chris has forced him to make to his world and his
ideas about how the world works.  Slow progress is better than no
progress.  Then someone is trying to get his attention.

He turns to face the man, a servant, who bows.

"His excellency, the supreme potentate, wishes you to take coffee
with him."

Chris controls the grin that threatens to break out, keeping it
down to a small smile.  "I would be delighted."  He stands and puts
out his hand, assisting Justin to his feet.

Justin takes Chris's arm when it is offered, because to refuse
would be rude.  He feels as if he is shaming Chris by not following
custom.  He is giving the others a reason to laugh at Chris.

Chris holds out his arm to Justin and Justin takes it, after a
moment that suggests Justin is trying to figure out what he's
supposed to do with it.  Then, together, they follow the servant.

This time the walk is a short one.  They arrive in private chambers
very quickly.

Here, some of the rules appear to be relaxed.  Chris sees the woman
with braids, the who he thinks is the wife Justin told him to watch
for.

Chris is gestured to take a seat on a low couch, easily big enough
for three people.  He suspects this is a test as well, and seats
Justin on the couch first, before sitting down himself.  He has to
hold Justin's arm very firmly to make Justin sit on the couch,
rather than in front of it, but Justin obeys after his initial
hesitation.

Justin bows his head to Marika, the potentate's third wife.  She
taught him how to dance.  He sits on the couch, but doesn't feel as
bad about it here.  In here, no one is laughing at Chris.

A servant brings a tray to Chris.  He holds it out.  There's a
steaming silver pitcher that holds the dark, bitter coffee,
delicate china cups, and all the amenities a civilized person would
want.

Chris pours a cup.  "How do you take your coffee?" he asks Justin.

"Plain," Justin replies.

Chris nods and hands the cup carefully to Justin, and then pours
his own, adding cream, sugar and cinnamon.

Justin sips his coffee and stays quiet.

Chris waits for a prompt.  He isn't disappointed.

"One would be pleased to know that your," and the potentate uses
that word again, the one that Chris isn't sure whether to translate
as 'slave' or 'husband', "is happy in his new life."

Chris nods solemnly.  "That would please me as well."

Justin raises his eyes, gazing on Chris.  He leans against Chris's
side, and Chris holds him.  Justin is content.

Chris looks at Justin, eyes fond.  Justin has a way of making
himself understood even without being allowed to speak.

There's a ripple of laughter in the room, but Chris hears the tone
of it and understands that it's not the derisive laughter of
earlier in the evening.

Justin smiles at Chris.

The evening continues from there.  No issues of substance are
discussed, because this is an after-dinner informally formal
gathering.  But they do touch on the subjects of certain goods and
supplies and how it would be nice to have such things in one's own
country, and how dreadful it is that bandits can accost caravans
and the such like.  Which is precisely the kind of thing Chris was
sent here to negotiate and which no one has been willing to
discuss.

He spends the rest of the evening in a successful glow, sipping
coffee and eating bits of dark chocolate.

Justin's eyes widen with his first taste of chocolate.

Chris chuckles when he hears a small moan of delight from Justin,
and feeds the rest of his chocolate to Justin.

"We like you," Marika says, coming over to speak with them as the
potentate deals with someone else.  "We like the way you treat the
young one, and we like your ideas."

"You are very kind," Chris says, inclining his head respectfully.

Marika looks at Justin, seeing his posture and the way he had
carried himself into the room.  "You are satisfied with this one?"

"Very much so.  He is a credit to his people, and everything I
could have wished for in a partner and a helpmeet."  He does not
use their term.  He is almost certain he does not understand it,
and he wants it to be clear from his own word choices how he thinks
of Justin.

"And he satisfies your *need*," she adds, leaving it open to being
a question or a statement.

"I would say all of our needs are well-satisfied," Chris says. 
He's not sure whether that comes off as clever or as ducking the
question.

"When you leave here, you say he is your partner and helpmeet. 
Will he continue to satisfy in this way?" she asks.  It is not as
rude a question as it could be.  It is important that their
servants be allowed to do what they have been trained to.

"He is my partner and helpmeet," Chris says, trying to make clear
that he means he regards Justin as that *now*.  "When we leave, he
will see other customs and other ways.  I will support him in
whatever he chooses to be."

Justin rapidly assures her that he will still be in Chris's bed
when they leave, but he will have the option to choose not to be. 
He speaks in a native dialect more for speed than for secrecy.

Chris watches Justin narrow-eyed.  Justin had said that he wasn't
allowed to speak to anyone other than Chris.  Perhaps that does not
apply with women?

Marika looks at him in surprise.  "You would speak without
permission?  Perhaps only to assure me that there is nothing wrong,
no?"

Justin nods.

"It matters not to me," Chris says softly, trying to reassure
Justin.  He adds, addressing himself to Marika, "I was merely
surprised at the apparent violation of what I had been told was a
rule.  When we leave here, none will know his sign language, and he
will find it most useful to be able to speak to anyone."

Marika nods.  "You will be leaving soon, I think."  She nods toward
the servants bringing in a short table and the scribes following
with elaborate scrolls and inks.

Chris's eyebrows raise.  It's a surprising kind of night, if they
are willing to sign off on a treaty with so little direct
discussion of it.

Marika nods and rises, taking her leave of them.  The rest of the
non-essential servants leave as well.  Now the discussion gets down
to the real business at hand.  Justin supplies water to both Chris
and the potentate, as the only servant yet in the room.

The discussion of terms is fast and free roving.  Chris is
unsurprised to find that the potentate is an intelligent and
well-informed man.  It matches his impression of him.

Justin is yawning, head drooping on Chris's shoulder, before they
are done.  It's nearly dawn, and the coffee has been replaced with
thick, steaming mugs of hot milk with spices and slabs of sweet
bread with honey.

The servant who delivers the new food is a little scandalized to
see Justin nearly asleep and the potentate rising to refill his
mug, but backs out silently.

Chris laughs, but very quietly, so as not to disturb Justin, and
accepts his milk and bread when the potentate offers it to him.

"When you return," the potentate says to him, as the meeting
concludes and a servant has been summoned to take the completed
treaty away for copying, "bring the boy.  My wife is very fond of
her son."

Chris feels like a fish, gaping.

The potentate laughs and stands.  "I will seek my own bed now.  I
suggest you do the same."

Chris does, urging a mostly-asleep Justin to his feet.  "May I tell
him?  I don't think he knows."

The potentate inclines his head.  "If you wish.  She is happy to
see him settled well."

Justin bows, as he should, and takes Chris's arm, allowing himself
to be led back to Chris's rooms.  He's mostly asleep anyway.

Back in his suite, Chris gets them both undressed and Justin in
bed.  After he's laid their things out so they won't take any more
harm than they already have, he joins Justin in the bed, sighing as
he tucks his cold feet under Justin's shin and nestling close.

Justin runs his hand down Chris's stomach.  "Shall I please you?"
he asks, sleepily.

Chris doesn't open his eyes, more than ready to go to sleep. 
"Tired.  Sleep now."

"Okay."  Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder and falls asleep.

Chris smiles and follows suit.

~~~~

Justin hates camels.  This is what he's concluded.  Camels stink,
walk funny, and spit on him.  He hates them a lot.  But they're the
only reliable way to Algiers, where Chris will send his treaty home
and pick up his next mission.  So Justin has ridden his fucking
camel for weeks.  He hopes they get something else to ride *out* of
Algiers.

"I lead a very glamorous life, don't I?" Chris calls from the back
of his own camel.  He loves camels.  They're utterly and completely
disagreeable to everyone.  He can empathize.  "Bet you wish you
chose to stay home!"

Justin just shakes his head.  He doesn't point out that he didn't
choose to leave home, because he really doesn't mind.  He misses
Nick and Lance, a little.  He misses home more.  But he likes being
with Chris, and he likes being out in the world. "We'll be there
before noon!" Chris shouts.  "Then we'll see where we go from
there."

Justin looks up.  The sun is less than an hour from overhead. 
Thankfully.

To tell the truth, Chris is a little worried about Justin.  Even
heavily swathed in black cloth, he manages to get redder every day. 
He's also afraid Justin will get heat sickness.  Justin's more used
to these temperatures than he himself.  But Chris isn't anywhere
near as heavily clothed.  His more swarthy skin tolerates the sun
well and bronzes rather than burns.

Justin sighs and lowers his face back to the dust ahead.  His
burnoose ripples in a faint breeze.  Justin turns his face to it
and doesn't breathe.  He learned quickly that the sensation might
feel good, if only because it is different, but the hot breeze will
strip the moisture from his mouth and nose faster than high noon
with no shade.

When they arrive, Chris leads them directly to the embassy.  The
guards look curiously at his companion, but nod to him.  He's a
frequent visitor here and well known.  He dismounts his camel and
turns to help Justin down from his, finding that Justin has already
slithered off.

Chris tosses the lead ropes to one of the servants who've come out
to greet them, and puts an arm around Justin's waist to lead him
inside.

The inside of the building is cooler because they're no longer in
the hot sun, but the difference is minuscule at best.  The air is
stiller and, unlike the potentate's palace, there is no lake
nearby.  The ocean is close, but provides no relief, only an
assault on the nose and ears.

They're led to a waiting room, a small room, well decorated enough
not to immediately insult anyone who might have cause to visit, and
the servant mentions cool drinks and notifying the appropriate
people before scurrying off.

Chris sits Justin down and begins unwinding his wrappings.

"Sir?  Sir!"  Justin stops Chris's hands.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you disentangled from all of the cloth so that you can
cool down.  And you needn't call me sir when we're alone."

"Chris, I'm all right."  Justin smiles at Chris.  He opens the
front of his burnoose and uncovers his face, removing the heavy
turban and leaving only the wrapping cloth over his head.

Chris scowls at him.  "Well.  I suppose that's better, anyway.  Not
as bad as before.  And you certainly *sound* well enough."

"Sit down with me?" Justin requests.

Chris does, leaving enough space that neither of them has to be
directly affected by the heat pouring off of the other.

Justin sighs and leans back against the side of the couch.  "I hate
camels," he says companionably.  "That white one spit on me!"

"That's the way camels are.  They hate everyone.  That's what I
like about them.  They're so indiscriminate in their dislike."

Justin rolls his eyes.  "It *spit* on me!  It was dirty."

"Probably hasn't been washed recently," Chris says with a straight
face.

Justin scowls at Chris, then grins, because he simply has to. 
Chris makes him laugh.

"There's a very good chance that my next mission will require me to
depart via ship.  You can enjoy the marvels of sea sickness then."

"Ship?"

"A vessel that travels on the water."

"No, I meant a ship to *where*?"

"I don't know yet. We'll have to wait and see."

A crystal pitcher of water and two glasses is delivered, along with
the news that rooms are being prepared for them.  Chris nods,
taking this as a matter of course.

Justin pours the water into one glass and tastes it. Then he pours
another glass and gives it to Chris.

"Drink it slowly," Chris cautions, "but drink at least two or three
glasses."

"Yes, sir," Justin says, for he hears footsteps outside the door.
He resumes his own place, holding his glass, just as another man,
dressed like Chris has been and with short hair like Chris's comes
in.

Chris stands and grasps the other man's arm.  "Good to see you,
Harry."

"I see you've gone native on us again.  I'm afraid we can't squeeze
you in until later this afternoon, but I can give you the file now
on your next assignment if you want to look it over."

"Thanks, Harry.  I'd like that."

"And who's your companion?  I thought we sent you out solo. 
There'll be people disappointed that you've come back."

"Come back with a nice bit of paperwork, too.  His Majesty should
be pleased.  This is Justin.  I acquired him during the course of
my stay.  Think of him as my partner or my assistant.  His people
have a word for what he is to me, but we don't have a good
equivalent to it.  Think life-partner, and you'll come close."

"Indeed.  So you *have* been up to your old tricks."

Chris smiles.  "Of course.  They work so well.  Make sure they give
us one room, or two rooms that connect, will you?"

Harry gives him an assessing look.  "So it's like that, is it?"

Chris could deny it or attempt to avoid the question entirely, but
instead he meets Harry's eyes levelly.  "It's exactly like that."

"Well, well.  That does make things interesting, doesn't it?"

"I like things interesting."

After being introduced to Justin, Harry leaves with a promise that
their rooms will be ready soon, and that they'll have a chance to
clean up before Chris needs to meet to discuss what he's
accomplished and where he's going next.

Justin says, "I thought you said your people would not be bothered
by me."

"Harry isn't bothered.  However, when I said people wouldn't be
bothered, I was perhaps thinking that I would lie to them."  Chris
sits back down and drinks more of the water.  "I'm not ashamed of
what you are to me, but not many will understand it the way your
own people do.  Most will misunderstand."

"I don't understand," Justin says, refilling his glass.

"In my world, having a man as a lover is wrong.  Plain and simply
wrong.  In some cases, it's even against the law.  People like
Harry will understand -- once you've seen enough other cultures and
tried to shape yourself to fit in with them, no custom seems too
strange to understand.  But for the most part, people will assume
that you are an assistant or, as you grow older, a partner.  The
rest of it, they will not wish to know or will react badly to if
they find out."

Justin is mildly frightened.  He thinks that it may scare him more
later, when they face these people.  "Oh."

"I will keep you safe.  I know when it's right to speak and when it
isn't.  For you, you need only behave as you do, and not worry. 
For the most part, people see what they want to see."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris nods.  He's sure of his ability to take care of Justin nearly
everywhere.  His diplomatic status, if nothing else, keeps him
secure as long as he is in a foreign country.  It is his father's
reaction that could prove difficult.  He would see what's happening
and comprehend it, and be furious enough to take action again it. 
And, at home, Chris would not have diplomatic protection to save
him.

Justin smiles.  "But here, we will still be able to be together?"

"Yes, without question."

The wait isn't much longer, and it's not at all arduous with Justin
at his side.  A servant ushers them upstairs and to a large room
with a smaller, detached room, where one's valet might sleep. 
Justin, of course, will not be sleeping there, but the arrangement
is satisfactory.

Their bags have been brought up and are sitting by the door,
largely empty.  Chris knows from experience that clothing has been
removed and taken for cleaning and mending and official documents
taken and given to the appropriate persons.

There's a card on a table by the door, requesting their presence at
dinner and listing the hour, along with a sealed note that Chris
expects will be his congratulations for doing an impossible job and
summons to pick up an even more impossible one.

"I think I shall take a bath," Chris says, seeing a tub through an
open door.  "Would you care to join me?" 

"Yes, Chris," Justin says.  As if he would *not* be there, caring
for Chris's needs.

Chris kisses his cheek and goes to start the water.


Justin follows, waiting until Chris has things set to disrobe him.

"Pile everything near the door.  Someone will snatch them away when
we aren't looking and replace them with clean.  Alas, it isn't
laundry fairies, but rather hard-working people who take care of
that sort of thing.  Still, they're quite good at what they do."

Justin doesn't know what 'fairies' are, but he piles the clothing
obediently, and returns to help Chris into the raised basin.

Justin's still dressed and Chris raises an eyebrow at him.  "The
tub's large enough.  Aren't you coming, too?"

"At the same time?"

"Yes, that's the idea."

"Oh.  Yes, if you wish."

"I wish if you wish," Chris says solemnly.

Justin undresses, noting that he's streaked with desert dust in
unexpected places.  He steps into the bath and holds out his hand
for Chris.

Chris takes Justin's hand to steady him, then tugs him down to sit
between his legs.

Justin sinks into the hot water.  "Something this warm shouldn't
feel good after the desert.  But it does."

"Mmm," Chris says, settling Justin against his chest and wrapping
his arms around him.  "It does.  I suspect it's the body's desire
for water in any form after so much sand and wind and sun."

"Yes, it may be," Justin agrees.  His head lays on Chris's shoulder
and he closes his eyes.  Chris has been teaching him to accept the
pleasure of simple comforts.

They have time for this, and Chris enjoys the feeling of Justin
lying against him for a long time before reaching for a washcloth
and the soap and beginning to lather Justin.

Justin says, "This is my job."

"This is my pleasure.  I enjoy holding you and I don't want to let
go."

Justin sighs.  "Yes, Chris."

"Does it upset you?" Chris asks, continuing to wash Justin, hands
skimming over the younger man's body.

"No."

"All right then.  You can still wash me, you know."

"Oh," Justin breathes.  Chris is washing his stomach, and Justin's
body takes an interest.  He wills himself not to.  Water in the
desert is too precious to waste in such play.

"Yes?" Chris murmurs in response, but it's not really a question,
so much as an acknowledgement.  Justin likes what Chris is doing,
so Chris will continue.

"Oh, Chris," Justin murmurs.  They have sex often.  Every morning,
at least, and most nights as well.  Justin is becoming used to
Chris's desire to give him pleasure.

Chris continues washing Justin, making encouraging noises.  As he
gets down to Justin's groin, he washes there, then moves on to
thighs.  He can't reach much further than that, so he hands the
washcloth to Justin.  "Do the rest of your legs," he says.

Justin finishes cleaning himself and turns to clean Chris.

Chris doesn't let him turn.  "Your back first."  He plucks the
washcloth from Justin's hand and finishes removing the rest of the
dirt.  The bathtub is already filthy with soap scum.

Justin looks at the filthy water in distress.  "This will never
do," he says.

Chris laughs.  "This is normal, though.  It's the disadvantage of
bathtubs."

"No, you must get out.  I will fetch clean water," Justin decides.

"There's no water to be fetched," Chris says, still smiling.  "All
you need to do is pull the plug to drain the tub and then replace
it and turn the taps to get more water."

Justin turns and pulls on the slim chain Chris indicates.  The
water begins draining away.  "Where does it go?" Justin asks in
awe.

"Here?  The ocean, most likely."

"Where does it come from, then?"

"In the beginning?  The ocean, maybe."

"Strange."  The water drains away.  "You must still get out.  This
basin is dirty.  I will clean it."

Chris shakes his head.  "And let this mess dry on me?  No, I'll be
cleaner if we just refill the tub and finish the bath."

"Very well," Justin says unhappily.  But he lets Chris instruct him
on refilling the tub.  He cleans Chris quickly, washing the other
man's hair twice.  "Please, will you get out now?"  He knows his
own hair holds much dust from the journey.  His hair holds
everything.

Chris does, watching Justin as he dries himself off.

Justin dunks his head and begins scrubbing at his stubborn curls.

Chris chuckles.  Stubborn, stubborn boy.  He's going to have no end
of trouble once Justin figures out where the boundaries are now
that they're no longer in his own country.  He's sure Justin will
use every additional freedom he has to bend Chris into being who
Justin wants him to be.  Reminds him of valets he's known.  And
other people's wives.

Justin cleans his hair as best he can and pulls the plug again.

Chris is waiting with a dry towel, which he begins rubbing over
Justin's wet skin.

Justin kisses Chris.

Chris kisses him back, then grins impishly at Justin.  "So much
better to be clean, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chris."

"You're still beautiful," Chris says, and takes him to bed.

~~~~

Chris does not find the time to browse through the file before his
meeting, and so is in blissful ignorance of what Herculean task
he's been given next.  Sometimes, bliss is much better, although
preparation is also a virtue.

The meeting goes well, with the usual congratulations for a job
well done and mention made of what new honor he might be awarded
for his efforts.  Chris arranges for Justin to be included in his
official papers as a member of the diplomatic party, although such
things matter only to those who can read and who are trying to kill
him because he's stepped over the wrong side of a cultural line. 
It's no defense at all against those who simply want to murder him
for the clothing on his back and what they can sell it for.

Then comes the real challenge.

Chris takes it like a man.  Ceylon.  Currently at war with India,
and in turmoil.  His task -- step in as an interfering third party
and stop the war.  Not so that lives may be preserved or his own
country made safe from harm, but rather to restore the shipment of
certain rare spices.

Ah, well.  At least they won't be traveling by camel.  That should
please Justin.

Justin asks, from his perch above Chris as he rubs Chris's back the
next night, "Where's Ceylon?"

"A long way from here.  Halfway around the world almost.  It's an
island."

"How long will it take us to get there?" Justin asks, leaning into
the tight muscles of Chris's lower back.

"Hmm.  Depends on the winds and what ships are available, but it
seems likely that it will be months before we actually arrive
there."

"Months?"

"Yes, especially if we make the whole journey by sea.  There's no
way to sail directly there.  We'll have to go around."

"Oh."  Justin frowns and wonders what his duties are on a ship.

"We'll mostly be in the way on board ship, so we'll stay out of the
way as much as possible.  It can be very dull."

"And we're to spend months this way?  Doing what?"

"As little as possible," Chris says cheerfully.

Justin shakes his head.  "That will be new."

"Really?  You seemed to be doing very little when I found you."

"Well, yes, but that was an audience.  We train the rest of the
time."

"I suppose there might be things you don't know that I could teach
you..." Chris says, trailing off as Justin finds a particularly
good spot.

"Like what?" Justin asks, after Chris is done groaning over that
particular spot.

"Any languages you don't know.  The customs of Ceylon and India as
I know them.  More about my homeland and my position there.  What
additional help I could use."

"I see."

"You don't think that's enough?" Chris asks sardonically.

"Oh, it may be," Justin teases.

"Yes, I do forget that you're used to doing a lot every single day. 
I, unfortunately, am considerably more lazy."

Justin is down to rubbing firmly at Chris's ass.  "You're not.  You
conserve your energy."

"Exactly.  You never know when the next crisis is going to come."

Justin kisses the small of Chris's back and rubs his legs.  "And
when do we leave?"

"Now that they know I'm available, they've started looking for a
ship.  It shouldn't taken too terribly long to find one going in
our direction.  Not more than a week, I should think."

"Ah."

Chris laughs.  "Welcome to my life.  It's not nearly as exciting as
you imagined, is it?"

"Should I be procuring anything for the trip?"

"That's a good question.  Your traveling wardrobe is more than
adequate, but you may wish a little more variety, especially in
styles that are closer to my home than yours.  Ginger, of a
certainty, to ease nausea.  Books, and perhaps some cards and a
chessboard.  And, of course, small objects to use as bribes."

"Precious stones and metals or curiosities?"

"Some, yes, but I was thinking more of tobacco and chocolate and
the like.  Things a person might want onboard ship and yet be
unable to find because they've been at sea too long.  Also, I
think, a cat."

"Oh, bribes for the *sailors*.  Why a cat?  Can I keep her?"

"You can't really *keep* a cat.  Cats own you, rather than the
other way around.  But if the cat consents, you're certainly
welcome to be its human.  And the reason for the cat is to keep the
vermin population to a minimum.  Ships are famous for being
infested with vermin."

"But she can stay with us?"

"If she wants to.  Cats have a tendency to go their own way if
their plans differ from yours.  They're also notorious for
disliking travel."

"Where do we get her?" Justin asks, excited.

"Whenever you like.  We're free until we find a ship."

"Yes, but *where*?"

"We'll ask around for anyone who knows someone with a cat who's
recently had kittens.  Then we'll take one."

Justin bounces, feeling the mattress echo his motion.

"Tomorrow, obviously," Chris mutters into the pillow.

Justin stills.  "I'm sorry," he says, laying down next to Chris
after he finishes with Chris's feet.  "I saw a cat once.  She was
wonderful.  She purred and rubbed against me and let me hold her." 
His eyes are distant with remembering.  "Like when you hug me.  Not
alone."

Chris turns over and gathers Justin close.  "Tomorrow. 
Definitely."

Justin closes his eyes and breathes deeply of Chris's scent.  He
misses home, suddenly and fiercely.  It will pass, it always does.

"Did you know your mother is Marika?"

"What?"

"Your mother.  Marika is your mother."

"The potentate's wife?  How could she be my mother?  The potentate
is not my father."

"I don't know.  All I know is that I asked and she confirmed it."

"Oh.  Oh..."  Justin lapses into his native tongue, recalling
incidents and fragments of memories.  All concerned with Marika and
the things she'd taught him, the way she'd treated him.

Chris strokes Justin's hair.  "She wants you to return when you're
older.  She told me to make sure to bring you with me when I
return.  I'm fairly sure that was her way of saying that she hopes
we'll fare well together."

Justin says, slowly and in English, "I wanted to know my mother,
when I was young.  I wanted to know why I was what I was."

Chris keeps petting Justin, listening to him speak.  He thinks he
understands why, but he'll let Justin work it out for himself if
Justin can.

"It is not a bad thing to be as I am," he tells Chris.  "It is an
honor to be so trained."

Chris nods.  "I agree."

"I stopped wondering.  I know that my mother must have wanted good
for me."

"She does."

Justin nods.  "It is good to know."

"I believe that she knew you could not be raised as a prince, and
so wanted the next best thing for you -- to be mated to a powerful
spouse and serve him as a capable assistant."  Justin's job
description may include 'sex toy', but Chris is alive to the fact
that Justin is more knowledgeable than many of his colleagues.

Justin nods.  "Marika -- she is not from home.  She was brought to
our land."

"No doubt she has many strange ideas."

"If she is not from my land, then it is *not* my land," Justin
replies.

"It is where you grew up.  Your ideas and beliefs are all based on
your having grown up there.  Your mother may be from a different
land, but you yourself are from that one."

Justin curls against Chris.  "Yes, Chris."

"I myself was raised in a different land than one of my parents."

"Why?"

"Because my father is not my mother's husband."

"Is your mother a concubine?" Justin asks in puzzlement.  He didn't
think such things happened in England.

Chris snorts.  "No."  It's a good question though, given Justin's
background.  "My mother, as it happens, is unmarried.  My father is
the lord of his lands and my mother was born and raised there.  It
is a custom there -- more honored in its breach than its use --
that the lord of the land may lay with a virgin before her
marriage.  My father, however, used it to lay with any woman who
took his fancy, whether they were to be married or not.  She left
soon thereafter, but everyone knew she was bearing his child.  When
he came up heirless, he -- very reluctantly -- summoned me to mold
me into his ideal heir."

"This is not strange here.  Is it strange in your home?"

"Very strange.  Even wrong.  You asked if my mother was a
concubine.  She was not.  But until I came into my 'inheritance',
she slept with men in return for money and protection.  It may
sound much the same thing, but in England, a woman who does that is
much more poorly treated.  Especially if she is not beautiful."

"This is not right.  If she is unmarried, her body is hers to use. 
There is no shame in that."

"I'm glad you think so.  It will help when you meet her.  You
should know that my father despises her for that."

"Will she be displeased with me?  For being a male?"

"My mother will be happy that you care for me."

"Do you care for your father?"

"No.  I owe him respect and am to some degree dependent on his
favor while I am home, but I hate him for what he did to my
mother."

"But he must have you, correct?"

"Yes.  I am the only male among all of his misbegotten children and
he has no other heirs."

"So bugger him?" Justin suggests, using some of the language he's
picked up from Chris.

Chris snickers.  "Not literally.  But yes.  I'm rarely home, and
when I am, I spend my time with my mother and sisters."

"You've sisters as well?"

"Yes, several."

"Good."

"You like the idea of having sisters?"

"I like talking to girls."

Chris's hand stills for a second, then resumes its steady stroking. 
He's always known that this was not a voluntary choice for Justin
and that, once acquainted with his sexuality; Justin might make a
different decision.  He has to be a big enough man to let Justin
follow his heart if it comes to that.  "Well, I have enough of
them."

"They're so much better at knowing how to look pretty," Justin
says.  "And they can fix my hair."

Chris laughs, and doesn't deny to himself that it's relief more
than humor that makes him laugh.  "I'm certainly no good at any of
those things."

"It's a girl thing."

Chris gropes Justin playfully.  "You don't *feel* like a girl."

Justin moans.  "*I'm* not a girl!"

"But you're good at those things, aren't you?" Chris inquires with
mock-innocence.

"Sometimes."

Chris gropes Justin some more.  "I don't know.  You feel a *little*
like a girl."

"You wish to take me, like a girl?" Justin asks.

"Sometime, perhaps.  It can be enjoyable.  But I was thinking of
you taking me and proving that you are not a girl."

Justin replies in the only way he can.  "Yes, Chris."

"Do you not want to?" Chris asks.  He can never be sure whether
Justin's acquiescence is real or is the byproduct of a learned
obedience.

"I do not know."

Chris nods.  "Maybe another time then."

"I don't mean to disappoint," Justin quickly replies.  "I simply do
not *know*, having never done such before."

"You don't disappoint me.  I just don't want to force you into
anything you don't want to do.  But would you like to try it
anyway?"

"Will it hurt you?"

"Less than it hurts you."

Justin nods, then, because he can see that this is what Chris
wants.

"I want this to be something I can give you," Chris says, touching
Justin gently.  "And," he grins, "it feels good, too."

Justin smiles at Chris and rises to get the oil from his bag.  The
vial is close to empty, but there is enough for this, he thinks.

Chris's grin doesn't waver as he turns on his side to watch Justin.

Justin kneels next to Chris.  "How shall we do this?"

"Exactly the same way I do with you is fine.  Or you can explore if
you want."  Chris spreads his arms.  "I'm all yours, and at your
mercy."

Justin shakes his head at Chris's flights of fancy.  He kneels
there until Chris turns onto his stomach, and then he prepares
Chris as he prepares himself.

Chris makes pleased little noises as Justin works his fingers
inside.

Justin makes sure that Chris is slick as he can be.  "Is this
enough?" he asks, having no quantifiable idea of how much
stretching is enough, when it's another person you're doing the
stretching on.  Or in.  As the case may be.

"It's good."

Justin withdraws his fingers and moves his body between Chris's
legs.  He presses his penis against the entrance to Chris's body. 
But he cannot penetrate.  He keeps slipping away.

Chris bites his lip so he won't laugh.  But it's kinda comical.

Justin finally laughs.  "What am I doing wrong?"

"I think we're both too slick and you could maybe push harder.  You
really have to use your hand to guide it in."

Justin sighs.  "I would be whipped for this, at home," he notes. 
He uses his hand, pushing more firmly than he'd dared before.  He
slides into Chris's body.  And it's *hot* and *tight* and so much
better than a hand.  It's *wet*, though not as wet as Chris's
mouth.  

Chris gasps even as he's formulating a reply to Justin's comment. 
"You... no one's going to whip you..."

Justin asks, "Is it okay?"

Chris gasps again.  "Stop asking damn silly questions and fuck me!"

Justin slides and he can't help feeling that this is all too easy
now, and he must be doing something wrong.  But he can't stop,
because it also feels incredibly right.

When Justin starts to move, Chris groans deep in his throat and
angles himself to move with Justin.

Justin clings to Chris, holding tightly at whatever bit of sweaty
skin he can reach.  He can hear himself making strange, animal
noises.  He doesn't care.

Chris urges Justin on wordlessly, making crooning noises and
encouraging him to thrust as hard and deep as he wants.

Justin cries out, clutching at Chris's hips, and comes.  His hips
snap against Chris as hard as they can with each wave of pleasure.

Justin's uninhibited orgasm turns Chris on greatly.  He wraps his
hand around his own erection and gets himself off fiercely and
quickly.

Justin collapses against Chris, completely insensate.

Chris wraps Justin in his arms and kisses his temple repeatedly.

Justin blinks and turns to Chris.  "Oh."

"Yes," Chris says.

"Oh, no," Justin says, suddenly realizing.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry!"  He looks down, and Chris isn't hard.  Justin's nearly
crying now.  He likes Chris.  He didn't want to fail Chris,
especially not like this.

"What?" Chris asks.  He shifts to cradle Justin in his arms. 
"What, sweetling?  What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Chris strokes Justin's hair, holding him close to his chest. 
"Didn't mean to do what?"

"To pleasure myself, and not you."

Chris nearly laughs with relief that there's nothing serious wrong. 
"Don't worry.  I couldn't wait.  I took care of myself."

"I'm sorry," Justin whispers, and begins crying.

Now Chris is worried again.  "Justin, sweetling, you don't have to
be sorry.  I *liked* it.  You turned me on so much I had to take
care of it right then.  But even if I hadn't, nothing would be
wrong and I wouldn't be mad at you."

"But I'm supposed to pleasure you!"

"You did.  It gave me much pleasure to feel you letting go and
enjoying me.  So much pleasure that I couldn't wait until you were
finished to let you take care of me."  Chris kisses Justin's hair.

Justin shakes his head, but stays silent.  He will do better.  He
must do better.

"If you need to blame someone, blame me for being selfish and not
thinking of what you needed."

Justin shakes his head again.  This is what he is, and what he is
meant to do.  Without it, he is no one and nothing.

Chris sighs and kisses Justin's hair again.  "I love you.  I'm
sorry I hurt you.  I meant you to enjoy that."

"It was so good.  It was wonderful," Justin says.  "I just forgot. 
I didn't mean to forget."

Chris kisses him.  "I promise to do better next time and let you
give me pleasure instead of doing it myself."

"I should have brought you pleasure before my pleasure came to me,"
Justin murmurs.  He shivers pleasantly.  "But it felt *so* *good*."

Chris grins at him, enjoying the way Justin feels right now,
trembling against him.  "I liked it, too."

Justin blushes.  "Do I feel like that to you?"

"Yes.  Every time."

Justin says, "I understand."

"What do you understand?" Chris asks.  He's breathing more calmly
now that Justin seems to be over his crisis.

"How you feel.  Why it's like that."

"So intense, you mean?"

Justin thinks that that would be a 'nice' way to say what he means. 
"Yes."

Chris thinks he hears some frustration in Justin's voice at the
limitations of language to express what he wants to say.  "Tell me
how it feels to you.  Use whatever words you want."

Justin explains, haltingly, and in three different languages, that
he loves pleasuring Chris.  He loves being there, and knowing that
he gives Chris pleasure.  More than anything, he wants to always do
this.  But when Chris takes him, it hurts.  And Justin understands
now that the feelings are so intense, the sensations so great, that
there is not a way to be gentle, to make it not hurt.

Chris's expression is troubled.  "It always hurts when I take you? 
What kind of pain?"

Justin shakes his head in confusion.  "The kind that hurts the
body, not the heart?"

"Is it a sharp pain?  A big, bad pain?  Or a ripping and tearing
kind of pain?"

Justin shakes his head.  "Like fire.  Like what fire does.  Burn."

Chris nods.  "Just for a little while though?  At the beginning?"

"It's all.  Not as bad as at the beginning, but all through." 
Justin shakes his head.  "I don't understand.  What did I do
wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong.  If you feel like that every time I
take you, then I have been doing something wrong."

"No!"

"No?  No about what?"

"No, you have done nothing wrong!  This is how it feels.  We
learned this."

"No.  That is a mistruth.  Not a lie, but not the truth either.  If
you are stretched and made slick within, and I take care to give
you pleasure as I have you, then it should only burn at first, for
a little while, then feel good."

"This is not what we learn."

Chris closes his eyes, feeling sad.  "What you learn is also true. 
But only if the one taking you has no care for how you feel."

Justin touches Chris's face, fingertips ghosting along Chris's
cheek.  "You have care for how I feel," he replies.

"Yes, sweetling, I do.  I am sorry that I've been hurting you
without knowing it.  I will try harder so that I may never hurt you
again."

"I don't have care about the hurt."  Justin presses his face to
Chris's.  "I have care about you."

"And I have care about you," Chris says, stroking Justin's cheek. 
"I do not want you to ever be hurt."

Justin nods.  "I want to hold you, in my heart."

"You are already in mine."

Justin kisses Chris, slowly.  Because he may love Chris already. 
He just doesn't know, yet, what love really is.

Chris feels the cautious beginnings of happiness blooming inside
his chest.  He already has Justin's adulation and devotion.  But
it's Justin's willing friendship and love that he treasures as
Justin slowly opens to him.

Justin breaks the kiss and smiles stupidly at Chris.

Chris brushes Justin's smile with his thumb and smiles back.

"So.  A boat."  Justin's not homesick any more.  He's got Chris.

"A ship," Chris corrects.  "A boat is a vessel that can be carried
by another vessel.  A ship is a vessel that can carry other
vessels."

"Will there be other vessels on our vessel?"

"Yes.  There will be small boats for putting into shore and for
other things."

"Putting what into the shore?"

"People.  Ships need a harbor to sail into.  Some places don't have
harbors.  So they ferry people and goods to and from the ship with
boats."

"Oh."

"It's a small thing to people who stay on the land," Chris
explains, enjoying the feel of having Justin close, "but a sailor
considers it a great insult to have his ship called a boat."

"I'll be careful," Justin assures Chris.

"Good."  Chris kisses him.

Justin kisses back.

There are many more things Chris could find to say, but Justin is
very distracting and he has no reason whatsoever to resist.

~~~~

Chris wakes up next morning to Justin sitting up next to him on the
bed.  Justin's got his hands around his middle and is nearly
bouncing with restrained excitement.  His eyes are bright and his
smile gleams when he sees that Chris is looking at him.

"You found someone who has kittens, didn't you?"  Chris asks.

Justin nods.

"And you want to pick one out as soon as possible."

"When you're ready.  They're not going anywhere."

Chris raises his eyebrows at that.  "Really?  That's interesting. 
I'd expected you to rush me out of bed because you're thinking that
all of the kittens will be gone before you can get there."

"They said they'd wait for us."

"Got everything covered, do you?"  Chris heaves himself out of the
bed.  "Better not waste any time then."

Justin rises to get Chris's clothes for the day, as Chris uses the
bathroom.  "Are we having sex this morning?" he calls to Chris.

"No.  I want to get going and get you a kitten before you die of
excitement."

Justin beams.  "You have no idea how hard it was to find kittens
without talking!  Well.  It wasn't really hard," he admits a moment
later.  "They're in the kitchen."

Chris comes out of the bathroom and stares at him.  "You do know
that you are allowed to talk with other people now, do you not? 
Particularly people with whom you need to conduct business."

"No, I didn't know.  But it's what I'm used to," Justin says.

"You are," Chris says firmly.  "Although," he adds more gently,
stepping forward and caressing Justin's arm before moving to dress,
"if it is not necessary to speak to someone other than me, then you
need not.  I respect your intentions, and am honored by your
devotion.  But unfortunately, it's unlikely that anyone we will
meet would know your sign language, and it is better to speak than
to do without vital supplies or information due to custom."

"Yes, Chris."  Justin holds Chris's pants, shirt and vest for him.

Chris lets Justin assist him into his clothing, and then stops
Justin, putting his arms around him.  Looking into Justin's eyes,
he says again, "Your behavior honors me."

"I am glad."

Chris kisses Justin's cheek.  "Am I presentable?  If so, we'll
fetch your kitten now."

"Yes, you look most fine."

Chris wriggles his feet.  "Could use shoes, though, I suppose."

Justin laughs and kneels to pull Chris's boots on.

Once he's suitably accoutered, Chris leads the expedition to find
Justin a kitten.

Justin leads Chris to the kitchen, and then to a neat and tidy
storeroom.  The kittens are unattended, curled up in a corner.

"Fuzzy and adorable," Chris pronounces.

Justin kneels beside them.  "They're so little."

"Surprisingly," Chris observes dryly, "they grow."

Justin looks up at Chris.  "Should we not take a big one, then?" 
He regretfully stands.  "One that is already as large as it will
be, so we know what we are getting."

Chris shakes his head.  "The size of the grown cat is not of any
great importance.  The demeanor of the kitten is the best
determiner of what the grown cat will be like."

Justin nods.  "You know much more than I.  Which should we take?"
he asks.

"One of our adventurers, I should think," Chris says, pointing out
two who have strayed from their mother's side.  "The question is,
are they fearless explorers and friends to all they meet, except
their dastardly enemies, the rats -- or are they vicious little
brutes, hiding in the dark and waiting to strike?  Or for that
matter, cowards."  Justin is looking at him expectantly.  "Go
ahead.  Conduct reconnaissance."

"Recon--?"

Chris smiles.  "Go.  Look.  See."

Justin sits on the floor and looks at the little cats.  The cats
look back, sort of.  They mew in his direction anyway.  Justin mews
back.

Chris's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

One kitten skids over its own feet to run away.  The other just
cocks its head and mews louder.

Chris watches as Justin stretches out and puts out his hand.  The
kitten sniffs it, kneads it with two tiny paws, then tries to get
inside Justin's sleeve.

Justin giggles, charmed.

"It seems we have our future cat.  Is it male or female?"

Justin looks at the cat.  "It's furry."

Chris laughs and kneels down.  Inspecting the kitten, he says,
"You're in luck.  It's a she."

Justin picks up the kitten.  She starts crying worriedly.

"She's sad," Justin says, frowning.

"She will be for a while.  Perhaps a day or two."

Justin looks at Chris, brow furrowed.  "Is it not cruel?"

Chris's hand makes an abortive move toward Justin.  "Was it cruel
to take you from your home?  Would you prefer that I had left you
there or that I return you?"

"But I am a man.  I understand the whys of my life.  Besides, I do
not have a family.  Or, I did not."  He frowns.  "I am unsure on
that."

"It was cruel," Chris says.  "Cruel beyond belief.  And so is this. 
But in time, she will become used to us and you to me, and it will
seem normal.  Perhaps even preferable."

"It does not feel cruel," Justin says.  "Leaving my place."

"I'm glad for that."

Justin lifts the cat up, cradling her close to him.  "It's all
right."  He looks up at Chris.  "Is the big cat going to be mad at
us?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No idea.  You'd think she'd be relieved
that there's one less to have to feed."

"Is this one big enough to leave yet?"

Chris looks the kittens over with a critical eye and spots one
lapping at a bowl of water.  "Yes, I think they are.  They're
trying to feed themselves; that's a good sign."

Justin holds the fuzzy kitten against his cheek.  "I like her."

"You can name her.  Not that she'll answer to it, naturally."

"What does one name a cat?"

"As it does not matter to the cat, whatever one wishes."

Justin holds the cat up to Chris.  "You name her."

Chris shakes his head.  "The privilege is yours."

"I've never named anything," Justin says.  "I know not how."

"One way is to use the name of a favored friend or relative. 
Another is to name the animal after a quality it possesses.  For
some reason, white kittens are frequently named 'Snowball'.  Or you
may simply call her 'Cat'."

"I don't think she wants to be called 'Cat'," Justin says, standing
carefully.  "I did not like being called 'boy'."

"Then a different name," Chris says, rising as well.  "Think on it
a while."

Justin holds the kitten close to him.  "What will she eat?  Other
than mice."

"Milk.  Water.  Meat, if ground sufficiently or not too tough. 
Cats, and most especially kittens, take very small bites."

"They have very small mouths," Justin says solemnly.

"Yes, they do.  And she is all yours now.  I leave all matters of
kitten care, training and feeding to you."

"Yes, sir."

Chris hurts a little hearing that, but eventually, he hopes, he
will be Justin's lover and not his master.

Justin nods silently to the head cook, who is watching them
closely.

"So he does talk," she says.  "We'd thought he might be a mute."

"He is not mute, merely under an oath of silence."

"He's a nice one," she says approvingly.  "Always real polite."

Chris nods and leaves, making sure Justin is with him and not
lagging behind.

Justin stays a proper half step behind Chris.

Chris waits until they're in more neutral surroundings.  "Do you
wish to stay here and acquaint yourself with the kitten and the
kitten with her new surroundings, or would you prefer to go
shopping with me?  You're welcome to bring her with you."

"Go?  Out there?  I'm allowed to go out?"

"Of course," Chris says, brows furrowing.  "Why would you not be?"

"Personal servants rarely leave their homes, unless traveling."

"In your country," Chris says.  "However, here, it's more common
for those of high rank to never leave their homes unless for a
party.  They would send a servant to do their shopping.  However,
while it is possible and allowed for you to do so, I would not
advise going out alone in this place.  You would be at risk in this
city.  And I, being a cad, a rogue and a scandal, enjoy doing my
own shopping."

"Our powerful do not go out," Justin says.  "But their *personal*
servants do not go out either.  We will go with you, if we may," he
adds.

"You may," Chris says.

Justin smiles and finds his newly cleaned burnoose.  Covered thus
from head to toe, he tucks the kitten inside the folds and looks
expectantly at Chris.

Chris shakes his head, but smiles.  "That's fine here, but when we
leave, you'll need to either learn how to fit in there and show
your face, or find a way to adapt your coverings to match the
styles of the different cultures we will meet."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris leads them downstairs, where an efficient servant says that
he'll have a carriage brought for them immediately to convey them
to the market section of town and that it will wait for them if
they so choose.  Chris thanks him and accepts the ride, but tells
the man not to have the carriage wait, as they'll be some time.

Justin's kitten has stopped crying and made herself into a little
ball in his pocket.  She's a warm weight against his lower chest,
and he can feel her breathe.

Chris takes Justin's hand on the ride in, squeezing it gently
before loosening his grip and moving to rub small circles on the
back of Justin's hand with his thumb.

Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder.  By slumping down, he can
make it look like a perfectly natural, fraternal thing to do.

Chris nuzzles Justin's hair.

Algiers is the kind of city where anything can be had.  The reason
Chris had not wanted Justin to come here alone is that he is
certain that someone like Justin ranks high on the shopping list of
more than one potential buyer.  He does not know that Justin can
defend himself, or would, if threatened.  Chris can and will.

The carriage lets them out on the fringes of the market district,
before the streets become too narrow to traverse.  Chris makes sure
to assist Justin down, then uses the opportunity to draw Justin
close.  "Stay at my side at all times," he says quietly.  "Do not
stray and do not walk behind me.  I do not wish to lose you."

"Yes," Justin agrees.

Chris gives him a quick, tight smile, and leads him into the noisy
bustle of the market.  The sound is of hundreds of people all
talking at once, some shouting.  Chris follows his nose toward the
cinnamon.

Justin keeps his eyes mostly on Chris, but he's still fascinated by
all the unusual goods he glimpses out of the corners of his eyes.

Chris is not actively seeking cinnamon, as it is rare here and
common where they are going, but he is interested in spices.  What
is common here will be priceless abroad, and spices are light and
travel well.

Justin sneezes as multiple scents come to his nose.  He opens his
eyes and Chris is a step away.  Justin rushes to catch up.

Chris doesn't notice Justin being lost.  He's inquiring into local
prices for cacao beans and tobacco, as well as sea salt and other
such commodities.

Justin catches up to Chris, settling his body very close to Chris's
side.

Chris rubs his cheek absently against Justin's shoulder.  The basil
is dried, not fresh, as one would expect considering it's being
advertised as authentic Italian.  He doesn't like the smell though. 
"Do you have a favorite spice, Justin?" he asks.

"No, Chris."

Chris buys some of the better-priced and less expensive spices.  He
doesn't care for curry, which is used in an overabundance in Indian
cuisine.

Justin says, "I should have brought a basket."

Chris grins at him.  "We can get one.  They do sell baskets."

"Yes, but I have one.  It's wasteful to buy another."

Chris shrugs.  "If we need it, then it's not wasteful.  Come. 
There's many other things to see and buy."

Justin falls back into place next to Chris.  After a moment he
laughs.  "The kitten is sneezing."

Chris chuckles.  He buys a basket despite Justin's disapproval and
carries it until Justin sulks so much that Chris hands it over for
him to carry.  Chris does not take everything he buys with him. 
Some things he makes arrangements to have delivered.  Others, like
a pack of cards and a pair of dice are wrapped up and dropped into
the basket.

Chris stops to look at local perfumes.  Justin studies the fabric
booth next to the perfumes from Chris's side.

When Chris is through inventorying the perfumes and assessing the
level of craft available here, both for profitability in taking
elsewhere and for profitability in importing it back, he buys two
small vials.  He turns to Justin, whose gaze is fixated on the
cloth merchant.  "Is there something you would like or could use?"

"I don't think so.  It's just pretty.  Interesting."

Chris tucks his hand under Justin's arm.  "You have a good eye for
cloth and clothing.  Better than mine.  If you see something that
might be useful, say so."

Justin flushes.  "It really is just pretty," he protests, but he
leads Chris to the shimmering fabric he's been looking at.  There
are lengths in a number of different jewel and earth tones.  He
touches the fabric and finds it comparable to what he's worked with
before, though with a little more body for all it is lightweight.

Chris watches him and nods as Justin explains which lengths he
likes most and why.  When Justin finally runs down, Chris buys all
of the lengths Justin had indicated.

Justin's eyes are wide.  "Chris!"

"Do you think we need some contrasting shades to go with this? 
Plain, perhaps, to show it off to its best effect?"

"Yes.  That one."

Chris smiles at him and buys that, too.  He should have thought of
cloth before.  This region of the world is renowned for its weaving
and fabric making.

Justin frowns.  "This place we go, how do their formal outfits
look?"

"They're..."  Chris tries to gesture with his hands, but it's
futile for pointing out detail.  "Their clothes are tight and
frequently silk.  Frequently, it's a long, closely fitting,
elaborate patterned tunic over fuller pants, all of the same color
and material."

"With trim or embroidery?"

"No real trim; a thin black border when there is.  No embroidery --
all of the patterning is in the fabric."

Justin sighs.  "Can one weave on a ship, do you suppose?"

Chris shrugs.  "Fine weaving, no.  In terms of basic sewing and the
like, the crew does that daily."  He considers Justin.  "But if
your needs are not too great, it is possible we can acquire
whatever it is that you would have to have."

"The fabric, Chris.  If the pattern is inlaid, I have to *make*
it."  He looks at the stall, finding only small amounts of such
fabric at what he considers an exorbitant price.  Especially
knowing that those who made it were most likely not paid at all.

"I know nothing of such things.  But if it's possible, I will help
you do it."

Justin considers, biting his lip and petting the kitten, who is
awake and battling with his fingers.  "Are there other cloth
merchants?  We would not need *much*.  And, truly, it is very hard
to weave what you describe without a large space."

"There are no large spaces aboard a ship.  All space will be filled
by crew or by cargo.  But there are other cloth merchants.  We can
visit all of them until you find something to your liking."

"May we?" Justin asks.  "That would be so much simpler."

"Of course."

Justin smiles.

Chris smiles back at him, hoping they're one day closer to Justin
realizing that Chris would give him anything he desires so long as
it isn't something that would harm him.

Justin's stomach rumbles at the walk.  He ignores it and
concentrates on the textiles they pass.  He also convinces Chris to
buy a quantity of glass beads for trade purposes.  "All women love
beads.  They're pretty and simple and shiny.  Of course, I like
beads, too."

"Which is why I find it so easy to tell you apart from a woman,"
Chris teases.

Justin smiles and says, "Ooh!  Ribbons!"

"Yes, you're definitely female," Chris says, and steers them closer
to the ribbon stall.

Justin frowns.  "Chris, I think the kitten is thirsty."  He brings
her out of his robe, and she immediately starts sucking on the
fingers of the hand holding her.

Chris nods and changes direction toward the sound of bleating.  "It
should be easy enough to get some goat's milk."  The idea of
adorable young helpless things being hungry makes him think of
Justin.  "Shall we pause for the moment and get something for our
own selves to eat once we've satisfied the kitten?"

"If you wish.  I could eat."

"If you are hungry, then it is my wish that you eat."

"After the kitten," Justin insists.

Chris nods and keeps walking.  He negotiates purchase of a skin of
goat's milk and passes it to Justin, leaving it to him to discover
how to get the kitten to drink it.

As Justin lets the kitten lick drops of milk from his fingertip,
Chris puts his hand back under Justin's elbow and steers them
slightly away from the market district and toward a restaurant he
saw on his last visit.

Justin croons to the kitten and lets Chris guide him.

As they step in out of the brightness into the relative gloom of
the restaurant, Chris has to pause to let his eyes adjust.

In that small space of time, the proprietor notices them and rushes
forward to find he and his 'wife' seats.

Chris is quietly amused, and orders for both himself and Justin,
seeing that Justin's attention is too much taken by the kitten to
bother with small matters like the ordering of food to sate his own
hunger.

"What kind of place is this?" Justin asks.  The kitten is done
eating, and now slowly totters around the table, exploring.

"Truthfully?  It's a Moroccan restaurant that pretends to be Greek
and fails.  But their pastries are quite excellent, although, while
they seem to understand the general concept of salad, they lack the
requisite variety and freshness of vegetables to pull it off and so
substitute creativity."

"Oh."  Justin has no idea what Chris just said.

"I think you'll like them, and if you don't, there's still dinner
later."

Justin smiles at Chris.  "I'm sure I'll like them."

Chris really has no defenses against that smile.  "We could see
about having your ring resized today, so that it fits on the proper
finger."

Justin looks down.  "I've gotten used to it.  I forget I'm wearing
it."

"Does that mean you'd rather not?" Chris asks softly.  "I thought
it would be a good idea to do things properly, even if the meaning
is only symbolic.  But if you're comfortable like this, I'll not
make you change."

"No, it would be well to do it right.  I will get used to the
feeling again.  With or without the ring, I know I am yours."

"With or without the ring, I know that I wish you to be mine."

Justin blushes and ducks his face, smiling hard at the table.  "I
am."

"As I am yours," Chris says quietly.

Justin smiles at Chris.  He has no words.

Chris holds his tongue after that, not wishing to embarrass Justin
into silence.

Justin's kitten begins trying to climb Chris's shirt.  Justin
giggles behind his hand.

Chris carefully untangles the kitten's claws and settles her on his
shoulder.  She mews pitifully at him for a few moments, then starts
licking his ear lobe.

Justin watches, wide-eyed.  Chris likes it when *Justin* does that.

Chris makes a face at Justin.  "She must think I need washing."

"I washed you last night," Justin notes.

"Not thoroughly enough, apparently."

"I'll have to take her method, maybe?" Justin suggests, looking at
Chris through his lashes.

Chris laughs, then sobers as he realizes Justin is serious.  He
swallows.  "That, ah, sounds good."

Justin smiles a small, satisfied smile.

Chris plucks the kitten off his shoulder and passes her back to
Justin.  He doesn't think it's a safe idea to sit there and be
licked by anything while looking at Justin and thinking about his
clever tongue.

Justin accepts the kitten.  "Ow!  She's sharp," he says, settling
her back in his burnoose.  He sucks on the bleeding finger her
claws pricked.

"Cats frequently are, although they tend to get better at only
clawing those who have offended them as they get older."

Justin pouts.

"What?"

"I thought you'd say I was cute."

"You're not.  You're lovely, lithe and could arouse lascivious
desires in a dead man.  But you know that already."

"I do?"

Chris lifts his eyebrows.  "You don't?"

"If you say I do, Chris."

"You're lovely to behold, and I know no one who would disagree. 
Except, obviously, yourself."

"No, Chris, I don't disagree."

"Then why do you say you only know it if I say you do?"

"I know I am lovely.  I am meant to be lovely.  You said... you
said 'lithe'?  And that I could arouse a dead man.  This is not
true."

"Lithe.  Graceful, slim.  Long limbs arranged just so and spread
out beckoning on a bed.  The other was hyperbole."

Chris was thinking of him naked.  "Hi-per-bowlee?"

"An exaggeration."

"Oh."

"Are you upset?" Chris asks, just as food is set down on the table.

Justin waits until the boy leaves to answer.  "No.  I am confused."

"I am glad that it is only confusion.  I would be upset with myself
if I had hurt your feelings or made you angry with me.  What are
you confused about?"

"Should I like that I would be arousing to other men?"

"You should be proud that you're attractive."

"I see."

"Are you ashamed that I find you so?"

"No!"

"You are mine and mine alone, but I confess that I am proud you
are."  Chris takes fork in hand and begins to eat.

Justin copies Chris.

Chris eats slowly.  He isn't particularly hungry, but a meal will
do him no harm.  He must remember to compensate for Justin's
appetite in the future.  There is no reason at present for Justin
to be skipping meals, although, in the future, that may change. 
Chris is certainly good enough at forgetting to eat if something
more exciting is going on.  It is also one of the hazards of
diplomacy.  Both overeating and never eating.  "Thinking about
eating," he says, "I would appreciate it if you could think of a
discreet way to remind me to do so when we actually visit Ceylon. 
It is something I often forget."

"I will, Chris."

Chris smiles at him.  "Thank you."

Justin smiles back, and attempts to eat more of this strange food.

When they're done eating, Chris takes Justin back out into the
market.  He asks Justin's opinion on most of his purchases, and
anything Justin disapproves of, he doesn't buy.

Chris hires a conveyance to take them back once he realizes that
the basket has gotten too heavy and unwieldy for Justin to carry it
easily.  Not that Justin utters a word of complaint, of course. 
Chris suspects that Justin would rather let Chris parade him around
barefaced than complain about anything.

The carriage on the way back to the embassy is a little bigger. 
But not much.  Justin settles the basket on his lap and removes the
squirming kitten from his robes.  "Would you like to carry her?" he
asks Chris.

"I could take the basket," Chris suggests.

Justin's taken aback.  "Whatever you wish," he murmurs.

"Play with the kitten, Justin," Chris says and takes the basket
away from him.

Justin offers the kitten his hand.  She disdains to care,
proceeding to jump into the basket.

Chris laughs.  "Nothing's more contrary than a cat."

"I see."

"You might try getting her to drink more of the milk, if you have
any left."

Justin pulls the skin out of the basket along with a scrap of
fabric.  "Here, kitty," he croons, offering her the wetted corner
of the cloth.

Chris grins as the kitten is coaxed ever so slowly into Justin's
lap.

Justin feeds the kitten until she looks up at him and mews rather
than sucking at the fabric.  She turns and climbs back into the
basket, curling up on top of the fabrics to sleep.

"Only likes you while she's eating.  I know people like that."

"She's probably better like that, though.  Then she'll kill the
rats better," Justin says.  It doesn't matter if the kitty likes
him, after all.  She's supposed to be a necessity.

"Mmm.  Maybe.  Some of the best mousers adore people.  They bring
the rats back as gifts for you even.  And some of the worst
people-hating cats sleep all day and do absolutely nothing."

"Well.  She likes you," Justin says.  The cat is now curling up
against Chris's stomach at the edge of the basket.

"Probably because I'm all soft around the middle."

"You are?"

"Yes.  Did you want to feel for yourself?"

Justin feels.  "But I didn't notice.  That you were *soft*, I mean. 
I just like you."  He leans into Chris's side.

Chris doesn't have an arm free to wrap around Justin, but he would
if he could.  "And I appreciate that."

They come to a stop before the embassy.  Justin climbs down and
steadies Chris as he descends with the basket.

Chris hands the basket to Justin when it looks like Justin might
faint from the stress of having his 'master' doing manual labor.

Justin holds the basket close.  "Where's the...?"  But the kitten
is on Chris's shoulder, draped out and sleeping.  Justin nearly
laughs.

Chris puts his finger to his lip and walks with exaggerated care so
as not to disturb the sleeping kitten.

Justin has to bite his lip to keep from giggling as he follows
Chris back to their rooms.

Several of their purchases are already piled inside.  They make a
bulky stack, which he'll have to reduce to as small a size as he
can, because most of these will be traveling with them, rather than
packed in the hold.  For that matter, he needs to sort out what can
go in the hold with the rest of the diplomatic baggage like the
costumes he'll be wearing and the gifts from His Majesty's
government and interested companies.

Justin sorts through the bundles.  "Do we need the finer fabrics on
the way?  I'd thought they'd make better gifts once there."

"Whatever you think is best.  I wouldn't have thought of taking
cloth.  It would probably be best to take along enough to keep you
busy.  There will be much time.  But do set aside anything you
think is especially fine.  We may indeed be able to make use of it
as a gift -- or we may find ourselves stunningly underdressed and
in need of making a better impression."

"Yes, Chris.  The scents?"

"Mmm.  Leave one or two in our baggage; they might be useful as
trinkets to convince others to do what we wish them to do.  But
most should be packed."

Justin continues sorting things, occasionally packing and unpacking
one of Chris's trunks.

Chris sits down cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching
Justin.  "The hot spices go in our luggage, the rest are for
Ceylon."

Justin nods and finally packs the trunk for real.  Their purchases
for the day take up less than a third of the space, once he has
tightly rolled the fabric and packed the glass vials in the middle
of the rolls.

"Don't fret.  We can still buy more.  We have yet to find any
books."

"It will be very heavy," Justin notes.

"Heavy is fine.  It's the amount of space it takes up.  By the time
we get to Ceylon, most of it will be gone."

Justin nods.

"Come here?" Chris requests.

Justin knee-walks over to Chris.

Chris ignores the protests from the kitten as he reaches up to
frame Justin's face with his hands.  "Thank you." He kisses Justin
softly.

Justin kisses back, hands resting lightly on Chris's knees. 
"You're most welcome," he whispers when Chris pulls back.

Chris smiles at him.  "Would you care to rest or to bathe before
dinner?"

"Rest?"

"Lie in bed and play with the kitten and let me pet your hair?"

"Yes." Justin crawls onto the bed.

Chris follows him, humming happily.  He scoops the kitten up and
deposits her next to Justin, then lies down next to Justin.

Justin offers his fingers to the kitten.  She lays down in his
hand.  "So little."

"Yes." Chris curls up beside them and reaches out a hand.  Gently
he strokes Justin's hair and watches him taking care of the kitten.

Justin's eyes close.  The kitten is purring in his hand and he
feels like purring under Chris's.

Chris watches them until he's yawning, and then he closes his eyes
and lets himself fall asleep.

~~~~

Justin doesn't get seasick, though Chris does.  Justin spends that
week teaching the cat to stalk and kill mice and rats in their
cabin.

As soon as Chris is able to get out of bed and slip past Justin, he
does.  The worst place to be while seasick is below deck.  Much
better to be above deck.  Plus then the vomit -- if properly timed
-- goes overboard and doesn't keep stinking up the place for hours
afterward.

Justin hears Chris leave.  He takes the opportunity to clean up the
cabin.

Chris is a lot happier up on deck, hanging over the railing.  The
sea air doesn't hurt either when it comes to making him feel
better.  He'd do the whole trip from up here if it wouldn't upset
Justin.

Justin waits an hour before following Chris.  "Do you need
anything?" he asks quietly.

Chris bumps elbows with Justin.  "Not right now.  I feel better
already."

Justin smiles.  Not that Chris can see it.  Justin's back to
wearing his robe from home.

"Is it that cold out here?" Chris asks.

"No.  It is nice."

Chris nods.  "Because if you're too warm, you don't have to wear
all of that."

"I am well," Justin says.

"All right then."

"You feel better now?"

"Yes.  Just don't mention food."

"I shan't."

"Thank you.  Did I ever mention how good and kind and wonderful you
are?  Because I really appreciate you.  Especially right now."

Justin leans into Chris for a moment.  "I am glad to be of
service."

"Yes," Chris agrees after a moment.  "You are of much good
service."

Justin says, "I can be of service any time you wish it."

Chris reaches out and pats Justin's hand once, before resuming his
death grip on the rail.  "That's very kind of you, but I do not
wish any service at the present moment."

Justin sighs.  "I'm sorry you are ill.  It is not fair.  You do not
deserve to be ill."

"Fair is a myth.  Most of us never get what we deserve, and as much
as I praise God for anything, I do for that."

Justin bows his head.

"Do you wish to read or sew or sleep?  You don't have to keep watch
over me.  You may do as you please."

"Yes, Chris," Justin replies, and goes back to the cabin.  He sits
and resumes embroidering a formal tunic for Chris.

Chris sighs and clings to the rail.  He's used to the loneliness of
traveling, although, if he were not sick, he would try to strike up
an acquaintance with his fellow travelers.  Sailors, in particular,
were always fond of finding someone new who they could fleece of
their money at dice.  But at the moment, he's purely miserable and
it strikes him that Justin would rather be anywhere than with him. 
And that it's right that Justin do so, because he does not wish to
own Justin.  Chris wishes Justin to choose him of his own free
will.

Justin is not comfortable on deck.  There are so many people, and
they are crude.  The men look at him and call him names he does not
understand.  It scares him.  He much prefers hiding with the kitten
and Chris in stale air to facing such in the fresh air.

When Chris feels he can stand it, he goes below deck.  He doesn't
like it, but this is far from his first sea voyage and he keeps
going.  He knows that, emotionally, Justin owns him far more
thoroughly than Chris's legal hold on Justin.  He enters their
cabin and, seeing Justin at work, finds a book and takes a spot
near him, not that any spots are very far away.  He'd taken the
first ship heading in their direction, and the merchanter barely
had room for its own crew, much less them.  It's laden with goods,
and her wallowing shape makes her a fair target for any pirates or
privateers.

Justin sets aside his sewing and takes a place on the floor, laying
his head on Chris's knee.  The kitten immediately jumps on his
work.  "She only does that when I'm working with silk," he notes,
untangling cat and cloth.

"Cats adore being the center of attention."  Chris threads his
fingers through Justin's hair, feeling more settled thereby. 
"Also, they seem to delight in being forces for destruction."

"Silk," Justin notes.  The kitten purrs.  "I think we'll call you
Silk."

"Hmm, Silk.  I like it."

The kitten pounces on Chris's foot.  Justin giggles.

Chris pretends to scowl.  "I am *not* a playtoy."

Justin picks the kitten up and taps her on the nose.  "No," he says
firmly before releasing her.

"That probably won't work, but it's worth trying."

"She's a good kitty," Justin says fondly.

Chris nods.

Justin looks up at Chris.  He feels so odd around Chris since they
got on the ship.  Almost the way he sometimes felt around Lance and
Nick.  The way he'd feel before he knew to go take a cold, cold
bath.

"What are you thinking to look so serious all of a sudden?" Chris
asks.

"You."

"What about me?" Chris asks, sitting back and relaxing.  They have
a good deal of time to themselves on this voyage and he expects
that Justin'll use it to get better acquainted with him.

"The way I feel around you now."

"And how is that?"

"I don't know."  Justin frowns.  "I don't know what it is."

"Is it comfortable, uneasy, angry, thoughtful?  Or is it something
you think when you're around me rather than something you feel?"

"I feel.  My stomach feels funny."  Justin looks up at Chris.  "I
think..."   He pauses to swallow hard.  He *knows* Chris will not
be mad at him.  But it is still shameful for Justin to say --  But
Chris said Justin could say anything.  "I think it's because I want
you."

Chris smiles at him.  "You have me, and you may have me however you
want me.  I am yours."

Justin shakes his head a little, but doesn't argue.  He can't think
how to make Chris understand, or even decide if he needs to.

"Please tell me?" Chris asks.  "I'd like to understand what you
think about."

"I want you," Justin whispers.  He doesn't know how... He closes
his eyes, to hide his shame.  "I want sex."

"All right," Chris says.  "Ssh, that's not a problem.  I'd love to
have sex with you.  Right now and any time you want.  I'm glad you
want me."

"It's not right, that I should say this to you."

"Why?"  Chris doesn't stop touching Justin's hair.  He'd like to do
more, but he's afraid that he might scare Justin into pulling away. 
"I don't mind.  I'm glad.  I'm happy you want me back and that I'm
not forcing my attentions on you."

"It's wrong for me to think that my want matters enough to say it
to you.  It is disrespectful."

"Your want matters very much to me.  It is not disrespectful.  You
are my lover, not my slave."

Justin curls against Chris's legs.  "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you as well," Chris says, shifting himself so that he can
hold Justin closer.

Justin abandons the floor, crawling into Chris's lap.  "It wasn't
supposed to be this way.  But I'm glad that it is."

"This is what I wanted," Chris confesses.  "I want more still, but
this is definitely part of it."  He doesn't let go of Justin, but
he begins unwrapping his robe, exposing him little by little until
he can reach in and touch Justin intimately.  Let me know if you
want more," he whispers and kisses Justin.

Justin whimpers into Chris's mouth.  He clings, feeling near to
tears with the overwhelming change.  It's a shift of everything
he's ever been taught.  His pleasure, when Chris wants nothing? 
This should be punished.  Justin should be beaten for such
thoughts.  But Chris is here, touching him; stroking him and making
him feel incredible.

Chris keeps kissing Justin, murmuring reassurances.  "You're
beautiful.  You're perfect.  Yes.  Just like that.  I'm all yours. 
Let me know if you want to move to the bed for more.  I'm right
here, all yours."

Justin arches into Chris's touch.  He's losing his grip, he's so
close.  "Chris, oh.  Yes, like..." after than he's just babbling,
begging in every language he knows until he comes in a rush and
lays limp in Chris's arms.

Chris strokes him for a while longer, then removes his hand and
closes Justin's robe, covering him up.  He kisses Justin's cheeks
and forehead.  "Thank you for trusting me."

Justin moans faintly.

Chris's smile grows larger, and he waits for Justin to recover.

Justin lifts his eyes to Chris's.  "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Chris says solemnly.

Justin says, "I didn't know I would miss having sex once I had had
it."

"Yes, you do.  It's easier to abstain if you never have it than if
you have it frequently.  Your body gets used to it.  And then
there's the emotional satisfaction as well.  That's what I missed
most until very recently with you."

"Can I please you?"

"You do please me," Chris says, deliberately misunderstanding. 
"You please me most when you trust me and when you want to be close
to me.  It matters a great deal to me when you say that you love
me."

"You do not wish me to please you physically at this time."

"I don't need you to please me physically at the moment."

Justin blinks.  "I'm tired," he murmurs.  "I want to sleep?"

"I would be delighted to hold you in my arms, if you wish to be
held," Chris murmurs.

Justin stands in front of Chris and strips off his clothing
unselfconsciously, and non-lasciviously.  He is comfortable with
Chris.  "Come hold me, then."

Chris removes his clothing as well, but instead of holding Justin,
he takes his hand and draws him toward the bed.  "I can think of
nothing I would like better."

Justin lays on the bed and holds out his arms for Chris.

Chris follows him, curling up in the circle of Justin's arms and
letting Justin be the one to hold and comfort.

Justin tucks his face against Chris's hair.

Chris sighs happily.  "I feel better when I'm lying down, and when
I can hear your pulse.  It makes me feel stable, even when I know
the ship is still moving."

"The sailors look at me.  I just like being here, with you."

Chris sighs.  He's not sure he can explain the difference between
looking out of curiosity and leering.  And, in any case, Justin's
probably right about the sailors.  "You're safe with me."

"Did I so something wrong?" Justin asks, hearing Chris's tired
sigh.

"No, sweetling.  You just said something that's almost a question,
and I don't know how to answer the implied question."

"I don't know the words they say."  Justin picks at the sheet. 
"They scare me," he mumbles.

"For the most part," and Chris makes sure to emphasize 'most',
"nothing you need worry about.  They're bored men who do a hard job
and whose captain is reluctant to let off the ship, because he's
not sure if they'll come back.  There's a danger there, but it's
not directed at anyone specific.  On the other hand, I think you're
right.  For one thing, I'm not sure they realize you're male.  I
believe that they are indeed looking at you as a sexual creature. 
I don't believe that you're at any risk though, as long as you stay
close to me."

"Should I dress like you, then?"

Chris shrugs.  "I don't know that it matters now.  You're
interesting to them and that won't stop if we make a sudden change
in your appearance.  However, I do think it's one of the best
arguments for trying to dress like the people around you.  It calls
less attention to yourself."

Justin stays silent, considering Chris's words.

Chris nuzzles just a little.  "It's nothing to worry about here. 
What's done is done.  But it is why I modify my style of dress to
match that of the place to which I'm traveling.  And also why I'm
grateful that you are able with a needle."

"Oh."

"Go to sleep now.  You're tired and we have the time."

Justin obediently closes his eyes and heads for sleep.

Chris tries to imagine that the motion of the ship is a gentle
rocking as he attempts to sleep himself.

~~~~

Justin wakes because Silk is standing on his head, trying to attack
his hair.  He frowns at her upside down.

Chris is startled out of slumber by the sensation of cloth slapping
his forehead.  "What?"

Justin shakes his head, and Silk tumbles down onto their chests,
dragging with her a length of thick ribbon.

Little claws prick him on their way down his chest.  Chris yawns
and opens his eyes.  "I see it's time to wake up."

Justin stares.  "The kitty stole the silk ribbon."

"She's aptly named then."

"She's a stealer kitty."

"She's determined."

"I'm glad that you let me keep her.  I like her."

"There was no let about it," Chris says, "but I'm glad you like
her.  It's good for you to have something of your own."

"I have you," Justin says.

Chris smiles.  Justin is beginning to think of Chris as something
that belongs to him.  He's finally getting the point.  "Right.  You
have me, too."

Justin beams.

Chris yawns and closes his eyes again.  He's comfortable and
feeling no nausea.  He has no desire to get up.

Justin strokes Chris's side, and closes his eyes.

"What do you like to do most?" Chris asks, eyes still closed, as if
the question is an idle one, asked on the way to sleep.

"I like to touch you."

Chris nearly ruins the whole effect by snorting.  "You can do that
any time you like.  Is there anything else?"

"I like caring for you and Silk.  I like sex with you."

Chris considers the matter.  It may well be that these are the only
things Justin knows.  Justin's experience is severely limited. 
"Then you must be a happy man, to have so many things you enjoy
readily available."

"I am happy."

"Good."

"Are you happy?" Justin asks.

"For the most part.  I fret too much to ever be content with my
world, but then, if I were content with my world, I would not
bother attempting to repair it."

"Is that what diplomacy is?  Fixing the world?"

"Sometimes.  Sometimes you get to fix things so that one country
will not go to war with another.  And sometimes, like now, you work
so that someone will make more money.  I'm not happy with my
current mission."

"Oh."

"I'm quite happy with you, though."

Justin smiles.

"Will it be an imposition to ask you to leave your face uncovered
while we are in Ceylon?  It is not customary for men to cover their
faces there, not even the servants."

"No.  I will dress as they dress."

"With a little of my own style left so that it is clear that we are
like them, but not of them."

"As you say."

"There is a reason, truly."

"I believe you."

~~~~

Justin believes Chris even more as they board the boat *away* from
Ceylon seven months later.  Every time the negotiations had become
tense, or Chris had been accused of being an outsider, Chris had
found a way to bring the different factions back to a common
ground.  Justin himself was sometimes called on to provide this
common ground.  Though dancing, singing, entertaining and cooking,
he'd given all the delegates similar experiences, at Chris's
command.  Justin feels truly useful for the first time in his life.

He loves Chris more for that.  And it doesn't hurt at all that a
Chris frustrated or pleased by a day's session of diplomacy is a
wonderful thing to have in one's bed.

On this journey, Chris is pleased to see Justin barefaced, although
he insists on wearing a cap.  A cap is in no way unusual, and is
fact, considered de rigueur in many situations, so Justin goes
un-remarked.  He seems more at ease this time, perhaps due to that. 
Or possibly due to their success in Ceylon.  Justin was
instrumental in that, and Chris has tried to let him know how much
Justin's contributions have meant, both to his mission and to him
personally.

Justin cradles Silk in his arms as they sail out of Ceylon.  "Say
bye-bye, kitty," he instructs.

Chris snickers.  "Is she waving goodbye?"

Justin makes her wave.  "Yes."

Chris shakes his head, still grinning.  "I'm surprised she wanted
to leave at all, what with all the silk they have there."

"She's a good kitty, yes, she is," Justin croons.  Silk purrs.

Chris snickers again.  She'd destroyed several cushions due to
loving them too much.  Chris had promptly been presented with the
cushions as a gift, and he'd kept them for Silk.

Justin sighs.  "We'll go to your home now," he murmurs.  "We will
get there before winter?"

Chris shakes his head.  "Most likely not.  But it does not matter. 
Both of my parents have the ill fortune to live in places where the
weather is much the same year-round.  Cold and cloudy for my
father, fitting the grim man that he is, and always raining for my
mother, like constant tears."

Justin frowns.  "I do not like that.  We will make her smile, no?"

"She will smile to see us, yes."

"This is good."

"My mother is a practical woman.  Although she has seen much sorrow
and misery, she makes the best of what she has.  And her
circumstances are much better than they were when I was a child. 
I remember her as a tragic heroine, but in truth, she is in no way
tragic."

"Good," Justin says firmly.

"She will adore you."

Justin smiles.  "I adore you."

"Yes, well, you have no taste," Chris teases.

Justin laughs.

"But, yes, it looks like we shall be home for the winter holidays,
so it behooves us to select proper gifts for those we will be
visiting."

"Holiday?"

"In my country, we celebrate the depth of the winter.  It's both a
religious holiday and a... well, I suppose it would be most
accurate to say that the holiday originates from multiple
religions.  It's customary to give gifts to your friends and
family."

"Why?  For gratitude for something they have done?"

"I suppose that's why some people give gifts, but no.  We give
because we want to do so and to make others feel cherished.  In one
religion, the gift-giving is linked to gifts given to the baby son
of God at his birth."

"I see.  Christian?  Like you are named?"

"Yes.  The Christ-child."

"This is what you believe?"

Chris purses his lips.  "Not in any way that would make sense to
you or anyone else.  Growing up, my name was a bitter joke on my
father, and I learned to treat it as such.  I still do, as you will
learn if we visit him.  But in the course of my travels, I have had
much contact with people from many different religions, and with
many people who espouse no religion at all.  I have come to the
belief that there is no one true religion, but that those who truly
believe are blessed.  I have no respect for the forms of
Christianity, but the meat of it, I know for myself is true." 
Chris looks at Justin.  "And that helps you not at all, does it?"

Justin says, "You believe in one god, and you believe he cares for
you."

"I believe in his son and that there is no salvation save by grace,
and that love is the only and hardest rule to live by."

"I see."

"It is the fashion in my country to either believe utterly in the
forms of religion, to the extent that behavior not condoned by the
forms marks one as an outcast, or to believe not at all.  It is a
strange place even to me."  Chris shrugs.  "I have spent so long
abroad that home is just another foreign country whose habits I
graft atop my own so that I seem like them while remaining myself."

"Do you wish to stay at home?"

Chris shakes his head.  "I call it home, but it isn't.  It does not
feel familiar to me, nor I to it.  No, when I end my vagabond days,
I believe I shall need to seek a new place to live, one without
preconceptions and demands."

Justin sighs.  "This is sad.  This not having a home.  It feels...
lonely.  For I no longer consider my land home, either."

Chris bumps shoulders with him.  "You are not alone and neither am
I.  As long as I am with you, then I am always at home."

Justin leans into Chris and smiles.

"Indeed, look how much my household has grown.  I have you and a
pet.  At this rate, soon there will be a train of followers
accompanying us wherever we go."

"This is common in my land."

"Ah, so you miss having thirty people to order around to make sure
that I am comfortable in every way.  I shall have to acquire a
staff just to keep you happy."

"*I* would not order them around."

"No?"

"No.  Your mother would order them around."

Chris laughs loudly.  "Oh, she would, she would, if she were there. 
My mother takes no nonsense from anyone when she wants something to
get done.  But she would not be part of my household.  Not so long
as she enjoys living on her own."

"She would control your house from wherever she lived to wherever
you lived, until you married.  In my land."

Chris shakes his head.  "Not so where I come from.  And my
situation is anomalous.  Theoretically, as his only heir, my father
has control of my life.  But I am too valuable to the country --
and often, so far out of his reach -- that he can exert none at
all.  And my mother does not wish to run anyone's household but her
own, or to be under anyone's command but her own.  She'd sooner box
my ears than order any servants of mine around."

"Box them?"  Justin looks at Chris's ears.

"It's an expression.  Boxing means to punch, but in this context,
it means that she'd use the opportunity to tell me how thoroughly
foolish I was being."

"Oh!"  Justin lets Silk down to chase after shadows.  "I would not
box your ears."

"No, you would allow me to get away with any nonsense I might
devise, which is equally frightening."

"I frighten you?" Justin asks, beginning to stroll along the rail.

Chris follows him.  "Only in that I worry that you would not tell
me if something bothers you.  I fear you would keep such a thing to
yourself and never mention it to me."

"If it were something that really bothered me, I would tell you. 
If I could not change it myself.  Such as when your feet began to
stink from the heat.  It was easier for me to fix it with lavender
foot baths than to say something."

"Truly?" Chris asks, "You're very wise then.  I shall cease to
worry."

"Do."

"Are you anxious at the thought of seeing my home?"

"Yes."

Chris nods.  "Is there anything I could tell you which would ease
your mind?"

"Teach me how to behave."

Chris gives Justin a furrowed forehead look.  "How to behave like
what?"

"Like I belong there."

"As I don't belong there, I'm not sure I can, but I will do my
best."

"I don't wish to embarrass your mother."

"It's not possible.  I've never managed it yet, no matter how hard
I try."

"You are silly."

"She's well aware of that, yes."

"I like you silly."

Chris grins.  "Good, because I think I'd have a hard time
changing."

Justin grins back.

~~~~

Mail catches up with them in Rome and, as expected, Chris has been
ordered home to see to his family responsibilities.

"Which means," he explains to Justin, "that my father has
officially requested that the Crown have me sent home.  But since
the destination hasn't been made explicit, I go to visit my mother
instead."

"Why does he want you?" Justin asks.

"Based on prior experience, he wants to embrace me as his rightful
heir, nag me about getting a suitable wife and an heir of my own --
and tell me that this situation is all my mother's fault." 
Bitterly, Chris goes on, "half the reason he didn't know about me
was that he never knew her name.  The other half would be that he
never cared about the results of what he did.  And yet, he still
wants to justify himself and make me see him as good, while
simultaneously decrying my mother as an irresponsible whore.  Our
visits tend to be painful."

Justin nods.  "Perhaps... I do not know.  What will be, will be. 
I will be with you."

Chris frowns.  "I'm not sure that's a good idea.  Either one or
both of us might try to use you as a bargaining chip.  Myself to
show my father he can't tell me what to do, and him as someone to
vent his anger on.  He controls himself with me, to an extent, but
he is frightful to what servants still remain.  You would be a
nearly irresistible target for him.  I would not like to take you
there.  But," he adds, "I think you would count it worse to be
abandoned, so I don't know.  I may choose the path of cowardice and
attempt to avoid him altogether."

"It is not cowardice to avoid an unnecessary, unpleasant
situation."

Chris smiles.  It is not yet a happy smile.  "Perhaps.  I certainly
see no way of winning."

Justin turns to face the waves.  "I never thought to see outside
the home of he who took me.  In life, we see many things we never
thought to see."

"I hope you have seen mostly good things so far.  I know I've taken
you far from any life you imagined for yourself."

"Yes.  But I am enjoying it."

"Good."  Chris knows that, in some ways, he's married the rich
princess and forced her to do the labor of household chores. 
Justin's upbringing had taught him to expect a completely pampered
life with many luxuries, little change and the need to keep a
single person happy.  It had not taught him to expect or even think
of this.  

Justin leans over the rail, feeling the sea spray on his face.

Chris rests his hand on Justin's back and thinks envious thoughts
about wars and petty politics and all the things he could be doing
that would be so much easier than going home to see his family.

~~~~

England is cold and wet.  And the clothing is heavy and stifling. 
Justin does not agree with England, who seems to be waging a war on
him.  He slips in his shoes, his skin feels odd with so much heavy
fabric over it, and he's always cold.  Always.  And often wet. 
Because England hates him.

Chris is so full of anticipation, good and bad, that he hardly
notices Justin's misery.  Justin insisted on being dressed like an
Englishman, and, in any case, his own clothes would have been
wildly inappropriate.  They'd had to make do, and Chris has already
made a mental note to take Justin to a tailor's and let Justin and
the tailor come to an agreement on what would suit him best.

He takes no more notice of the rain than Justin would of heat. 
Home is rain.

Silk doesn't like the rain either.  Justin's procured a covered
basket for her, and lined it with silk scraps and cushioning.  "Are
all of our things going to your mother's house?" he asks as their
trunks are unloaded.

"Except for the specially marked ones, yes.  Those will be going to
the Foreign Office."

There are ten trunks not so marked.  Justin shivers.  "How will we
get them there?"

Chris's expression clears.  "You don't need to carry them.  Porters
will bring them."

"Bring them?  As in, bring them to us at the house?  Meaning we're
at the house before them?"

"Bring them to the house.  Some of the trunks are already on our
carriage with us, but the rest will follow.  It shouldn't take too
long for them to arrive."

"When do *we* arrive?" Justin asks.  He can't keep the plaintive
note from his voice.

"Not too much longer."  Chris slips his hand out of his glove and
reaches for Justin.  His fingers slip under Justin's own glove and
touch his palm and wrist.  "It only seems like forever because you
can't see where we're going.  Closed carriages are a nuisance, but
it's a sight better than the mud and the rain."

"Yes.  The rain," Justin agrees, glaring darkly at the sky.

Chris grins a little, to himself, at Justin's glare at the roof of
the carriage.  If Justin's like this about a little rain, Chris
can't imagine how he's going to react to snow and ice.

Justin sighs.

Chris can do nothing but hold Justin's hand, which he's already
doing.

Still, they're both grateful when the carriage stops and the
coachman heaves himself down.

"We're here," Chris says.  "Time to make a wild dash for the inside
of the house and hope we don't get too wet in the meantime."

"You lead.  I'll follow."

The door is opened and Chris hops out, holding out a hand for the
basket or for Justin, depending on which Justin wants to do.

Justin puts his hand in Chris's and climbs down, careful not to
spash mud or water on his pants.  "Lead on."

Chris picks his way carefully to the door, and knocks.

Almost as soon as he does, the door's opened, which means their
arrival had been noted.

The man who looks out is wearing Chris's version of the Kirkpatrick
plaid.  His mother hadn't been entirely happy with the idea of
having servants, but he'd worn her down eventually.  Only to
discover that the pride of servants demanded that they have some
sort of livery.  For some reason, his mother is amused by the
Kirkpatrick colors being so abused.

"I'm sorry, sir.  We didn't recognize you in the rain, nor were we
expecting you to travel in company."

"Surprise!" Chris says.  "May we come in?  We're wet and cold."

The footman steps out of the way.  "Again, my apologies."

"Not to worry," Chris says, entering the welcome heat inside and
pulling Justin in with him.  "We have some trunks with us, and more
on the way."

The footman inclines his head.  "I will see that they are taken
care of."

"Thank you," Chris says, and, taking the basket from Justin, pulls
his gloves off and begins rubbing Justin's hands.  "Better at all
now that we're inside?"

"Yes," Justin says.  He sees Silk peer out from under the lid of
the basket, and then retreat back inside.  "Will your mother be at
home?"

"Most likely.  I expect that Kevin is telling her now..."

Footsteps hurry down the stairs.

"Christian Charity Kirkpatrick!" come his mother's ringing tones as
she spies the two of them.

Chris blushes.

"You're standing in the middle of the hall when your guest is
dripping wet and shivering?  Really, Christian."  She turns to
Justin and, in a much different tone, says, "Come upstairs.  The
upstairs is always warmer than the downstairs and so, in the
winter, we move upstairs where it's more comfortable."

"Thank you, ma'am.  I'm Justin, ma'am."

Beverly shoots her son a sharp glance, but doesn't otherwise
comment.  "Just one ma'am is more than enough.  Come with me."

Chris picks up Silk's basket and follows them.  Justin looks a
little apprehensive at all the attention directed at him, but Chris
knows he's safe.

Justin wishes he still had the basket.  He needs something to do
with his hands as he follows Chris's mother up the stairs.

The upstairs parlor is empty except for an inviting fire.

"Out of those wet coats and sit down.  Justin, please sit right
here, close to the fire.  You look half-frozen.  Chris, stop
hogging the fire.  You're not the only one who needs it."

"I wasn't," he says, but lets go of the basket, which he's set near
enough to the fireplace that Silk should soon be making an
appearance, if only to see if the warmth is real.  He takes
Justin's coat, along with his own, and sets them aside.  He should
really have hung them up when he was downstairs, but it's a little
late now.

"Where are the girls?" he asks.

"With their tutor in the nursery.  They'd be down right now if they
knew you were here."

Justin sits where directed, and lifts Silk into his lap.

"Oh!  You have a cat!  How adorable.  What's her name?"

"Her name is Silk, because she likes the fabric."  Justin strives
to keep all hint of foreign accent from his voice.

"Very appropriate.  How did you and Christian meet?"

Justin looks at Chris.

"It's a long story," Chris says.

"Oh, good," his mother says with determination.  "I love long
stories."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "You say that now.  Do you have any food and
perhaps tea with sugar or honey on the way?  Justin could use
something sweet and hot.  He's not used to our climate.  He's from
the depths of the Middle East."

"Really?" Beverly asks, looking at Justin with new eyes.

"Mother?"

She waves a hand at him.  "Yes, yes.  I asked for tea before I went
downstairs.  Don't worry about that.  Tell me more about the Middle
East."

Justin sits up straight.  "In my land, there are many types of
people.  Many people whose families are not *from* my land end up
there.  This is why I look like your people.  Most of the people in
my land are dark.  Those of us who are young and look exotic are
sometimes trained, if our mothers have no station.  I was trained
to be a personal servant from the time I was very small.  We learn
skills and talents.  We learn how to use the gifts we are given. 
Chris much impressed our potentate, and was given to choose a
servant from the many.  He came and saw us, and chose me of them
all."

"Chose you?"  Beverly looks at Chris.  He doesn't treat the young
man like a servant, although God knew she'd tried hard enough to
teach him that all people deserved courtesy, regardless of name,
rank, wealth or situation.  She knows her son, and he's treating
Justin like much more than that.  "Christian?"

Chris winces.  He knew it wouldn't take her long.  "It was
necessary.  If I hadn't accepted him, I would never have been able
to make the treaty."

"Christian," she says again, and this time her tone carries
reproach with it.

"It isn't what you're thinking," he says hurriedly.  "Or, it is,
but not entirely.  Not that I understood what I was getting
into..."

Beverly rolls her eyes.  "You never do."

"But I never had any intention of keeping a slave.  I offered to
return Justin to his family, or to take him on as an assistant.  It
just, ah.  Got more complicated than that."

Beverly sighs.  "Of course it did."

"The bond... We went through a ritual.  His relationship to me in
his people's world is more like a slave to a master, or, to
describe the relationship most accurate, a master and a beloved
pet.  But the ritual was something like what we would call
marriage."

She waits and looks at him.

Chris sighs.  "Say hello to your new son-in-law, mother."

She stares at him so fiercely that Chris thinks she's going to
scold him, but then her face creases into a smile.  "Your father is
going to absolutely *hate* this."

Chris grins back, relieved.  "I know."

Justin says, "Oh, good."

Both dark heads turn to look at him.  "Why is that good?" Chris
asks.

"He is cruel to you, and he is a bad person.  It is justice to
upset such men."

Chris smiles, but his mother is more forthcoming.

"Exactly," she says, nodding firmly.  "He's a nasty man and he gets
his pleasure through hurting other people.  Making him happy is the
last thing I want to do."

Then there's a knock on the door and the tea is delivered.

Justin takes his tea.  Silk has to inspect it for him, of course,
but has no interest in drinking it.  She jumps down and begins
exploring.

Chris piles biscuits on a plate and passes the sweet, crunchy
treats to Justin.  He pours a small dish of milk for Silk and sets
it on the floor for her, and then sees to his own tea.

Justin takes a biscuit because it's polite, then sets the plate
back on the table.

"So," Chris says.  "While I've been off leading my dull, boring
life, what's been happening here?"

Filling Chris in takes the better part of an hour.

Justin listens attentively, and looks around the room, staying
silent.

Chris notices that Justin only barely finishes the tea and doesn't
finish more than half of the biscuit.  This despite how long
they've traveled and his physical condition.

"Would you mind if we retire now and get some rest?  I think Justin
needs sleep and some judicious raiding of the kitchen more than he
needs the girls swarming the both of us."

She frowns and nods.  "They'll be disappointed, but they'll live. 
It's not like you're leaving again right away.  There should be a
fire laid in your room by now and your things put away.  Should I
just send something up from the kitchen, or..."

Chris shakes his head.  "I think we need to go ourselves.  England
obviously isn't agreeing well with Justin, and I want to make sure
he finds something that he likes to eat."

She nods.  "Sensible."

"We can meet your sisters, Chris," Justin protests.  "It would be
rude not to, no?  And Silk will scratch them, if we don't introduce
her."

"Silk can come with us," Chris says.  "And making sure you're all
right is far more important to me than satisfying my sisters'
curiosity."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris sighs.  He hates it when he hears that tone of resignation in
Justin's voice.  Like Chris has just given an order Justin doesn't
want to obey, but will anyway because, in Justin's mind, Chris is
still his master.  "If you really want to, we can stay here."

"We should do what you think best," Justin insists.

Chris looks helplessly at his mother.

She laughs.  "I can't believe you.  Yes, do rest.  Once they find
you, you won't stop talking and playing for hours."

"Yes, ma'am," Justin says, smiling.

Chris shakes his head.  "As old as I am, and my mother still rules
my life."  In contrast to his words, he's smiling.  When he stands,
he kisses his mother on the cheek, and then turns to help find Silk
and convince her to leave the warm place.

Justin carries his kitty and follows Chris.

"My room is on this floor, along with my mother's.  The girls sleep
upstairs, altogether in a room.  Or at least they did when I was
last here.  They may be sick of each other by now.  And the
servants have the floor above that."  He turns down the hall and
opens a door.  "My home away from home, such as it is."

Justin moves into the room.  It's large, with high ceilings and
wood floors.  There are rugs scattered about the room, and a large
fire with chairs before it.  The bed is equally large, and draped
in heavy appearing coverings.

"I know it's not what you're used to," Chris says apologetically. 
"But it's comfortable, and I've incorporated bits and pieces of
where I've been, so it ought not to be completely alien to you."

Justin sets Silk on the bed and looks out the window.  "It's a
friendly room.  I like it."

"I'm glad, since you'll be sharing it with me.  Now, about getting
you warm and comfortable..."  Chris goes to the armoire, shaking
his head with amazement.  "Everything *is* put away.  Yours and
mine.  Someone was obviously listening in, or you'd be in the guest
room."  He gets out some of Justin's favorite clothes and lays them
out to warm by the fire, and then looks among his own things that
stay here regardless of where he is, and gets out a soft, heavy
robe.  "I use this for when it's really cold, but I suspect, for
you, it's really cold right now."

Justin moves over to Chris.  "Hold me," he requests.

Chris slips the robe around Justin's shoulders, then wraps his arms
around Justin's waist and leans in, the robe draping over him, too,
just a little.

Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder.  "Did I do good?""

"Have you been worried?"  Chris hugs him tighter.  "You did fine. 
I'm more worried that I'm not taking good enough care of you."

"I did not realize how worried I was, until we were here."

"Do you feel better now?"

"I always do, when you hold me."

Chris chuckles.  "I'll try to do that more then."

Justin sighs.  "We will dine with your family this night?"  It's
only afternoon.

"Yes."

"What type of meal will we eat?  Formal?"

"No.  Or rather, it'll start like a formal meal, at the dining
table.  But it will be entirely casual.  No manners and no need to
dress up, although I'll wear something with lots of pockets.  My
sisters like to search me for gifts when I come home."

Justin smiles a little.  "They must love you very much."

"Ah, they're little savages.  Turning into bigger savages every
day.  Eventually they're going to gang up on me the minute I come
in the door and just take everything I bring home."

"Really?" Justin asks, wide-eyed.

Chris chuckles.  "No, but sometimes it's hard to tell."

"You tease me," Justin accuses.

"A little," Chris confesses.  "But I thought you should be prepared
for the worst.  I don't think they're quite like anyone you know."

"Will they hurt me?"

Chris shakes his head very quickly.  "No.  Absolutely not.  I might
end up tackled and on the floor crying for mercy, but it's all in
good fun."

"Then it will be all right."

"It will.  I promise I will keep you safe always."

"I know you will," Justin says, gazing at Chris.  "I love you."

"I love you, too," Chris says and kisses him.

Justin moans and clutches at Chris, kissing him back fervently.

"Really?" Chris asks against Justin's mouth.  "I'm sorry you had to
wait."  He strokes Justin's chest over his layers of clothing. 
"Here or in bed?  It's warmer out here, but the bed will warm up
eventually."

Justin says, "I want to feel you.  I need to know you're still
mine."

"Bed then," Chris says.  "And I am."  He strokes Justin's face.  "I
think you should be inside me.  If you want to be."

"Anything."

"I know I'll enjoy it."  Chris turns back the bed so that it'll
warm faster and then starts the pleasant process of getting himself
and Justin out of their clothes.

Justin strips out of the strange clothes quickly.  He crawls onto
the bed, kneeling over Chris.  The preparation is quick, but
complete, and he's pressing himself into Chris's body only a few
moments later.

Chris sighs as Justin eases into him.  "Now I'm home," he mutters.

Justin kisses Chris's back and shoulders as he thrusts slowly.

Chris rolls and twists his body to get more of Justin's mouth.

Justin whispers endearments, the love words Chris has taught him to
know and to feel.

Chris wriggles and pushes until Justin lets him up, then turns over
and pulls him back down.  "Want to kiss you," he says, explaining
the sudden move.  "Want to see you and kiss you."

Justin nods and kisses Chris.  His penis is hard and throbbing
against Chris's thigh and he wants to be back inside.  But he wants
to kiss, too, kiss for ages.

Chris kisses Justin until he realizes Justin isn't going back
inside.  "Please?  Keep going?  I don't want to stop."

Justin lifts Chris's knee and pushes back in and he's so close now. 
"Going to..." he pants.  He holds his control, though, and
continues kissing and fucking Chris.

"Better.  Much better," Chris says between kisses.

Justin glows with the praise, and takes care to aim his strokes
right to please Chris the most.

What with the tongue in his mouth and Justin hitting him just right
and his erection between caught between their two bodies, Chris
takes very little time at all to reach orgasm.  After he does, he
clings to Justin, sated and happy.

Justin drops his face to Chris's chest and comes.  Chris holds him
close.  "I'm warm," Justin notes, smiling.

"Pull the covers up so you'll stay warm," Chris tells him, and
waits until Justin does and comes back to lie on top of him.  He
sighs then, a long exhale.  "Yes, that's perfect."

Silk jumps onto the bed and curls up at their feet.  "Home now,"
Justin notes.

"Yes," Chris says, already halfway asleep.

"Yes," Justin agrees, closing his eyes.

"You hungry?" Chris mumbles on the verge of sleep, remembering that
he'd said he was going to feed Justin.

"Not enough to move."

Chris laughs sleepily.  "Want me to go get you something?"

"No.  Stay with us."

"Okay.  Don't really want to leave anyway."

"Rest now," Justin says, voice dragging.

"Mm-hmm," Chris says, nuzzling Justin before he drifts off.

~~~~

Justin wakes to the sound of softly giggling girls.  "Chris," he
whispers.

"Mmm?" comes the sleepy interrogative.

"Chris, there are *girls*," Justin urgently hisses.

"Uh huh," Chris says in that way that means he's not even a little
bit awake.

Justin begins trying to cover himself with something more than
Chris's body.  The blankets are twisted about them, seeming about
half as large as they need to be to act as a covering.

Chris wakes up when the bed starts shaking.  "Justin?  What're you
doing?"

"I have to get covered!" Justin insists.

Chris doesn't question this, just sweeps the blankets off of
himself and over Justin, covering him from head to toe.

Just in time, as it turns out.  The door bursts open, and a gaggle
of giggling girls is revealed.

Justin hides, going completely still and holding his breath.

Chris sits up, still completely naked.

The giggling goes to shouts of laughter and then the door's slammed
shut and the giggling on the other side.

Chris looks at the blanket-covered heap at his side.  "I think
perhaps we should dress for dinner."

Justin nods and emerges, completely red in the face, neck and upper
chest.  He hurriedly locks the door and begins getting out their
dinner clothes without comment.

Chris gets out of bed and walks over to him, wrapping his arms
around Justin's waist.  "It's all right.  They didn't see anything
of you, and now we know to remember to lock the door."  Chris
doesn't mention that there are other ways in for the adventurous. 
It's probably too cold for his sisters to try to get in through the
windows, hoydens though they are.

Justin blushes brighter.

Chris kisses his back.  "Trust me, they wouldn't have cared much if
they had seen anything.  They're going to make fun of us no matter
what we do, but it's nothing you need to worry about.  They behave
like angels in public, and like lions if either of us needs
defending.  This is them feeling safe and free.  I'm afraid I
rather like it.  It's nothing like my own memories of growing up,
and I'm glad they *can* be happy and secure."

Justin turns in Chris's arms.  "I am *yours*."  He kisses Chris on
the cheek.  "Gray or black for dinner?"

"I know," Chris says and kisses Justin as well, still holding him. 
"And you may wear whatever you wish, but I want to wear something
with color.  And a lot of pockets.  Like that peacock blue thing I
see peeking out over there." 

"The robe set from Ceylon?" Justin queries.  "Shall I dress as I
did when you found me?" he teases.

Chris cocks his head.  "If you'd be comfortable in that.  You might
want to wear something over that, just to keep yourself warm."

Justin shakes his head fondly.  He pulls out Chris's outfit and
lays it on the bed.  For himself, he sorts through the heavier
fabrics he's picked up, finding the outfit he wants.  It's dark,
dark blue, in the cut of his homeland, but the opaque and heavy
fabric of Chris's.  He's debating over the headdress to wear when
Chris calls him over to do up buttons and lace on boots.

"I really could do it myself," Chris says apologetically.  "But I
know I'm going to be dog piled the minute I walk out that door, and
I want to have you and just you for a little while longer."

Justin smiles at Chris.  "You are sweet to me.  Help me?  Which?" 
He presents the two lengths of turban wrapping to Chris, leaving
the choice up to his lover.

"The one that hides your face more," Chris says promptly.  "It
gives an air of mystery, and you'll feel better being more hidden
at first, until you get to know everyone."

Justin carefully wraps the turban and fastens the face covering
with a jeweled pin Chris bought him in Ceylon.

Chris nods.  "You're amazing."

Justin shakes his head.  "Have you the presents hidden?"

Chris stands up.  "Not yet."  He begins rummaging through their
things and secreting things in pockets.  He pushes a stickpin
through his coat, hiding it in plain sight.  Turning around, he
holds out his arms.  "There.  How do I look?"

"Handsome," Justin replies laconically.  He pulls on soft slippers. 
"Are we ready?"

"No, but you can't ever be ready for a full-on assault.  We'll just
have to manage anyway."

Justin drops behind Chris as they move to the door.  He stands his
customary half pace behind.

Chris turns and takes Justin's hand.  "Together at first, at least
until I get swarmed under.  You're with me."

Justin takes Chris's hand, but is hesitant.  Still, they enter the
parlor together.

There's whispering ahead of them, then an older voice saying,
"Girls!", then laughter, and trampling footsteps before the first
young girl, not more than eight, gets up and throws herself at
them.

"Christian!" she says and hugs his knees.  "What'd you bring me?"

"I didn't bring you anything," he says, before two more girls hit
him middle and high, bowling him over onto the carpeted floor. 
"You're menaces!  Why would I get you anything?"

Beverly stands and gestures to Justin.  "Please, come sit down. 
I'm sorry to say that they're always like this.  Christian
encourages them."

Justin sits, as indicated, and laughs silently behind his veil.

"What did you *bring* me!" Taylor wails, poking at Chris's pockets.

"If you don't tell her, Taylor's going to cry," Molly says.  "She's
a big baby."

Katie rolls her eyes.  "Of course she is!  She's only *eight*."

"Nothing.  I told you," Chris says, sitting up and pulling Taylor
onto his lap.  "I am not just someone who comes by at holidays and
brings presents, you know."

"Of course not.  It's not holiday yet," Taylor says.  "What did you
bring me?"

"Why would I bring you anything?"

"Because you *love* me?" She asks in a tiny little voice, looking
up at him with big, needy eyes.

Chris tries to stay serious and forbidding, but after a moment,
breaks out into merry laughter.  "Well, I suppose, if I *have* to."

"Presents!"

Chris continues laughing as things begin appearing from his
pockets.  Sweets, ribbons, small pieces of jewelry and other
things.

The girls finish donning their new presents and deign to sit on the
chairs like civilized ladies.

Chris laughs again and gets up.  He sweeps an extravagant bow to
his mother and then unpins the stickpin from his coat.  "I didn't
forget my favorite lady, either.  This, mama, is for you."

Justin tugs Chris's coat until Chris looks at him.  He hands Chris
a heavy pendant and cuts his eyes to Beverly.

Chris looks at Justin for a long moment, but Justin looks away, and
so Chris does the honors for him.  "And this is from Justin."

Justin bows his head slightly, to avoid looking at anyone directly.

"Who's Justin, really?" Taylor asks loudly.

"Really?" Chris asks, taking a seat next to Justin.  "He's the son
of a queen.  And," he takes Justin's hand, "by the laws of his
people, he is also my husband."

"Marika is not a queen," Justin murmurs.  "And I am not your
hus-band.  Your helpmate, not husband.  More than love and duty."

Chris squeezes his hand.  "Close enough.  You are the son of the
wife of the ruler of your land and for what you are to me, my own
countrymen have only one word, and that is husband."

"Yes, Chris."

"Should we bow to him?" Molly asks.

"No," Chris says solemnly.  "That would embarrass him.  Just treat
him like an ordinary person, bearing in mind that he's spent the
majority of his life in a faraway palace and doesn't understand how
things work for English people."

Katie, however, gives a happy little squeal.  "New brother!" she
exclaims.

Chris grins.  "That's right."

Taylor says, "What'd *you* bring me?"

Justin says, "I brought Chris back.  Isn't that enough?"

Chris grins.  "Good answer."

"But he comes home by himself all the *time*!"

"No, he doesn't," Molly says.  "He hardly ever comes home."

Chris nods.  "I was called home, yes, but it was a command from
you-know-who."  His mother doesn't mind when he calls his father
that bastard, but Chris would rather keep his illusions that his
sisters don't know how to swear like sailors.  "I'd've not come
back just to spite him, but Justin wanted to see where I'd been
raised."

Justin looks at Chris.

"Why does he dress funny?" Taylor asks.

"Why do you dress funny?" Chris asks her.

"Because Momma makes me," she answers promptly.  "D'you make Justin
dress funny?"

"No, but this is the way he used to have to dress, and our clothes
don't feel right to him.  He likes them about as much as you like
dressing up for church."

"I have a *new* dress," Taylor says.  "With big sleeves.  Now I
like it."

Justin smiles.  "In my land, it is improper for some people to show
their faces.  We wear loose clothing like this because I lived in
a desert, and it is *very* hot.  We cover our heads to keep the sun
away."

"Oh," Taylor says.  "Is it hotter than summer, Chris?"

"Lots.  Their winter is about as hot as our summer."

"Then how does it snow?"

"It doesn't.  Ever."

"No snow ever?" Katie asks, awed.

"Never ever."

"What's snow?" Justin whispers.

"Frozen water that falls from the sky.  It piles up in big white
piles, then turns into less fun substances."

"Frozen?"

"Yes."

"Frozen."  Justin's aware that frozen is when something gets very,
very cold.

"Yes.  If we go to Scotland, we'll most likely see snow."

"Can we eat dinner?" Molly asks.  "I'm hungry."

Chris looks at his mother.  "You actually *feed* these savages?  Do
you *want* to encourage them to hang around?"

Beverly sighs.  "The Lord knows I've tried to give you away and had
no takers."

Chris grins.

Beverly rises and Chris stands immediately, tugging at Justin's
hand to prompt him to stand as well.

Justin's stomach grumbles.

Chris offers his free arm to his mother and they proceed to the
dining room.

Justin fields about a thousand questions during dinner, ranging
from how he was raised to how he eats with the veil on.

Chris teases his sisters, compliments his mother, thanks the
servants and keeps his hand on Justin's thigh for the majority of
dinner, rubbing small circles whenever Justin falters or is asked
yet another completely impertinent question.

Molly, trying to be mature, asks, "You said you were a personal
servant.  How do you serve Chris?"

Chris tries not to wince, and looks at Justin to see if Justin
wants him to answer that one.

Justin says, "I am meant to serve in providing for all of Chris's
personal needs."

"Such as what?"

"Dressing, sewing, cooking, entertainment, hosting and sex,
mostly," Justin says.

Chris manages to keep a straight face, but he feels like letting
loose with a belly laugh right there and end up on the floor,
helpless to do anything but roar with laughter.  In England, sex is
*never* mentioned in polite company.

Molly stares.  Katie stares harder.  Taylor says, "What's sex?"

Chris can't help it.  He giggles.

"Sex is a physical joining of two people for mutual pleasure or
profit," Justin says.  "When people love each other, like Chris and
I do, it's more about love than about making your body feel good."

Beverly smiles at him.  "I couldn't have put it better myself."

Justin says, "In my land, one's body is one's own, until marriage
or bonding, like Chris and I have.  Those things that are *yours*
are yours to use as you see fit."  He meets her eyes and tries to
convey his personal meaning.  He thinks it is wrong for this
society to think ill of her for using what is hers.

Chris lifts an eyebrow at Justin, all laughter banished.  He could
swear that Justin just said that his body was his own before Chris
came along, and that doesn't jibe with what Chris had thought. 
He'll have to ask Justin later, not that it matters that much now. 
Except that Chris had thought, in a way, that he'd offered Justin
a better choice than the already written future Justin would have
had otherwise.

Bev hmms and nods, still smiling at Justin.

Justin leans into Chris's side.  The conversation flows around
them.  "My body was mine, until I was old enough to give it to
the... program.  I think that word works.  I chose to be part of
it, so that I could be trained and given."

Chris wraps his arm around Justin and, mouth against Justin's soft
hair, whispers, "I thought I was rescuing you from something that
was not your choice.  It seems instead I tore you from the life you
always wanted."

"No.  The opposite of giving myself was being on the streets, after
being mutilated.  The theory being that the program gave me beauty
and had the right to take it away before putting me out."

Chris nuzzles Justin's ear.  "So I didn't steal you away from
anything?"

Justin shakes his head.  "If I were there now, I would have already
been moved to the visitors' wing."  He refers to a hallway of
red-curtained rooms, each containing two or more bodies available
for the use of any guest to the palace.

Chris knows what Justin means.  He'd been offered the use of the
visitors' wing, and actually gone there without realizing quite
what he was being offered.  Unable to simply walk out for fear of
being remarked upon as someone who disrespected the local customs,
he had taken the minimum amount of service he thought he could get
away with and had had a massage.  Those who had served him had been
appallingly grateful for being asked to do so little.  Chris had
assumed at the time that this was because he was foreign and they
were afraid of what perversions a stranger might desire.  But that
memory linked with Justin's words conjures images that he doesn't
wish to contemplate.  "Mine," he whispers, continuing to nuzzle
Justin.

Justin turns his face to Chris and rubs noses with him.  "Yours,
forever."  He kisses Chris's cheek, through his veil.

"Were you having sex before?  When we came in, then?" Taylor asks.

Justin says, "No, not then."  He doesn't understand why Chris is
laughing or Beverly is covering her face.

"No more asking Justin about sex," Chris says.  "You've already
asked more than enough."

"How will we learn without asking?"

"The way every other girl finds out.  From your mother," Chris
says, and bites his lip when his mother gives him a 'I'll get you'
look.

Justin says, "Really?  Who do boys learn from?"

Chris opens his mouth, but his mother beats him to a response.

Beverly says, smiling sweetly, "I happen to know Chris learned
about it while vomiting in the gutter with his friends."

Chris rolls his eyes, but doesn't dispute the charge.

"What?"

"She means I spent a lot of my growing up years getting drunk,"
Chris explains.

"Drunk?  How would someone drink you?"

Chris's shoulders shake.  "Partaking of too much wine, to the point
of physical illness."

"Oh.  Wine is what the sailors had?"

"Yes and no.  Rum is similar, but stronger."

"Why would you wish to make yourself ill?" Justin asks.

"Um."  His mother is laughing.  Chris wrinkles his nose at her. 
"Wine can make you feel different.  It can make you happier and
help you forget things you don't want to remember.  Getting ill on
it is... something that young foolish men do.  And those with no
hope of anything better."

Justin doesn't understand, but he lets the subject pass.

The rest of dinner is filled with less questionable conversation. 
The thing that strikes Chris the most is that, even though he's
home with his family, what he longs most to do is to take Justin
upstairs and lock the door behind them and wrap himself around
Justin.  It's a strange feeling for Chris.  He's never loved anyone
or anything more than his family.  Not even his work.

Justin leans against the closed door and looks at Chris through his
lashes.  "Do you wish some... service?" he asks.  Chris has been
devouring him with his eyes for nearly an hour.

Chris shakes his head.  "I want to be alone with you and hold you
and reassure myself that you're still here and that I'm lucky
enough to get to be with you."

Justin smiles.  "Yes, Chris."

"And that you're here.  And not somewhere else," Chris says,
advancing on Justin.  "Not scarred.  Not at the whim of anyone who
wants you.  Not being harmed or mistreated.  That you want this. 
That you want to be with me."

He stops short of touching Justin, looking at him with wistful
eyes.  "That you want to keep me."

"I want to keep you," Justin says.  "I want you to keep me."

Chris opens his arms and waits.

Justin wraps his arms around Chris's waist and holds him close. 
"I'm taller than you are," Justin whispers.

Chris returns the embrace, clutching Justin tightly.  "You have
been for a while now."

Justin closes his eyes.  "I'll tell you why that's important
later," he promises.  For now, he just enjoys holding and being
held.

"Not too much later," Chris says, and buries his face in Justin's
warm shoulder.

Justin considers for a moment.  Then he picks Chris up and carries
him over in front of the fire.

Chris makes a startled sound of protest, then clings more tightly
to Justin.  It feels good to have Justin holding him like this,
particularly when he's feeling especially raw and exposed.  He
doesn't know why he feels like this, but he's glad Justin seems to
understand.

Justin lays in front of the fire, wrapped around Chris.  "What's
wrong?"

"I love you," Chris says.  "More than I expected.  More than I
thought I did.  I just figured that out, seeing you with my
family."

"Is that good?"

"I don't know.  It just *is*.  But when I think about *that*, then
I also start thinking about how unlikely it is that I managed to
end up with you at all.  And even that doesn't bother me half so
much as thinking about where you might be right now if you weren't
with me.  The thought of you alone and mistreated..."  Chris
shudders and shakes his head, trying to chase the thought away.

Justin kisses Chris's temple.  "I'm here.  You're here.  There will
be... snow?"

"If you wish to go to Scotland.  There may or may not be snow here. 
There frequently is snow here near Christmas time."

"I wish to go where you go, live where you live, know what you
know."

Chris curls into Justin.  "I have no wish to go where you cannot go
or live without you.  As to knowing what I know, I'm not certain I
would wish all of that on anyone."

"Maybe just understand you, then."

Chris nods.  "All right.  I'll warn you though, even I don't
understand myself."

"That's okay."

Chris nods.  "So.  What does it mean that you're taller than I am? 
As short as I am, I have difficulty finding an adult male who
isn't."

"We'd look at the men coming in," Justin says.  "And they always
took someone smaller than them.  Someone delicate compared to them. 
That's why I knew you wouldn't pick me.  It's why I was so
surprised when you did."

"I didn't want anyone small or delicate," Chris says, tipping his
head back so Justin can see his face clearly.  "I knew I was
expected to have sex with whoever I chose and I also knew that I
didn't want to.  I had decided that I would do it for the sake of
the treaty, and then free the person afterward.  Send them wherever
they liked or give them a paying job as my assistant.  *Not*," he
adds, "like you do.  Someone who would write notes for me and run
errands.  Nothing more than that.  I wanted someone who wasn't shy
or fragile, who could survive on their own and who wouldn't break
from having to have sex with a stranger."

"You didn't want to keep me as yours?  Did I make you keep me as
yours?"

Chris brightens at that, looking less gloomy.  "Yes, you did.  You
forced your way past all my preconceptions and all my ideas about
how to handle things.  You were loyal and happy and so concerned
about me.  You wanted me, even though you hadn't had a choice in
the matter.  I couldn't help myself.  In the face of such
determination, I had to fall in love with you."

"You are happy to love me?" Justin asks, brow furrowed in worry.

"Very."

"Good.  I am happy to love you."

Chris nuzzles Justin's neck, before something about Justin being
taller than he is worms its way up from the back of his mind.  He
looks up.  "Are you... were you worried that I'd change my mind
about loving you once you grew taller than me?"

"A little."

Chris shakes his head, and tilts his face up, kissing Justin's
chin.  "Never.  I would never change my mind about you.  No matter
what."

"I know, now."

Chris kisses Justin again and settles his head back against
Justin's shoulder.  "Yes, well, I occasionally have -- very brief,
mind you -- moments where I think you'll wake up and realize that
you are truly free and can go anywhere and do anything and decide
that you resent me for keeping you at my side and using you when I
could have encouraged you to fly free."

Justin considers Chris for a long moment.  "Stay here," he murmurs,
and goes to his bag.  He pulls out a simple band he's had with him
since Algiers.  "This is for you," he says, sitting next to Chris. 
"It's a ring.  Like mine, but marked with the emblem of *my*...
family.  You *are* mine, as I am yours."

Chris looks wonderingly at Justin.  He can't find the words for how
this makes him feel.

Justin carefully puts the ring on Chris's hand.  "There."

Chris looks at the ring on his hand, then nearly throws himself
into Justin's lap, hugging him fiercely.  "Thank you," he says
quietly into Justin's ear.  "I can't believe you did this.  I can't
believe you went to these lengths.  But I'm so bloody happy that
you did.  That you want me and want me to wear this."

"Of course I do.  What is it?  You... git?  I love you."

Chris stares at Justin in open amazement, then snickers.  His
relief makes the release of laughter that much more profound, and
he's laughing hard before he even thinks about it.  "You, you," he
says, and then the laughter isn't so funny, and he plasters himself
closer to Justin.  "I'm glad.  Really glad.  Happy, too."

"Yes."  Justin rubs Chris's back.  "Me too."

"Bed?"

"Yes."

~~~~

As it turns out, they *do* have to visit Chris's father.  Chris is
ordered to do so, and Justin will not let him go alone.  "I will
not let him hurt me, Chris," Justin says for the tenth time.

"You don't even know what I'm afraid of," Chris grumbles.

"No, because you have not told me," Justin replies.  They're
snugged tightly together under a pile of furs as their coach
bounces and jostles farther north.

"I'm worried about you getting your feelings hurt."

"You will be there to kiss them better."

"I don't want you to think that other men are like him, and to
change your behavior as a result of his."

"I don't understand what you're saying," Justin admits.

"That's why I'm worried."

"Why would I change?"

Chris shrugs, frustrated.  "Because you do.  You watch what happens
around you, and you change to fit what you see."

"And I should not change because of what he does," Justin says in
understanding.  "Oh!  Very well."

"Yes, exactly.  I don't want to lose you because you become like
him."

"I shan't."

Chris squeezes Justin's hand.

Justin squeezes back.  "How long until we arrive at our stop for
the night?"

"Too long, I suspect."

"Shall I make the time go faster?" Justin asks, smiling as his hand
caresses Chris's thigh under the blankets.

Chris's eyes widen.  "Justin!"

"Yes, Chris?"

"You've managed to shock me."

"I can shock you some more, if you'd like," Justin offers.

"How much more?"

Justin removes his glove and opens Chris's pants.

Chris swallows hard.

Justin says, "Hold the blankets."  When Chris's hands are firmly
wrapped in the cloth, Justin slides down, underneath the coverings.

Chris is breathing hard, as much from the cold and Justin's
suggestion as from what Justin is actually doing.  Justin telling
him what to do -- that too makes his breath come faster, because
Justin is ordinarily so submissive and compliant.  He had not
realized how much he would enjoy Justin behaving like this.

Justin cannot see Chris.  He cannot feel Chris's hands on him.  He
takes no cues from Chris, except that Chris is hard and wants this. 
Justin doesn't know if Chris is urgent or relaxed, annoyed or close
or happy.  He has to act based on what *he* wants to do, not what
he thinks Chris wants.  It's a freeing experience.

Chris can almost count his pulse.  Without being able to see
Justin, the layer of guilt and responsibility he normally feels is
lifted.  The hot wetness around him is pleasure that seemingly
comes from nowhere.  He is undone by it.

Justin closes his hand tightly around the base of Chris's cock,
stopping the release he knows was coming.

Chris swears.

Justin laughs and closes his mouth over just the head of Chris's
penis, sucking lightly.

The sound from Justin is as much a cold splash of water as the
balked orgasm.  But when the sucking starts again, he sighs and
lets his head fall back against the seat.

Justin plays for a bit longer, then gets down to getting Chris off. 
He sucks fast and hard, coaxing Chris on with encouraging sounds
and touches.

Chris is nearly begging by the time Justin gets serious.  "Oh,
Lord, please.  Yes.  Oh, yes.  Don't stop.  Please don't stop."

Justin doesn't stop until he's swallowed all Chris has to offer and
licked him clean besides.  Then he curls against Chris's legs and
rests his head on the seat next to Chris's hip.

Chris pets Justin's hair while he recovers.  "That's was...
Amazing.  Really.  Amazing."

"Yes," Justin agrees, rubbing at his own erection idly.

He takes a deep breath.  "Are you cold?"

"A little."

"I'm not."  He passes some of the furs to Justin, wrapping them
around behind Justin, then bends over.  "I hope we're not stopping
for at least an hour.  Getting dressed is going to be a challenge."

Justin carefully refastens Chris's pants, with a bit of squirming. 
"There."

Chris gives him a look.  "Maybe you should ask what I'm trying to
do first."  He manages to pull one boot off and then starts on the
other.

"What are you doing?  It's too cold!  Stop that, you'll get sick!"

"I'm warm," Chris assures him.  He gets the other boot off, undoes
his breeches and lets them drop to the ground.

"Chris!  Stop!"  Justin looks up at Chris.  "I don't *want* your
penis to freeze off.  I like it."

Chris can't help laughing at that.  "It won't.  I promise to keep
it very close to you, and you can keep it as warm as you like." 
Small things off, he pushes back the furs and starts undoing
Justin's pants.

Justin whines as the cold air seems to attack his privates.  He
doesn't complain though.

Chris straddles Justin's lap and swings one of the furs around his
own shoulders.  "There.  Not perfect, but it'll do."

"Chris," Justin whispers.  His head falls back on the seat, eyes
closing at the very thought of what Chris might do.

Chris grins at him, even though Justin can't see him doing it.  He
takes Justin's hand and brings it to his mouth.  He sucks on two of
Justin's fingers.

Justin moans, hips rising against Chris's ass.  "Oh, Chris.  Baby,"
he moans.

Chris smiles and lets Justin's fingers slip out of his mouth.  "Put
your fingers inside me."

Justin moans again and does as he's told.

Chris lets Justin get him ready, while at the same time wetting his
own fingers.  When Justin's done playing, he slides his fingers
over Justin's erection, then carefully holds it as he slides down
onto it.

Justin curses in his native language.  He trembles as he resists
the desire to push up and meet Chris.

When Justin is all the way inside him, Chris relaxes, flexing his
knees to hold himself up over Justin.  "Okay," he says, "I'm
ready."

Justin strokes Chris's hips and legs, feeling the muscles tense and
tremble.  "For what?"

"For you.  Go ahead.  I want you to do this."

Justin gently raises himself, pressing into Chris, and then lowers
himself down again, sliding partially out of Chris.  "This?"

"Like that, yes, but harder.  As hard and fast as you want."

"If I don't want hard and fast?"

"However *you* want.  I want you to have this the way you want it
and not worry about me."

Justin shakes the blankets away and rolls them until Chris is
underneath him.  He covers them with a few blankets and turns Chris
onto his stomach before pushing in again.  "Better like this. 
Easier.  I like you to relax," he explains as he starts moving
again.

Chris would do just about anything for Justin, even if Justin
doesn't realize it yet.  He lets himself go loose.

Justin kisses Chris's shoulders, sucking and nipping at the skin. 
"So good," he groans.  "I never thought it would be this good.  I
love you.  Oh, so hot.  Warm, finally."

Chris squeezes Justin's erection by way of an answer.

"I love you, Chris," Justin repeats.  He adores Chris.  Love isn't
a strong enough word.

"I love you as well."

Justin says, "Thank you."  His motions turn erratic.  He wants to
last forever, but he needs to find his release.

Chris wants to assure Justin that it's not a statement that
requires thanks, but this is not the time for such explanations.

Justin pants, gripping Chris more tightly as he comes.  "Oh,
*bugger*," he breathes as he slumps against Chris, sated.

Chris snickers.  He turns over as Justin slips out and holds him,
kissing him.  "Have my sisters been teaching you bad language?" he
teases.

"Yes," Justin agrees, nuzzling Chris's face.

Chris kisses Justin's nose, and sits up, pulling his clothes back
on.  "They were a bad influence on me as well."

"Or you on them?"

"Oh, no.  I was a saintly child.  I did my chores and worked and
brought home money for my mother."

"I'm sure you did," Justin says softly.  "Poor Chris."

Chris pauses in lacing his breeches, looking at Justin.  He had
meant that for a joke.  He had not expected Justin to take it as
truth, although there's truth behind it.  "Do up your pants," he
says gruffly.  "You'll catch cold."

Justin nods and cleans himself with a handkerchief, then closes his
pants.

Once Chris has his boots on, he settles himself next to Justin,
draping the furs back over them.  He laces his fingers through
Justin's.  "Thank you."

Justin lays his head on Chris's shoulder.  "I..."  He doesn't even
have words for what he wants to say.  "You're welcome," he says
instead.

"Not long now," Chris says and squeezes Justin's hand.

"And then we get there tomorrow?"

"Too soon in my opinion, yes."

Justin kisses Chris.  "I'll keep you safe."

"No one will hit me.  My father has, as he's grown older, seemed to
grasp the idea that he would lose a fight between the two of us. 
I dread the yelling and seeing his servants creeping around, cowed,
but dependent on him.  And the endless moralizing."

"Then I'll hit him, and make him stop yelling."

"You should not.  It would only make matters worse.  And turn you
into a bully besides.  He's a frail, sick old man."

Justin frowns.  "Why are his servants frightened, then?"

"He can turn them out, and their families as well.  It's his choice
whether they eat or starve and of the conditions they live in."

"They could always poison him."

Chris laughs.  "You're a practical sort."

"It's a tradition."

"Is it now?  And after someone is poisoned, does no one think to
look for the guilty party?"

"Of course.  That's why all the harem and servants of a dead man
are killed.  But sometimes it is worth it."

"Yes, well, I've certainly thought about it.  But he isn't worth my
life."

"No."

"And," Chris adds, as the thought strikes him, "he is most
definitely not worth *your* life.  So think about that before
visiting the kitchen."

Justin smiles.  "No, sir.  I'm yours, and would never risk leaving
you."

"Good," Chris says firmly.  "The prospect of losing you terrifies
me."

"Then you won't.  Ever."

Chris doesn't believe that, but he isn't going to fill Justin's
ears with stories of grisly misadventures that he's seen happen, or
with the many close calls he's had.  He's been near to death more
times than Justin needs to know.

~~~~

Justin is shivering steadily by the time they reach Chris's
ancestral home.  The snow has been falling steadily all day,
something Chris calls a blizzard.  At first, Justin was fascinated
by the beauty of the falling flakes.  Now he's just cold.

Chris wishes Justin were smaller, if only so he could wrap the
other man completely in his arms.  Justin is suffering from the
cold, and, unfortunately, it's not going to get much better.  The
ancestral home of the Kirkpatricks is stone, which the snow makes
colder, until the stones themselves are like ice.  It's drafty as
well, and poorly heated.  His father is a miser when it comes to
any expense that does not benefit him directly.  Chris has brought
money for bribes, as such will be necessary to obtain enough fuel
to keep Justin warm just in their rooms.

Justin looks up at the castle.  "It's pretty," he comments.

"It's a wreck."

"It's still pretty."

Chris nods and doesn't answer.  Just being here puts him in an ill
temper, and that's certainly no fault of Justin's.

Justin huddles in his fur-trimmed coat, and oversees the unloading
of their baggage.  The porters here are frail and hungry looking. 
It's sad.

Chris's mouth tightens, and he pulls one of the porters aside,
whispers instructions in his ear before pressing money into his
hand.

Justin carries some of their bags.  He just can't stand to make an
old man do it for him.

Chris doesn't touch the baggage.  He packed light, which will have
to be enough, as no one -- not the servants and not his father --
is going to let the heir do work.  He prefers not to get people
into trouble.  The suffering of other people is one weapon the old
man still has in his arsenal.

Justin returns to the great hall to find Chris still waiting alone. 
"Chris?" he questions.  "Should I stay with you?"

"Yes.  If you don't, you'll spend the rest of this visit dismissed
as a servant."

"Very well."

"Besides, if the idea is to provoke my father into a heart attack,
this is the best way."  Chris takes Justin's hand in his own.

Justin smiles at Chris.  "Love you," he whispers.

"I see," Chris teases.  "You only love people who are trying to
kill other people."

"No, just you."

A servant comes and bows to them.  "His lordship is awaiting in his
study."

Chris nods.  "I can find my way."  He leads Justin down a hall and
up a flight of stairs.  "There are few doors," he explains as they
walk.  "Just archways.  That's one of the things that makes this
place so hard to heat."

"I see."

"In this place, if you don't want to be cold, there're only two
places to go -- wherever my father is, and the kitchens. 
Consequently, you'll hear my father complain about lazy servants
who spend all their time in the kitchen and none actually working."

Justin stays close to Chris.  The rooms are either full of objects
or empty.  He's afraid to break things, and afraid to move too far
from Chris.

The study has a door.  Chris knocks once, then opens it without
waiting for a reply.

"The prodigal has returned," he announces, heading toward the fire.

Justin stays close to Chris, following him toward the heat
gratefully.

"Took you long enough," comes a grumble from one of the chairs by
the fire.

Chris advances on the fire.  There're two chairs waiting, no doubt
in anticipation of a cozy father-son chat.  He pulls one of them
back a little, and drags a footstool in front of it, then motions
Justin to sit on the footstool.  Once Justin is seated, then he
drags the chair forward again until he can sit with Justin between
his legs, so that Justin has warmth on all sides.

"Justin, meet my father.  Father, meet my spouse."

"Hello, sir," Justin says.

Chris smiles pleasantly as his father stares at them.

"What in the name of God are you up to, boy?"

"Sitting," Chris says.

"I make a reasonable request for you to think about getting a wife
and an heir and this is how you repay me?"

"Actually, father, it may surprise you, but not everything I do is
specifically related to you."

"Thank God your grandmother isn't alive to see this.  Her own
grandson bringing home a catamite."

"On a similar subject, mother likes him."

His father huffs.  "The woman's not fit to raise a Kirkpatrick."

Justin thinks it's amazing how similar the two look, while still
being completely different.

"I suppose that's what happens when you impregnate random women. 
What do they call that in London again?  Oh, yes.  Rape."

The older man turns purple.  The conversation goes downhill from
there.

Justin stays silent, letting the two verbally beat at each other.

"Well, I imagine our room is warm by now.  It was good to talk with
you, father," Chris says, rising.  "I hope we can soon get around
to whatever it is that you summoned me here to discuss."

Justin rises as well, nodding to Chris's father.  "Sir," he says,
in way of a goodbye.

Chris ushers Justin out before the old man can form a reply.  "I'm
sorry," he says in the hall.  "I turn into a bastard when I'm
around him."  After a second, he adds, "Of course, I *am* a
bastard, so that may have something to do with it."

Justin says, "It's all right."

Chris just shakes his head.

"What does spouse mean?"

"It means the same as husband or wife.  Like how 'horse' can mean
either mare or stallion."

"Oh!  That's why he was angered."

"One of the reasons, yes.  If I am married to a man, then I can't
marry a woman and beget a legitimate heir.  As I myself am
illegitimate, that is particularly irksome for him."

"You need an 'heir'?"

"That's the question at hand, yes."

"What is it?"

"Hmm?"

"An 'heir'?"

"Oh.  A son.  Here, all of the property you do not acquire yourself
must be passed down to the oldest male.  If there isn't one, then
they go back up, say to my grandfather's younger brother, until
they find a boy."

"How odd."

Chris laughs.

"You are your father's heir.  So, if he dies, what he has becomes
yours?"

"Yes."

"Then they should definitely poison him, for you are much kinder
than he is, and you don't like him anyway."

"That's not the way things are done here."

Justin sighs, "I know."

Chris doesn't say anything more.  There really isn't anything that
can be said.  Justin's right.  The level of hatred he bears for his
father calls for poisoning, but it's not something he's willing to
do.  Except perhaps for the niggling point that his father probably
*isn't* quite the monster Chris paints him out to be.

The room they'll be sharing has a large fire, with plenty of fuel
stacked by it.  The bed curtains are drawn back so that the bed can
warm up.

Justin immediately starts unpacking dinner clothes, and hanging
them before the fire to un-wrinkle.

Chris drops into a chair by the fire, and puts his head in his
hands.

Justin stands behind Chris and rubs his shoulders and neck.  "I am
sorry."

Chris stops him, turning and taking Justin's hands in his.  "You've
nothing for which to be sorry.  This mess is of my own making."

"I am sorry that it is so."

"I wish I were."  Chris knows that makes no sense, so he adds, "If
I were truly sorry, then I would not act as I do.  I would make
amends with my father, attempt to reason with him, talk to him. 
But I do not.  I tell myself that he'll never change and I fight."

"He has wronged you.  There is no shame in fighting him."

Chris shakes his head.  "He has wronged my mother.  He has wronged
his people.  I can't say he's directly wronged me.  He paid for my
gentleman's education, and his connections allowed me to obtain the
career I am now so successful at.  I can negotiate treaties between
people with grievances worse than mine, and yet I can't forgive him
enough even to have a civilized conversation."

"He wronged you by creating you through a sin," Justin says.  "He
wronged you by treating your mother wrongly."

Chris's mouth crooks.  "You're determined to save me from myself,
aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I don't know that I deserve saving, but thank you, nonetheless."

"You deserve everything good."

"You have a vastly elevated opinion of my character."

"I don't know what that means, but I love you."

"Love is always the saving grace."  Chris reaches for Justin,
pulling him down onto his lap.  Justin's an awkward bundle, but
Chris holds onto him anyway, burying his face against Justin's
body.

Justin combs his fingers through Chris's hair and sits quietly,
trying to comfort Chris.

Chris breathes in Justin's scent and lets Justin's warmth permeate
him.  After a long while, he sighs.  "I should let you up.  You
must be uncomfortable."

Justin hums tunelessly, shaking his head slightly.

"Brat."

"I'm good."

"Too good for the likes of me."

"No."

"Do you mind?  I'm trying to drown myself in self-pity."

"I do, actually."

"Why?"

"Because I never want for you to be unhappy," Justin says, with all
sincerity.

Chris kisses him.

Justin kisses Chris back, and then lays his head against Chris's.

"Tired?"

"Not much."

~~~~

Dinner is served in the formal dining hall.  It's high ceilinged
and while there's a fire laid, it has no hope of warming the room.

"If you weren't here," the Kirkpatrick mumbles, "I could've eaten
in my study where it's warm."

"Pardon?" Chris says.

His father glares at him.  "I *said*, if you weren't here, I could
eat in my study."

"I see no reason we couldn't repair there now," Chris says, trying
to be equable instead of an addle-pated fool.

"There's company!"  His father bangs the table with his fist.  "You
don't eat from a tray when you have company!"

"I certainly don't mind," Justin says.  "In my country, such would
be considered more formal than eating like this.  Besides, you
don't need to see me as company.  I'll be with Chris always.  Like
family."

"In *your* country?"  The older man levels his gaze at his son. 
"What's he talking about?  He from France or something?"

"Father, I told you he's my spouse."

The older man waves his hand.  "Figured you were trying to get my
goat.  Can't marry a man.  Not possible.  Use him like a woman,
yes.  I know your luggage all went to the same room, and I don't
need to see the two of you rogering each other on the table to
prove that you'd molest boys to tick me off."

Chris shakes his head.  "We're married by the laws of his people."

His father snorts.  "Legal as a contract written in sand.  Have to
give it to you, though.  You're a stubborn one.  A real
Kirkpatrick."

Chris grinds his teeth.

"I'm from the Middle East," Justin says, filling the silence. 
"Chris came and made a treaty with our people.  A very *profitable*
treaty.  For your king, I mean.  And if he were to disregard my
customs, my people might be angry enough to break the treaty." 
Justin eats a bite of potato.  "Would your king be pleased if this
profitable treaty were broken because you wish Chris to break his
word?"  His voice is politely interested.

The old man gives a barking laugh.  "Oh, you're a feisty one,
aren't you?  Too bad you're not a woman."

Chris has his hand clenched around his fork and is biting back an
answer.

"I can go places women cannot," Justin says.  "It makes me
rather... convenient, I should think."  He rolls his eyes at Chris
when the old Kirkpatrick isn't looking.  "Besides.  I am strong
enough to defend what is *mine*."  His voice is warning on this
last pronouncement.

"Go places," the older man snorts.  "Buggery, no doubt."

Chris sets down his fork.  He's in no fit state of mind to eat. 
"Father, one of the reasons I wished to come here with you was to
introduce you to my spouse.  However, as Justin reminded me while
we were preparing for dinner, there are other issues I wish to
speak to you about."

His father swallows.  "Don't see what there could be.  You only
come here when I force you to.  And you've as much as said you're
not giving me an heir."

"About the way you treat your servants.  They need heat and food
just as you do."

"Ungrateful bastards should be glad they get anything at all."

"Seeing as how many of them may very well *be* your bastards, I
don't think they're the ones at fault here."

The old man turns red.  "I have *never* treated a child of mine
poorly, legitimate or not.  If your mother had done her duty and
brought you to me, you would have been raised as you should've
been.  Maybe then you'd be grateful for what you get.  You have no
idea what it costs to heat this place, none at all.  I am not going
to overtax my people to keep it up to the standards of some
pampered London fop."

"How is it her duty to come to the man who raped and dishonored
her?" Justin asks.  "How is it her place to give in to your ego,
and give you a *gift* for taking something irreplaceable that was
not yours to take?  How is it your right to be so honored with a
son, when you have done nothing honorable to deserve him?" Justin
questions relentlessly.  "To have a son, you must be deserving of
one.  You must work and be worthy of such joy in the eyes of Allah. 
You do not work.  You are not honorable in this.  You do not
deserve what you have, and yet you take it for granted."  Justin's
not upset at all.  He's laying out facts, asking simple questions.

Chris respects what Justin's trying to do.  Certainly, he's not
calm enough or dispassionate enough to make the same points.  And
they're ones he's made in his own head before, if not quite the
same way.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?  Then tell me why you deserve a son?"

"Without me, he wouldn't exist!"

"So what?  Without Beverly he wouldn't exist.  That means he's as
much hers as yours, and yet you try to claim more of him.  Why?"

"Young man, you're from another country, so you wouldn't understand
these things, but a man needs an heir of his body to carry on his
line.  A woman is just the means to get a son."

"So, you need him?"

"Are you listening?  Yes!"

"Then should you not try to have him *want* to help you?  He
doesn't have to, you know.  He could live as a king in my land.  He
would be treasured by our potentate for his skills, not treated
like a thing and used only because there is nothing better on
hand."

"I'd treat him like my son if he'd act like my son!" the old man
thunders.  "He has to be threatened into even visiting.  He acts
like a vagabond.  He sits here and claims to be concerned about my
people -- but he'll be gone as soon as he can decently manage it. 
He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

Chris puts his head in his hands.

"You're an unpleasant person.  No one would want to stay around you
for any longer than they had to."

The old man laughs and slaps his thigh.  "You I like, boy!  Plain
speaking, not afraid of anyone.  You'd make a better son that one." 
He nods toward Chris.

"And you saying that is exactly why everyone hates you.  You're an
ass."

Chris stands up.

His father looks up.  "Sit back down.  Dinner's not over."

"My appetite is gone.  I'm retiring to my rooms."

There's a snort.  "And you have the nerve to talk about me making
work for the servants.  You're going to have them bring your supper
up later, I'm sure."

Chris ignores him and walks away.

Justin stands as well.  "Don't worry over your servants, sir.  I'll
make us a meal.  And please, make your peace with Chris.  If I have
my way, he won't be subjected to your presence again."

Chris is walking slowly, and he isn't surprised that Justin catches
up to him.  He starts talking when Justin falls into step.  "He
makes me feel about four.  That's when I was crawling down chimneys
for a few coins a week.  Hardly anything, but it made me feel proud
to help.  That part of it wasn't so bad.  But there was a man --
the one who pushed me down the chimney.  Eventually I learned to
just jump in, because it was better than being pushed.  But I never
forgot that he was there waiting to shove me in if I didn't want to
go.  If the chimney was still hot or if the space was too small."

Justin's arm eases about Chris's waist.  "Shall we take the
servants with us when we leave, or not?" he asks simply.

"He'll simply find more.  The job still needs to be done, you see. 
If you took all the sweeps that ever were and put them into school
instead, there'd still be chimneys that needed sweeping.  Same
here.  It might be that it's a better life than the one they'd have
if they didn't do this.  And I have nowhere to give them to go."

"Your mother's home.  It's winter.  Everyone wants to be warm in
winter."  Justin smiles.  "We'll just leave the ones who can bully
him here, and take the rest to England."

"I don't think it's that easy, Justin."

"Well, then, we'll just have to take him.  Not to your mother's,
though."

"That's certainly a novel solution.  And it would remove the
problem of bullying."

"We can take him to the embassy, for the ball.  He'd see you get
your award.  He'd see them from all the countries and know you
don't need him."

Chris pushes open the door to their rooms.  The fire is still
blazing and the room has taken on some of its warmth.  He starts
stripping off his dinner clothes.  "I doubt it'd prove anything to
him, but it would keep him out of trouble, which has its merits. 
I don't know if that's the best solution though."  He starts to
hang his jacket up, to be stopped by Justin plucking it out of his
hands.  "I do know how to put my own clothes away."  Justin ignores
him and Chris continues undressing.  "Perhaps we should ask the
servants here which they would prefer?"

"Of course."

Chris nods.  "Good.  Then that's settled.  I'm sorry for making you
miss your supper.  My appetite truly is gone, but I'm sure you're
still hungry."

"I will fetch us something from the kitchen.  Unless... would the
servants all be there now?  We could go ask them together."

"They will.  It's the warmest room in the house."

"Will you come?"

Chris wants to say no, but he nods instead.  "It's my duty."

"You are better for caring about your duties."  Justin kisses Chris
gently, and they finish changing out of formal attire.

"I think I only do now because I want you to think well of me.  I
would rather not face another confrontation right now."  Chris
smiles weakly at Justin.  "And so you see me turn into a coward."

"No.  A coward is not one who dreads the unpleasant.  A coward is
one who runs from the uncomfortable for his own sake."  Justin
holds Chris close.  "You are not a coward."

Chris hugs him close.  "I'm continually grateful that you're in my
life."

"I would have no life without you.  You make me feel good about
what I can do."

Chris kisses him.  "Enough.  I'm only stalling for time now.  Let's
go."

Justin nods, and allows Chris to lead him down to the kitchen.

Everyone gets to their feet as soon as they enter the kitchens. 
Chris waves his hands at them.  "Sit, sit.  There's no need of
that."

No one sits until an older woman comes forward.  "Master
Christian!" she says.  The others take this as their cue to relax,
sitting back down and returning to their conversations.

"Mrs. Tully!  My father *still* hasn't managed to drive you away?"

She clucks at him.  "He's not so bad, Master Christian.  He's
rather humorous when he gets on one of his rants.  You just have to
know how to appreciate him."

"An art I've never learned."

Justin smiles, glad to see Chris joking with someone here.

"Listen, as usual, I've lost my appetite.  Justin wanted to make
something.  Would that be all right?"

"Well," she says, "I don't know..."

"We'd another question to ask you, as well," Justin says.  "Will
you sit and listen to Chris?  I miss cooking, and would be
delighted to have your permission to do so while he talks to you."

"Well!  Aren't you the one with manners?"  She throws a look at
Chris.  "Not like that one.  Maybe you can teach him some."  She
shows Justin around the kitchen, pointing out various things he
might need, before finally allowing herself to be seated.

Justin begins cooking.  It's not a meal for one or two, but twenty,
which is how many servants are in the kitchen.  And it's not a
Western menu.  He cooks foods from his home, or as close as he can
get to them.  He feels the need of home, now.

Chris is laying out Justin's plan, presenting options to his
people.  He doesn't treat them like things.  He treats them like
thinking, feeling people.  Justin makes sure to always support
Chris when the other man flounders, and to be very *present* before
these strangers.  Chris is not alone, and Justin does not want
these people to think he is.  Chris has just finished giving the
final choice when Justin serves dinner.  He provides food and says,
"Shall we eat and think on it?"

Attention turns to Justin and to the food.  Mrs.  Tully puts her
hand over her heart.  "Well, I never.  You made all of this for
us?"

"Yes.  We all must eat."

Mrs.  Tully turns to look at Chris.  "Christian Kirkpatrick, you do
not deserve this young man."

"I know, I know, but he stays with me anyway."

"He deserves everything," Justin says simply.  "The things he has
done for me are beyond value."

Chris blushes.

There's a moment of respectful silence as grace is said, and the
conversation is general until the largest part of the food has been
consumed.  Mrs. Tully has learned more than Chris knew about
Justin's background and Justin's mother.  Chris himself is aware of
how the people here look at him, like he's bringing hope.  It makes
him restless, because he knows he hasn't actually done anything for
them.

Justin brings a makeshift version of baklava to the table, and
clears the dishes away.  He enjoys his land's food because it
leaves the plates nearly clean, and he dislikes doing the dishes. 
"Have you thought about what Chris said?" Justin asks the table,
gently steering the conversation back.

"Well, yes," Mrs. Tully says.  "Now it's a kindly meant thought..."

"It is not entirely," Justin disagrees.  "I want to teach the old
man to honor what he has."

"Teach him a lesson, so to speak?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, I suppose that's a different matter.  You'd best take him
with you then."

"I think he could learn the same by being deprived of your
excellent service for a time.  And there's nothing that says we
can't take *all* of you.  Anyone who wishes to go, I mean."

"There'll always be some who want to stay.  Me, I'm too set in my
ways for an adventure like that.  And I'm used to the laird's ways. 
I'd make sure he ate and didn't freeze."

"What if we took him?  Would you come with him, then?"

"Why should I?"

"If you wished to."

She shakes her head.  "Not I.  Haven't left the Kirkpatrick lands
in my life, and I'm not planning to now."

"The rest of you?"

The headshakes are nearly unanimous.

"Remind me to explain about the Scots later," Chris whispers to
Justin.

His comment is repeated by his neighbors, causing laughter to
ripple down the table.

Justin asks, "Are they stubborn, like you?"

"More so.  I was raised in London.  I'm a foreigner."

Some people laugh.  Mrs. Tully says indignantly, "No, you're not,
Master Christian!"

"Maybe we should tie the old... man up?"

Chris turns to Justin, surprised.  "I thought you were going to
talk him into it!"

"Oh."  Justin droops.  "I was looking forward to stealing him.  I
suppose I can talk him into it, if you'd prefer."

The laughter is loud and sustained, and before long, the alcohol's
being poured and the tables dragged back for some dancing.

Justin staggers against Chris an hour later.  "Chris?" he
questions, squinting into the face before him.  "'s you, righ'?"

"It's me," Chris assures him.  "Don' drink much, d'you?"

"Huh?  I was thirsty, but your water tastes funny here," Justin
complains.

"Not water!" Chris chortles.  "Hard cider!"

"What's that?" Justin asks.  Only it comes out more like "zat?"

"Applies.  Apples, an' some other stuff."

"My stomach hurts," Justin says.  He elaborates, but in different
languages.  Even he's not sure what he's saying.

"Don' throw up," Chris warns him, and walks him upstairs to their
room.

Justin shivers harder and harder.  He seems to have lost his
sweater somewhere.  "C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-cold," he chatters.  His teeth
keep bumping together and eating his words before they get out of
his mouth.

"Need t'get you 'side," Chris says, and fumbles with the door.  He
manages to get it open without falling, and pulls Justin inside. 
"See?  Warm."

Justin nods.  "Chris?  C'n I go sleep without taking care of you?"
he asks.  "Sorry, so sorry."

"What's that?" Chris says, stumbling toward the bed, still dragging
Justin.  "You need t'get under the covers now.  S'warm under the
covers."

Justin takes off his clothes and crawls into, onto, around and
under the covers.  "Sick, so tired."

Chris finds the chamber pot and sticks it next to the bed on the
side nearest Justin's head.  "If you gotta be sick, be sick in
there," he explains in a mumble.

Justin doesn't answer with anything but a faint snore.

Chris tries to get his clothes off and manages to get his pants
down around his feet, which does him no good, since his boots are
still on.  He sits by the fire to take them off, sitting down a lot
hard than he meant to.  He yawns and has to fight the urge to go to
sleep right there.  He has to make sure Justin's warm first.

He then manages to get his boots off, which seems good enough to
him, then banks the fire and unties the curtains, climbing into the
bed.  He curls around Justin and goes to sleep.

~~~~

Justin is woken by the singular joy of vomiting before fully
conscious.  Still, since he seems to have managed to hit the pot,
it's not as bad as it *could* be.  He groans between heaves.  His
head is going to explode and fall off and he's going to die.

Chris mumbles and drops back to sleep.  He's experienced at
hangovers.  His favorite way of dealing with them is to sleep
through them.

Justin shivers pitifully, huddling on the edge of the bed.  The
scent of his illness occasionally brings on a new bout, until he
finally determines to get up and do away with it.  He's still fully
dressed, and he begins staggering slowly, carefully down to the
privy to dispose of the chamber pot's contents.

Chris snores.

Justin disposes of the pot's contents, then spends a good deal of
time disposing of his internal organs by means of allowing them to
exit through his mouth.  Or it feels that way, anyway.

Mrs. Tully tuts and sends him water to drink, and then has one of
the lads escort him back up to the room, when he can't be sick any
more.

Justin staggers back to bed and collapses on top of the covers.

Chris makes room for the body in his bed, rolling over and rubbing
his face against the cool sheet.

Justin closes his eyes and wills himself back to sleep.

Chris starts snoring again.

~~~~

Justin wakes again, this time to Chris saying his name.  Justin
bats at the voice.

"Ow!"

Justin mumbles, "Quiet," and drops his hand.

"Oh, so we're having *that* kind of hangover, are we?"

"What?" Justin whines.

"Ssh, go back to sleep.  I'll make sure your highness isn't
disturbed."  Chris climbs out of the bed and then shuts the heavy
curtains to muffle sound.  Dark and quiet is probably what Justin
needs most right now.

Justin tries to sleep, but his body will not let him.  After a few
minutes, he gets up, pisses and washes his face in the basin of
water.  Chris watches him silently.  After a moment, Justin dunks
his face in the basin.

Chris doesn't say anything, just waits for Justin to feel more
human.

"What is wrong with me?" Justin asks in heavily accented English. 
He wipes his dripping face on his sleeve.

"You have a hangover.  Alcohol sickness."

"Alcohol?  I thought... what... Cider is apples."

Chris smiles ruefully.  "Yes.  But *hard* cider is alcohol made
from apples."

"Oh, dear."

"That's one way to put it."

"Make it better?"

"Do you have any clean water left to drink?  If so, drink that and
come over here."

Justin pours the rest of the pitcher into a glass and drinks it
slowly, moving to Chris as he sips.

Chris nods approvingly.  "I want you to sit down on the floor in
front of me.  Would you like a pillow or is the carpet cushion
enough?"

Justin sits and leans against Chris's legs.  "You are not sick?" he
asks.

"No.  Not like you are."

"Why?  What did I do wrong?"

"You don't have any tolerance for the stuff, for one."  Chris puts
his hands on Justin's shoulders and slowly begins rubbing them. 
"Second, you didn't drink enough water in between the alcohol. 
With me, the more water I drink before I sleep, the better I feel
in the morning.  We did both eat though, so that was good."

Justin shivers under Chris's hand.  "I should do that for you," he
protests weakly.

"I don't feel sick."  He doesn't feel *good* either, but it's no
worse than a morning after a restless night's sleep and a
stomachache.

Justin says, "You must not let me drink alcohol again."

Chris keeps rubbing soothingly.  "I'll remind you.  But there are
times when one must drink in my profession.  A better rule to
follow is to only drink in moderation."

"Allah forbids."

"Technically, no," Chris says.  "But in general, yes."

"What I was taught," Justin protests weakly.  They are taught
religion, but they are also taught to be willing to serve in any
way they are ordered, including the setting aside of their own
religion.

"No, no.  It's a fine rule to live by, and better for you.  Unless
we are in a situation where it is unsafe for you to refuse, it is
a good rule.  However, I will say that accepting a glass and
pretending to at least sip from it is the most polite thing to do."

"Yes, Chris."  Justin struggles to bring his mind back to working. 
"We talk to the Kirkpatrick today?"

"It can wait until tomorrow when you feel better."

"I am all right."

Chris gently kneads Justin's neck.  "If you knew I felt like you
do, would you tell me to rest?"

"I always feel better when you touch me."

"I love you, too.  But there's the possibility that we may have to
tie the old man up and kidnap him.  And I'd rather you were feeling
well first.  We can wait a day."

Justin tips his head back to look at Chris.  "He wants me."

Chris quirks his eyebrows, puzzled.  "What are you talking about?"

"He is jealous of you for having me.  He wants to bed me."

"Like son, like father, I suppose.  I never knew he had a taste for
buggery, but it doesn't surprise me.  Does it bother you?"

"No.  We can use it against him."

Chris's fingers still, then he resumes.  "Are you certain?  I mean
-- I'm sure you're correct about him wanting you.  You do have a
unique expertise in that field.  But do you really want to use
this?"

"As you will.  But he cannot have me, and he is too old to force
me."  Justin looks at Chris.  "I do not fear him, because you will
always keep me safe.  But if you wish him to come with us on his
own, we can use it."

"I don't want to use you as though you were a tool."

"We are all tools."

"Not you."

"I love you, too."

Chris moves his hands to Justin's forehead.  "Yes."

"Good," Justin says, smiling serenely.  "Let us bathe, and convince
the old devil."

"Tomorrow."

"Then what shall we today do?"

"You should get some rest."

"I stink."

"Bath, then rest."

Justin smiles.  "I would kiss you.  But that would be not good."

Chris kisses him anyway.

Justin wrinkles his nose and keeps his lips pressed together.  "You
must love me," he says when Chris sits back.

"I'm foolishly fond of you, yes."

"Show me a bath?"

"Certainly, although it's more difficult than it sounds."  Chris's
mouth twists.  "My father applies his economy saving ways there as
well.  One thing you should bear in mind is that frugality is
considered to be a virtue here."

"What is it?"

"Cold water.  Very cold water."

"Perhaps Mrs.  Tully will lend us kettles to fix the 'frugality'."

"Waste perfectly good fuel on getting clean?  She wouldn't hear of
it.  Besides cold is good for hangovers."

"I have money," Justin says.  "And fabric."  But he gives in,
eventually, and allows Chris to show him the 'joys' of a cold bath.

It's fast.  That's about all Chris can say for it.

Justin stays in the water until he's clean.  He could skip washing
his hair, of course, or go for a quick wash.  But he needs to be
clean more than he needs to be warm.  It's still the shortest
*real* bath he's ever taken.

Chris hustles them back to their rooms and gets Justin under the
covers.  He joins him, and cuddles close.  "Tell me if you start
feeling your extremities.  I know I can't."

Justin starts rubbing Chris's hands between his own.

Chris kisses him.  "You know that this all just an excuse to spend
today with you before having to endure the journey back to London. 
A far less pleasant journey than the one here, too."

"We can ride the horses," Justin offers.

"It's a thought, but you'd freeze."

"I'll wear lots of furs."

"It's colder out in the wind than in the carriage."

"I know."

"Well, I warned you."

Justin smiles and pets Chris's beard, which endlessly fascinates
him.  "I will do what you wish to do.  I wish to be near you."

Chris rubs his chin into Justin's hand.  "And I you.  I see I will
be spending the trip on horseback."

"Mmm.  And yet, you may spend today on *my* back."

"Or vice versa."

"As you wish."

"As it pleases *you*."

"It all pleases me," Justin says with a sudden grin.

"Ah, you're too much for an old man like me."

"I am not, and you are not old."

"Old enough."

"For what?"

"Everything."  Chris yawns and drops his head to Justin's chest.

Justin gently combs Chris's hair.  "Nap."

"I'm not all that tired.  Just too tired to come up with a new way
to please my young lover."

"Was something wrong with the old ways?"

Chris snickers.  "No.  But I like showing you new things and seeing
your reaction."

"Oh."

Chris rubs his head against Justin's chest.  "Unless there's
something you want to try?"

"Not particularly.  I know of other things, though, if you wish
something new."

"No.  I don't like thinking of what we do as having once been
something you had to learn."

"Why?"

Chris examines his feelings for the exact reason.  "I feel like I'm
using you and that you couldn't possibly want to do those things. 
That I'm coercing you."

Justin snuggles closer to Chris.  "I like doing those things with
you.  No matter where I learned them.  You're always the one who
taught me how they *feel*."

"Still."

Justin stills, looking at Chris for further direction.

"Something wrong?" Chris asks.  He doesn't know why Justin suddenly
froze.

"Still?"

"Yes, I still have problems with the idea of you being trained for
sex.  Is that upsetting you?"

"You said 'still'.  I am still."

Chris blinks and laughs.  "Oh.  Sorry.  You don't have to be still. 
It wasn't a command.  I meant that I had reservations even though
you were correct."

"Reservations?  For what?"  Justin frowns.  Chris has taught him
many words.  But English is strange.  They use one word for a great
many things, and Justin's often confused.

Chris wets his lips.  He and Justin spend a lot of time talking
about things like this, explaining what words mean and how Chris is
using them.  "Reservations.  It means that there are things I have
held back or reserved to myself, things that bother me even though
you've told me just now that they don't bother you."

"Oh.  I have reservations about being big."

"Reasons why being big bothers you even though I said I'm okay with
it?"

"Yes."

Chris nods.  "Like that, then."

"Can I fix it?  Your reservations?"

Chris smiles, chuckling.  "Probably, yes.  But you don't have to
fix everything about me."

"There's nothing *wrong* with you," Justin insists.

"Sweetling, there are many things wrong with me, but I'm happy that
you like me the way I am."

Justin closes his eyes and sort of basks in Chris's warmth.  He's
still cold.

Chris hums to himself and holds Justin.

Justin finds himself drifting as his body warms up.  He listens to
Chris's heart contentedly, knowing that there are no demands on
him.  He does not have to worry about what will please Chris,
because Chris loves him as an equal.

Chris wasn't planning to nod off, but the alcohol from the night
before had prevented him from getting a regular night's sleep. 
He's comfortable, he's warm, he's tired and he has no reason to
move.  His eyes slide shut and he drifts off.

Justin wakes because Chris has moved away and he's cold.  Rather
than sleep, Justin rises and dresses and wraps a turban around his
head.  His hair, which had been wet, is not frozen in places.

As he sleeps, Chris reaches out for Justin.  It's mostly
unconscious, but when he wakes enough to roll over, he feels out
for Justin and Justin isn't there.  When he moves again and Justin
isn't there, Chris gets up, still sleepy, and looks around.

Justin sits damn near in the fire, and works on patching Chris's
socks.  Darning, Beverly called it when she taught him.

Chris gets out of bed and moves over to Justin, yawning.  He sits
down next to him and leans his head against Justin's shoulder.

Justin kisses Chris's temple and finishes up the sock.

"Thanks," Chris says, still resting there.  "Hate doing the
darning.  The socks just get smaller and smaller or more and more
patched until there's no sock left and just patches."

Justin smiles.  "I'll be careful," he says.

Chris nods.  "You always are."

"Not that time with the teapot."

Chris smiles.  "But now you know."

"Yes, I do," Justin says, with a wry grin.

He chuckles.  Justin's shoulder is bony, and Chris slides down so
that his head is in Justin's lap and he's facing the fire.  "This
okay?" he asks and yawns again.

"You going back to sleep, then?"

"No.  But the bed didn't feel right without you in it."

"Sorry," Justin whispers.

Chris shakes his head.  "It's all right.  You don't have to spend
your life catering to what I want.  If you're awake and want
something to do, then you *should* get up and do something."

"It was cold," Justin explains.

"Yes.  I am sorry for that.  We should not have come here in the
winter.  It's too hard on you."

"I would be cold in England, too."

"You would be less cold.  And I should have refused the order to
come home as well, and only come after spring."

"But now we will drag the old man to England and force him to see. 
Or kill him.  I could kill him, if you'd like."

"No.  You can only kill people if they're actively attempting to
kill you, me or someone with us.  It's a custom."

"Stupid custom," Justin teases.

"Yes, well.  My people are known for that."

"I love you," Justin whispers, bending low to kiss Chris.

Chris turns his head to meet Justin's lips.  "I love you, too."

Justin rubs his nose on Chris's.

Chris giggles.

Justin says, "Your nose is cold, too."

"We could kidnap my father now.  We wouldn't make it that far
today, but it'd get us closer to being back in London, where it'd
be at least a little warmer for you."

"I thought you wanted to rest today."

Chris shrugs.

"I want to go outside," Justin says.  "Did you know you can *play*
with snow?"

"Yes, I had heard that."

"I want to play."

"You're going to get cold," Chris warns him.

"Just once?"

He sighs.  "As many times as you want."

"I can go alone," Justin offers, when Chris sighs.

"I'll come with you.  I'm just unhappy with myself for trying to
simultaneously protect you from everything and the realization that
I'm also overprotecting you."

"I don't understand.  But it's all right."

Chris sits up.  "Thank you yet again.  Let's get bundled up."

Justin has learned the art of layering, but Chris keeps on adding
more layers.  By the time they head outside, Justin feels like he's
a fat, fat man.

Chris just follows Justin around at first, watching Justin discover
the wonder of snow and how it's cold and white and can be shaped
into things and so on.  It's cute.

Justin sniffs the snow.

Chris covers his mouth with his glove and tries not to laugh as
Justin inhales ice particles and starts sneezing.

Justin snorts and throws the wadded up snow at Chris.

Chris grins.  "You don't want to start throwing snow at me."

Justin, mutinously, throws more snow.  Of course, he's not stupid,
so then he runs.

Chris laughs and chases him.

Justin screams and dodges around and through and under.  His bulky
clothes make him slow, and the ice under his feet makes him slide. 
He can't stop laughing.

Chris catches him and tackles him to the snow and then shoves snow
down the back of his coat, just like he would to anyone else.

Justin screams louder and squirms.  He flips over and shoves snow
into Chris's face.

Chris laughs and shakes his head so it slides off.  Then he gets up
and darts away to grab a handful of snow and pack it into a
snowball.

"Nooo!"  Justin scrambles to his feet and starts skittering away
again.

This time, instead of chasing him, Chris lets the snowball fly.  He
has excellent aim.  It hits Justin in the back of the head.

Justin's turban is tossed off, into the snow.  Justin spins about
and sits hard on his ass with the force of the snowball.  "Truce!"
he cries.  "I give up!"

Chris approaches him slowly, keeping his distance.  "And for what
reason should I believe that you mean this and do not plan to
ambush me?"

Justin takes off his gloves and tosses them to Chris.  "Cold!"

Chris tosses the gloves back.  "Put them on.  You don't want to
take them off."

"You wanted proof," Justin reminds Chris, as he pulls the gloves
back on with clumsy fingers.  Even so bundled up, he's cold, and
getting to the point where he's ready to go inside.

Chris comes closer and holds out his hand to help Justin to his
feet.  "Not the kind that makes you freeze."

"Go inside?" Justin asks, teeth starting to chatter.

"Yes.  Let's go inside."  Chris keeps his arm around Justin, not
that it does much to help warm Justin, but it makes Chris feel
better that he's trying, and guides him back.

They enter the kitchen, where Mrs. Tully orders their wet clothes
to hang before the fire.  Stripped down, Justin's even colder. 
"I'm g-going up," he tells Chris, who's chatting with a maid.

"All right.  I'll be there in a minute."

Justin nods, and runs up to the room to replace wet layers with dry
layers.

Chris follows shortly after.  He's carrying a kettle and two mugs. 
He sets the mugs down and hangs the kettle over the fire.  "Some
hot mulled cider to warm you up from the inside.  It's not
alcoholic, so it's safe."

Justin's dragged the heavy comforter off the bed to curl before the
fire.  "Come in with me," he requests, holding the blanket open for
Chris.

"In a minute."  Chris changes his own clothes, then fills the mugs
and brings them as he sits down with Justin.  He hands one to
Justin.  "Drink this.  It should help."

Justin pulls Chris into his lap, and then lifts his mug.  "It's
good," he says, after a sip.

Chris wriggles until he's comfortable, then drinks his own.  "Mmm. 
Yes.  Good batch."

Justin presses his face to the back of Chris's shoulder and just
exists.  No thinking, just being comfortable and happy.

Chris feels Justin slowly defrosting behind him.  He doesn't really
have anything to say, so he just drinks his cider.

Justin yawns.  "What's haggis?"

"Sheep stomach.  You eat it."

"For dinner, apparently," Justin says dryly.  It sounds disgusting. 
But he's gotten used to eating strange things, while with Chris.

"It's not that different from some of the things your people eat. 
If I remember, there's a dish like that, only it's prepared
differently and you use goat instead of sheep."

"Yes."  Not that *Justin* eats that.

"It's good practice," Chris says, eyes dancing.  "A diplomat should
be able to eat anyone's food without vomiting.  At least, not
unless that's the polite thing to do."

"Yes, Chris."

Chris leans back against Justin.  "I'm jesting.  Well, for the most
part."

Justin buries his nose in Chris's hair and breathes deeply.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," Justin murmurs.

"That's good, for I've no wish to move."

"Hmmm."

Chris takes that to mean Justin's dozing off and lets himself do
the same.

Justin feels oddly lightheaded.  He holds Chris and stares at the
fire and pleasantly drifts, trying not to think too much.

"I'm happy, you realize, with how you handled my father," Chris
says after a long while.  "Happy and impressed.  I hope to draw
upon your courage and assertiveness as we continue to deal with
him.  I fear I too often fall silent as I run up against old
arguments and know not what to say that has not already been said
many times before."

"It helps that I can hate him purely," Justin says sleepily. 
"Without caring about who paid for my education."

"Mmm.  I had not thought of it that way, although I don't feel
attached to him for that.  My main points of distress are that I
ought to be doing something more than I am for the sake of my
people and that I am behaving terribly considering that he is my
father and I am or ought to be a gentleman."

"Not gentleman.  S'word for men of no self-conscience.  You're you. 
Is better."

Chris chuckles.  "As always, your opinion of me is gratifying."

"More important to be true, than to care what you look like."

"As I look like a monkey, I should hope so."

"Monkey?"

"Small animal, clever but vile in disposition."

"You're not vile."

"Ah, but you love me."

"I do."

Chris sighs, contented.

~~~~

The next day, Justin dresses again in his heavy harem attire.  He
and Chris attend the old man in the study, before the fire.

"We'd have you come with us back to London," Justin says.  He's
again seated at Chris's feet, but this time he keeps his hand
laying lightly on Chris's thigh.  It's comfortable and not at all
obscene.  But the Kirkpatrick stares, scowling.

"Think of all the fun you can have terrorizing people who aren't
used to your ways," Chris says brightly.

"I have no reason to go to London," the old man grumbles.

Justin looks up through his lashes and smiles anxiously behind his
semi-transparent veil.  "What if we could give you a *reason*?" he
asks, tipping his head toward Chris's hand.

Chris isn't sure how Justin's ploys look from the other side, but
he does shift his hand enough so that his fingers are quite close
to Justin's mouth.  Suggestive of what else Justin could do.  ~And
if my father ever lays one hand on Justin, I'll castrate him
myself, and *then* let Justin kill him.~

The old man's eyes narrow.  "What reason?"

"You could attend the ball at which Chris will be honored," Justin
suggests.  "Get away from the cold for a time.  Converse more with
your son."

The Kirkpatrick snorts.  "You make it sound as if we have anything
to talk about.  Warmer, you say?"

Chris keeps his mouth shut.

Justin nods.  "Warmer.  Nearly *hot* compared to this."  He
gestures and turns his head to the window, coincidentally brushing
his lips across Chris's fingers.

Chris's fingers twitch.  His father looks ready to explode.

Justin leans back against Chris's chair.  "Will you be coming with
us?" Justin asks, lightly accenting 'coming'.

The old man chuffs out a laugh.  "Oh, I'll be accompanying you,
well enough.  The notion's too appealing, and no doubt my son has
a backup plan if your rather obvious wiles fail.  But no more than
that.  And I have no desire whatsoever to speak to That Woman."

"She happens to be my mother."

"Accident of fate."

"No, deliberate disaster, brought about by you."

Justin coldly says, "If you didn't want to talk to her, you
shouldn't have raped her, you old goat."

The old man glowers.  "To hell with the both of you.  I'm not going
anywhere."

Chris sighs.  "You had to choose to do this the hard way."

Justin stands up and sways over, kneeling before the Kirkpatrick
and putting his hands on the arms of his chair.  "You're not?  You
want to stay here and freeze your... feet... off?  If you're not
ashamed of your actions, why be offended by what I've said?  You as
much as admit your guilt by hiding here in your castle, you know."

"I'm not guilty of anything," the old man says.  It'd be a roar,
except for the way his hands are clutching at the arms of his
chair, almost but not quite reaching out for Justin's wrists, so
close to his hands.

"You're not?  You don't act like an innocent man.  Are you? 
Innocent?"  Justin drops his eyes and turns his head away slightly,
presenting the portrait of an inexperienced young thing.

Chris watches as his father makes a grab for Justin.  His own hands
are itching to perform violence, but he'll let Justin handle it. 
Unless his father actually manages to touch Justin.

Justin leans back, suddenly out of reach.  "Will you be coming,
then?"

He falls back into his chair, eyes flinty.  "You manipulate me as
easily as you manipulate my son.  Again, I ask you, do I have a
choice?"

"I manipulate you only when you wish to be manipulated.  And you do
have a choice."

"Then I stay."

"That's not one of the choices," Justin replies.

"Exactly," the old man says, with triumph at having at last bested
his opponent into an admission.  "You only pretend to give me
choices."

"No, you have choices.  You may come on your own, or be forced." 
Justin looks up, leaning in again.  "You can be friendly, or not."

"And you can be nothing but a demon in human guise.  I have no
choices, so I will not choose.  Be damned for that.  I refuse to
ease your consciences by letting you pretend that my captivity was
my decision."

"You think my conscience suffers for this?"

Sometimes Chris almost admires the old man.  If only he wasn't
always *wrong*.

"No."  The old man jerks his chin.  "But his does."

Chris *really* hates his father.  For someone he's spent little
time with, the man knows him -- or his weaknesses -- quite well.

"Maybe he's just sorry he didn't let me kill you," Justin says,
standing.  He sways toward the old man.  "But there are
compensations for behaving agreeably."  He moves back to Chris's
side.

"Hah.  You don't mean it, and he'd die before letting any such
thing happen.  You lie, like all demons, seducing with false
promises of things that cannot be."

Chris rises.  He's had enough.  They can tie the old man up.  "Well
said, father."  His father refuses to call him by name.  His mother
named Chris after what she had to live on once she'd fled for
London.  Christian Charity.  The name would choke in his father's
mouth.  Chris likes to return the favor.  "The servants of the
devil, of course, would know each other well.  Justin, it's
useless.  Call for our coach and I'll fetch a rope."

"A demon?" Justin asks Chris.  "What's a demon?"  He moves to the
door and tugs the bell pull.

"An evil djinn, who desires only the destruction of others and
despises all that is good."

"Is he stupid, or merely senile?" Justin asks.

Chris closes the door behind him.  "A touch senile, but only a
little.  He sees quite clearly, if you take into account his
assumption of absolute power over everything within his view.  As
that happens to be near enough to the truth within these walls and
for a good portion of the surrounding country, he is as sane as any
man."

Justin draws Chris's arm about his waist.  "We can use manacles,"
he says.  "There are some in the kitchen."

"No.  Rope's more effective.  Manacles could be easily locked --
and easily concealed with a cloak or a coat.  A rope is a threat to
humiliate him in front of all who he holds dear as his subjects and
toys.  Come to it, it sounds like a good idea."

"Mrs. Tully will have some," Justin says.  A servant hurries up to
them.  Justin orders their coach and provisions for the journey. 
He sends Chris down to see that Mrs. Tully's already packed for the
Kirkpatrick, and goes up to their room to finish packing for them.

Chris leaves orders with Mrs. Tully.  She runs the place, and she
knows the laird's men who actually carry out the work on his lands. 
She helps him refine his plans for things to continue as normal
here, except more so.

"I expect regular reports," Chris says.  "Not too regular, as I
trust you, and you say you trust these men.  But enough to be sure
that no charlatan has come to thieve from you and that no plague
has struck you down.  Like as not, my father will never be
returning.  Either shut this place down or fill it with people who
need a place to stay.  Whatever seems best to you.  The income from
the lands should pay for their upkeep, but apply to me in London if
that should prove untrue."

"Of course, Master Christian."  She hugs him and kisses his cheeks
and starts making up a basket of food for them to take with.

Justin finishes packing and loading the coach and wagon.  He comes
into the kitchen rosy-cheeked.  "We'll be back in the summer," he
tells Mrs. Tully.  "I'm *cold*!"

"If Master Christian's duties don't take you abroad."

"In the summer," Justin repeats.  "I think we'll be here a time. 
Not too long, but more than half a year."

She gives him a smile.  A very knowing smile.  "Ah, you must have
a way with him then.  He talks as though he can barely stand to be
in one place for more than a weeks' time."

"I think he wants for me to find home and family," Justin admits.

"Master Christian speaks highly of his family in London," she says.

Chris thinks really hard about actually tying his father up, given
the probable benefits, both to his father's attitude and to his own
feelings, but there's no actual need.  His father understands the
threat and is compliant.  Relatively.

"You want me to go in *this*?  This isn't suitable for traveling."

"Then change," Chris says, bored.

"Into what?"

"I don't care."

Despite the complaining, Chris gets him downstairs.

"They're good people," Justin replies.  He would say more, but he
hears Chris and his father on the stairs.  "Goodbye, then," he says
to Mrs. Tully.

"Goodbye, love," she says.  "We'll look forward to the summer and
having you back again."

Justin waves and helps Chris get the Kirkpatrick to the carriage.

"Remember," Chris says, "we're bringing the rope with us, and we
can always ride outside if you decide to berate us for our crimes."

The old man's perpetually sour expression remains.  "If I wanted to
get away, all I have to do is call for a magistrate the first time
we stop at an inn.  There's no need to be heavy-handed.  You are,
unfortunately, my heir."

Chris shrugs.  "You can always have me disinherited."

"I wouldn't dream of giving you the pleasure."  With that, the old
man steps into the coach.

Chris wraps his arms around Justin and sighs into his shoulder.  "I
hope this does someone some good, because I'm already ready to slit
my own throat just to get away from him."

Justin whispers.  "I can always entertain you once he falls
asleep."

Chris snorts, sounding remarkably like his father.  "You need less
sleep as you get older.  I'd never be able to, not as long as there
was a chance he was watching and getting his jollies from it."

"He'd be more amenable," Justin notes, and climbs into the
carriage.

"No," Chris says firmly and follows him.

Justin laughs.

Chris sighs.  It's going to be a long journey.

~~~~

Justin sleeps a lot, laying his head on Chris's shoulder, or
sitting on the floor with his head on Chris's knee.  He feels cold
and hot and shaky, as they drive along, and sleeping seems a good
thing to do.  Chris and his father don't talk to each other, so
there's nothing to stay awake for, really.

It's the coach ride from hell.  He'd rather be throwing up half the
way from Algiers to Ceylon, or even on camelback than this.  Chris
takes comfort in holding Justin as much as possible, even though
his legs cramp and his limbs fall asleep.

Justin raises his heavy head on the third night of their journey,
and squints out the window at the falling snow.  Then he sneezes,
and lays his head back down on Chris's knee with a soft moan.

Chris strokes Justin's shoulder over the furs, worried.

His father glares at him.  "Best stop for a few days unless you
want him sick to death."

"Stay where?  Where it's snowing and there are more holes in the
walls than there is wood?  He wouldn't fare better.  I want him
home."

"I was home."

They sneer at each other, and Chris goes back to worrying.

"You're not home," Justin mutters, in a thick voice.  "You're mean
and hateful.  Not home at all."  After a moment he adds, "I sort of
*like* you, but you're still mean and hateful and bad.  I only like
you now because you're harmless and I know you can be of good
doing.  No.  One who... who.  You can make some things better.  Not
because you are good, though."

"Clearly delirious," the old man says.

Chris hates to agree with him, but he does.  He knocks on the roof
and tells the coachman to stop at the next thing resembling an inn.

By the time they get there, Justin is mumbling nearly constantly. 
Chris has to carry him to the front parlor they've engaged for its
fireplace and trust that his father is not bullying or bribing the
driver into taking him home.

Justin huddles before the fire.  "Sorry," he says, momentarily
lucid.  "Keep going in the morning."

Chris shrugs out of his cloak and coat and wraps them around
Justin, dragging a cushion to put under Justin's head.  "Hush.  As
much as I dislike saying it, my father may have been right.  You
need to get better more than we need to keep going.  To hell with
rehabilitating the old man if it hurts you."  He kisses Justin's
exposed cheek before covering it.  "Try to get warm.  I'll be back
as soon as I have more coverings and something warm for you to eat
and drink."

Justin's still laying before the fire when the old man comes in. 
"What's your name?" Justin asks him.

"Delirious," the old man mutters, taking off his own cloak and
laying it over Justin, before bending down to take a look at the
fire.  "Stupid fool."

"What's your name?" Justin repeats.  "Kirkpatrick isn't your given
name."

"Hmph.  Alan."

"Alan."  Justin nods.  "I think I'm sick," he tells no one in
particular, and closes his eyes.

"Just as foolish as the boy."  He adds a log to the fire and make
sure it's arranged so that it provides the maximum amount of heat,
rather than lasting for the maximum length of time.  Then he
retreats.

Justin wants Chris back.  He wants them to get back to London. 
He's very, very angry with himself for being sick, because it's
*ruining* the whole plan.

Chris has the inn in motion, eager to do his bidding.  To his
chagrin, the lure of hosting the Kirkpatrick is worth more to them
than the gold he'd offered.  Still, whatever gets Justin well
soonest is best.  He'll have blankets, pillows, a bed and food in
here in a matter of minutes.  He's carrying a mug of hot soup
himself, the only thing they'd had readily available.

He comes in to find his father still in his coat, sitting in a
chair close to the fire.  Typical.

Chris kneels down next to Justin, and puts his arm under Justin's
shoulders.  "I've something for you to drink.  Something warm.  Do
you need help?"

"No."  Justin sits up, leaning against the nearest chair, which
happens to be occupied by the Kirkpatrick.  He sips the soup
gratefully.  "Thank you."  He smiles at Chris.  "Love you."

"Love you, too," Chris says, sitting close, hoping that his
proximity will provide some extra heat.

Justin leans against Chris and drinks his soup.

The blankets are delivered first, then pillows and a bed, and
finally food.  The Kirkpatrick accepts all of this as his just due,
nodding his grudging acceptance of the arrangements without ever
rising from his chair.

Chris rolls his eyes, but he doesn't care how the food and blankets
arrive so long as they do.  He gets Justin thoroughly bundled up
until the younger man can barely move and then feeds him until
Justin's full.

Justin locks eyes with Chris.  "Two days, and then we go on."

"You get better, and we'll go on.  The rest of the trip will be no
easier, and there's no guarantee of better living conditions until
we reach my m-- London."

Justin smiles.  "No one would dare be sick, there."

"Not with that much constant, unwavering attention."

"Exactly."

"You just have to live until I can get you there," Chris says with
as much good humor as he can muster.  He half-expects a snort from
his father, but when he glances up, the old man appears to be
asleep.

Justin follows Chris's gaze.  "And me too ill to do anything fun,"
he complains.

"Not too ill for everything, but I'm too worried about you to
uncover you enough to give you pleasure.  Now rest."

Justin rests.

Chris debates waking his father up, but he's probably warm where he
is.  He covers the old man with a blanket and makes up a pallet for
himself on the floor next to Justin, where he can wrap around
Justin and protect him from the cold.

Justin only wakes up because he can't breathe.  The fire has burned
down to embers and Chris is asleep.  Justin fights his way upright
from his slump against the chair, and proceeds to do something that
might be coughing, if it weren't so close to drowning in reverse. 
Some kind soul has left a bucket handy.  Just perfect for Justin's
insides to be deposited in as he coughs them up.

The coughing wakes Chris and, half-asleep, he builds the fire back
up, and takes the kettle down.  It's lukewarm and he fills a mug
for Justin.

Justin takes the mug after a time, and sips the hot liquid, feeling
the warmth ease his breathing.

The kettle's still got enough in it to last 'til morning, Chris
judges.  Still, he hangs it a little higher so that the kettle
doesn't boil dry.

Justin says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome.  Lie back down now?"

"I want to sit," Justin says.

"All right.  In the chair, or do you want to use me as a backrest?"

"Don't care.  I want to touch you."

"Backrest then," Chris decides, wrapping a blanket around his
shoulders and leaning back against the chair.  He gathers Justin to
him, then wraps the blanket around the both of them.  "Better?"

Justin turns his head to the side, slumps down, and tucks himself
under Chris's chin.  "Good."

Chris kisses the top of Justin's head, then covers that with the
blanket, too.

Justin moves the blanket off his head.  "I'm hot."

"Feverish," Chris says in unhappy surmise.

"No, just hot," Justin says peevishly.

Chris doesn't argue, just holds him.

Justin sleeps fitfully, lulled by Chris's snoring, until morning. 
The innkeeper comes to ask after their needs and the Kirkpatrick
wakes with a whining growl.

Chris asks for more food and liquids and, reluctantly, sees to his
father's needs.  He isn't the old man's servant and he does believe
that his father is over-reliant on other people to do his bidding,
but he's also elderly.

The innkeeper's wife offers honey mixed with rum to soothe Justin's
throat, and Chris takes it.  It couldn't hurt, especially doled out
in teaspoonfuls.

Justin watches Chris set Alan up before the window with a book and
a chessboard.  The old man isn't as needy as he seems, but he wants
Chris to wait on him.  Justin is too sick to really care. 
"Tomorrow," he tells Chris.  "I'll be fine tomorrow."

Chris kisses his forehead.  "You'll be fine when you're fine and
not before.  Get some rest."

Justin says, "I don't want to."

"Then what *do* you want to do?"

"Go home," Justin says, sniffling.

"We will be."

Justin reaches out, wrapping his fingers in Chris's shirt.  "Okay."

Chris shifts until he's in a more comfortable position for Justin
to hold.  "Yep."

Justin says, "Can I go in the bed?"

"Yes."  Chris helps Justin up and takes him to it.

Justin stretches out.  "Thank you.  Better."

"Good."

Justin sinks back into sleep.  He hears Chris and his father play
chess and read books and talk to the staff.  

But it's all sort of muffled and distant.

Justin's cough seems to be getting better, or at least, less
frequent while he's asleep.  Chris can put up with his father for
the sake of Justin's health.

Late in the evening, Justin wakes up.  His stomach aches and his
bladder definitely needs to be emptied.  "Chris?"

"Yes?" Chris asks, coming over to sit next to him on the bed.

"I need up," Justin mutters, trying to get himself standing.  The
blankets seem determined to stop him.

"Hold still."  Chris untucks the blankets, pulling them back to
free Justin.

Justin thanks Chris and rises.  "Where's the...?"

"Chamberpot?"

"Yes."

Chris has his hand under Justin's elbow for the two steps it takes
to get to it.  He'd been expecting something like this, although
vomiting had been his primary concern.

Justin moans happily as the pressure on his body is released.  Some
sane part of his brain is murmuring that it almost expects Chris to
try to hold his penis for him.  Justin smiles at his brain.  Silly
brain.

Chris supports Justin, although he appears to be able to stand on
his own.  It gives him the illusion that he's useful.

Done, Justin sags against Chris.  "Can I have food?" he asks,
forgetting all the different words he's learned.  He wants broth or
soup or something.  But 'food' is close enough.  English is just
too much of an effort.

"Real food?" Chris asks doubtfully.  "I don't know if you're that
well yet.  Some bread and cheese maybe.  But soup'd be better."

Justin agrees, but in Turkish.  Much easier in Turkish.

Chris goes to get soup.  Just soup.  If Justin can't handle
English, he isn't getting real food either.

Justin crawls back into the bed, curling up on his side to wait. 
Chris is back soon, and fastly too.  Justin sits up.

"You're that hungry, are you?"  Chris brings the bowl over and
hands it to Justin before sitting next to him on the bed, then
putting a leg up on it so he can tug Justin to sit near enough to
him to lean on him a little.

Justin leans against Chris.  "My stomach is eating my backbone," he
mumbles, sipping at the thin soup.

"Good.  If you've got an appetite, then you're probably not so
sick."

"No, not so sick.  We'll go in the morning."  Justin finishes his
bowl and Chris sets it aside.  Justin drowses against Chris.  "Are
you going to sleep with me tonight?" he asks.

"The same as last night, yes."

"Same as last night?  Sitting on the floor?" Justin asks.

"Or lying on the couch.  Whichever."

"Here?"

"Sure." Chris isn't entirely certain what Justin is asking.

"Good.  You should sleep in beds."

"I'm not sick and I'm not old.  It doesn't matter where I sleep."

"You're Chris, and I love you."

"Yes," Chris says, and kisses Justin's forehead.  "Now go back to
sleep."

Justin's eyes close.  "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"Ssh, nothing to be sorry for.  Just get better."

Justin sinks back into the warm bed and sleeps.

~~~~

Chris says Justin's still sick the next day.  But in the morning
after their third night in the inn, Justin insists he's well enough
to move on.  They climb back into the carriage and continue on
their way.  Justin glares at Chris and Alan whenever they look at
him.  The stubborn bastards haven't spoken to each other at all,
and Justin's too sick to be political about the situation.  He's
tired, and delays the resumption of his campaign until their
arrival in London.

Chris drops Justin off at his mother's house, over Justin's
protests, secure in the knowledge that he'll be coddled and taken
care of.  Justin isn't all that happy about being left alone, but
it's the best thing for him.

His father, he takes to his club.

Justin sits with Beverly and tells her that they've brought her
rapist to the same city as her home.  He promises she'll never have
to talk to him, or be in an room smaller than a ballroom with him.

She pats his hand.  "Don't worry.  It was a long time ago. 
Christian's much more upset about it than I am."

"I wanted to kill him," Justin says, "but it *was* my idea to bring
him here."

"You wanted to kill him?" Bev asks, bemused.  "Did he do something
while you were up north?"

"No.  Well, nothing out of the ordinary for him."

"Then why?  Surely not just because of me?"

"Because he does not honor what he has.  And because of you."

"What he has?  I don't understand."

"He has a son!  One who is honorable and good.  And he does not
care for him, or praise Allah for having him.  He is a bad man."

Bev laughs and pats his hand again.  "You're right, of course.  But
you've done more for reconciling Christian and his father than
anyone else so far."

"Not reconciling.  I want to show the old man what he could have
had, and then lock him up in his cold castle and wait for his penis
to freeze off."

Bev laughs, shoulders shaking.  "You must be so good for
Christian."

"Why?"

"Because he's too reserved and serious.  He's not naturally so.  He
was quite the hellion when he was young.  Oh, responsible for the
family to a fault.  But not above thieving or causing trouble to
get what we needed.  He loved games and jokes.  I'm afraid he's
grown up into an adult who's forgotten how to act on his impulses."

Justin smiles.  "He's very good at following certain impulses."

"I know I don't need to ask what those are."

Justin's grin turns wicked even as he blushes.

She laughs and leaves him alone.

Settled in the clean, light environment of Beverly's house, Justin
begins to really feel better, instead of just pretending to be.  He
hopes Chris comes soon.

No one's all that happy about the club solution.  His father
grumbles about the management being sub-standard and the
furnishings run down and the whiskey not being of the quality he's
used to.  The management is insulted by the accusations and sniffy
about being used as a dumping ground for old relatives, no matter
what remote province they supposedly own.  And Chris himself is
unhappy about being away from Justin and anything resembling peace
and quiet.

The carriage ride home seems especially long.

Justin hears Chris in the entrance hall, and goes to meet him.  To
hell with the fact that the girls all seem to think his sari is
some sort of underwear.

Chris appreciates the skimpy clothing Justin is wearing.  Not just
because of its lack of fabric and accordant abundance of Justin,
but also because it must mean that Justin is feeling at least a
little better.  He pauses to admire him, then comes forward.

"He's settled for tonight at least.  I put him up in my club.  I
don't think anyone will give into the urge to kill him today, but
I make no promises about tomorrow or the next day."

Justin wraps his arms around Chris's neck and holds on.

"Hey, hey," Chris says, cradling Justin close.  "It was only an
hour or so.  And I'm back now.  It's all right."

"I missed you," Justin says.

"I'm right here." Chris doesn't let go of him.

Justin says, "I think your sisters are watching us." His statement
is followed by whispering and giggles.

"I don't doubt it in the slightest.  Do you want to go upstairs, or
continue enhancing their education?"

"I don't care."

Chris snickers.  "You're an exhibitionist.  I can tell."

"What's that?"

Chris thinks about it, then shakes his head.  As a joke, it's
almost funny.  If he explains it, Justin will be insulted.  The
very idea of Justin deliberately displaying himself is against
everything Justin's been taught.  "Never mind."

Justin nods.  "I'll go back to bed, now," he says.  "I just wanted
to hug you."

"I'll come with you," Chris says instantly.  "I'd love to have you
to myself."

"You don't wish to eat with your family?"

"I'd rather spend the time with you.  I haven't had the opportunity
to get much restful sleep over the course of our entirely too
exciting journey."

Justin shakes his head and then smiles.  "You're too good to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chris says, taking his
hand and leading him upstairs.

Justin blushes at the renewed giggling.  "Where *are* they?  I
don't see them!" he says, craning his head around to look for them.

Acting on a hunch, Chris looks up.  There they are.  "On the
stairs."

Justin says, "Oh."

"This way."

Justin enjoys letting Chris lead him.  He likes being guided and
directed.  He likes knowing he's doing the right thing and being
pleasing.

Chris puts Justin to bed before undressing himself and crawling
into bed alongside him.  He yawns.  "I appreciate the rest.  I need
it."

Justin lays on his side and looks at Chris.  Chris is so nice. 
Sweet and kind, he makes Justin feel strong and still safe.

"What?"

Justin smiles, reaching out and touching Chris's beard with soft
fingers.  He shakes his head when Chris repeats his question.

Chris stops asking, and simply lets Justin touch him.

Justin still feels ill.  He can't breathe very well and he feels
packed in rags.  But he still wants, and he moves his hand down
Chris's chest and stomach to fondle him softly.

"You don't need to do that," Chris tells Justin, but doesn't remove
Justin's hand.

Justin moves closer, laying his head on Chris's shoulder and
continuing to touch Chris.

"Not that it doesn't feel good," Chris says breathlessly.

Chris is hard.  It's been long enough that Justin knew he would be. 
Justin feels strong, holding Chris so intimately.

Chris is breathing hard, anticipating pleasures yet to come.

Justin keeps going until Chris comes.  He licks Chris's chest and
his own hand clean and closes his eyes.

Chris wraps himself around Justin, nuzzling his shoulder.  "Mmm,
thank you.  May I return the favor?"

Justin shrugs.  "Don't know.  If you wish."

"I'd like to," Chris says, hand brushing lightly over Justin's
chest, easing apart the folds of the sari.  When he has it loose in
front, he brushes his hand over the smooth skin of Justin's chest.

Justin sighs.  It's nice to be touched, though he still feels sort
of gross and sick.

"No good?" Chris asks softly.

"I feel dirty," Justin murmurs.  "But I can.  We can."

"Would you rather have a bath?" Chris asks considerately.

Justin fights with himself over the answer.  Would he rather have
a bath than an orgasm?  Yes.  Would he rather have a bath than
Chris's hands on him, and Chris's pleasure in it?  No.  He's
helpless to choose.  Chris touches him again.  "No."

"All right," Chris says.  "But we could do both, if you're not too
tired.  I could give you a bath, and then pleasure you if you
chose."

"Yes?"

"Yes, most definitely.  Is that what you would prefer?  I can get
a basin of water and wash you here if you prefer.  Then you won't
need to leave the bed."

Justin gazes at Chris in adoration.

Chris laughs.  "I guess I know the answer to that question." He
kisses Justin's chest, and then pulls the covers back up over him. 
"I'll be back as soon as I can."

He doesn't get dressed, but rather pulls a robe on over his
nightclothes and toes on some slippers and heads out.

Justin uses the time while Chris is gone to remove his sari and
carefully replace it in the wardrobe.

When Chris comes back, towels slung over his shoulder, basin in
both hands and soap tucked into a pocket, Justin is in the bed.  He
smiles.  "Ready for your bath?"

Justin flips back the covers and waits for Chris naked and exposed.

Chris swallows hard.  "Justin..."

"What?"

"Nothing.  You're just beautiful, that's all."  Chris busies
himself with setting down the basin.

Justin reaches out, drawing Chris's attention back.  "Really?"

Chris gets a washcloth wet and soaps it up.  "Yes," he says, and
turns back.  He brushes a corner of the washcloth over Justin's
forehead.  "Yes.  You are."

"To you?"

"To me, as well."

Justin asks, "Why?"

Chris continues to wash Justin's face gently.  "I assume you mean
beyond the obvious?  For anyone with eyes can see that you are
well-formed and lovely."

Justin makes a negative sound.  "They tell us we are pretty.  They
take us and train us to be pretty.  We don't know what pretty is."

Chris cocks his head.  "You are, but I sense that telling you look
in a mirror is not sufficient justification.  By beautiful, one
means flawless.  Like a work of art.  Everything in proportion and
all features appealing.  That is you.  Pretty is a term used for
kittens, babies, and young people.  Things that are small and
adorable and make you want to pet them.  That is also you, although
I expect you'll lose that, while you'll not lose beauty so easily."

Justin says, "But I'm not flawless.  I'm too big, and my nose is
funny.  My hair won't behave and it's *curly*."

"You will be even bigger, and there's nothing wrong with that.  You
have some growing left to do, I'd wager.  There's nothing wrong
with your nose, and your hair is part of what's making you pretty."

"Should I be not pretty?"

"You should be pretty.  Pretty and beautiful and anything else you
wish to be or are."  Chris's hands have moved to Justin's shoulders
now, and he's washing Justin gently and reverently.

Justin says, "All I wish to be is yours."

"You are.  That has not changed, nor will it, unless you should
decide that you want it to be so."

Justin says, "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome." He kisses Justin's now clean shoulder as he moves
down.  "You should know that I am as much yours as you are mine."

"Thank you for caring for me."

"I love you.  It's not something you need thank me for."

"Thank you," Justin repeats.  He feels tears in his eyes, for no
reason he can explain.  He closes his eyes to hide them.

Chris lays little kisses on Justin's skin as he moves down,
touching his lips briefly to Justin, over and over again.

Chris's actions aren't making the tears end, but making them come
stronger.  Justin resists, wanting to feel Chris touching him,
uninterrupted.

It takes some time before Chris realizes Justin is crying, and when
it does sink in, he stops washing Justin and kneels up by his head. 
Chris places his hands on both sides of Justin's face.  "Ssh, it's
all right.  I'm sorry.  Everything's fine."

"Please don't stop," Justin whispers, without opening his eyes.  "I
don't know why it's happening.  I can't stop it.  I'm not sad!  I'm
happy."

Chris kisses Justin's cheeks and his closed eyelids.  "Are you
certain?"

"I am."

Chris kisses Justin again, and then resumes his task.  He wets and
soaps Justin's thighs, and then dries them as he continues.  This
time, however, he talks.  "Now that we've admitted to everyone that
matters that we love each other and we're married, I thought
perhaps we should discuss other things.  Like whether you'd like a
house of our own to stay in.  I've never bothered, since I'll
inherit the castle when my father dies and I enjoy living with my
mother in the meantime.  But we could buy something that's just
ours, if you like."

"No, Chris.  I don't need a house.  Unless you'd like one."

Chris shakes his head.  "I don't *need* one.  But I'd be happy to
share one with you."

"I already have home."

Chris smiles and kisses the hollow of Justin's hip, then his knee. 
"So you do."

Justin spreads his legs instinctively.  It's been a good long time
since Chris took him.  Justin thinks that Chris may still be hung
up on hurting him.

"So you need to be washed there as well," Chris says teasingly,
although he had all along intended to wash more than just the
front.
 
Justin blushes.

Chris kisses Justin's calf and moves back up.  He washes the
creases between Justin's legs, then bids him to turn over and
finishes Justin's back.  He ends by kissing the curve of Justin's
ass right along the crease.

Justin's breath catches.  "Chris," he moans.  "Touch me more."

"Delighted to be of service," Chris murmurs and parts Justin's
buttocks with his hands before leaning in and beginning to lick.

Justin's eyes go wide, and he pushes up, trying to see Chris. 
"What are you...?  Chris!"

Chris pulls back a little, pressing firmly on Justin's ass to hold
him still.  "I'm touching you with my tongue.  It should feel
good."

"You can't!  Not *there*."  Justin's completely scandalized.

"Why not?"

"It's... that's... It's *dirty*."

"No, it isn't.  I washed here, too."

Justin bites his lip, but lays back down.

Chris goes back to what he had been doing, licking and tasting.

Justin tries not to like it.  But he likes it.  He likes everything
Chris does.  The best he can do is to muffle his moans in the
pillows and try not to beg too shamelessly with his body.

When Justin is writhing helplessly, Chris turns him over and sucks
down his erection.  The startled gasp is gratifying.

Justin has no control over his reaction at all.  It's too new, and
he doesn't know how to stop himself from coming.  Still dazed from
what Chris was doing, he releases into Chris's mouth with a shout.

Chris swallows Justin's release, and then kisses him, before
returning to lie next to him.  "Feel better now, I hope?"

Justin stares at Chris.  "Where do you learn that?"

"I didn't learn it anywhere.  I just thought it would feel good so
I tried it.  I admit I've read about it though."

"Read?  About sex?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Chris pats Justin and pulls the covers over the both of them before
closing his eyes and settling himself to sleep.

Justin wonders what kind of people write *books* about sex, at
least until he falls asleep again.

Chris gets an excellent night's sleep, one that he'd been needing
quite badly.

~~~~

The ball is beautiful.  People dancing everywhere and people from
everywhere talking.  Justin doesn't even have to wear a tuxedo, as
Chris does.  Justin gets to wear his own clothes, which are much
more comfortable.  But Chris does look incredibly handsome.  Justin
misses no chance to look Chris over.  He's just... yes.  Justin
wants to take him home and lick him.

Chris discreetly puts his hand under Justin's elbow.  He whispers,
"I'm not sure what this was supposed to prove.  My father appears
to be having the time of his life."

Justin smiles a little and leads Chris closer.  The old man *is*
having a good time.  But every time he starts a story, one of the
other elderly gentlemen gather around interrupts -- always with a
grander story about Chris.

"Well," Chris says, taking his answer from the smile on Justin's
face, "as long as you're satisfied with it, I'll just assume it's
a more subtle plan than I'm capable of understanding."

By the time they get around to award and honors, the look on the
Kirkpatrick's face has changed.  Whenever he looks at Chris, his
look is more considering than superior.  And then Chris is honored
by the consulate, and the crown, and -- Justin's surprise --
declared a prince of Justin's country.  With attendant lands and
status.

Justin can see the instant the Kirkpatrick realizes that this frees
Chris.  Chris doesn't need *anything* from him ever again, and
Chris's life will continue on at the same level, if not better,
than he is used to.

Chris wrinkles his nose.  "He's leaving?  I don't understand it." 
He understands that his father *can* leave, of course.  His father
traveled in a separate conveyance.  "He's been having a good time. 
It doesn't make sense."

Justin says, "He knows now that you don't need him.  It is a shock
to him.  Stay here, I will return.  Prince."  Justin smiles and
slips away, catching the Kirkpatrick in the coatroom.  "You run?"

The old man snorts.  "Hardly.  The party no longer interests me,
that's all."

"You run, like a dog afraid of being beaten."

"You presume too much.  I am *not* running."

"You are running.  But you don't have to.  You don't have to be
beaten, either.  That is in your eyes.  You could choose to see the
honors placed on your son, and be happy for him.  You could choose
to be proud.  Of *him*, not your own foolish pride.  Trust me,
Chris is an honorable man.  He will see to his duties, his *lands*
and his people.  But if you run from here, if you stay bitter and
cruel and stupid, I will see to it that Chris will never see to you
again."  Justin is resolute, implacable, but gentle as he knows how
to be.  "You are given a great honor to have such a man as a son. 
I love him.  And I will not have him brought low by the likes of
you."

"Have I said or done anything to indicate that I am *not* proud of
my son?" the old man demands.  "Aside from his foolish insistence
on a course of action that, in a generation, will leave my people
without anyone to guard or guide them, he brings honor on our
name."

"You don't tell him.  You don't love him.  You don't treat him as
if this is what you believe," Justin insists.  "Why does he see you
as a burden?  Have you ever treated him as more than a necessary
evil?  Will you not *tell* him these things, then, and stop acting
as if you are the best man of the world?"

"Damnation!" the Kirkpatrick thunders.  "I *know* I am not the best
man in the world, as you put it.  I *know* I have flaws.  The devil
is inside me as much as anyone else."

"Then why aren't you nicer about it?"

He snorts.  "I have the devil inside me.  But I'm not as bad a
father as you think.  I sent him to school.  Do you think he could
have achieved all of this as a beggar?  And he has my name, and
he'll have my lands when I'm gone.  The boy should be counting his
blessings."

"Why?  Did he ask for this?"

"He came begging to me.  And I gave him the money and the right
names to talk to."

"He came begging to you for what?"

The Kirkpatrick shakes his head.  "I don't know what you want, but
I've had enough of this."  He turns and walks out.

Justin follows him, just long enough to stop him and say, "You
think.  Did he ask you for anything it wasn't your duty to provide? 
You're his father.  Did he ask you to do more than act like it? 
Did you make him beg for what should have been freely given?" 
Justin drops his hand from the old man's arm.  "You think.  And
he'll come to see you tomorrow."

The old man doesn't look at Justin or respond, just gives the
signal for the coachman to drive away.

Justin returns to the ballroom.  Beverly is kissing Chris on the
cheek.  Justin resumes his seat silently.

"Are you all right?" Chris asks.  To his mother, he says, "Justin
has the notion that there can be peace and mutual respect between
myself and my father."

"Or I'll kill him," Justin adds.

"That's the sensible part, I'm afraid to say.  If my father doesn't
learn his lesson, Justin wants to kill him."

"How sweet," Beverly says.

"Well.  I think I made *some* progress.  Did you know that he's
proud of you?" Justin asks Chris.  "Very, very proud."

Chris raises his eyebrows.  "I can see that, I suppose.  Insomuch
as I reflect back on him, certainly."

"That, too."

"Really?  Then I am indeed startled.  I would never have guessed
that."

"He's a camel turd.  But he's got to have a brain in there
somewhere."

Chris looks shocked for a moment before snickering.

His mother is not so reticent, breaking immediately into loud
laughter.  "Exactly!  I couldn't have put it better, dear."

"Except for the part about surmising he has a brain," Chris adds
dryly.

Justin sighs.  "He is going to lose you, and will have no greater
regret as he dies."

"Perhaps, perhaps not.  Having never had me, how can he know what
he should regret?  And your hypothesis supposes that I would want
to have something to do with him, when in fact, beyond a shared
interest in the Kirkpatrick lands and the people who live on them,
I don't."

"You'll go see him tomorrow.  And if he has not changed, we'll send
him back and not see him again."

"It shall be as you say."

"Of course it shall," Justin says, ostentatiously adjusting the
folds of his robe.  "It always is."

"Yes," Chris agrees.  "It is."

Justin smiles at Chris.  "Yes, my prince."

"No, no.  *You're* the prince.  I'm merely the heir."

"No, did you not listen?  You have your own lands.  You are a
prince now."

Chris shakes his head.  "I have no lands at present, and when I do,
it will not make me a prince, but rather a laird, or 'lord'." 
Chris eyes Justin curiously.  Then he remembers.  "You're referring
to my status in your homeland, are you not?"

"Yes!"

"Ah.  I had almost forgotten about that.  It doesn't seem quite so
real somehow."

Justin says, "It's probably just so that you'll have to come back. 
The potentate and Marika liked you."

"I certainly feel more welcome there than in the presence of my
father.  Would you like to return there?"  He turns to his mother. 
"We could even make it a family visit, although I warn you, it
isn't a comfortable journey."

Justin waits to hear Beverly's answer.  He has no real desire to go
back, though sometimes he misses the land that he knows.  He
wonders, too, what's happened to Lance and Nick.

"It could be interesting," Beverly says.  "And you do get tired of
the cold and the wet after a while."  After a moment, she adds,
"And it wouldn't hurt to put Christian out of range for one of his
father's summons."

Justin touches Chris's hand.  "There will be no more summons.  None
we will heed, in any case."

Chris nods, but looks undecided.  "I would like to take Justin back
someday, but I'm not sure that I want it to be this soon.  As it
is, I think that it might do more harm than good."

"Wait 'til he's an adult then," Beverly says, nodding.

"What?"

"Grown up," Chris says.

"I know what it means.  Wait *until*?  I am not grown up now?"
Justin asks.  He's unhappy with the implication.

Chris shakes his head.

Beverly says, "It's not so much that you aren't old enough, as you
haven't decided yet who you want to me.  That's none of your fault,
of course.  You were raised to believe that you wouldn't have a say
in whom you became.  But you do now, and Chris is afraid -- correct
me if I'm wrong, Christian -- that if you go back now, you'll
revert back to those ways and take even longer to become who you
are."

"That's essentially correct," Chris confirms.

"I am Chris's," Justin says in a hard voice.  "And that is all I
wish to be."

Chris puts his arm on Justin's shoulder.  "Ssh.  No one's trying to
say that you shouldn't be.  Only that..."  Chris tries to think of
how to put it.  "When I first began to know you, you would not have
devised such a plan to deal with him, nor would you have confronted
him, regardless of your people's mores about who may speak to whom. 
You've changed.  And I appreciate the changes."

"I am as you would have me be," Justin says, hands tight on Chris's
arm.

Chris nods and says gently, "And I would have you be who you wish
to be."

Justin shakes his head helplessly.

"If you haven't figured it out by the time you're my age, we'll
return anyway," Chris says cheerfully.

Justin murmurs, "Excuse me," and escapes from the table to the
water chamber.  He doesn't know what Chris wants, and it terrifies
him.

"You're adorable," Beverly tells her son.

"I love him," Chris says simply.  "I want him to be happy."

"That and a whole lot of work might just be enough."

Chris sighs.  "I know."

Emily arrives, insisting that Chris must dance with her. 
Therefore, only Beverly is at the table when Justin returns.

"Are you all right?" she asks him.  "Does the food not agree with
you?"

"I am well.  Everything is *perfect*," Justin insists.

"If that's what you want to tell me, that's fine, dear."

Justin looks at her beseechingly.  "How do I make you believe me?"

"Your eyes are red," she tells him quietly.  "You should remember
to splash cold water on them before returning to the table if you
want to keep your state of mind a secret."

Justin ducks his face, wanting to bury his head in his arms and
cry.

"It's all right.  If you don't want to speak about it, we won't. 
Chris wouldn't hurt you for the world, you know."

"I know.  But he will never *tell* me when I fail him, either."

"Why do you think you've failed him?  Chris has never mentioned
anything of the kind.  Only how much he loves you and how he'd do
anything for you."

"He does not like me as I am, then I have failed him."

"Why do you think he doesn't like you?"

"You both said that I should change."

"Everyone changes.  Well.  Everyone with good sense.  As the world
changes around you, you change with it.  Christian is perhaps wrong
in assuming that you would be happier if you were more like himself
and the people he knows, but he's most likely correct that
remaining the same wouldn't help."

Justin shrugs.  "He is my... he is correct."

"He's your what?"

"There is no word.  My husband and my owner, and just mine."

"I doubt he thinks of himself as your owner.  Or, if he does, he
would most likely say that you own him as well."

"But I know.  And I wish to be pleasing!"

"Does he say that he's displeased with you?"

"He did not say it.  You just spoke as if I were flawed, and needed
to be fixed."

Beverly shakes her head.  It's a complicated situation and she's
right in the middle of it.  "Yes and no.  There's nothing wrong
with you, and if you never wanted to change in any way, I've no
doubt Christian could adapt to it.  I suppose, in a way, you have
every right to be angry, because you're being asked to become
someone you never meant to be.  It's a fault of our upbringing that
we assume everyone would be happier if they were more like us.  If
you really feel distressed by that, then Christian *should* know,
so that he can change.  If he is making you unhappy, then he'll
*want* to change."

Justin shakes his head.  "That would be wrong.  He does not change,
I change.  It is mine to mold to him.  As your writers say, a man
should take a partner younger than he that the partner might be
bent to a man's will."

Beverly shakes her head.  "One should marry young so that one can
grow along with one's partner.  Change with them so them so you
grow into one person.  But not be bent to someone else's will.  You
should mention this to Christian."

"Mention what to me?" Chris asks, coming back to sit with them.

"Your mother disagrees with your writers."

"I'm not surprised.  What are you disagreeing with now, mother?"

"The notion that one must marry someone young so as to dominate
them more easily."

Chris's eyebrows raise.  "Interesting conversation.  I happen to
disagree as well.  How could someone you've mold to be exactly like
you possibly be a true partner?  It seems to me that you'd be bored
silly."

"Partners are for business," Justin says primly.

Beverly looks at Justin with pity.

"Do you not wish to be my companion and partner?" Chris asks, heart
beating fast.  He's aware that Justin's presence is a gift, and
that Justin may someday decide that he's made a mistake.

Disregarding Beverly's presence, "It is not what I had thought I
was to be," Justin says, reaching out for Chris.  "I was to be your
*servant*.  I am made to please you, to help you.  But not to equal
you.  I did not know.  I'm sorry, I did not know!  Is that what I
am to be?  A partner?"

Beverly smiles in satisfaction.

Chris reaches back to Justin, taking his hand.  "Yes.  A thousand
times, yes.  You are my equal.  You have been for me ever since I
realized that what was between us was love and respect."

Justin closes his eyes and lowers his head to Chris's hand.  He
ignores the room, the dignitaries that come and greet Chris
occasionally, and Chris's sisters asking if he is well.

Chris doesn't press Justin.  He doesn't understand what's wrong,
but this is not the best time to have a serious conversation. 
Hopefully, they can fix whatever is wrong when they return home. 
In the meantime, he keeps his hand on the small of Justin's back,
rubbing small circles to reassure him that Chris isn't going
anywhere.

Justin sits up after a time.  He kisses Chris's cheek through his
face cover.  "Would you like some punch?" he asks, as if nothing
unusual has happened.

"No, thank you."

"Beverly?"

"Yes, please."

Justin rises and goes to get the drinks.  He just *sparkles* all
the way across the room and all the way back.

Chris watches Justin, admiring him.  "Mama," he asks, without
taking his eyes off Justin, "what am I doing wrong?"

She considers the matter for almost as long as it takes Justin to
get across the room and back.  "It's not so much that either of you
are doing anything wrong as that you have very different
expectations.  Keep loving him and being willing to do anything to
be with him, and it will all sort itself out eventually."

"That's not very comforting, especially when I know you know what's
wrong."

"You knowing what's wrong would only make things worse.  Trust me."

Chris sighs.

Justin sits back down.  He looks at Chris.  "I didn't know.  I
never expected to have to be my own person.  It's hard."

Chris nods.  "I knew that when I asked you to do it.  It was unfair
of me to ask it or expect it.  But I don't know how else to be. 
I'm incapable of treating someone I love as only a servant."

"I'm trying very much to treat my... to treat you as an equal.  To
let myself be equal, I mean."

"Thank you.  I know I'm asking a lot of you, and I can't ask any
more than that, that you try."

"I love you," Justin says, voice like steel.  "I won't lose you."

"Thank you," Chris says.  "I have no desire to lose you either, and
that is the one thing that scares me -- that you might decide
either that this is something not worth trying to make work, or to
leave."

"You have my promise.  You wear it.  And I could no more leave than
you could walk on the ocean floor."

Chris squeezes Justin's hand.  "I have no desire to do either, to
walk on the ocean floor or to live without you."

"If I left you, I would have nowhere to go, and I would be
nothing."

"You would always have somewhere to go.  You have family."  He
looks at his mother.

Beverly nods.  "You are as much my son as Christian.  With or
without him, you always have me to come to."

"I would be shamed, if I left you," Justin says.  "In my eyes, if
not yours."

"If you left me, I would assume it was either due to mischance,
misfortune or my own fault."

"I wouldn't leave.  I won't leave."

"Ssh, it's all right.  I know that."  Chris glances at his mother. 
"I think now might be a good time to leave, if it's politic.  As
the guest of honor, surely I'm not expected to stay until everyone
has left?"

Beverly smiles.  "You, the expert on everyone's culture and
customs, are asking me?"

Chris tries to look pathetic.  It doesn't work.

"Hmph," he says.

"We can do whatever you wish."

"I would like to go home and have the leisure and freedom to
discuss this there, preferably in bed."

Justin glances at Beverly.  "Chris!" he hisses.

"What?" Chris asks.  He looks at his mother.  "Is there something
wrong with talking about one's marital issues while cuddling?"

She thinks it over.  "No, not as long as you do it before the
actual coitus."

Chris starts giggling.

Justin flushes more.  "Coitus is sex?"

Chris nods.

"Your mother is talking about sex."

"Yes, but in all fairness, I asked her about it."

"Women... talking about sex with their sons?" Justin questions
weakly.  "This is normal?"

"Goodness, no," Beverly says.

Chris shakes his head as well.  "Not that I know of.  But she's
*my* mother.  So it makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," Beverly corrects him.  She smiles at Justin. 
"I've just never seen the point of being shy about these things,
especially with Chris, who's more of a father to the girls than
their own fathers."

Justin's eyes widen.

Chris shrugs.  "Their fathers didn't stay around.  I was there."

Justin looks at Chris.  "Is that why you don't like women
sexually?"

Chris chokes.  His mother laughs.

"Uh," Chris begins, when he can speak again.  "I *didn't* think so,
but it would make a certain amount of sense."

"You do not want children either?"

"I've no particular desire to raise more, but neither am I against
the idea."

Justin says, "You need an heir?"

"If I had one, that would be useful, but it isn't a sufficient
enough reason to bring a child into the world."

"You would be cruel to a child," Justin says skeptically.

"No, but I might love him less or might make him feel loved less
that he was conceived merely to give me an heir."

"My son, the romantic," Beverly says.

"But I'd love him," Justin says innocently.

"That may then end up being the reason," Chris says.  "If you
decided you wanted a child, that would be enough reason for me."

"Personal servants who are male do not have children," Justin
recites.

"You are not a servant."

"I'm married to a man."

"There are other ways to get a child.  We might adopt one, or one
of us might father one."

Justin shakes his head.  "Too much to think of here."

"Yes.  It's a matter that could even wait for years.  It doesn't
require an immediate solution."

"You think I'm a child, no?"

"Not in that sense."

"No, you said I was not an adult.  Then I am a child?  Not as
*your* child, but *a* child."

Chris sighs.  "Honestly?  Yes.  When I met you, I thought you were
a child.  I was afraid of that.  Now, I think that you're still
sheltered from some experiences and ways of thought.  I think
you're a young man, but not yet fully adult."

Justin stands and offers his arm to Beverly.  "I think we should go
now."

Chris looks crushed.  He doesn't rise.  "I'm sorry?"

"It is not bad.  We just need to talk.  And not here, because --
childish as it might be -- I want you to hold me while we do."

Chris's face clears.  "Oh!  I can come with!  That's all right
then."

"Please.  You must come with us.  The carriage is in your name."

Chris shakes his head even as he stands and takes his mother's
other arm.  "It's not that.  You could still get home.  But you
want me to come with you."

"Of course," Justin says in exasperation.  "How many times must I
tell you that I love you and wish to be with you always?"

Chris laughs, relieved and happy.  "All of them."

Justin rolls his eyes.  "Did you drop him when he was a child?"

"Many times.  Unfortunately, he appears to have survived."

Chris rolls his eyes.

Justin laughs, and they escort Beverly out, Emily and Molly
trailing behind.

Chris says good night to the women downstairs before proceeding
wearily to bed.  He stands in front of the armoire for a long time
before stripping off his jacket.  He's not sleepy, not
particularly, but it feels like it's been a long, hard-fought day.

Justin appears behind Chris, helping him strip and ready for bed.

Instead of letting Justin help him, Chris turns in the circle of
his arms and clings onto him, burying his face in Justin's
shoulder.  He sighs.  "That feels better."

Justin holds Chris tightly.  "You weren't anywhere near losing me
today," Justin says.

"Yes, well, I still feel better holding you."

Justin picks Chris up.

Chris giggles and holds on.  "You're spoiling me."

"Shush."

Chris shushes and clings to Justin.

Justin carefully undresses Chris and then crawls into bed with him. 
"I love you.  And nothing will ever change that."

Chris pulls at Justin until he manages to get Justin to lie on top
of him, covering him.  "I love you, too."

Justin kisses Chris.  A lot.

Chris returns the kisses for a while, then pulls his mouth away. 
"Talk first.  Sex later."

"This isn't about sex."

"It will be if I let you continue.  I'm feeling appallingly
vulnerable."

"Oh, dear."

"Yes."

"Talk to me?"

"Yes."  Chris gives a wry smile, lost against Justin's shoulder. 
"I'm sorry.  I'm a child myself when it comes to issues of
separation."

"I love you."

"I love you as well, and yet you feel equally as insecure about
other things relating to us."

Justin wraps his hand around Chris's, playing with Chris's ring. 
"Does this not help?

"Does yours help you with your fears?"

"Yes."

"It's not the ring that helps.  It's knowing that you wouldn't
leave me, knowing that you're the kind of person who wouldn't do
something like that."

"No."

"But it doesn't mean that you being angry or upset with me wouldn't
matter.  It would matter very much."

"I am not.  I am only curious."

"You seemed more than curious at the ball.  Unhappy even."

"Confused, and upset with myself for not understanding."

"Perhaps I'm the one you should be upset with."

"Perhaps.  But you'll have to tell me why."

Chris makes a hurting, exasperated sound.  "I know you were upset. 
I know it was because of me.  I want to know how I can fix it and
make it better for you.  Make *me* so you're happy."

"I don't *want* to fix you.  I want you to stay you.  You're my...
the bottom.  Like the rocks at the bottom of the walls.  Without
you, I'd fall down."

"Foundation," Chris supplies absently, mind involved in the problem
itself.  "Okay, I understand that.  But, I'm not always right.  I
make mistakes, even though I'd rather not make any when it comes to
you.  If I have made or am making any, I would like to know so that
I can correct them.  Like how I hadn't told you I consider you my
equal and my partner, and never realized you didn't know."

"But it wasn't something I needed to hear.  It wasn't something I
was needing.  I didn't even know it could be."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," Justin offers.

Chris shakes his head.  "Unless I'm misunderstanding you, you have
nothing for which to be sorry.  It's only... I don't wish for you
to cry if there is anything I can do for you to help you feel
better or anything I can stop doing that would make you feel
better."

Justin says, "I was... overwhelmed?  My feelings were too big, and
so much, that they could not exist inside me."

Chris nods.  "I understand.  I have felt like that, although I have
seldom been in a situation where the release of tears is
appropriate."

Justin flushes with shame at his perceived wrong reaction.

"See," Chris says.  "I'm upsetting you now, aren't I?  What did I
say wrong?"

"I did not mean to have an inappropriate reaction."

"I don't understand.  What reaction did you have and how can any
reaction you have be inappropriate when we're alone together?"

"You said... tears, like at the party..."

"Yes.  I never saw them, only your eyes afterward and how you
acted.  You cried in private; there's no way I can see in which
your reaction was inappropriate.  Crying can be inappropriate at
times, but it is not always so."

"I didn't want to cry."

"I can understand that, but you still don't need to apologize, and
your reaction was not wrong."

"Very well."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For whatever I may have said or done to make you believe that you
need to apologize to me for having feelings."

"You want to make it up to me?"

"I would be happy to do so."

Justin smiles and says, "Make love to me.  Like you used to, before
it was all complicated."

Chris frowns.  "Did I order you around then?  I can't remember."

"Like you weren't worried about a little discomfort.  Like you just
wanted to touch me because you didn't quite believe you could."

"At the beginning, I was still worried about your discomfort.  I
was simply more worried that you would tell someone that I was
being unnaturally kind."  Chris thinks about it.  "I'm not so
worried anymore about hurting you.  Only about forcing myself upon
you, which is somewhat of a ridiculous fear I admit when I take
into action that you want sex more often than I'm able to give it
to you."  He grins.  "So, to sum up, I'd be delighted."

Justin smirks.  It promises to be a most enjoyable reconciliation.

~~~~

Justin *does* go to the club with Chris, but he sits in the
visitors' room.  He will go up only when called, or he will be here
when Chris leaves.

Chris stays in the private room with his father for a long time. 
The door is shut for the duration of their conversation, and when
he emerges, he feels like many terrible things have happened to him
all at once.  He nearly walks by the visitors' room where Justin is
waiting for him.

Justin takes Chris's arm and hurries him out to the carriage.  He
doesn't say anything, just wraps Chris up and holds him close.

Chris doesn't seek comfort, but he doesn't reject Justin's hold
either.  "It's not what you think," he manages to explain, still
unable to make the choice his father had presented him.

"Tell me once I get some tea into you.  You look like you're going
to faint."

Chris shakes his head.  "I'm not going to faint.  But tea would be
welcome."

At Bev's house, Justin sits Chris down and gives him heavily
sweetened tea.

His mother looks in, concerned, but Chris waves her off.  "I need
to talk to Justin first.  This concerns him most of all."

"What is it, Chris?"

With the door safely shut and the tea warm inside him, Chris tries
to explain.  "You had planned for me to deliver an ultimatum.  Not
entirely, but in the end, that's the sum of it.  My father, as is
usual for him, had made other plans.  He discerned that the key
reason for my concern with him was how well the Kirkpatrick people
live.  He also saw that you, who are the only one who cares how he
feels about me, was not present.  Consequently, he offered me a
choice.  If I give up my position as a diplomat for His Majesty and
go to live on the Kirkpatrick lands, he will stay in London and
allow me to run things there as I please.  Otherwise, he'll return
and do as he pleases.  I should have liked to tell him to take his
bargain to the devil as Satan would look on it far more favorably
than I, but I do feel guilty thinking of the people and what I
could do if I returned.  And yet, still, I don't wish to return. 
It is an inhospitable place and not at all suited to you.  The
unsubtle extortion also does not sit well with me."

"Chris, your people do not suffer.  Or, if they do, we have merely
to keep Mrs. Tully supplied of funds, and she will see to them."

"Do you truly think so?  I feel as though I am abandoning them."

"You cannot abandon what you have never been there for.  And, yes,
I believe she can easily see to things.  The old man has power only
as long as he is feared.  Now his fear comes from holding the only
source of heat and food.  If we give money to Mrs. Tully, she can
see to the people just as well.  And we will visit."

Chris nods.  "You're undoubtedly correct.  However, it feels wrong
to my heart."

"Then we will tie him up, and take him home, and lock him in his
room."

Chris shakes his head.  "That would mean returning and I do not
wish that for you, nor do I have any desire to make the journey
alone."

"In the *summer*," Justin specifies.  "And, Chris?  If you wish to
go there, we can.  I will adjust, in time."

Chris shakes his head.  "Scotland is all unhappy associations for
me.  I would be quite content never to return."

"Then we will visit in the summers, to make sure the people are
well.  And retire there, when you are done?"

"Or to retire to your country."

"If we decide so."

Chris nods.  "Yes, it should be a joint decision."

"I will tell him to go to hell.  For me -- you will not see him
again?"  Justin kneels before Chris.  "He hurts you, and I would
have him never have that power again."

Chris reaches out and strokes Justin's forehead.  "I have no
intention of seeing him again.  However, I had thought to send a
note saying that I am declining his offer."

Justin kisses Chris's fingers.  "If you wish.  I would not mind
going.  I promise not to kill him.  Much."

Chris shakes his head.  "It's an empty threat.  It would hurt me
just as much as it would him if you chose to do violence."

"I will not."

"As I said, an empty threat."

"Where are we going next?" Justin asks.

"I have not yet asked for an assignment, so I don't know, but based
on the most recent news, I'd say that China is a fair bet."

"We must be *here* in summer.  I promised."  Justin raises up to
kiss Chris.  "And you need to rest."  He brushes Chris's hair back. 
"Your heart is weary, I think."

"You lighten it."

"We will rest here until summer?"

"Only because you've promised us to return to Scotland then.  No
doubt, my superiors can find something for me to do in England for
a time."

Justin asks, "You do not wish to stay here?"

"It's not a matter of wishing, so much as it is that I am, by
nature, a wanderer, and now that I've made my career out of
wandering, I'm not much use otherwise."

"We can wander!  We can wander to *France*.  Your mother says we'd
like it."

"True.  That thought does bear promise.  And the French always need
careful watching."

"Or Germany."

"Bah.  The glory days of the Germans are over.  No, it's France who
bears watching."

"Yes, Chris," Justin says, hiding a smile.  Silk climbs into his
lap, settling in for a cuddle and some quality petting time. 
Justin is filled with contentment, close to the ones he loves.

"Words near and dear to my heart," Chris says, smiling.  "Now, I
have it on the best authority that I'm weary.  If you would
accompany me to bed, I would be much obliged."

Justin's laughter rings through the house.

Chris smiles and thanks God for diplomacy.