Strong liquor being forced between his lips made William splutter and waken, suddenly terrified by where he was and who he was with. His dreams, full of blood, pale skin and a cruel sardonic smile, fled when he looked up into the kindest greenest eyes he had ever seen.
“Who… where…?” He tried both and each time his jaw flared in a painful reminder of his hideous crime. Bonny was dead. White, still and broken on the bedroom floor. Put there by William’s cowardice in the face of being tossed. Fresh tears flooded his eyes, and they burned as though he had a face full of sand.
“Come now, dear boy,” the stranger cooed, “That’s enough tears for one night.”
“Bonny,” William managed to force out. “Dead.”
“Well, this is remarkably frustrating. To go to all this effort and have the boy virtually incoherent.” The touch of irritation in this almost man’s voice made William want to squirm away but he found himself firmly held in place against cushions that smelled of heat and something musky and strange. Rather than fight he let the hopelessness fill him and slumped back, his sore strained eyes fluttering closed.
“He’s under the impression Osborne is dead,” Brutus explained.
“And is he?”
Brutus looked askance at Lyall, who glared at Timothy who merely shrugged and looked back at Cropper.
“You mean none of you have bothered to inquire?” Indignation rapidly turned to real anger and Ballard’s eyes flashed as they flicked from one boy to the next. All of them, Brutus included, cringed at the agonies undreamed of held in their crystalline depths.
“I’m going,” Brutus said, snagging Lyall by the scruff on his way to the door. Lyall attempted to duck away, wary of what was going to happen once he was alone with his brother but Brutus, nearly a foot taller and stronger than Lyall could ever hope to be, dragged him out anyway.
“Now then,” Cropper said, somewhat mollified. “Let us see to our guest.” He turned his attentions back to William and ran a finger down his bruised face.
The conversation about Bonny had not gone unheard and it was enough to bring William back to himself, a tiny flame of hope flaring bright in his heart. When he felt the touch on his face, he opened his eyes and struggled to sit up.
“Feeling any more chipper?” he was asked and William nodded, flinching when the action hurt his neck and his jaw. There were teeth loose he was sure of it.
“Boy!” his nurse called out, “Warm water and a cloth, and make it quick.”
William turned towards the quick scurry of movement in the corner and froze when he saw Brolly lounging against the wall. Somehow the fear and grief that had overwhelmed him since he’d seen Bonny’s body, twisted into incandescent rage inside him and, without thinking, William launched himself off the couch at the boy who had hurt his friend.
“You cad,” he screamed, his voice cracking from soprano to tenor and back. Brolly darted backwards, catching his leg on a small table and sending it and himself toppling to the floor. And William on was on him, his fists bunched and punching, pounding into that smug, hated face that had watched while Bonny bled and hurt on the ground.
“Bloody hell, Cropper, get him off me!” Timothy cried doing his best to avoid the wild blows.
“Frankly, I think you deserve everything the lad dishes out,” Ballard said, taking his time to get up from the couch and catch William’s arm before he could do any more damage. The boy continued to fight, hissing and twisting like a feral cat in his arms until Ballard resorted to grabbing him round the waist and throwing him on the sofa, pinning him down by dint of body weight alone.
As William thrashed beneath him, Cropper glared over his shoulder at Timothy. “I’d suggest you remove yourself before I release him. Next time I may not be so quick to restrain him.”
Shocked to the core, Timothy scrambled to his feet and fled from the room.
Ballard bit back a moan. The boy was still struggling, bucking up and pressing his slim body against Ballard’s in such a delicious way that Ballard could feel himself getting hard. And that would never do, not so soon.
“Forster!” he bellowed.
Breathless and shaking, Andrew ran back into the room, water slopping from the bowl in his hands. “Here, sir. Sorry, sir. I have the water, sir.”
“To hell with the water, pass me the brandy. The one in the second decanter… I said the second, you idiot!”
Ballard released one of William’s hands, meaning to take the decanter, and was rewarded with a punch to the temple that made his already frayed temper snap. Drawing back his hand he delivered an open handed smack that echoed around the room and brought William to his senses, gasping at the sting on his already tender cheek.
“Now then,” Ballard said, speaking in a low voice that promised further extremes if he wasn’t heard and heard well. “You will drink some of this, like a good chap, and you will compose yourself. Do you understand.”
Wide-eyed and panting, William nodded, and Ballard felt another jolt of arousal strike through him. Such an obedient boy and those eyes… even pinked with tears, he could get lost in those eyes.
Cautiously he released William’s arms and sat up. The boy remained in the same position; hands stretched above his head, body arched, luscious mouth slightly open and cheeks flushed to a rosy hue. Precisely how Ballard imagined he would look when he took him for the first time.
“My beautiful Ganymede,” his whispered, his hand reaching out to stroke that perfectly sculpted cheek. A small frown skittered over William’s face and Ballard shook himself. It wouldn’t do to alert the boy to his intentions at this early juncture.
“Forster, brandy,” he snapped and, taking the offered decanter, removed the stopper and held the vessel to William’s lips.
Obediently William opened his mouth and swallowed a good mouthful of the liquor, choking on the unfamiliar bitter taste. For a moment there was only the burn as it went down and then the strangest lassitude spread through his limbs and the world fell away.
Ballard smiled as the laudanum worked its magic. William’s pupils dilated until only a rim of deep blue remained, his breathing slowed and his body relaxed, shifting from rigid to pliant under Ballard’s legs.
“That’s better,” Ballard purred. Free now to indulge himself, he cupped the boy’s cheek and ran his thumb over the slightly protruding bottom lip, damp and glistening from the drug laced brandy. “Are you well now, sweet William?”
William nodded, Cropper’s words teasing at the edges of meaning in his warmth wrapped mind. All sense of urgency and worry had been stripped away and he was floating, content and safe. The only real concern was the pain in his mouth that Cropper’s touch had reawakened.
“Hurts,” he said raising a shaking, uncoordinated hand.
Ballard slipped a finger inside and felt around, probing to find the damaged places. The boy’s cheek had a nasty laceration and it felt as though he had bitten his tongue but neither injury were cause for worry. A soft suck on his finger made him draw in a sharp breath, and then a soft gentle tongue began to work its way up and down, caressing and stroking.
It was enough to break the strongest of men, the promise of pleasure held in that naive touch, in those lips and that mouth, and Ballard had to drag his hand away before he became entirely consumed by desire.
Voice somewhat hoarse, he held out his hand and said, “Cloth,”
Forster fumbled for a moment and then a warm damp cloth was pressed into Ballard’s palm. Working slowly and methodically he began to clean William’s face, removing the tearstains and streaks of blood that marred his beautiful skin. Unlacing his collar, Ballard pulled it to one side, dabbing down the arch of the boy’s neck and across the top of his smooth chest.
No more than self-inflicted teasing prevented him going further and, finally tiring of his game, Ballard tossed the cloth back to Forster and, after flicking open the buttoned suspenders, tugged the shirt over William’s head. The boy tried to help but his hands were obviously beyond his control and he soon gave up, allowing Ballard to manipulate his body as he would. A second later the garment fell unheeded to the floor as Ballard sat back to admire the span of flesh his actions had revealed. The boy’s wide-eyed innocence and diminutive size had lead Ballard erroneously and he had expected to find a more childlike form. What he found instead pleased him enormously. Pale, almost translucent skin, stretched over taut well-defined muscles, only lightly marred by the echoes of plumpness. Rosy nipples puckering in the stirring air and, below the dip of his navel, a scattering of hairs promised a proper reward concealed in the boy’s trousers.
“Beautiful,” Ballard said again, placing his palm over the steady thump-thump of the boy’s heart and closing his eyes as the heat of William’s flesh sent delicious shivers through his body.
The seconds and the silence drew out, only Forster’s constant fidgeting intruding on Ballard’s meditation. It was moments like this he enjoyed the most. Of course the sex was good, he was a man for god’s sake, but there was something about the anticipation, something about a gentle hand against quivering skin, like the first human touch to an unbroken colt, that filled him with a sense of incredible omnipotence. He would become everything to this boy, divinity and saviour, master and mentor. Under Cropper’s hands William would leave his youth behind and reach with all his being for the pleasures and power of adulthood.
“Good news all round,” Brutus declared, striding back into the room and, oblivious to Cropper’s quiet contemplation, threw himself down into a chair. “Osborne’s alive and well, or at least, alive. Matron has him in the sickroom and rumour had it that, despite a broken head and a fractured arm, he’ll not be confined more than a fortnight. They didn’t even send for the physician.”
Ballard opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few moments trying to recapture the mood. It was no use; as usual Brutus had shattered his inner calm. Sometimes he wondered whether keeping the lout around was really worth the bother. With a melodramatic sigh, he levered himself off William’s body and, after waving away Andrew and his bowl of water, started working at the buttons on the boy’s trousers.
Brutus, finally noticing what was going on, sat forward in his chair, his eyes glued on the rapidly emerging skin. Periodically his tongue would flick out, swiping across his lips giving him a hungry, predatory look that most boys had learned to fear.
“He’s a pretty piece,” he said when Cropper had stripped the lad down. “What will you be doing with him?”
“Nothing, tonight,” Cropper replied and gave Brutus a look that suggested he’d better not either, if he knew what was good for him. “Tomorrow is soon enough and I’d like him better prepared than this.”
“I’ll get him ready after chapel. Lyall can-”
A knock on the door interrupted their planning, and when Cropper called out, “Enter,” Lyall, complete with rapidly blackening eye, poked his head in.
“Jones wants to see you,” he said. “Should I let him in?”
Cropper frowned and glanced over at Brutus, who shrugged having no idea what could have brought the lower fourth boy to their rooms at such a late hour.
“Well?” Lyall asked again looking from one to the other, and then, spotting William nude on the couch, added, “It may be best to cover that up first. Goodness knows what Jones would do, probably faint dead away.”
Brutus snagged the rug from the back of his chair and tossed it to Cropper who opened it over William, concealing him completely.
Jones was even paler than last time when he entered and his gaze hunted once around the room – looking for Forster, Brutus surmised.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” he said, addressing Cropper but positioning himself in such a way as to include Brutus. “But I was hoping I could have Forster back now you have the new boy.”
Brutus was livid. There was only one person who could have known William was here and that was Lyall. When had he tattled? It must have been when they went to check on Osborne, though Brutus would lay good money that his brother had not been out of his sight for more than a second.
The news didn’t rattle Ballard for a moment. He had expected, even wanted, the news to spread. The more people that knew William was here, and had come here of his own accord, the easier it would be to get the boy to stay. However, he was less than willing to release Forster just yet.
“The agreement was for both of them,” he said, “by tomorrow evening. So by my calculations you have at least twenty-four more hours before making a request of that nature.”
“But – I-” Jones stuttered, the expression on his face changing from hopeful to resolved to resigned. “Yes, Cropper,” he said finally, “though Osborne is no longer a hindrance.”
“A matter that was resolved through my intervention rather than yours, I believe.”
Jones’ shoulders sagged, acknowledging that he had lost this round. “Price, the other new boy, will not be attending chapel in the morning,” he said quietly. “Salomon has been told to keep him company in the lower school prep room.”
There, it was done. He had played his trump card and all he could do now was hope it was enough to win Andrew back on the morrow.
Cropper seemed unimpressed, but then he would be in chapel with the rest of the school. Brutus, on the other hand, looked positively ravenous. Leaning back in his chair, the sixth former steepled his fingers in front of his mouth said, “Well, well, Jones, you may have earned your boy’s freedom after all. Tell me, is Salomon willing to play along?”
Jones cringed, knowing exactly what he was letting Price in for the next day,
but nodded anyway. Everything had its cost and so long as someone else was paying
it, why should he feel guilty.