Story: Inches from Paradise
Oct. 16th, 2013 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frogs_of_warThis story didn’t turn out as angsty as I planned and the ended came as a complete surprise even though I had an outline. If you’d like to see how different it is from what I planned, go here.
I came across a word new to me. Toxophilite. I like the extra it in the end. Everything seems to be –phile. It’s nice to have a slightly different suffix.
And because I forgot to ask before, it it possible for a king of the merfolk/sea people to have a footma?. I really wanted to write footman in the Andromeda story, but none of them have feet.
Title: Inches from Paradise
Series: Picture story
Genre: m/m romance,
Rating: PG
Content: angst, dawn, resolve, no embarrassment, memory, mud, dirt, the whip, pain, heat and cold, more pain, despair, mud, wild-goose-chase, annoyance, politeness, abuse, a deal, a tarp, a contract, goodbyes, swindled, water, music, home, chores, fire, food, warm water, coddling, advise, growing, warm bed, temptation, unforgiveable, questions, responses, answers, giving in, demands, morning, gossip, party, happiness
Length: about 3,200 words
Summary: Kip has led a hard life and he isn't about to lose Proctor.
Notes: from painting in chapter 34.
Kip(Kipling), Proctor
No Emil in this one.
Master list
Proctor avoided looking at the bed as he put on his clothes. Last night proved yet again he wasn’t the man he wished he was. The sky was brightening with a new dawn. Today he’d do better. Tonight… Tonight he’d give in to his baser instincts like last night and the night before.
He turned and looked at the bed. Kip was so beautiful lying there among the rumpled blankets. He was growing into a fine man. No thanks to Proctor.
Proctor should send him away. That would be for the best, for Kip anyway. Proctor’s wants and needs meant nothing. He couldn’t bear to hurt his beautiful boy again. This was the only way.
—
Kip lay still as Proctor dressed. Night was Kip’s favorite time of day. Dawn meant standing in the gaze of the miller and the baker and the cooper and all the other people in town who thought Kip’s upbringing was their own business. Daylight meant being respectable.
But the moments between night and day were also lovely. Proctor, so careful of his body after a long day under the neighbors’ watchful eyes, dressed with no embarrassment. As long as Kip lay still, he could enjoy the view. Everything had finally started going right when Proctor came into his life. He’d just have to make sure Proctor never left it.
—
Kip pushed at the heavy wagon and his boots slipped in the slick mud. He tried again. His stomach growled. He’d get food when they got where they were going. After the master ate, of course, and after Kip had done his chores.
The whip cracked. “Put your back into it.”
Kip wiped his nose of the cleanest part of his sleeve and braced his hands against the back of the wagon.
“The wagon’s sinking as you idle away.” The whip sliced into his shoulder, sending lightening through him. He pushed with all this might as the master complained about the roads and the rain and the wagon and mostly about Kip.
Kip hadn’t asked to come along on this cold, wet trip. He pressed his eyes together. He would not cry.
Lighting lanced through him again and he lost his footing. The mud was even colder against his face and chest than on his legs. He sat up and wiped his face on the inside of his shirt.
Warmth flowed down his back and the pain came again with the crack of the whip. Kip scrambled to his knees, but couldn’t get traction to stand up. His put his hand against the wagon.
“Don’t you dare get the merchandise dirty!”
Pain erupted from his back again and again and again. He forced his eyes closed and pushed with all his might. The whip cracked. A sting blossomed on his cheek. The master had always been careful not to whip him where it would show. Maybe he’d decided not to bring Kip home. Maybe he would kill Kip and let the mud harden around him.
The whip cracked and the pain this time was in Kip’s legs. They buckled beneath him. He saw the mud rush toward him and put out his hands. They sank elbow deep. The whip cracked again. The master’s voice was harsher than it had ever been. Kip was worthless. The master would be better off without him. The world would be.
The whip cracked against the warmth flowing down his side.
He was so tired, so cold. His arms couldn’t keep him up. The mud was cool against his face. Kip would die here, but at least then he’d be free.
—
Proctor carefully steered his horse along the side of the mud river with the undeserving name of Main Road. Too many idiots had stayed on the path. The mud might be deep enough to lose whole horses in.
Another idiot was ahead. The sound of the whip was loud over the gentle patter of rain and the man harsh judgment of his help was grating. What idiot took a wagon down this road in February? What idiots even used the road?
Proctor was one such. He’d traveled for six hours yesterday in the rain for a black marble washstand like his client wanted just to find it had been sold moments before to a man who refused to sell it. The man was using it as an apology to his wife for some marital blunder. He didn’t even know if his wife wanted one. Procter sighed. All the information in the world was worthless if it arrived too late.
He hoped the man attempted to take it home before the roads dried out. That would be amusing.
Or maybe not. The loudmouth came into view. A man whipping a boy into the mud wasn’t amusing at all. Could the kid even breath?
“Good day.”
“If it is a good day.” The man put his hands on his hip and stared at the bleeding child.
“You seem to be stuck.”
“Looks that way. If only the runt was as strong as they said he’d be.” He waved at the muddy road. “I was told he’d be tall and strong.”
Proctor pushed back his hat. The child didn’t look much over ten. “Could still be.”
“No.” The man sighed. “He hasn’t grown an inch in the three years I’ve had him.”
Was the man feeding him properly? No. This guy probably didn’t feed his dogs well either.
“How much did you pay?”
“I got him for two hundred. He was supposedly worth a thousand. He isn’t worth fifty. I doubt I’ll get twenty from him if I kept him for the next ten years.”
Poor kid. “He has a long contract?”
“Fourteen years. His pa got the family deep into debt before he died. The girls got sold too, but for only seven years because they were older and worth more. I bought him off the first guy. He needed cash to pay his gambling debts. I should have only offered him a hundred.”
“I’ve got a hundred.” Proctor had brought enough to buy the washstand and pay to have it stored until the roads dried out plus extra for bribes. He had only spent a few coins on the inn last night.
The man rubbed his beard. “But he cost me two.”
“But he’s only worth fifty, you said.”
The man took off his hat and scratched his head. “That’s true.”
“So if I take him off your hands, you’re actually making money.”
The man slowly grinned. “I like the sound of that. Hey, boy. Get out of that mud. You have a new master. As soon as I see the cash.”
Proctor got off his horse on the other side of his horse before he opened his wallet. No sense showing off how much he had. He came around the horse with the money in his hand. The man counted it slowly as the boy crawled through the mud. Proctor longed to help him, but he wasn’t willing to turn his back on a man who eagerly beat a child. A man like that couldn’t be trusted.
The man counted the money twice more and then dug through a box inside the wagon. The boy got to the wet grass and fell on his face. The poor, poor child. Proctor opened the tarp he’d brought to protect the washstand in case the seller wanted the washstand removed from his property immediately and it had to sit for some minutes in the rain. He covered the boy.
The man returned with a piece of paper. “You’ll probably have to carry him, the worthless sod.”
Proctor looked over the document. Everything looked in order, but then he’d never seen a contract for indentured servitude before. He slipped the paper inside his coat and held out his hand. “Thanks for doing business with me.”
The man laughed and shook his hand. “I think I’ve gotten the better end of the deal.”
“Probably.” Proctor bent down and scooped up the child. He was heavier than he looked, but most of that might have been mud. The man laughed, made rude jokes, and gave Proctor bad advice about how to mount, but Proctor’s horse was a mild one and didn’t protest while Proctor got seated with his arms full.
Proctor tipped his hat. “Good day.”
The man returned the greeting. Proctor maneuvered his horse back to the wet grass and set it to a canter. They were around the next bend before a shout rang out. The idiot must have just noticed that now he had to get the wagon moving by himself.
—
Kip was offered water. He refused of course because his hands were dirty. He’d get the waterskin dirty. His back couldn’t take another beating.
His new master insisted. The water felt cold in his parched throat and he shivered. Arms tightened around him, but like a dream he felt no warmth, except from his back, which a settled into a sharp ache.
“My sweet little pea.” The new master rubbed Kip’s uninjured cheek and then sang children’s songs as the horse plodded on.
Kip was in heaven, a cold wet heaven, but what more did Kip deserve? He was safe. When was the last time he’d felt this good? He didn’t even remember.
He woke with a start. The new master was getting off the horse. Kip wiggled away and slid to the ground. He felt better now. Maybe if he did his chores really well, he could eat before dark.
The master slid to the ground. “My boy, get inside. Do you know how to start a fire?”
“Yes, sir. I do, sir.” Kip hurried in. The fire was already laid in the stove and everything. All he had to do was light the tender. The tender box as a good one and sparked right away. What should he do until the new master came inside? Maybe he should go out and help him with the horse.
The new master stopped him at the door. “What are you about?”
“Sir, my chores?”
“Your chore right now is to get warm and dry. And you should call me Proctor. I’ll call you…?”
“Kip. Kipling, sir.”
“Quit with the sir, Kip. Water will take a while to warm up, so off with those wet thing while I see if our neighbor has enough extra dinner for two.”
Kip shivered as he removed his clothes. The shirt was so wet that it barely open any sores on his back and shoulders as he carefully took it off. He wrapped up in the blanket Proctor had left for him and cuddled by the fire. If the the neighbor had extra dinner, he’d be totally content.
Proctor returned with not just two heaping bowls of stew, but two loaves of bread and warm mead and insisted Kip eat while the food was still hot. Kip ate so much he got sleepy. But he shouldn’t sleep because he still had chores.
After dinner, Proctor filled a tub with water. Kip bit his lips. The water looked so invitingly warm. Maybe it wouldn’t be cold by Kip’s turn.
“Get in.”
Kip looked at Proctor.
Proctor turned his back. “I won’t watch you get in.”
Did he really want Kip to get in the water while it was still steaming? Wouldn’t the master want to bathe first? “Sir?”
“Get in.”
Kip had done something wrong. But Proctor didn’t turn around and punish him. Kip got in the water. His toes burned and his sores stung, but once under the water, the rest of him was just right.
Proctor handed Kip a washcloth. “Wet it and I’ll lather it and we’ll get the dirt off your poor skin. Once you’re clean, will deal with the wounds.”
Deal with them? They just were. They always were. They would heal on their own like they always had.
But Proctor rubbed him down and even washed his hair. No one had done that since his mother died. Then he patted Kip dry with a large fluffy towel and rubbed ointment over Kip’s wounds. He even covered them with bandages.
Then he bundled Kip in nightclothes that must have been his and tucked him into bed. Proctor sang lullabies even though Kip wasn’t a child. That was the start of the best days of Kip’s life.
—
Proctor listened to his neighbor’s advice for raising Kip, nodded, and then did his own thing. The people with the most advice were also the ones with fewest children.
Kip wasn’t really a child anyway. He charmed all the adults, including Proctor, but hardly even talked to boys his own age. The slavery had broken him. He was not the boy he would have been without the years of abuse. When his shell cracked open, when he stopped siring every sentence, flinching every time Proctor raised a hand while gesticulating, and assuming he’d get the smallest and worst of everything, he was a man. A small one with years to grow, but there was nothing naive or simple about him.
And he grew quickly, not even wearing out before they became too short. Proctor kept the tailor in business having more clothes made for Kip rather than putting him in the neighbor’s son’s hand-me-downs. Kip deserved the best in everything.
He deserved more than Proctor.
His beauty drew Proctor’s eye and his laughter always made Proctor smile and all his jokes were funny, even the ones that weren’t. He sang the day away and cuddled next to Proctor at night.
Proctor had given him is own bed, his own room even, but Kip hadn’t used it since the night Proctor had soothed his tears and confessed that Kip sleeping in his own bed was a request not an order. Proctor hadn’t and never would give Kip an order.
Coming home after journeys to a warm house and a hot dinner made even the most fruitless expedition sweet. And snuggling close to dear Kip was even better.
The temptation was too powerful to resist.
One night after Kip’s laughter faded into snatches of funny rhymes whispered against Proctor’s neck, Proctor gave into his baser instincts. He only meant to kiss Kip, but instead he took all that was unknowingly offered.
The next morning Kip had woken up even happier than normal, but as the day passed he’d grown quieter.
Last night was the third night Proctor had given in, the third night he’d done the inexcusable. He’d never forgive himself.
—
Kip held his breath. Proctor’s shoulders had sagged. He was going to avoid Kip again today.
That wasn’t right. How could Proctor make Kip feel so warm at night and so cold during the day?
“Why do you hold me if you hate me so much?”
Proctor turned. “Kipling.”
Kip sat up. “You didn’t used to hate me.”
Proctor’s eyes slid across Kip. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then look at me.” Kip sat cross-legged on the bed.
Proctor eyes slid across him again. “Cover up.”
“You’ve seen it all before.” But Kip pulled the covers over his lap.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?” Kip needed Proctor bound to him. He needed Proctor so tight that he wouldn’t cut Kip adrift when his contract ran out. Kip never wanted to live anywhere else.
Proctor ran his hand through his hair. “You are young.”
“I’m older than Elsa and she’s married with a babe on the way.”
“Kip.” Proctor sat on the bed. He reached for Kip but dropped his hand inches away.
Kip laid his hand over Proctor’s. “I am not your son if that’s what has you worried. I live with you and am dependant on you, but no more than a wife is for any husband.”
Proctor leaned across the bed and touched Kip’s cheek. “But you aren’t my wife.”
The truth was painful. Kip couldn’t help dreaming. “Do you wish I were?”
“Oh, Kip.” Proctor kissed him one of those gentle pecks.
Kip wrestle Proctor down, invaded his mouth, and captured his tongue. Then he sat back. The view from the top was wonderful.
Proctor ran his hands up Kip’s sides. This was the way to start a morning. Kip shifted his hips to give Proctor a little encouragement.
Proctor gasped and dropped his hands. “How can you like what I do? You stopped singing.”
Kip shifted his hips again. “You stopped looking at me. I need you attention. I need your love.”
Proctor kissed his fingers. “You have my attention. You are my heart, my love, my life.”
Kip used his body to show how pleased that made him. “Proctor, I love you. I’m going to stay with you forever. You are never going to get rid of me.”
“Kipling.”
“Yes, my husband.”
“Are you sure? That you want this? I am not forcing you, am I? I will never forgive myself…” Proctor’s eyes were bright.
Kip laughed. “I must have a lousy seduction technique. I’ve attempted to seduce you for years.”
Proctor grinned, which the neighbors all said was rare but Kip saw every day. Proctor lifted his head and Kip met him in the middle for a delicious kiss.
A cock crowed and the miller’s jenny added her voice then dogs joined chorus. Morning had arrived. Kip got off Proctor. Days were for respectability.
Proctor touched his leg. “Kipling.”
Kip stopped.
Proctor grinned as he dragged his eyes over Kip and then settled on his face. “Until tonight.”
Kip’s heart sang. He stole a kiss then gathered up his clothes. Today would be the best ever.
—
Proctor watched Kip gossip with the wives as he talked with the husbands. If Kip really wanted to spend his life with Proctor, he deserved some acknowledgement of their relationship.
Talk turned to Kip as it inevitably did. The baker asked how long Kip still had on his contract.
“Six more years.”
“And what is he doing after? Does he have plans?”
Proctor laughed. “This morning he told me he plans to stay right where he is.”
“That’s for the best.”
The cooper clapped Proctor on the back. “Yeah, you’d be lost without him.”
The miller sighed and looked toward the wives. “We all would be.”
The wives burst into laughter at something Kip said and the husbands smiled.
“I was thinking of throwing a big party to mark the contract’s completion, as the end of him having to stay and the start of him choosing to stay.”
The blacksmith snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. He chose to stay the moment he met you. And that’s why he’s still here.”
Proctor grinned. “He did, didn’t he?”
The cooper clapped Proctor’s back again. “And we’re all glad. You’re much more fun with him here.”
The other men agreed. Proctor basked in the acceptance. Given enough time, six years maybe, these men might be willing to accept Kip as Proctor’s bride. Proctor would be the happiest of men if Kip said yes. He was the happiest of men already.
I came across a word new to me. Toxophilite. I like the extra it in the end. Everything seems to be –phile. It’s nice to have a slightly different suffix.
And because I forgot to ask before, it it possible for a king of the merfolk/sea people to have a footma?. I really wanted to write footman in the Andromeda story, but none of them have feet.
Title: Inches from Paradise
Series: Picture story
Genre: m/m romance,
Rating: PG
Content: angst, dawn, resolve, no embarrassment, memory, mud, dirt, the whip, pain, heat and cold, more pain, despair, mud, wild-goose-chase, annoyance, politeness, abuse, a deal, a tarp, a contract, goodbyes, swindled, water, music, home, chores, fire, food, warm water, coddling, advise, growing, warm bed, temptation, unforgiveable, questions, responses, answers, giving in, demands, morning, gossip, party, happiness
Length: about 3,200 words
Summary: Kip has led a hard life and he isn't about to lose Proctor.
Notes: from painting in chapter 34.
Kip(Kipling), Proctor
No Emil in this one.
Master list
Proctor avoided looking at the bed as he put on his clothes. Last night proved yet again he wasn’t the man he wished he was. The sky was brightening with a new dawn. Today he’d do better. Tonight… Tonight he’d give in to his baser instincts like last night and the night before.
He turned and looked at the bed. Kip was so beautiful lying there among the rumpled blankets. He was growing into a fine man. No thanks to Proctor.
Proctor should send him away. That would be for the best, for Kip anyway. Proctor’s wants and needs meant nothing. He couldn’t bear to hurt his beautiful boy again. This was the only way.
—
Kip lay still as Proctor dressed. Night was Kip’s favorite time of day. Dawn meant standing in the gaze of the miller and the baker and the cooper and all the other people in town who thought Kip’s upbringing was their own business. Daylight meant being respectable.
But the moments between night and day were also lovely. Proctor, so careful of his body after a long day under the neighbors’ watchful eyes, dressed with no embarrassment. As long as Kip lay still, he could enjoy the view. Everything had finally started going right when Proctor came into his life. He’d just have to make sure Proctor never left it.
—
Kip pushed at the heavy wagon and his boots slipped in the slick mud. He tried again. His stomach growled. He’d get food when they got where they were going. After the master ate, of course, and after Kip had done his chores.
The whip cracked. “Put your back into it.”
Kip wiped his nose of the cleanest part of his sleeve and braced his hands against the back of the wagon.
“The wagon’s sinking as you idle away.” The whip sliced into his shoulder, sending lightening through him. He pushed with all this might as the master complained about the roads and the rain and the wagon and mostly about Kip.
Kip hadn’t asked to come along on this cold, wet trip. He pressed his eyes together. He would not cry.
Lighting lanced through him again and he lost his footing. The mud was even colder against his face and chest than on his legs. He sat up and wiped his face on the inside of his shirt.
Warmth flowed down his back and the pain came again with the crack of the whip. Kip scrambled to his knees, but couldn’t get traction to stand up. His put his hand against the wagon.
“Don’t you dare get the merchandise dirty!”
Pain erupted from his back again and again and again. He forced his eyes closed and pushed with all his might. The whip cracked. A sting blossomed on his cheek. The master had always been careful not to whip him where it would show. Maybe he’d decided not to bring Kip home. Maybe he would kill Kip and let the mud harden around him.
The whip cracked and the pain this time was in Kip’s legs. They buckled beneath him. He saw the mud rush toward him and put out his hands. They sank elbow deep. The whip cracked again. The master’s voice was harsher than it had ever been. Kip was worthless. The master would be better off without him. The world would be.
The whip cracked against the warmth flowing down his side.
He was so tired, so cold. His arms couldn’t keep him up. The mud was cool against his face. Kip would die here, but at least then he’d be free.
—
Proctor carefully steered his horse along the side of the mud river with the undeserving name of Main Road. Too many idiots had stayed on the path. The mud might be deep enough to lose whole horses in.
Another idiot was ahead. The sound of the whip was loud over the gentle patter of rain and the man harsh judgment of his help was grating. What idiot took a wagon down this road in February? What idiots even used the road?
Proctor was one such. He’d traveled for six hours yesterday in the rain for a black marble washstand like his client wanted just to find it had been sold moments before to a man who refused to sell it. The man was using it as an apology to his wife for some marital blunder. He didn’t even know if his wife wanted one. Procter sighed. All the information in the world was worthless if it arrived too late.
He hoped the man attempted to take it home before the roads dried out. That would be amusing.
Or maybe not. The loudmouth came into view. A man whipping a boy into the mud wasn’t amusing at all. Could the kid even breath?
“Good day.”
“If it is a good day.” The man put his hands on his hip and stared at the bleeding child.
“You seem to be stuck.”
“Looks that way. If only the runt was as strong as they said he’d be.” He waved at the muddy road. “I was told he’d be tall and strong.”
Proctor pushed back his hat. The child didn’t look much over ten. “Could still be.”
“No.” The man sighed. “He hasn’t grown an inch in the three years I’ve had him.”
Was the man feeding him properly? No. This guy probably didn’t feed his dogs well either.
“How much did you pay?”
“I got him for two hundred. He was supposedly worth a thousand. He isn’t worth fifty. I doubt I’ll get twenty from him if I kept him for the next ten years.”
Poor kid. “He has a long contract?”
“Fourteen years. His pa got the family deep into debt before he died. The girls got sold too, but for only seven years because they were older and worth more. I bought him off the first guy. He needed cash to pay his gambling debts. I should have only offered him a hundred.”
“I’ve got a hundred.” Proctor had brought enough to buy the washstand and pay to have it stored until the roads dried out plus extra for bribes. He had only spent a few coins on the inn last night.
The man rubbed his beard. “But he cost me two.”
“But he’s only worth fifty, you said.”
The man took off his hat and scratched his head. “That’s true.”
“So if I take him off your hands, you’re actually making money.”
The man slowly grinned. “I like the sound of that. Hey, boy. Get out of that mud. You have a new master. As soon as I see the cash.”
Proctor got off his horse on the other side of his horse before he opened his wallet. No sense showing off how much he had. He came around the horse with the money in his hand. The man counted it slowly as the boy crawled through the mud. Proctor longed to help him, but he wasn’t willing to turn his back on a man who eagerly beat a child. A man like that couldn’t be trusted.
The man counted the money twice more and then dug through a box inside the wagon. The boy got to the wet grass and fell on his face. The poor, poor child. Proctor opened the tarp he’d brought to protect the washstand in case the seller wanted the washstand removed from his property immediately and it had to sit for some minutes in the rain. He covered the boy.
The man returned with a piece of paper. “You’ll probably have to carry him, the worthless sod.”
Proctor looked over the document. Everything looked in order, but then he’d never seen a contract for indentured servitude before. He slipped the paper inside his coat and held out his hand. “Thanks for doing business with me.”
The man laughed and shook his hand. “I think I’ve gotten the better end of the deal.”
“Probably.” Proctor bent down and scooped up the child. He was heavier than he looked, but most of that might have been mud. The man laughed, made rude jokes, and gave Proctor bad advice about how to mount, but Proctor’s horse was a mild one and didn’t protest while Proctor got seated with his arms full.
Proctor tipped his hat. “Good day.”
The man returned the greeting. Proctor maneuvered his horse back to the wet grass and set it to a canter. They were around the next bend before a shout rang out. The idiot must have just noticed that now he had to get the wagon moving by himself.
—
Kip was offered water. He refused of course because his hands were dirty. He’d get the waterskin dirty. His back couldn’t take another beating.
His new master insisted. The water felt cold in his parched throat and he shivered. Arms tightened around him, but like a dream he felt no warmth, except from his back, which a settled into a sharp ache.
“My sweet little pea.” The new master rubbed Kip’s uninjured cheek and then sang children’s songs as the horse plodded on.
Kip was in heaven, a cold wet heaven, but what more did Kip deserve? He was safe. When was the last time he’d felt this good? He didn’t even remember.
He woke with a start. The new master was getting off the horse. Kip wiggled away and slid to the ground. He felt better now. Maybe if he did his chores really well, he could eat before dark.
The master slid to the ground. “My boy, get inside. Do you know how to start a fire?”
“Yes, sir. I do, sir.” Kip hurried in. The fire was already laid in the stove and everything. All he had to do was light the tender. The tender box as a good one and sparked right away. What should he do until the new master came inside? Maybe he should go out and help him with the horse.
The new master stopped him at the door. “What are you about?”
“Sir, my chores?”
“Your chore right now is to get warm and dry. And you should call me Proctor. I’ll call you…?”
“Kip. Kipling, sir.”
“Quit with the sir, Kip. Water will take a while to warm up, so off with those wet thing while I see if our neighbor has enough extra dinner for two.”
Kip shivered as he removed his clothes. The shirt was so wet that it barely open any sores on his back and shoulders as he carefully took it off. He wrapped up in the blanket Proctor had left for him and cuddled by the fire. If the the neighbor had extra dinner, he’d be totally content.
Proctor returned with not just two heaping bowls of stew, but two loaves of bread and warm mead and insisted Kip eat while the food was still hot. Kip ate so much he got sleepy. But he shouldn’t sleep because he still had chores.
After dinner, Proctor filled a tub with water. Kip bit his lips. The water looked so invitingly warm. Maybe it wouldn’t be cold by Kip’s turn.
“Get in.”
Kip looked at Proctor.
Proctor turned his back. “I won’t watch you get in.”
Did he really want Kip to get in the water while it was still steaming? Wouldn’t the master want to bathe first? “Sir?”
“Get in.”
Kip had done something wrong. But Proctor didn’t turn around and punish him. Kip got in the water. His toes burned and his sores stung, but once under the water, the rest of him was just right.
Proctor handed Kip a washcloth. “Wet it and I’ll lather it and we’ll get the dirt off your poor skin. Once you’re clean, will deal with the wounds.”
Deal with them? They just were. They always were. They would heal on their own like they always had.
But Proctor rubbed him down and even washed his hair. No one had done that since his mother died. Then he patted Kip dry with a large fluffy towel and rubbed ointment over Kip’s wounds. He even covered them with bandages.
Then he bundled Kip in nightclothes that must have been his and tucked him into bed. Proctor sang lullabies even though Kip wasn’t a child. That was the start of the best days of Kip’s life.
—
Proctor listened to his neighbor’s advice for raising Kip, nodded, and then did his own thing. The people with the most advice were also the ones with fewest children.
Kip wasn’t really a child anyway. He charmed all the adults, including Proctor, but hardly even talked to boys his own age. The slavery had broken him. He was not the boy he would have been without the years of abuse. When his shell cracked open, when he stopped siring every sentence, flinching every time Proctor raised a hand while gesticulating, and assuming he’d get the smallest and worst of everything, he was a man. A small one with years to grow, but there was nothing naive or simple about him.
And he grew quickly, not even wearing out before they became too short. Proctor kept the tailor in business having more clothes made for Kip rather than putting him in the neighbor’s son’s hand-me-downs. Kip deserved the best in everything.
He deserved more than Proctor.
His beauty drew Proctor’s eye and his laughter always made Proctor smile and all his jokes were funny, even the ones that weren’t. He sang the day away and cuddled next to Proctor at night.
Proctor had given him is own bed, his own room even, but Kip hadn’t used it since the night Proctor had soothed his tears and confessed that Kip sleeping in his own bed was a request not an order. Proctor hadn’t and never would give Kip an order.
Coming home after journeys to a warm house and a hot dinner made even the most fruitless expedition sweet. And snuggling close to dear Kip was even better.
The temptation was too powerful to resist.
One night after Kip’s laughter faded into snatches of funny rhymes whispered against Proctor’s neck, Proctor gave into his baser instincts. He only meant to kiss Kip, but instead he took all that was unknowingly offered.
The next morning Kip had woken up even happier than normal, but as the day passed he’d grown quieter.
Last night was the third night Proctor had given in, the third night he’d done the inexcusable. He’d never forgive himself.
—
Kip held his breath. Proctor’s shoulders had sagged. He was going to avoid Kip again today.
That wasn’t right. How could Proctor make Kip feel so warm at night and so cold during the day?
“Why do you hold me if you hate me so much?”
Proctor turned. “Kipling.”
Kip sat up. “You didn’t used to hate me.”
Proctor’s eyes slid across Kip. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then look at me.” Kip sat cross-legged on the bed.
Proctor eyes slid across him again. “Cover up.”
“You’ve seen it all before.” But Kip pulled the covers over his lap.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?” Kip needed Proctor bound to him. He needed Proctor so tight that he wouldn’t cut Kip adrift when his contract ran out. Kip never wanted to live anywhere else.
Proctor ran his hand through his hair. “You are young.”
“I’m older than Elsa and she’s married with a babe on the way.”
“Kip.” Proctor sat on the bed. He reached for Kip but dropped his hand inches away.
Kip laid his hand over Proctor’s. “I am not your son if that’s what has you worried. I live with you and am dependant on you, but no more than a wife is for any husband.”
Proctor leaned across the bed and touched Kip’s cheek. “But you aren’t my wife.”
The truth was painful. Kip couldn’t help dreaming. “Do you wish I were?”
“Oh, Kip.” Proctor kissed him one of those gentle pecks.
Kip wrestle Proctor down, invaded his mouth, and captured his tongue. Then he sat back. The view from the top was wonderful.
Proctor ran his hands up Kip’s sides. This was the way to start a morning. Kip shifted his hips to give Proctor a little encouragement.
Proctor gasped and dropped his hands. “How can you like what I do? You stopped singing.”
Kip shifted his hips again. “You stopped looking at me. I need you attention. I need your love.”
Proctor kissed his fingers. “You have my attention. You are my heart, my love, my life.”
Kip used his body to show how pleased that made him. “Proctor, I love you. I’m going to stay with you forever. You are never going to get rid of me.”
“Kipling.”
“Yes, my husband.”
“Are you sure? That you want this? I am not forcing you, am I? I will never forgive myself…” Proctor’s eyes were bright.
Kip laughed. “I must have a lousy seduction technique. I’ve attempted to seduce you for years.”
Proctor grinned, which the neighbors all said was rare but Kip saw every day. Proctor lifted his head and Kip met him in the middle for a delicious kiss.
A cock crowed and the miller’s jenny added her voice then dogs joined chorus. Morning had arrived. Kip got off Proctor. Days were for respectability.
Proctor touched his leg. “Kipling.”
Kip stopped.
Proctor grinned as he dragged his eyes over Kip and then settled on his face. “Until tonight.”
Kip’s heart sang. He stole a kiss then gathered up his clothes. Today would be the best ever.
—
Proctor watched Kip gossip with the wives as he talked with the husbands. If Kip really wanted to spend his life with Proctor, he deserved some acknowledgement of their relationship.
Talk turned to Kip as it inevitably did. The baker asked how long Kip still had on his contract.
“Six more years.”
“And what is he doing after? Does he have plans?”
Proctor laughed. “This morning he told me he plans to stay right where he is.”
“That’s for the best.”
The cooper clapped Proctor on the back. “Yeah, you’d be lost without him.”
The miller sighed and looked toward the wives. “We all would be.”
The wives burst into laughter at something Kip said and the husbands smiled.
“I was thinking of throwing a big party to mark the contract’s completion, as the end of him having to stay and the start of him choosing to stay.”
The blacksmith snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. He chose to stay the moment he met you. And that’s why he’s still here.”
Proctor grinned. “He did, didn’t he?”
The cooper clapped Proctor’s back again. “And we’re all glad. You’re much more fun with him here.”
The other men agreed. Proctor basked in the acceptance. Given enough time, six years maybe, these men might be willing to accept Kip as Proctor’s bride. Proctor would be the happiest of men if Kip said yes. He was the happiest of men already.
