The Retrieval

by Lucius Parhelion

  Laura’s gift was the last presented, likely because she was the biggest star in the room. One of the young attendants carried in her antique wicker basket. Seeing it, Mr. Lowery sat up straight. “What have we here?”

  “Something for your collection, perhaps?” Mrs. Lowery asked her husband with a fond smile. “I’m sure we could fit a few more display cases into your study if you’re willing to sacrifice your windows.” That earned some chuckles; Lowery’s hobby seemed to be well known around Hollywood.

  Lowery was too busy unwrapping to respond to the teasing with more than another absent smile. He obviously knew his hunting accoutrements. By the time he’d revealed the teal decoy and studied it reverently, his smile had widened into a beam. “Now, here’s a hell of a thing,” he told Laura, setting the teal down on the coffee table for further admiration.

  “Happy birthday, dear,” she said, planting a daughterly kiss on his cheek beneath the indulgent gaze of Mrs. Lowery. Everyone ignored the crinkling noises and brilliant flashes from the photographers’ bulbs.

  Straightening, Laura turned in a swirl of skirt. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s one last gift.” She made a broad and attention-attracting gesture toward the door.

  In came a maid with Ducky in tow. To Charlie’s eyes, the maid was tugging Ducky’s lead harder than she needed to, obviously nervous. Ducky was following along patiently but with his raised tail hinting at his strain, and the passing look he turned toward Charlie was tragic. Even so, his appearance led to a predictable chorus of oohs and aahs, especially from the female guests.

  The maid unclipped Ducky’s lead, set it on the coffee table next to the other gifts, and hastily retreated. Charlie started to move toward the dog, but Ducky sat without being commanded.

  “Who’s this?” Lowery asked, still pleased but obviously a little bewildered.

  “Yes, he’s a darling, but who is he?” Mrs. Lowery chimed in.

  “Uwe von Entejäger Kamp,” Laura told them, doing a decent job with the pronunciation. “He’s a Weimaraner, the most aristocratic and exclusive of the gundog breeds. I’d heard you wanted someone like this around the house, a handsome creature who was smart, affectionate, and could be walked on a tight leash.” The way Laura’s flourish directed the crowd’s eyes toward Ducky even as her gaze met and held Mrs. Lowery’s was a brilliant bit of craft. “Although I’m afraid he can’t be bred, he’s the best alternative I could offer you.”

  Mrs. Lowery’s expression was still friendly, but her lips tightened ever so slightly at this little speech.

  “He’s something, all right,” Mr. Lowery said, his voice admiring even as he shook his head. “And I sure wish I could keep him. What a prize for my collection. But, Laura, you heard wrong; dogs make me sneeze.”

  “Oh, no,” Laura said, raising one hand to her cheek. “I’d certainly never introduce anyone into your household knowing he might cause trouble.” Now her gaze flicked to Jake, who was obviously both amused and annoyed, and then back to Mrs. Lowery.

  “That’s all right, kid,” Mr. Lowery said. “I doubt we’ll have any problems finding a swell dog like this a happy home.”

  That was the moment when Laura’s morality play went off script with a vengeance. Almost before Mr. Lowery had finished his last sentence, Inga Songaard swanned forward through the clusters of guests. Maybe she was tired of Laura hogging the spotlight, or maybe she was genuinely worried about Ducky.

  In either case, Miss Songaard placed an elegant hand on Ducky’s head and said to him, in the most dramatic tones a famous enigma of the screen could muster, “There is no need to seek any further. I will be the one to take this noble animal away from his despair. I will deliver him to happiness.”

  When he considered the evening later, Charlie realized Ducky’s day had been even longer and rockier than his own had been. With the addition of this last dose of social drama, Ducky’s cup suddenly overflowed. Obviously pained, he raised his head beneath Miss Songaard’s hand before he looked over at Charlie and wailed.

  If anything, Miss Songaard seemed pleased by his dramatic response. “Yes, I shall take,” she repeated to Ducky right as Charlie gave him a stern look, “Take and deliver.”

  Perhaps Charlie should have been warned by Ducky’s English nickname, but he hadn’t been. Or perhaps he might have considered the constant problems of mistranslation that must extend to gundog commands. But he was still as surprised as everyone else when the overtaxed Weimaraner, obviously relieved to sort out words that made sense to him, obeyed.

  Ducky bounded forward, snatched up the teal decoy from the coffee table, dashed across the carpet, and plunged out through the open French doors into the garden.

  ***

  For a few, critical seconds, surprise stilled the room. Displaying both his frankness and his swift wits, Jake was the first to speak.

  “I guess Ducky’s taking and delivering,” he said. Then, “Don’t worry; I’ll get it back,” he added before he also exited into the darkness at full speed.

  Laura closed her mouth on whatever words she’d been about to speak, gazed meaningfully at Charlie, and then turned back to the social chaos just starting. Charlie dodged a line producer’s wife to snatch the lead off the coffee table before heading outdoors himself.

  To be honest, he was perfectly happy to leave behind what was now a memorable party even by Hollywood standards. As he took the stairs from the veranda down to the back garden quicker than he should have, Charlie could clearly hear the Songaard woman through the open doors behind him. She was beginning what sounded like one doozie of a remorseful monologue. Crashing through bushes in the dark was a better way to spend his evening than listening to that.

  In the end, there wasn’t much crashing to be done. The moon was at three-quarters, and Charlie could faintly hear what he assumed was Jake doing his own crashing somewhere up ahead of him. Charlie also heard some two-fingered whistles and shouts of “C’mere!” that probably wouldn’t do any good. Rather than cursing the fact that those raised in Hell’s Kitchen weren’t taught the right words to stop a gundog carrying game, Charlie dodged around an oak tree and picked up his pace.

  They were circling around the house, which soon had Charlie emerging from the shadows beneath the trees and onto the north lawn. Once out into the open, he had to pause and listen harder for the sounds of passage, which left him further back in the chase. After several heartbeats of hesitation, he heard more noises and broke into a fast trot that took him past the tennis courts, across some gravel paths, and onto a grassy stretch between the pool and the paved front courtyard, where the attendants had been parking cars.

  He almost ran into Jake, who appeared from behind a Hispano Suiza to announce, “I lost him.”

  “Make him…” A second or two to catch his breath and Charlie finished, “Make him find you.” He straightened and called out into the darkness, “Ducky, stop! Halt! Whoa!”

  “Whoa?”

  “Let’s hope they retrained his halt to something more common than his various retrieve commands.” Raising his voice again, Charlie tried, “Ducky, come!”

  At least that word got results. After a few seconds, Charlie heard movement from over by the pool before Ducky came trotting up to them. Without being told, Ducky sat, his posture as mournful as anything a Mor could manage.

  Charlie tried a stern look for a few seconds before giving up, sighing, and clipping on the lead. “You, sir, are a well-intentioned calamity,” he told Ducky.

  “Nice to hear someone else told that for a change,” Jake said, his grin as audible as it wasn’t visible. Proving his ability to get back to the point, he added, “No decoy.”

  “And no possibility of interrogating the courier. Now, if I was a tragic gundog, where would I drop off a fake duck?”

  “A teal,” Jake said, and then, “Ouch!” when Charlie did jab him in the ribs this time. But Jake was als
o the one to say, “Well, he likes you. Me, too, I guess. And we drove him around all afternoon, not to mention the remaining bananas that may still be in the car.”

  “Heel,” Charlie told Ducky, and they went off to try their luck.

  Both coupes were parked right next to each other by the swimming pool. In the added light from the lanterns illuminating the pool’s water, Jake delved into the open rumble seat of his roadster. Sure enough, he found the decoy.

  “Well, there’s that.” Charlie looked down at Ducky. “As for you. Get in. And you still can’t have a banana.”

  Back into the rumble seat went Ducky, showing every sign of relief.

  While Charlie secured the lead, Jake said, “At least I have a great excuse to leave early now. It’s not like I wanted to spend more time around Mrs. Lowery after Laura not-so-subtly warned her off.”

  “Will that cause you problems?”

  “Hell, no. It’s amazing how you two believe my being lousy at faking also means I can’t tell a lie or hide anything I’m feeling. The ‘My dear, I think too much of you to let you dig your own grave any deeper’ speech is easy to deliver, especially when it’s true.” Jake snorted. “And I first learned it from the master.”

  Jake’s words sparked a disturbing prickle of heat along Charlie’s skin that made him change the subject. “I hope Mr. Lowery’s gift wasn’t damaged. I’m not sure if Ducky’s breed is as soft-mouthed as retrievers.”

  “Those lamps might help us check.”

  They started toward the pool, and Ducky made a noise that threatened to evolve into another wail. Charlie sighed and doubled back.

  “Maybe if we give him something to do?” Jake hazarded.

  “Right.” Charlie rummaged through dim memories. “Guard,” he tried, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt.

  Ducky sat bolt upright, ears alert.

  Charlie shook his head. “Now you have an even better excuse to leave early since I’m not sure how, exactly, he guards. Let’s examine this decoy and get back to the house before the birthday candles set fire to what’s left of Lowery’s party.”

  “Don’t worry. If we miss anything, someone will get pictures,” Jake told him as they walked over to the nearest lamps at poolside.

  The lamps proved to be lanterns hung from wrought-iron poles set into the decorative tiling around the swimming pool’s edges. These particular lanterns were positioned to also illuminate a chaise longue and the small table that went with it, so Jake had a place to put down the decoy. Beside them, the pool water shimmered and the colored tiles gleamed softly in the mixture of lamplight and moonlight. Their surroundings were a ridiculously romantic setting for examining a wooden duck -- teal -- for damage. Charlie rubbed his arms against another surge of that heat.

  “I see a tooth mark,” Jake said mournfully.

  “Only the one, though. Remind me to check Ducky’s teeth for damage later.”

  Glancing up, Jake asked, “So you’re going to keep him?” This time his grin was visible. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

  “Yes, I do seem to have a weakness for young rogues who are, at root, virtuous.”

  “I guess that lets me out. I’m not sure how virtuous my root is.”

  Charlie straightened slowly. “Not very. Although I never thought it was or would be. Nor did I want it to be.”

  Jake also straightened, more abruptly. “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “Oh, I did.” Charlie hadn’t even known he was going to move until he felt his own hand gripping Jake’s chin. Fine stubble shifted beneath his fingertips as he said, “I truly believe I did fool you. But that’s all over now. Do you want me?”

  It was Jake’s look of astonishment at the question that destroyed the last shreds of Charlie’s common sense. To hell with the setting, the timing, the need to ask carefully, all the long and aching years of restraint. He wanted Jake, and he wanted him now. “Come here. Closer to me.”

  Ducky could have taken notes on proper obedience. Jake’s lips parted slightly even as he stepped forward with obvious eagerness. Charlie tilted his head then and kissed Jake, first with a brief softness and then with all the sustained, aggressive skill he could bring to bear.

  Jake replied with a bruising grip across Charlie’s back. Only his tongue, responding, was soft and languid. He tasted like lime juice and decent gin, smelled of a citrusy cologne, felt, with all those tensed muscles, as if he was restraining himself through willpower alone.

  Charlie didn’t waste time. He had no patience left. Working a hand between them, he found the bulge in Jake’s trousers and gripped the hardening cock through fine fabric. Jake freed his mouth to make a noise and Charlie told him, “Quiet, you. Be quiet and keep still.”

  For a minute, Jake seemed about to tear loose, as he ran his hands frantically up and down Charlie’s hips while leaning in for urgent, biting kisses. But then he pulled away and almost stumbled the foot or so backward to the chaise longue. Reaching behind himself, Jake grabbed the tilted back with both hands, gripping so tightly that Charlie could see the strain against Jake’s suit coat.

  Charlie paced forward before going down onto one knee in a way that might have been graceful. He truly didn’t care. This time, when he found Jake’s cock, he saw Jake grit his teeth. Charlie smiled. He shifted the cummerbund and starting undoing Jake’s fly.

  Standing was overrated for cocksucking, but Charlie liked a challenge. After he’d freed what Jake had to offer from his drawers, he didn’t part his lips at once. Instead Charlie leisurely nuzzled at hard, flushed flesh, enjoying the familiar smell of Jake’s sweat combining with the unfamiliar, welcome scent of arousal. When he licked skin at last, Jake drew in a quick, sharp breath above him. That made Charlie press one hand flat against Jake’s stomach above the cummerbund. He could already feel trembling beneath the dress shirt’s fabric.

  “I’ll probably, eventually, sodomize you,” Charlie said, keeping the words quiet and calm.

  Jake’s eyes visibly widened, but he also nodded, twice.

  With his free hand, Charlie delved further into Jake’s trousers, sliding fingertips along Jake’s tightened balls through the muslin of his drawers. Then he measured out Jake’s cock with his hand the way he’d considered doing for years. As he’d thought, impressive.

  “Right now, I think I’ll settle for sucking until you spend,” Charlie told Jake. “In my mouth, mind you. Every bit.”

  This time, Jake’s nodding verged on frantic. Charlie smiled at Jake, leaned forward, and slowly confirmed Jake’s measurements with his tongue.

  The noises Charlie made as he enjoyed himself might have been mistaken for lapping pool water, but the creak from the chaise longue a minute or two later was unmistakably Jake tightening his grip. Small signals of scent and touch told Charlie that Jake’s climax was approaching.

  Leaning back once more, Charlie said, “Lovely, but this angle is terrible. Sit down.” He was pleased when Jake managed to obey.

  When Charlie knelt between Jake’s legs once more, he was done with leisure. He opened his mouth, tucked his lips over his teeth, and relentlessly claimed what was in front of him. As he worked his mouthful with suction and tongue, Charlie put a hand on each of Jake’s hips to make clear exactly what was expected.

  The sex wasn’t gentle, but Jake was desperately willing. He managed to keep quiet but only in theory; his breathing came in needy, ragged gasps and fabric slid on fabric as his hips worked. When he came, Jake had to choke back guttural noises all the time he spent. Then he sagged forward, almost draping himself over Charlie.

  This position was graceless, awkward to the edge of discomfort. Even so, Charlie blinked back a momentary stinging in his eyes to which he would never admit. Instead he reached out to firmly stroke his hands across Jake’s suit jacket, along the small of Jake’s back, until he felt the shudders beneath his fingers stil
ling. Then Charlie freed himself from the near embrace, leaned back onto his heels, and stretched his jaw. This view of a dissipated Jake was exquisite.

  For a few, heated seconds Charlie considered rolling Jake over on the chaise longue and hauling those dress trousers out of the way, but common sense reasserted itself. Instead, Charlie stood up, shifted the silk of his own cummerbund, and undid his fly. Working his cock free, he fisted himself a few times. Good Lord, he was close.

  At some point during all of this, Jake had sat up straight. Now he was watching intently. As Charlie tried thumbing the tip of his cock, Jake licked his lips before saying, “I…”

  Jake bit off the rest of his words, but Charlie smiled and nodded for him to continue.

  His voice rough and dark, Jake said, “I can try. I mean, I’ve already--”

  “Oh, yes,” Charlie told him, stepping closer. “Try. Do.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jake leaned in. As heat and wetness blessedly, if awkwardly, closed around him, Charlie tapped Jake’s distending cheek with a forefinger. Somehow he managed to say, voice hoarse, “Don’t swallow. Later. You can impress me later.” Then Charlie carefully, briefly fucked Jake’s mouth, his grip both as gentle and as firm as he could make it.

  Inexperienced but promising, so very promising, was Charlie’s assessment later. At the time, all he could think about was how Jake’s mouth felt, and the sounds and the scent of what they were doing. He nearly didn’t pull out soon enough, and Jake almost didn’t let him go. There was a slightly sloppy interval that ended with Charlie spending while both his own hands and Jake’s were entangled awkwardly around Charlie’s cock. Somehow he left spunk on both Jake’s shirt and skin. It only made Jake’s eyes widen and look hungry again.

  Afterward, Jake’s eyelids fluttered closed. His pulse was pounding at his throat where his bow tie had been yanked awry, and he was still breathing heavily. Jake’s pomade had given up the ghost; his hair was a mess. His clothes were almost past saving. He had never seemed more appealing. Charlie hauled Jake up onto his feet and then pulled him close.