Chapter 11
Since there seems to be no other option than waiting, Peter moves closer to the fire, holds out his hands, and thinks about taking off his jacket, but the shirt underneath is so cheap and the seams so poorly aligned that he doesn’t want anyone to see him in it.
Plus he’d just have to put it back on when he leaves. Honestly, if Sebastian doesn’t answer the phone when he calls, he will lose his mind. He’ll just go back to the city. Not show up at his own party. Ugh. Then they’d really be in an argument.
The fire crackles and then pops. Peter shivers. There’s a quick knock on the door and the servant comes back in.
“Mr. Hodge,” he says and comes in with a glass of what looks like whiskey on a small serving platter. “My master regrets that he’ll be a few minutes more. But he wondered if you might like a drink to warm up? He’d like for you to know that it’s very strong.”
“Hodge?” Peter asks, confused. “Who is Mr. Hodge?”
The servant smiles gently at him. “You are Mr. Hodge.”
“No, I’m Peter Roche.” The man takes the drink off the serving tray and sets it down on a table before bowing and turning to leave the room. He closes the door behind him. Hodge? How bizarre. It’s extra bizarre because in the murder mystery, Sebastian‘s character was named Hodge.
Which is when a bizarre idea occurs to him. Hodge is a day laborer. A day laborer who is down on his luck and who’d do anything for money. Probably sleep with the master of this mansion, Peter thinks.
There’s a piece of paper sitting next to the alcohol and Peter’s heart is pounding as he goes closer and picks it up. What if… He can’t even put it into words. His stomach twists, the sensation of falling and then stopping too quickly. Vertigo.
He doesn’t look at it yet, his mind trying to put the pieces together.
He is in the right place. This is the address he is supposed to be at.
Peter got a good look at the map before he lost service.
And the clothing he’s wearing does fit him.
They're ill-fitting, but the pants are the right length, the shoulders of the shirt fit. And he is broader than Sebastian. If this was Sebastian’s outfit, then it wouldn’t fit at all.
What if… The door opens and of course the master comes in. The master is Sebastian. Peter’s knees go weak. He’s speechless. Sebastian is always gorgeous, but this is ridiculous.
This is Cary Grant level of perfection. And Sebastian knows all about Peter’s crush on Cary Grant. Sebastian’s hair shines, has a wave to it, styled in a way Peter hasn’t seen him wear before. He’s freshly shaved and his suit—good god, his suit.
It’s gloriously tailored. He’s never seen anything like it. A three-piece suit, complete with a gold pocket watch and a tie that brings out the gray in his eyes. The shirt is crisp and white.
The beautiful and rich man in front of him—master of this house—is exactly the sort of man Peter had fantasized about. The fantasy man who’d kidnap him and use him.
“Like kidnapping?” Sebastian had asked him one night. Somewhere in the middle of the night when Peter couldn’t sleep and Sebastian was just holding him for comfort.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he’d confessed and gotten a kiss for his honesty.
“What if he was old or ugly?”
“Well, no, it’s a fantasy, so he’s rich and handsome,” Peter had said.
Sebastian looks him up and down, smiles and comes closer, holds out his hand.
“I’m James Scott,” he says and Peter offers his hand, feeling like he’s in a dream. That was the name of his character. A ruthless and wealthy tycoon who would do anything to get what he wants.
Sebastian shakes his hand, squeezing just a little too hard and holding on for a little too long.
“My servant tells me you’re looking for a phone?
I don’t know where you’re trying to get to, but the weather is so awful you might consider staying here for the night.
Or until it lets up,” Sebastian says and gives Peter his back, goes to an actual drinks cart where there’s a crystal decanter of amber liquid, and pours himself an inch.
He turns back around, taking a small sip and then gesturing at Peter’s drink.
“I see he got you something. Do be aware that it’s quite strong.
If you drink all that, you’re likely to make all sorts of regrettable decisions.
Weak as a kitten. It’s the sort of drink that gets ladies in the family way. ”
Peter forces his feet to move, goes to the table, and picks up the drink. He swallows it in a single burning gulp.
“That is strong,” Peter says, clearing his throat. His eyes water.
Sebastian's lips twitch in amusement. “You were meant to sip it,” he says.
He gets up and goes back to the cart, picks up a bottle and comes back. He pours Peter a splash and then hesitates, waits for Peter to meet his gaze.
“Any more than this and who knows what might happen to you. You look like a strong young man but this stuff is dangerous. You wouldn’t be able to fight off any unwanted attentions, if you know what I mean. You’d be overpowered. You could struggle and say no but it wouldn’t matter.”
Peter swallows it instantly, tries to convey with just a look that he wants anything Sebastian is willing to do to him.
“Christ,” Sebastian says, and Peter thinks he’s broken character, that he’s surprised by Peter’s willingness.
“Have a seat. Tell me where you’re trying to go?” Sebastian sits in a wingback chair positioned before the fire. He crosses his legs. How much money did he spend on that suit? Whatever it was, it was worth it.
“Are you alone here?” Peter asks and his voice trembles. He doesn’t even want to follow the possibility before him. That maybe this is what Sebastian planned. No party, no dancing, but just them in this giant house, Sebastian bringing his most personal fantasy to life.
Sebastian waits until Peter meets his gaze. “I am. My servant just left. It’s just me rambling around this giant house all weekend. It gets lonely. It’d be nice to have company.”
“Just you,” Peter repeats, feeling dumb and full of lust and love for Sebastian, who has apparently gotten it right after all. “Oh my god,” Peter says with a laugh, pressing his hands to his eyes. “I was so… I didn’t even imagine something like this.”
“Careful, Mr. Hodge,” Sebastian says firmly.
Peter drags in a breath, wipes at his eyes.
“As I was saying, I do find it quite lonely, Mr. Hodge. I think there are times where I’m out here all alone when I might just give about anything for a little company. You seem like you might be good company, Mr. Hodge. Do you ever get lonely?”
Peter blushes. “I don’t know if I am good company,” Peter says, because he’s so discombobulated. “But I do get lonely.”
“You look cold. You should take off your jacket,” Sebastian says.
Peter obeys with a nod, shrugs out of his jacket, and isn’t sure where to put it. He lays it over the arm and sits back down. Sebastian gets up from his chair, taking another sip of his drink and setting it down with a small clink before walking over to Peter, standing between his legs.
Peter leans forward, breathing Sebastian in, desperate to just press his face into Sebastian’s groin.
Starch, wool, and a spicy cologne, rich and one Peter had said in passing that he liked. “How did you… You smell so good,” Peter says.
“Thank you. You’d be amazed at how much some people respond to scent,” he says.
Sebastian’s not wrong. It’s terrible and beautiful to be so known but he is.
Peter presses forward, burying his nose in Sebastian’s jacket, trying to get to his armpit and breathe him in.
Sebastian laughs and that just makes Peter press closer, breathe deeper, taking in the warm scent of the man he loves. Sebastian takes a step back.
“You didn’t wear deodorant,” Peter murmurs and slumps back against the couch. He loves it an obscene amount. Just like he loves Sebastian’s come and his sweat, these base things that equal intimacy and filth. If it has to be hidden away, cleaned or covered up, then Peter probably likes it.
Sebastian wears deodorant most of the time but now if he’s with Peter for the weekend, he won’t.
If he goes to the gym, he won’t shower but will come straight to Peter, and Peter likes Sebastian to fuck him face-to-face then, have his face against Sebastian’s shoulder, close to buried in his armpit, which Sebastian finds amusing and mocks him for.
And doesn’t that also make Peter desperate to come.
“Where are my manners? Let me take that for you,” he says and plucks the jacket from Peter’s hand. He turns and walks away from him, draping it over a chair before coming back toward Peter. "You’re still soaked, poor thing. I’m sure you’d feel better if you got out of those clothes.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Peter says.
“Be a good boy and take them off.”
Sebastian goes and sits back down in the chair, relaxed and at ease. He takes another drink. Peter tugs at his cheap tie, a little embarrassed to be seen in it.
“I’d hoped you were here about the ad,” Sebastian says.
“What ad?” Peter asks.
“Where is your piece of paper? Did he give it to you?”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to look at it.” Peter pulls it out of his pocket and opens it up. It’s another piece of information for the murder mystery.
James Scott has placed an ad in a local paper. "Stern gentleman seeking young submissive man to guide and control. You will be cherished and restricted."
Peter has to reread that twice.
“Restricted?” Peter asks, afraid to hope. He wants to be caged. He wants a collar. He wants to know that Sebastian is taking this and them seriously.
He’s done a decent job keeping his desires to himself and tamping them down, but now they’re alive, crashing through him, and he’s so desperate to be owned that he might not survive it if this is all a misunderstanding.
Peter shoves to his feet, tempted to flee. If Sebastian isn’t going to cage or collar him, then he needs to know that now.