November

October 7

Tega poked his head around the corner into Sloane's room, his black curls shaking loose around his face.
"Hey! Good, you're here."
Sloane was packing things into a bag and he quickly finished before gesturing Ortega to come in. He looked relieved, which puzzled Tega.
"Here I am. Am I late?"
he checked the clock again.
Sloane shook his head, busy counting something on his fingers.
"No...no, but Clint likes to be really punctual, so he usually ends up being early."
Sloane turned to Ortega, sized him up. He was wearing jeans and a tight white t-shirt which contrasted nicely with his golden-brown skin; his hair was loose and his curls shone, and his fingernails were freshly manicured.
"Are you comfortable in those jeans? It's pretty hot out today - maybe you should wear a natori."
Tega shrugged.
"I think I'll be alright. It'll be evening soon, so it'll cool off pretty quick."
Sloane shrugged.
"I'm going to wear one. I thought you might just want something a little more date-appropriate."
Ortega furrowed his brow and looked worried.
"This isn't appropriate?"
Sloane eyed him for a moment, seeming to decide something. He smiled reassuringly at his charge.
"No, I think it'll be fine."

Twenty minutes later, Sloane walked them out to the main exit. He signed himself and Ortega out, marked 'no escort' and led the younger man down the path towards the eastern parking lot. Ortega trotted a few paces behind him.
"We're awfully early, aren't we?"
Sloane shrugged.
"He'll be there. And I'd rather be early than late."
Ortega caught up to Sloane, fell into step beside him. They passed a moment in silence before Ortega spoke.
"You don't have to stay with him, you know."
Sloane drew in a breath, shrugged it off.
"I know that. I want to stay with him. Clint loves me and he will do well by me. I can't ask for anything more."
Ortega shook his head, wanting to say something more, but by then they were rounding the corner and he could see Clint leaning on the side of the gray jeep. Another man was seated in the back and Ortega assumed that must be James.

Clint smiled at Sloane as he approached and held out his arms for a hug. Sloane complied, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned to introduce Ortega.
"You remember Tega."
Clint smiled wide, took his hand to shake it.
"Of course. Ortega. You're one of Sloane's boys. Nice to see you again."
Ortega rankled a bit at being called a boy, but the title was so common, he'd almost grown used to it. The other man, who had been calmly watching the scene, hoisted himself and climbed out of the back seat, extending a hand to Ortega. He was large, Tega immediately noted, taller even than Clint, who had at least half a foot on Tega to begin with, and built brawlick. He suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to do this, but Sloane seemed to be watching him from the protective circle of Clint's arms, so he tucked a wayward curl behind his ear, swallowed his shyness, and reached out a hand to the unfamiliar man.
"I'm James."
James shook his hand gently, Tega noticed, almost like he was afraid he might break him.
"Ortega."
"Nice to meet you, Ortega."
The guy was not unhandsome; he had refined features and a strong jaw, confident smile and deep, mellow voice. His eyes were blue. He was actually rather attractive. Ortega suddenly found it very hard to meet his gaze, so he focused on the floor instead.
"What's this?" the man teased, moving to try to meet Ortega's eyes. "Shy?"
Ortega began to color, shook his head. James grinned, leaned over to stage whisper in Tega's ear. "Must think I'm cute, then."
Ortega flushed red, and the man laughed.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Clint was looking somewhat anxiously at his watch.
"We should get on the move for nightfall."
James agreed, and Sloane let himself into the passenger's side seat in the front, leaving James and Ortega to take the back.
"Let's get on the road."


James wasn't so bad, Ortega reflected. He had an easygoing sense of humor, and he was confident without being cocky, kind without being overbearing. Over the rushing wind, he'd explained the parts of the city to Ortega as they passed - what each building was for, how long it had been there, how much it had withstood. As they cut through the city, he pointed out the places where he had grown up, and Ortega teased him about having never really left home. James laughed.
"Well, I guess I never really had a good reason."
He explained to Ortega that he had traveled a lot as a young man, and that as the only survivor of his siblings (all female), his father had doted on him after the plague. Ortega told him about his home, far south and how green the mountains were in the daytime. He told him about how he'd come to move to the north, and how much he missed his grandparents (who had raised him) and his hometown. At some point during the ride, James' hand found its way onto Ortega's leg, and he shifted away a little, which seemed to surprise James - only for a second though, before his characteristic good nature took over and he smiled again. When Tega looked up, he saw Sloane watching him in the mirror, a look of consternation on his face.


Clint rounded a curve and pulled the jeep to a slow stop by a semi-hidden open space some distance from a break in the tree line. He put it into park on a dirt patch by the clearing, got out and indicated James do the same. Sloane looked up at him for instruction. Clint leaned over the side of the jeep, looking steadily at Sloane.
"You know where we are?" Sloane nodded. "Then you know to stay in the jeep."
James turned to Ortega, his voice casual and relaxed.
"We're just going to go check out the site, make sure it's secure. Be back in just a minute."
Clint patted Sloane's face, then he and James shouldered a pair of backpacks and hopped out, began marking paces off until they disappeared into the dark. As soon as they were out of earshot, Sloane turned to Ortega.
"You like him?" he whispered. Tega shrugged, but smiled.
"He's nice."
"Nice?" Sloane raised an eyebrow.
"He kissed me when we stopped to eat. It was OK." Sloane laughed. Ortega was turning red again. "He keeps touching me."
"He likes you."
Ortega shrugged, stared off into the distance.
"Yeah..." Tega shifted in his seat. "Sloane, I gotta go." he said suddenly, eyeing a welcoming-looking clump of trees. "I think it was that wine...I'll be right back."
"No!" Sloane practically leapt to keep him from moving, stopping him with a hand on the door. "No, Clint said to stay in the jeep."
Ortega frowned.
"OK...but this is kind of an emergency."
Sloane turned to look him in the eye.
"Do not get out of the jeep, Ortega."
Before Ortega could inquire further, there were footsteps by the path and then Clint and James reappeared.
"Looks good. We'll go through this way."
They pulled the car through a narrow opening up into the clearing itself, and now Ortega could see that it overlooked the entire valley; a thousand little lights were flickering on and off in the distance, and he realized how far he'd come. He'd never in his life been this far away or this high up. Ortega was transfixed by the sight, and just stared out over the break for a few long moments. Sloane and Clint were cuddling together in the front seat, and James was carefully watching his reaction. Suddenly his need reoccurred to him.
"Um, Sloane, I really gotta go." he said anxiously. Sloane sat up, turned to Clint.
"Somebody should take him to the tree line."
Clint locked eyes with James in the rearview mirror.
"I'll take him." James looked over at Ortega, who was looking even more anxious, and smiled. "Come on, I'll take you by those trees over there."
Ortega frowned.
"I can really go alone."
"It's safer," Clint answered, "if you let James go with you."
Ortega acquiesced. James climbed out, went around to Tega's side to let him out, and took his hand. Clint spoke to James.
"I'm going to park the jeep a little farther over, OK?"
James nodded, turned his attention back to Tega.
"Follow ten steps behind me, OK?"
Ortega was confused, but nodded and slipped out of the car and they made their way off into the dark. Clint shut off the jeep's lights immediately. Sloane was biting his lip, hard. Clint looked at him.
"Well? Pack it up. We've only got a minute."
Sloane glanced at Clint, his eyes damp and face conveying real worry.
"I'm not sure if - "
"For fuck's sake, Sloane, you've been so good tonight and now you want to go and do this shit. Pack the goddamn bag before I give you something to be sure about." Clint's voice was calm in the way that Sloane knew to be dangerous. He reached into the backseat, pulled out James' backpack and began to transfer items from the bag he'd packed into it. A small blanket went first, then a bottle of water, lube, a first aid kit, a small rough cloth, and another bottle of wine. Clint watched him.
"Anything else they'll need?"
Sloane shook his head, zipped the bag up and leaned over to drop it some distance from the side of the jeep.
"Then let's go."
With that, Clint pulled off, driving the jeep back out the way they had come.


James led Tega off a short distance into the trees, seeming to pace out a spot for him before turning to head back.
"You need to come back exactly the way we came. Can you do that, or should I wait for you?"
Ortega shook his head.
"I can do it. I'll be right there."
Clint headed back out into the clearing. Ortega relieved himself by a friendly tree, then turned 180 degrees and retreated the exact path he'd taken in. In the clearing, James was waiting for him. The car was gone. Confusion hit first, then fear was suddenly in his throat, clawing its way up. This didn't feel right. It felt too sudden and too dark and too scary.
"Where's Sloane?" he tried not to sound too hysterical.
James was standing next to a blanket that had been laid out on the ground, staring up at the night sky. Upon hearing his voice, he turned and looked evenly at Ortega. The moon was bright on him.
"Sloane went with Clint."
Ortega stopped walking where he was, refusing to come any closer.
"Where did they go?"
James had both hands in his pockets, and he continued to stare evenly at Ortega.
"That's not really any longer a concern, Ortega."
Ortega didn't like this one bit, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do. James began to walk towards him. He took two steps back. James stopped.
"Do you know where you are, Ortega?"
Tega shook his head.
"You are in a minefield, Ortega."
Cold fear rushed through his veins.
"Do you know where you can walk? I do. Please do not attempt to run."
Tega was breathing hard now, and heavy, almost panting with fright.
"I want to go home." he blurted.
James nodded, smiled a soothing kind of smile, reached out one hand to Ortega.
"You will, sweetheart. But first, we have to take care of some things."
Ortega shifted his weight where he was, fought the urge to run, imagined himself blown apart or maimed or dead in a hundred different ways.
"What things?" his voice sounded strained, desperate. Understanding was so sharp and real within him, he wondered for a minute if this was just a dream. James was looking at him again, his gaze even but now shifting towards something more like feral. He was stroking himself with one hand, taking two more steps towards Ortega. Tega did not move.
"Do you know what I want, Ortega?"
Tega sucked in a dry breath, nodded. He was shaking. He wished James would stop saying his name. He came two steps closer.
"And are you going to fight me, Ortega?"
Tega didn't respond, only stood his ground.
"I would like it very much," James said, closing the distance between them, "if you did not fight me, Ortega."
Then he was there, he was on him, his breath hot on Ortega's neck in the cool night air, and the moon was behind him now, hiding his face, and Tega didn't know what to do, whether to cry or scream or beg him not to do this. Sloane was gone - how could Sloane leave him? Just when he needed him the most? And it was dark and the woods around him were steeped in death and maybe he could just get this over with quickly, and he knew this was going to be his first time - does it hurt? How much? And why couldn't he just go home, and what the hell was he supposed to do now? In the end, he did nothing, only let James kiss him, let him slide one hand down to fondle his dick through the denim, lead him back over to the blanket. James still spoke to him in that easy, reassuring voice, telling him that it was going to be OK, and he shouldn't be scared, and that James was going to take good care of him, now and forever.

Then he was on his back on one blanket in the middle of the clearing in the middle of the minefield, another blanket draped over his bare legs, and he could hear James undressing. For a moment, he almost missed his presence, his weight, and then James was next to him, under the blanket, kissing him again. He tried to hold it together, tried to stay calm. James's hands were wandering his body, teasing two brown nipples, then down, across his stomach, dipping a finger into his bellybutton, then lower, across his shaved regions to palm his limp dick, then, losing interest in that, pushing his legs apart and sliding two fingers behind it to press at his entrance, which was shamefully damp and invitingly warm. James' breath caught at this, and he pressed harder, attempting to force his way in. Ortega squirmed, tried to pull away from the discomfort, but James restrained him with one hand on his hip, grip firm to the point of bruising. Ortega tried to remember what they'd been taught in class, tried to relax. Took two shaky breaths which James read as excitement. He sat back on his knees, the blanket pooling around his hips, letting Ortega see his casually erect cock - impressive in length more than width - and leaned over to where his black backpack lay on the ground next to the blankets. He retrieved something from it, a tube, squirted some on his fingers and stuck them unceremoniously into Ortega, who jumped.
"Easy. I'm sorry. I know it's cold."
The bizarre assurance put Ortega even closer to the edge. Just as bizarrely, he began speaking to Ortega as he fingered him, his thick digits pressing hard against Tega's walls.
"Do you understand what's happening here, Ortega?"
Ortega was busy trying to breathe and so only shook his head no.
"We're going to have sex, sweetheart, and I'm going to try and get you pregnant."
Ortega's eyes widened.
"Do you understand why I'm doing that, Ortega?"
More head shaking, only now he could focus a little better because James pulled his fingers out, giving him a brief respite from the discomfort.
"Because I want to marry you. Very badly. And there is no other way."
Tega looked at James with a mixture of absolute confusion and fear. He was lubing his dick now.
"If I were to wait for you, meet you, sweetheart, then I might get preempted by one of these top rank bastards. I'm not going to let that happen. So just think of this as a little shortcut, sweetheart, on the road to a life of happiness."
Ortega suddenly wanted to throw up. He couldn't do this. Wouldn't do it. Wasn't going to. He got one good punch in. He'd aimed for the balls, but James anticipated and caught it on the hip instead, close enough to give him pause but not dead on enough to stop him completely. In the half second of space, Ortega flipped onto his stomach, began to wiggle away, thought he was going to make it, when suddenly strong hands were dragging him back, flipping him back over, and he had a brief thought of acceptance just before the elbow caught him in the temple. The world spun and then another hand was on his throat, squeezing tight, choking off the blood supply and the crisp, cold mountain air.
"I asked you," James said simply, "Not to fight me, Ortega."
Then he was inside of him, his neck was free, and Ortega cried out abruptly with the pain - there was no other word for it; this was true, unadulterated pain. The lube eased his entry, but the facts of life stayed the same, and Ortega had never done this before, never been touched there but by doctors who were very careful and very gentle and now this was happening and it was fast and it was hard and it just fucking hurt.
He didn't want to look weak, but he couldn't stop the tears this time. James was above him, his arms making a cage around Ortega's shoulders and head, his muscles flexing as he thrusted. Tega cried out again, put both hands on his hips, begged him to just take it slow, please, stop for just a second, I just need a minute, please. James complied, paused half-buried inside him, stroked his face, wiped tears, let Ortega try to manage him. In a minute, the haze cleared and the pain eased a little, but flared again when James moved, sliding his dick out of Ortega so that just the head stayed buried. He thrust in again and it burned like fire and Tega knew that he couldn't take this. He covered his eyes with his hand, cleared away the tears, tried to look at the moon, to pick something out to remember his first time pleasantly by. James lifted his legs, hiking them higher around his waist. It relieved some pressure but increased others. The pain continued. Ortega touched James' chest.
"Finish, please. Can you just finish?" he begged. James looked at him for a second, nodded, and closed his eyes, single-mindedly focusing on getting off inside his mate. As he got closer, his thrusts got deeper, until Ortega could feel him slamming against the back of his canal, striking so hard he was sure he'd bruise him inside. Abruptly, he stopped, holding still, and momentarily Ortega wasn't sure what had happened, and then he felt a sudden damp rush inside of him and realized he'd cum. James jerked a few more times inside of him, smiled self-satisfactorily, and hung his head, breathing hard. Ortega pushed at his chest to remind him and he pulled out, still panting, chest glistening with sweat.

Ortega wanted to touch himself, to be sure he was OK because it still burned, but he was too scared and too much was running through his mind. He heard water, and when he looked up, James was pouring it from a bottle over a piece of cloth. He tried to sit up, but James stopped him with one hand.
"No. Lay back down. In fact..." he took Ortega's legs, bent them at the knees, so that his ass was tilted off the ground. "Stay like that."
Ortega realized what he was doing, shook with the knowledge, but didn't dare move. James took the cloth, wiped first Ortega, then himself. Tega shivered and James helped him put his shirt and underwear back on before getting up to dress himself. Ortega was crying again, a bit more actively now, and shaking very badly. James stroked his head, and after a few minutes, drew him up into his arms, rubbed his back.
"I know. I know this is hard. But you'll be fine. We'll be fine. Now come on, enough crying. You don't want Sloane to see you like this, do you?"
Ortega just went on shaking, but the sobs subsided.
"Can I go home now?"
James reached for his backpack again, took out a walkie talkie, turned it on.
"Clint," he said, packing up the water, cloth, lube, and blanket, "I'm done."


Sloane rode in the backseat with him as they left. Ortega wouldn't meet his eyes, just stared out of the window as they drove away. Sloane tried to take his hand, but Tega jerked it away. In the front seat, Clint and James were talking.
"Did you make him lay like I told you?"
James nodded.
"Hope it took. I only fucked him once, though. Didn't have time. Think I should I do it again?"
Ortega looked up at this, his breath quickening. Sloane noticed and cut in.
"It's his first time. You can't take him twice in one day, you'll seriously hurt him."
Clint looked sharply up into the rearview mirror, locked eyes with Sloane. They communed silently for a moment.
"Sloane's right, man. Can't take him twice. You'll hurt him."
Ortega breathed a silent sigh of relief, but still waited on edge. Sloane went on.
"Maybe you can try again tomorrow, if Ortega feels up to it."
Ortega looked sharply at Sloane. Clint glared at him in the rearview mirror.
"He will try again tomorrow, whether Ortega feels up to it or not."