First Son

First Son
by
Brian Jackson
Published by Brian Jackson at Smashwords
Copyright AS 2010 by Brian Jackson
Discover other titles by Brian Jackson at
www.smashwords.com
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Prologue
The very air inside the club seemed to be vibrating to the beat
of the music. As bodies bobbed and gyrated along with the
rhythm, strobe lights pulsed making it seem as if those on the
dance floor were standing still. Colored lights set in sconces
around the club did little to penetrate the dark corners in which
intimate rendezvous were being conducted in abundance.
Sleeveless waiters in silk blouses and tight jeans ceaselessly
ferried drinks from a crowded bar to a clientele thirsting for more
a more drink, more life, more love.
 At the heart of the dance floor the heat of the club was at its
greatest. Those who danced at its core were slathered with
perspiration, so close together that they seemed to move as one.
Steam rose from these dancers to mix with the lights and the
jungle beat making for a sweltering native environment. Here Ian
Johnston could be found, at the center of the hurricane, arms
wrapped around his lover's neck and head thrown back to drink
in the energy radiating all around him.
Club Monaco was thriving tonight, stuffed to capacity as it was
most nights of the week; but tonight was special, it being
Saturday, the night to howl in Washington D.C. As the capitol
city's premiere gay nightclub, the Club Monaco had become the
place to be, attracting gays and straights alike. And Saturday
night was the time to be here. As a result, bouncers guarded the
entrance admitting only regulars, celebrities, and those that were
too beautiful to be turned away from anywhere.
Looking through the crowd, Ian recognized few of the faces
that surrounded him. This didn't surprise him. The patrons here
were ever changing and many of the movers and shakers of the
city that anyone would recognize tended to remain in the
shadows lest they attract undo attention. As the music ceased,
the dancers wilted into each other's arms and some moved from
the floor to find seats and refreshment at the tables that lined the
club. But no sooner had the music stopped than another song
blasted through the speakers overhead to once more send the
remaining dancers into a writhing frenzy.
Rather than stay for more, Ian needed to be helped from the
floor by his lover, so depleted was he by the relentless pace of
the dancing. Of course it didn't help that he was also on at least
three different kinds of high that were pulling his mind in different
directions. No matter, he reasoned. As long as the concoction
continued to make him feel so wonderful he would continue to
imbibe and stoke the fires of his drug induced euphoria.
Falling into a seat at a table surrounded by friends, Ian slid his
sweaty ass across the leather upholstery to make room for his
lover, Jason, beside him. He then reached an arm around
Jason's neck and roughly pulled him sideways to bury his mouth
in a deep, lingering kiss. Ian liked the taste of Jason which was
one of the reasons he'd decided to keep him for longer than a
fortnight. As his hungry lips separated from Jason's, Ian looked
playfully into his lover's eyes wishing that they could go further
than just a kiss. But there were some things that even Ian wouldn't
do in public. Not anymore.
"You're beautiful," Jason commented, dabbing a dollop of
sweat from Ian's forehead and continuing to maintain deep eye
contact well after the kiss had ended.
"I know I am."
And he was. Ian Johnston was one of the most beautiful
celebrities in the city. And he knew it. There was no denying the
devastating effect of his wavy blond hair, deep blue eyes, and
mischievous smile. His skin was well tanned by his athletic
lifestyle. A strong chin terminated in a deep dimple that became
even deeper when he smiled. This was to say nothing of a body
that was finely sculpted, screaming to be touched by all who saw
him. Of course, Jason was beautiful himself, but even he was
willing to admit that his beauty was nothing compared to what Ian
possessed. After all, why else would eyes continue to follow Ian
across a crowded club even when he was covered in sweat and
stoned out of his mind.
"So, Ian. How are you feeling?" Jason asked with some
concern in his voice. As usual, he found that he needed to shout
to be heard over the music, even at so close a distance.
"I feel wonderful," Ian replied, dreamily.
"Good. It's just that you look tired. Maybe we should slow down
with the dancing the rest of the night."
"What? Are you saying that I look fagged out?" Ian retorted,
flopping against Jason's side, forcing his head against his
shoulder, and patting Jason's arm as he squirmed in amusement.
"I'm serious."
"Party pooper. Who made you my nanny? Let's dance." But
Ian found that he couldn't make it out of his seat without
assistance. A pleading glance at Jason produced only a shake of
the head. Signaling across the table, he got the attention one of
his friends and called out. "Robert. Will you help me to get up and
dance?"
"Ian, you're too stoned," was the response he received amid
peels of laughter from his other friends at the table. "Besides, I
don't want to get in trouble with your daddy," he concluded.
"Oh, screw my daddy, I want to dance," Ian protested. "What's
happening tonight? I'm surrounded by nothing but party poopers."
"I tell you what," Jason interjected. "What if I take you out on
the floor for one last dance, then I take you home and put you to
bed?"
"And what terrible price will I have to pay when you have me all
alone in my bed?"
"We'll see if we can come up with an appropriate payment,"
Jason said with a smile.
"Take me, I'm yours," Ian replied, wrapping his arms around
Jason's neck and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
Jason hauled Ian to his feet and helped him across the club to
the dance floor. Once there, Ian seemed to find his second wind.
In no time at all his feet were moving to the beat and his arms
were thrown high in the air, rocking to the rhythm of the music. As
the first song ended, Ian argued that he was owed a complete
song, but then he still resisted being removed from the floor as a
string of tunes was played one after the other. Rather than get
into an argument, Jason simply accepted that his partner had
boundless energy which needed to be worked off.
As Ian continued to dance, he started to move across the floor
losing Jason in his wake and acquiring new partners at will.
Some of these partners were familiar, others were total
strangers. In either case it didn't matter to Ian. He danced close
to each new partner, grinding his legs and crotch against them. In
some cases he and his partner wrapped arms around each other
and even kissed deeply as they continued to move to the beat.
Ian thrilled at the hands that were run over his body, feeling his
chest inside his shirt and grabbing his buttocks to pull him closer.
Eventually, Jason became disgusted with this display and left the
floor. Taking a seat at their table he continued to scowl and pout
as he sipped his drink.
Ian had effectively been left alone on the dance floor amid a
sea of people when his attacker struck. In fact, Ian was so
enthralled by the music that he didn't notice that he had been
stabbed until someone screamed and the crowd began to
separate from him. Finally feeling the searing pain, Ian looked
down to his waist and saw that his shirt front was blossoming in a
vibrant, dark color barely recognizable as crimson amid the
multicolored lights. Reaching a hand down he felt that the liquid
spilling from his body was sticky and warm and at that point finally
knew it to be blood. His blood.
The crowd on the dance floor dispersed more widely as they
began to understand what was happening. Ian fell to his knees
and looked up to the retreating crowd. It wasn't until he dropped
face first into a pool of his own blood that Jason pushed his way
through the throng of people to kneel by his side.
"You, call 911," Jason ordered, pointing to a member of the
milling audience at random. As the music ceased its relentless
pounding, Jason rolled Ian over onto his back and ripped his shirt
open to reveal a nasty knife wound just below his ribs.
"What should I tell them," someone called.
"Tell them that the President's son has been stabbed and that
if they don't get here soon he's not going to live," Jason
demanded.
These were the last words that Ian heard before his eyes
rolled back and he was enveloped in darkness.
Chapter 1
Malcolm Young stood well out of the way and at attention
within the office of White House Chief of Staff to President Arlen
Johnston. From his position near the door he could clearly see
and hear Tony Rodriquez, the White House Chief of Staff, as he
fussed and fumed behind his desk. Before Mr. Rodriguez sat the
cause of his fulminations a Ian Johnston, President Johnston's
son. Although Ian's back was to Malcolm, he could clearly see
that the young man was approaching the meeting far more
casually and calmly than was the Chief of Staff.
Drumming his fingers on his desk, Mr. Rodriguez seemed to
be at a loss as to how to proceed. He had been talking solidly for
almost a quarter of an hour and still Malcolm doubted that he and
Ian Johnston could agree on whether it was a nice day.
"Ian, you must be reasonable," Rodriguez finally pleaded.
"No, Tony, I must not," Ian replied with a cordial smile.
"Look, I know that you and your father don't see eye-to-eye on
the whole gay thing," Rodriguez said, throwing his hands up in
frustration. "But you've got to understand the danger in which
you're putting this presidency by acting out."
"Acting out?" Ian looked and sounded skeptical.
"Yes! Alright, you're gay. We all get that. But do you have to be
quite so..." he paused looking for the words that evaded him,
"gay?"
"I still don't think I follow you," Ian replied with deceptive calm.
"The clubbing and the parties. Do you have to be out in the
public eye every night? What about the drugs and the drinking?
That can't be good for you or your image. And why do you have to
be with a different man every time you're seen? Can't you settle
down and be happy? Why don't you, at the very least, take me up
on my offer and move into the loft I've purchased for you in
Manhattan? You'd like living in the Big Apple, out from underfoot
and away from capitol city."
"What? And be away from mommy and daddy?" Ian replied in
mock astonishment.
Malcolm felt his lip curl in a half smile at Ian's response, such
an action being the Secret Service equivalent of full out laughter
while on the job.
"Why you little, snot nosed brat," Rodriquez roared, finally
losing his temper. "You know what the very fact of your existence
is doing to your father's conservative base. You can read what
the press writes about you. But still, you continue to act out. For
one thing, you must have a death wish."
"Tony, why so upset? You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd
say you didn't want me around any more?" Ian replied playfully.
In response, Tony Rodriguez sprang from his seat looking as if
he wanted to jump across the table and throttle Ian.
"Ah, ah, ah," Ian interrupted, waging a cautionary finger. "Don't
touch me unless you love me."
For a moment Rodriguez looked confused. Then he fell back
into his seat. He began chewing at the inside of his lip looking
almost as if he was working away at a piece of bubble gum. Ian
remained silent allowing Mr. Rodriguez all the time he needed
before proceeding with the interrogation.
"Can't you get some kind of treatment?" the Chief of Staff
finally queried, sounding all talked out.
Ian simply smiled by way of a reply.
Malcolm found himself on the move and reaching for his
firearm as the door to the office sprang open with sudden force.
He immediately suspended his response as soon as he
recognized the President's voice, barked with vehemence from
the man who launched himself into the room.
"Tony, have you talked any sense into this young fool?"
President Johnston wanted to know.
"Not yet, sir. In fact, I have to admit that we've barely broached
the subject."
"What? What the hell have you two been discussing all this
time in here?"
"Tony has been trying to cure me of being gay, dad," Ian said.
 In response, President Johnston looked from his friend to his
son with probing eyes. "Well, did it work?"
Malcolm almost lost control of himself in response to the
President's question, having to bite his lip to restrain his laughter.
Still he was sure that his shoulders must have shook a time or
two so amused was he at the President's naivete. Sometimes it
was a blast being a fly on the wall.
"Never mind," the President said after it became obvious he
would receive no response from his son. "What about the security
arrangements?" he added, turning to his chief of staff for a full
report.
"I'm afraid that your son still refuses to have a security detail
assigned to him."
"What? Why?"
"Ask him."
"Why?" the President asked Ian.
"It's simple. I absolutely refuse to have two hulking bodyguards
dogging my every step. Hell, since they take orders from you
they'll probably even try to dictate what I can and can not do."
"But you were stabbed, you daft prick," the President
exploded. "You were almost killed and still you've been cavorting
all over the city as if nothing happened."
Ian simply shrugged his shoulders at the observation.
"I could assign them anyway," the President countered.
"Dad, you know I'd only give them the slip."
"Yes, I suppose you would at that," the President conceded.
"What about if we only assign one hulking bodyguard? At least
until we can find the bastard who stabbed you."
 "The concept is rather the same, don't you think? Besides, I
refuse to show any signs of weakness. A hulking bodyguard
would only give satisfaction to the bastards who tried to have me
killed."
The President, still standing in the center of the room,
considered his son's response for a time. He looked frustrated
and confused. Then his face brightened as he apparently came
to a decision.
"I've got it," he said snapping his fingers. "What if you pretend
that the hulking bodyguard is one of your friends?"
"Friends?" Ian asked suspiciously.
"You know, one of your boy toys."
"Boy toys?"
"Dammit, Ian. Stop playing around. You know what I'm trying to
say. Why don't you pretend the hulking bodyguard is your
boyfriend?"
"Dad, you've got to be kidding. Have you seen the kind of the
men I've been dating?"
"I suppose I've seen a picture or two."
"Have you seen what your hulking Secret Service agents look
like?"
"Yes. So?"
"Well, none of them look good enough to get a date with a
leper let alone be seen out on the town with me."
"Surely they can't all be hideous. What kind of man would we
have to find for my proposal to be acceptable?"
"Well, someone like him for instance," Ian said, rotating in his
chair and pointed a casual finger up at Malcolm.
Malcolm was shocked to have so suddenly become the center
of the conversation. Of course, he knew that he wasn't bad
looking, if you liked a face that had some miles on it, although he
rarely became intimate with any of the women that approached
him. Unbeknownst to Malcolm, his rugged good looks were
accentuated rather marred by a thin white scar that ran from the
corner of his lip to his cheek. Then there was his body which he
kept in excellent shape as a condition of his many past
employment experiences.
Malcolm started to feel uncomfortable when he realized that all
eyes were directed his way and giving him a well considered
look up and down. Ian smiled at him which made him feel even
more uncomfortable. Refusing to smile back, Malcolm opened
his mouth to say a brief word and then snapped it shut again so
he could wait to be formally addressed. That sure didn't take
long.
"You, what's your name?"
"Secret Service Agent Malcolm Young, sir," Malcolm said
stepping forward and throwing his chin out to come to full
attention.
"He has the look and bearing of a military man," President
Johnston observed. "I like that. Maybe some of it will rub off on
my son. Make him a man."
"Dad," Ian objected, for the first time seeming embarrassed
by the course of the discussion.
"So, what about it, son? Will you accept Agent Young as your
personal hulking bodyguard during the next few weeks while we
attempt to hunt down the man who attacked you?"
 "I would be willing to give it a try," Ian conceded. "But there
would have to be rules. For example, no dictating what I do and
don't do with my free time. And no--"
"Excellent!" the President interrupted. "Tony, I want you to
make all the arrangements. Meanwhile, Ian, why don't you get the
hell out of here? I'd like to have a few words in private with your
new bodyguard."
Again, Malcolm wanted to speak but sensed that it was not yet
his time. Instead he remained standing at attention and watched
as Ian spun from his chair and reached for the door handle.
However, before he could grab it Malcolm had the door open and
stood waiting for him to leave. Ian shot Malcolm a demure smile
and seemed almost to blush as he sauntered from the office.
Closing the door, Malcolm felt his stomach doing summersaults
in response to Ian's attentions.
"Agent Young, take a seat," the President ordered slapping
the back of the chair Ian had just vacated.
Responding smartly, Malcolm walked round the chair and sat
himself down before the Chief of Staff's desk. Feeling awkward,
he tried to sit at attention while awaiting further orders from his
commander and chief.
"Relax son, this isn't the inquisition," the President said,
slapping his shoulder. He then stepped to the only other
remaining free chair, pulled it away from the wall to face the desk,
and plopped himself down draping a leg over one of the chair's
arms. "Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, son?"
Malcolm cleared his throat and tried to speak. His voice was
stressed, but he somehow managed to make himself heard
anyway.
 "Well, I was born and grew up in Marion, Indiana, halfway
between Indianapolis and Fort Wayne. My father was a school
teacher and my mom was a stay at home mother. After high
school I joined the army. I did well on the aptitude tests so they
put me on track to be a ranger. After ranger training I did a stint in
Afghanistan and another in Iraq. The 75th Ranger Regiment. I
took a bullet in the leg while on patrol in Mosol. I've had a slight
limp ever since. Finished my second stint behind a desk and
decided to join the Secret Service after leaving the military. I've
been with the service nearly three years now."
"And he has a damn fine record with both the service and the
military," Rodriguez added.
"How old are you, son?"
"I'm twenty-nine, sir."
"How about that. Just three years older than my own son. And
already he's served his country in two capacities," the President
observed. Malcolm didn't respond to the complement. "You aren't
by any chance gay, are you?"
Malcolm was unprepared to field this particular question. How
could he explain in a few brief words, to the President of the
United States, the ambiguous feelings that he had, feelings that
had forced him into a life of danger simply to drive away his latent
desires and reinforce his ideals of manhood? Feelings that
haunted him every night and caused him to notice and desire
things that he knew he must resist. Feelings that could even now
cost him his job.
"Of course he's not gay, Arlen," Rodriguez interjected.
"So, how do you feel about this assignment, young man?" the
President asked.
 Malcolm was relieved that the conversation had finally turned
to the crux of the matter as far as he was personally concerned.
But before he could open his mouth to voice his objection, Mr.
Rodriguez once more interrupted.
"What does it matter what he thinks? He's a Secret Service
agent. He goes where he's ordered and does what he's told. Am I
right, Agent Young?"
"Yes, sir. That is the unofficial motto of the service. However,
I'd like to point out--"
Malcolm made it no further before he was cut off again by his
commander and chief.
"Excellent! Know, I'd like to discuss the rules with you," he
added, conspiratorially. "First, you work for us, not for Ian.
Second, your job is to dictate what he does and doesn't do with
his time. Third, you'll receive your marching orders from Tony
here on a daily basis.
"As for today, your job is simple. Keep Ian out of trouble. Try to
keep him inside as much as possible and out of the limelight."
"Agent Young, you do understand that this assignment goes
well beyond protecting Ian Johnston?" Mr. Rodriguez added.
"You will also be protecting this presidency by insisting that Ian
keep a low profile and stop flaunting his lifestyle before the press
and the public. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you have any questions, Agent Young?" the President
finally asked.
Malcolm was about to open his mouth and voice a whole slurry
of questions and comments regarding his new assignment. But
then he looked into the President's eye and saw that doing so
would mean the end of his career. Instead of saying what he felt
he needed to say, he said what he knew he was supposed to
say.
"No, sir. I have no questions."
"Good man," the President said, slapping Malcolm on the
shoulder. "You see, Tony. That's how it's done. All you need is a
little bit more bargaining experience and you might just be able to
cure my son after all."
With a hearty chuckle, the President rose from his seat and
walked to the door. Both Malcolm and Mr. Rodriguez rose as
well, but before anything more could be said the President was
gone, the bargain having been struck.
"Well, agent?"
"Sir?"
"You have your assignment for the day. You may leave now."
Having to stifle the sudden need to salute, Malcolm made a
crisp spin on the toes of his dress shoes and marched from the
office. Closing the door behind him, he leaned back against that
door and released a prolonged sigh before commencing with his
assignment.
First step, find Ian Johnston.
Chapter 2
Malcolm supposed that it wouldn't take too long to find the
President's son, given the security of the White House. And he
was right. Walking down a random hallway, he asked the first
person he came upon whether they had seen the Ian. In response
he was directed to take a series of turns through the residence to
the pool room. Malcolm got the sense that the aide he had talked
with was smirking at him. Apparently Ian was notorious amongst
the White House staff.
Thinking it odd that Ian should be a pool player, Malcolm
followed the instructions he was given and opened a door into a
room dominated by water. The pool room proved to be a room
containing an indoor pool rather than the expected billiard tables.
At the moment Malcolm entered the water was choppy due to
the fact that Ian was swimming laps back and forth across the
wide expanse of water. Rather than announce himself, Malcolm
stood his ground in order to observe.
Observation being the focus of his job, Malcolm saw things
with much more clarity and in much greater detail than most
others. As he watched he luxuriated in the clean lines of Ian's
body as it cut through the water. The precision of the swimmer's
movements was mesmerizing. The sheeting of the water off his
head and shoulders was both soothing and refreshing. And the
way his legs kicked at the surface added a playful element to his
exercise. In many ways Ian was more beautiful in movement than
he had been on dry land, back in the office.
As Ian reached out to touch the near wall of the pool, he
bobbed fully to the surface, stood upright, and shot Malcolm a
devastating smile. He looked like a fallen angel, curtained only by
water. Malcolm felt himself flush in response. What's the matter
with you, man? his conscious mind objected. Get a hold of
yourself or you'll ruin this job before it's even begun.
"Howdy, stranger," Ian said with a smile. "My name's Ian
Johnston," he then announced, reaching out a wet hand.
"How do you do, Mr. Johnston?" Malcolm replied, kneeling
down to accept Ian's hand and giving it a stern shake.
 "Nope, that's all wrong," Ian replied.
"What?"
"First the a how do you do'and next the a Mr. Johnston'. Then
there was the hand shake. By the way, my friends call me Ian, and
since you're going to be a very close friend during the next few
weeks, I recommend that you drop Mr. Johnston."
"Sorry, sir," Malcolm replied, curtly, before he could catch
himself. He didn't know what to do with his wet hand so he stood
as though reaching out for a towel that wasn't there.
"Oh, my. This may not work out after all," Ian exclaimed,
pushing off from the side of the pool to backstroke to the far end
of the pool and back.
Again, as Ian swam, Malcolm stood fully erect and watched
with trained eyes. Ian's backstroke was as fluid and precise as
his freestyle had been. Malcolm especially appreciated the fans
of cool water that flew from his finger tips every time he reached
an arm over his head to take another stroke. Only this time, since
Ian swam on his back, Malcolm could clearly see the bulge in his
suit just below the waistband... Again, Malcolm chastised himself
for letting his mind wander.
This time when Ian reached the near end of the pool, he stood
and spun to face Malcolm before extending his hand.
"Hello. My name is Ian."
Malcolm couldn't help but smile and release a pent up,
nervous chuckle at Ian's attempt to once more break the ice.
"Hello, Ian. My name is Malcolm."
"That was much better."
Again, Malcolm was assaulted with Ian's devastating smile as
he knelt down to take the proffered hand. After shaking it, neither
party seemed in any rush to release the grip. Malcolm noticed
this first and tried to retrieve his hand but Ian clamped down,
refusing to let go.
"Why don't you come on in and join me?" Ian prodded.
"I don't think that would be wise--" and he was about to say
'sir'. "Ian."
"Oh? And here I was thinking it would be very wise indeed
considering you're posing as my 'beau'and not my keeper."
Malcolm had to admit that it must look suspicious to anyone
seeing a man clad in a business suit watching the President's
son do laps in the pool. Looking around the pool room, he
noticed that the walls were covered in windows which looked out
onto manicured lawns, gardens, and sidewalks. Finding no
alternative, Malcolm conceded the fact that he would need to do
a better job of blending in.
"But I didn't bring a suit," Malcolm pointed out, grasping upon
the first reasonable excuse that came to mind.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I've taken care of everything," Ian
said with a mischievous wink. "You'll find a suit in that changing
room right over there."
Malcolm looked in the direction that Ian was pointing and
found a row of changing rooms. Ian was pointing to the third door
over which stood open and waiting. Having run out of excuses,
Malcolm saw no other course than to do as he was told. Walking
across the deck, he looked back one last time and was shooed
forward by Ian's hand.
Entering the changing room he closed the door and began
searching for the suit. There were shelves in the room which
contained soft, white towels for drying afterwards, but Malcolm
could find neither hide nor hair of a swimsuit. Then he noticed a
small piece of fabric hanging on a hook.
Retrieving the Speedo suit from the hook, Malcolm once more
considered opting out of the swim experience. It wasn't that he
was ashamed of his body. In fact, quite the contrary. He worked
out regularly and was proud of the shape that he was in. What he
balked at was that there would be little left to the imagination
when he came strutting out of the changing room wearing the suit
the Ian had supplied. But then he suspected that Ian had planned
all this as a means to embarrass him. This got his dander up and
caused him to start stripping off his clothes, determined to not be
toyed with.
Once the suit was on, Malcolm felt like he was still naked.
Rather than step out of the changing room displaying so much
bare skin, he grabbed one of the towels from the shelf and
draped it over his shoulders. Only then did he walk out to
approach the pool, gun and holster in hand.
As he stepped to the very edge of the pool he found that Ian
was still doing laps. Setting down his firearm, he waited. When
Ian pushed off from the near wall, Malcolm dove into the pool to
match his pace. After only a single lap spent swimming side-by-
side, Malcolm felt Ian begin to increase his pace and was forced
to respond in kind. By the end of the second lap the race was on,
neither party willing to relent.
The two men swam as if their lives depended on it. Finally,
after the tenth lap, Malcolm could take no more. Surfacing at the
wall he gasped for air as he looked to see Ian push off on his way
to another lap. However, Ian only managed to make it a few yards
before he too sprang to the surface in desperate need of air.
 Looking back to Malcolm, Ian smiled. He then set a leisurely
pace as he swam back to the wall to join him.
"You're in good shape, Agent Young," Ian gasped between
breaths.
"I thought we were on a first name basis, Ian?"
"Touche."
Turning to face the wall, Malcolm stretched his legs and came
to a standing position, elevating his torso well above the
waterline. He turned back when he heard a gasp from behind
him.
"Oh, my God," Ian exclaimed. "Your body. Are those all
wounds?"
Feeling self-conscious, Malcolm looked down at his body and
saw that his battle scars were on full display. Rather than hide
them, he allowed Ian to take a good long look. After all, he viewed
his wounds as symbols of his manhood which he may as well use
to garner some respect. There seemed to be very little that
impressed Ian. He would use his body if he had to.
"I'm sorry," Ian said. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.
It's just that..."
Neither of them felt the need to speak as Ian continued to
probe Malcolm with his eyes. And Ian took his time, drinking in all
that was visible to feast upon both above and below the water.
"May I?" Ian eventually asked, reaching out a hand.
Again, Malcolm didn't feel the need to reply. Instead he stood,
ridged as a post, there at the edge of the pool, as Ian's fingers
made contact with his chest. In response he felt a shudder course
through his body and he pulled away in shock at his own reaction.
But Ian's hand was insistent, moving forward again to reestablish
contact. Ian's hand then ran gently over his bare, hairless chest
and down his side until it made contact with the first of many
scars. There, fingers toyed with the edges of the wound before
moving on. Before Malcolm knew what was coming he released
a barely audible sigh and again felt his legs begin to quiver
beneath him. Closing his eyes tightly he nearly cried out when Ian
dropped a second hand on his shoulder.
Unable to resist, Malcolm reached out his own hands and
placed them on Ian's sides. Ian's skin was slick and soft to the
touch, but by applying the gentlest pressure Malcolm could feel
the resistance of hard muscle beneath. This was the muscle built
of self-discipline and not survival. It suggested that Ian had drive
and was not as careless as others assumed.
"Do these hurt?" Ian asked, stroking his finger tips over two of
Malcolm's largest scars.
"No," Malcolm whispered in replied. "Not any more."
Removing his hands from Malcolm's body, Ian grabbed hold of
Malcolm's hand and directed it to the front of his abdomen, just
above the waistline of his suit. To Malcolm's surprise, his own
finger tips came in contact with a rather nasty scar.
"This is my own battle wound," Ian explained.
Malcolm played his fingers over the puckered surface of the
scar and then allowed them to continue on across Ian's abdomen
of their own accord. Malcolm felt a shiver run through Ian's body
at his caress.
Opening his eyes, Malcolm found that Ian's face was only
inches from his own. Wanting nothing more than to reach a hand
behind his neck and pull Ian's mouth to his, Malcolm instead
dropped back down into the water, breaking all contact and
thereby any magic that had been building between them.
"Now, now, Malcolm. You were doing so well at pretending to
be my lover."
"Ian, I can't," was all that Malcolm could manage to get out of
his constricted throat.
"Well, maybe its time to get out then, Agent Young," Ian said
with a ring of disappointment in his voice. He then stepped aside
and boosted himself out of the pool. Standing at the pool's edge,
water cascaded down his long, slender body. Malcolm stared
one last time before coming to his senses and realizing that he
was meant to follow.
That's when it finally struck him. Malcolm found to his
embarrassment that he was wading in the President's pool with
one of the largest erections of his life. How he had not noticed
such a large and painful hard-on he did not know. The thing was
huge and as he bobbed in the water it continued to throb.
Reaching a hand down, he immediately found the source of his
problem. His cock was being strangled by the waistband of his
suit. The suit being barely large enough to hold his genitals when
not aroused, it now allowed a full three to four inches of stiff shaft
to poke up against his belly.
"Well, how about it, Malcolm?" Ian asked looking down at the
frenzied agent in the pool. "Is it time to get out?"
"I thought I might stay in for a while," Malcolm replied, trying to
sound calm and in control of the situation.
"Aren't you anxious to get back out and strap your big pistol
back on?"
Again, Malcolm found himself observing Ian's lithe body.
Realizing that little relief was likely to come while Ian was
anywhere near him, Malcolm bit the bullet and hoisted himself
from the pool.
"Oh, my," Ian said, putting his hand to his mouth to mask a
smile.
Malcolm ignored him, walked across the deck, and picked up
his gun. Continuing further and opening the door to the changing
room, he found that his clothes were missing. Looking back to Ian
with a questioning glance, he didn't even need to voice the
question before he received a reply.
"Oh, don't worry. Your cloths have been taken out to be
cleaned and pressed. They'll be delivered to my room in no time."
"And what am I supposed to wear in the meantime?" Malcolm
asked, looking down to see that his cock was beginning to creep
back into his swim suit.
"Why, nothing at all," Ian said, opening a side door to the pool
room. And like a flash he was gone, running away down one of
the garden paths.
Malcolm had no choice but to follow. Although he felt awkward
carrying his gun and shoulder holster in his hands while running
across the White House grounds wearing nothing but a Speedo
and a hard-on. In the end he was pleased to find that the journey
to Ian's room was a short one. Once inside the room, he closed
the door and then looked around to find Ian was nowhere to be
found. Then he heard the shower running behind a partially
closed door.
"Come on in, Malcolm," he heard Ian call.
Unsure whether he should do so or not, Malcolm answered the
taunting, siren call by pushing the bathroom door open and
entering. Once inside he found the room enveloped in a dense
fog. Regardless, he could see Ian standing in a large shower
amid sprays of water coming from multiple shower heads. He
was, of course, naked. The walls of the shower were made of
clear glass allowing Malcolm to see what was going on within
through the steam.
"Why don't you join me?" Ian suggested without looking
around.
"Thanks, but I think I'll wait my turn," Malcolm responded,
feeling that he'd once more mastered his resolve.
"Have it your own way."
Setting his firearm on the floor and taking a seat on the toilet,
Malcolm again found himself examining Ian's body as he
showered. Watching as Ian ran lathered hands over back and
buttocks, Malcolm reconsidered taking Ian up on his offer. As he
fantasized over those being his hands, he found that his penis
was once more becoming engorged. Only this time he was
determined to do something about it.
Reaching down to his belly he ran the palm of his hand over
the front of his cock. Not surprisingly he found that his penis was
already beginning to expel lubricating juices which he spread
over the head of prick. He then pushed the front of his swimsuit
down and finding it too constricting around his balls, rose far
enough off the toilet seat to slip the suit down his legs and kick it
off into a corner.
Now having free access to himself he slid a palm back over
the head of his penis and shivered while reaching down to
squeeze his gonads with the other hand. As he watched Ian in the
shower, water flowing over his beautifully sculpted musculature,
he found that he was beginning to work harder at himself.
 Finally, he could stand it no more. Bringing his hand to his
mouth he spit into his palm and then reached down to wrap his
fingers around his aching prick. In no time he was panting heavily
as he worked his hand frantically up and down his rock hard
shaft. As he stroked himself with greater fury, he closed his eyes
so that he could envision Ian and himself together in the shower,
Ian's soapy hands pulling at his cock and balls as they kissed,
passionately.
Malcolm was surprised that he had enough time to stroke
himself into a considerable fervor. But then he guessed that Ian
was intentionally taking his time in the shower in order to allow
Malcolm the time required to enjoy the show.
Feeling the moment of no return fast approaching, Malcolm
stopped his excursions and clamped down his muscles pinching
his head between his fingers. Amid a mixture of pleasure and
pain, Malcolm's cock and ass started to tense and convulse but
he did not allow himself to ejaculate. Having punished himself in
the past for what he often viewed as evil desires, Malcolm soon
began to torture himself anew by stroking himself hard toward
another aborted orgasm while Ian continued to luxuriate in the
shower.
This time Malcolm didn't make it as far in his self abuse. His
cock was aching as he approached his next orgasm, and this go
round he was considering letting himself ejaculate. That's when
the water turned off and Ian opened the door to step out of the
shower.
"You'd better take care of that," Ian commented, pausing in
place and pointing to Malcolm's erection. Then he proceeded to
ignore Malcolm while he dried himself. "After all, we don't want it
in the way when we go out on the town tonight."
 "Out on the town?" These were the only words that Malcolm
was able to get out of his mouth before Ian left the bathroom,
closing the door behind him.
Walking to the shower, Malcolm let himself in and turned on
the hot jets of water to spray against his back. At the same time
he grabbed the bar of soup and used it to lubricate his throbbing,
red cock. Slipping a hand around his back, he inserted a finger
past his anus and hunched forward, rocking as he continued to
slather his hand over his cock and slap it down hard against the
root of his penis. This time he didn't stop until he sprayed his
seed onto the shower walls. The very same shower walls that Ian
Johnston had been touching only moments before.
Chapter 3
Malcolm stood in the shower amidst the steaming jets of water
and luxuriated in the feeling of intense heat. Having scrubbed
every inch of his body thoroughly, he halted the flow of this life
giving essence and stepped from the shower to bury his face in
the softest towel he'd ever felt. Then, without thinking, he strolled
out of the bathroom and into the bedroom as he continued drying
himself.
Coming face to face with a fully clad Ian Johnston, Malcolm felt
extremely self-conscious about his own nudity. Especially in the
light of how he had conducted himself while in the bathroom.
Much to his surprise, Ian said nothing and in fact did nothing to
make him feel any more uncomfortable about his current state of
undress. Instead, he looked searchingly at Malcolm's face and
asked the same question that everyone eventually asks.
"How did you get that scar on your face?"
"My face was run over by a tank," Malcolm answered without
hesitation. "Trust me, it's a long story."
"It must be a good one. Come on, I'm in no rush."
"Maybe later."
"Of course you know that it adds greatly to your natural good
looks."
No, Malcolm hadn't known that.
Apparently not fully satisfied with just looking, Ian reached out
a hand to touch the scar running from the corner of Malcolm's
mouth just above his jaw line. But before he could make contact,
Malcolm reached out a cautionary hand.
"Maybe you shouldn't."
"As you like," Ian retorted in disappointment, pulling his hand
away. "So, Agent Young. If we're not allowed to discuss how you
got your scar, what can we discuss to pass the time?"
"Suppose we discuss this clubbing idea that you brought up
while we were in the bathroom."
"Oh, that," Ian replied, flashing a mischievous smile. "So, what
did daddy and Uncle Tony talk with you about after I left the
office?" Ian countered, deftly changing the subject.
"Oh, this and that. My employment history, your father's
fondness for a particular place setting in the china room. Things
like that."
"Did they explain that you're to keep me under wraps?"
"Under wraps?"
"You know. Suppress my gayness and keep me out of the
public eye."
"Oh, that."
 "Yes, that."
"They might have broached the subject."
"I just bet they did," Ian snarled.
He then fell into a melancholy silence which allowed Malcolm a
chance to find his clothes and change into them. He was
impressed with the job the cleaners had done with his suit and
amazed at how soft they had made his boxers. As he began to
knot his tie, Ian emerged from his funk and, approaching
Malcolm, dismissed his hands with a swat and started knotting
the tie for him.
"You look like a cop," Ian observed after he was done.
"I am a cop," Malcolm pointed out. Regardless, Malcolm
couldn't help but notice the marked difference between his cop
suit and the well tailored slacks, shirt, and vest that Ian wore. Ian
looked striking in his wardrobe while Malcolm simply looked
intimidating.
"Well, I suppose this will have to do for tonight. But tomorrow
we go clothes shopping."
Strolling over to a mirror, Malcolm was surprised by what a
precise and tidy job Ian had done with his tie. Regardless, he
began to fiddle with it until he got it just right.
"Where did you learn to knot a tie like this?" Malcolm asked.
"After all, you don't seem like the tie wearing type."
"That's not to say that I don't date tie wearing types."
"Hmph."
Turning away from the mirror, and wondering if he should
borrow a razor for a quick shave, Malcolm decided to try to get
his assignment back on track by redirecting the current dialog.
 "So, back to the clubbing thing."
"Oh, that again."
"You know your father will kill me if he finds out that I let you go
clubbing on the first day of my assignment."
"Consider the alternative, Agent Young."
"What's that?"
"I stomp into Tony's office tomorrow morning and inform him
that it is no longer acceptable having a Secret Service agent
assigned to my protection."
The mere thought of such a possibility made Malcolm's
stomach sour. Sucking at his teeth, he pondered his precarious
position and tried to come up with some compromise that would
allow both warring parties to get what they want.
"Suppose that instead of going to a club, we stop by a small
intimate place for a drink?"
"What small intimate place did you have in mind?"
Giving the question due consideration, Malcolm finally had to
acknowledge that the only bar with which he was familiar was a
place frequented by his peers. He certainly wasn't going to have
his first gay tryst in that place.
"Why don't you tell me? After all, you're probably more familiar
with the D.C. bar scene than I am."
"I do know of one or two places," Ian acknowledged. "Of
course, you'd have to trust me."
"You've given me no reason not to trust you," Malcolm stated.
"So far."
"Good. Then let's go."
 Before leaving the bedroom, Malcolm hefted his firearm and
holster from the bed and weighed it in his hand. It was heavy.
"Don't even think of bringing that," Ian warned.
Opting to travel light, at Ian's suggestion, he buried his piece
deep on a shelf behind a display of books determined to retrieve
it when he and Ian returned from their evening out. He then
slipped on his coat, pulled his shirt sleeves out, and brushed his
collar into place.
Stopping by the mirror one last time, and borrowing a comb to
quickly straighten his hair, Malcolm had to follow at a trot to keep
up with Ian who was already out the door and striding down the
hall. Malcolm tried to maintain his game face as he followed Ian
past staffers and Secret Service men who smiled knowingly and
chuckled as they passed. Apparently the word was already out,
Malcolm thought as he endured the unwanted attention and
humiliation. Never mind that the country was crawling with
terrorists, there was always time to hassle another agent.
"Hey, wait up," Malcolm called, grabbing Ian by the shoulder to
slow his pace.
In response Ian slowed enough for Malcolm to walk by his
side. But Malcolm could tell that something was on his mind.
"I'm sorry," Ian eventually said. "I just can't stand the
condescending stares and smiles I get from the people around
this place."
"How do you think I feel?"
"I don't know, Malcolm, how do you feel?" Ian asked, and then
increased his pace again. Malcolm suspected that he had said
the wrong thing.
Stepping out of the front door of the White House, something
which Malcolm had never done before, Ian led the way down the
steps of the portico to a spanking new, silver Porsche Boxster
which sat idling at the curb. A valet stood at the convertible's
driver side door holding it open for Ian to enter. At the site of
Malcolm following, another valet appeared at the curb to open the
passenger door. Malcolm slid into the low riding car and was
instantly enveloped in the plush, black leather interior.
"Nice set of wheels," Malcolm commented.
"It gets me to where I'm going," Ian answered with a smile. "By
the way, you'd better hold onto something."
"What?"
Barely was the word out of his mouth before Ian stomped on
the accelerator sending the wheels of the Boxster spinning and
leaving a cloud of smoke behind as they raced round the large,
circular drive. Malcolm was driven back into his contoured seat
by the sudden burst of speed, and then pushed against his door
as the tires of the vehicle dug into the roadway and sent them
smoothly on their way to the North/East gate. Once they arrived at
the gate, Ian paused barely long enough for the guard to
recognize him and for the gate to be opened before he burned
out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
"Considering that I'm supposed to be protecting your life,"
Malcolm shouted over the sound of the engine and the wind
whistling past his ears. "Would you mind slowing down to a safe
speed?"
"Oh. Sorry," Ian acknowledged, slowing the sports car
considerably as he continued to keep his eyes glued to the road.
But something in Ian's expression told Malcolm that Ian's
vigilance had to do with something other than road safety. Felling
the need to smooth some ruffled feathers, he became
determined to prompt Ian for an explanation.
"So, what are you so focused on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're focused on something other than your driving."
"Really," Ian said with a smile. He then turned his head to
share that smile with Malcolm. "Am I really that easy to read?"
"Sometimes."
"It's just that I'm tired of being viewed as a White House joke,"
Ian confessed. "I want my dad to accept me for who I am and for
the rest of the wiseasses back there to go to hell."
"You do understand that those wiseasses included me up till a
few hours ago."
"Your point being?"
"I don't view you as a joke."
"Really?"
"No, sir. I can't afford to piss anybody off."
This made Ian laugh, something which he looked like he
greatly needed.
"Thank you, Malcolm, for being such a clown."
This made Malcolm frown instead of laugh.
"What do you say we get a little wasted?" Ian suggested,
reaching into his hip pocket and retrieving a pharmaceutical
bottle.
"What do you say we don't," Malcolm replied, deftly snagging
the bottle from Ian's hands before he even had the chance to say
boo. Malcolm's next move was to slip the bottle into the breast
pocket of his coat as they sped toward the outskirts of town.
"Hey, I want that back," Ian objected.
"After the evening is over," Malcolm responded. "Maybe."
Ian sulked for the remainder of their drive, until they rounded a
corner and came upon a club that was spilling out onto the
streets. Club Morocco a large neon sign advertised.
"Here we are," Ian announced, pulling to the curb and tossing
his keys to a waiting valet.
"Good evening, Mr. Johnston," the valet said as he opened the
door for Ian. Before Malcolm could object, Ian was out of the car
and racing for the front door of the club.
"Ian, wait!" Malcolm called, but to no avail. Ian disappeared
inside the club before Malcolm could even set foot on the
sidewalk. Racing after him, Malcolm was given a suspicious
once over by the doorman before he could proceed. In fact the
man even had him open his coat to show that he wasn't armed.
Finally he reluctantly opened the doors wide to admit him.
Malcolm had no doubt that the only reason he was being allowed
inside was that he'd arrived with Ian.
Once inside the club, Malcolm's senses were immediately
assaulted by the driving beat of the music. The place was dark, lit
only by colored lights highlighting the walls and an annoying
strobe light suspended over the dance floor. Malcolm decided to
try the bar first.
Although the bar was large and crowed he soon found Ian
leaning against it, drink in hand as he chatted up one of the club's
many clients. As Malcolm moved to confront him he saw Ian's
partner hand something across to Ian. What ever it was, Ian
popped it in his mouth, took a swig of his drink, and threw his
head back to swallow.
"Back off," Malcolm ordered, insinuating himself between Ian
and his new pal. Rather than mess with Malcolm, the young drug
dispenser raised his hands in supplication and backed away
from the bar. Smart fella, Malcolm thought.
"Oh, Malcolm. You're no fun," Ian taunted.
"What did he just give you?"
"Just a little pick-me-up to make the evening fun."
"Wonderful."
"You should accept the fact now that you're not going to be
able to keep the drugs away from me. At least not in a place like
this."
"Speaking of a place like this, what happened to our quiet little
bar idea?"
"Give me a break. Do I really look like the quite little bar type?
Besides, I thought you'd want to return to the scene of the crime."
"The scene of the crime?" Malcolm asked, and then he got it.
"You mean this is the place where you where stabbed?"
"You got it, big boy."
"Alright. Let's go. We're leaving."
"Oh, come on. Have just one drink with me. Besides, I thought
you might want to poke around and see if you could find the
culprit who stabbed me. After all, you're observant. And besides,
you are a cop as you've already pointed out to me on numerous
occasions."
"I said we're leaving," Malcolm countered sternly.
"Just one more drink. Pretty please." Seeing that charm wasn't
working, Ian added. "Just one drink and I won't have to complain
to Uncle Tony."
Shit, not that again, Malcolm mused. Then he looked Ian hard
in the eyes to judge the veracity of his counter offer. All Malcolm
could tell for sure was that the drugs Ian had taken were kicking
in. Ian was getting glassy eyed.
"Just one drink," Malcolm said, raising a single finger before
Ian's face.
"Scouts honor, and hope to die," Ian promised sincerely,
crossing his heart with a finger.
Waving a hand to get the bartender's attention, Malcolm
waited, eyes still locked on Ian's, until the bartender came rushing
up to take his order.
"I'll have an iced tea," Malcolm said, finding it impossible not
to smile in response to Ian's disappoint glance.
"You want a Long Island Iced Tea?" the bartender asked.
"What ever kind of iced tea you have will do," Malcolm
responded, somewhat befuddled by the question.
"And I'll have a refresh on my Gin and Tonic," Ian ordered.
While they waited for their orders to be filled, Ian kept smiling
suspiciously at Malcolm.
"What have you got up your sleeve?" Malcolm finally asked in
annoyance.
"Don't worry. You'll find out," Ian teased. Then he set his empty
class down on the bar top just as their new drinks arrived.
"Bottoms up," Ian said, raising his fresh glass to butt it against
Malcolm's.
Malcolm sipped slowly at his iced tea. It was sweeter than he
liked, but still it tasted good. Due to a combination of the heat
within the club and the exertions of a day spent trying to keep up
with Ian, Malcolm found that he was thirsty as hell. So, he downed
his first iced tea in several gulps. Then he raised his hand to
order another.
"Oh, my," Ian exclaimed with a laugh. "Are you sure that's
wise, Agent Young? After all, will you be able to handle that much
iced tea all at once."
"Ha, ha," Malcolm replied, suddenly feeling drowsy. "Very
funny."
"Come on and dance with me," Ian said, grabbing Malcolm's
hand and pulling him toward the dance floor.
"Wait a second," Malcolm said as he waited for his second
drink to arrive. When it did, he grabbed the iced tea and bolted it
down. "Okay, now I'm ready," he slurred. He slurred? Malcolm
pondered. Where the hell did that come from?
Following Ian onto the dance floor, Malcolm found that he was
having a hard time keeping still. His limbs and torso seemed to
want to move to the music of their own volition. Finding it pleasing
when Ian wrapped his arms around him to keep him standing
upright during a particularly erratic maneuver, Malcolm wrapped
his own arms around Ian's neck and began to smile into his face
uncontrollably. After dancing to several tunes, Malcolm really
started to feel the heat of the place. Peeling off first his coat and
then his tie, he threw each garment over his shoulder allowing the
throbbing mass to deal with hanging them up for him.
Malcolm had lost track of the number of songs they danced to
by the time he started to feel woozy. Leaning close to Ian he
yelled in his ear that he was going to take a breather. Ian simply
nodded and merged with the crowd to dance alone.
 Malcolm pushed his way off the floor to find an empty chair at
a nearby table and took a seat. He was still thirsty and suspected
that he was suffering from dehydration, so he ordered another
Long Island Iced Tea. Again, he chugged his next drink and
ordered another. He slapped a twenty down on the table but
received no change in return. D.C. clubs over charge for
everything, he mused. While the music played on, he leaned back
in his seat and sipped his tea, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of
Ian somewhere within the gyrating mass out on the floor.
"Hi there, good looking," Malcolm heard in his left ear.
Instructing his head to turn to the left, he was surprised when
the best he could manage was to force his head to loll sideways
against the back of his seat. He then barely got his eyes to focus
on a beautiful young man who was pushed up close beside him
on their shared bench seat.
"My, but you are loaded, aren't you?"
Malcolm tried to reply, but the best he could muster was an
incomprehensible babble.
"Well, this is just too tempting to resist," the young man purred.
Malcolm felt a hand reach down between his legs and begin to
massage his groin. Rather than resist, he soon discovered that
he didn't require fine motor skills in order to issue a satisfied
groan. His eyes rolled back in pleasure. Then, closing his eyes,
he focused in on the hand, nothing but the hand, and what it was
doing to him. His crotch started to feel warm and his cock began
to thicken as the hand stroked him up and down while
occasionally taking a break to finger his balls. He was physically
unable to resist when the hand was joined by another and they
worked together to undo his belt and zip down his fly. Feeling his
dick pulled free of his slacks, Malcolm slid lower in his seat in
order to give the hands ready access to what they and he
desired.
As Malcolm watched, the beautiful young man beside him slid
down as well, only he slid so far that his head disappeared
beneath the table. Malcolm wondered where he had gone, and
then he felt his legs pull apart as someone began to force
themselves between them. Next, his pants were being pulled
down. Malcolm assumed that what was going on beneath the
table could not be seen by the others in the club, but in the end he
really didn't much care. He wanted, no, he needed more a much
more.
The next sensation nearly caused Malcolm to explode as he
felt something warm and wet run the length of his balls and up his
rock hard shaft to the head of his penis. He knew the wet
sensation had to be coming from a tongue, especially when the
sensation arrived at his throbbing head and was replaced by a
mouth that started to suck, hard. Malcolm's legs stiffened. Soon
the mouth started moving up and down over the head of his penis
while a hand was applied to stroking the full length of his shaft.
The stroking was occasionally interrupted by extended bouts of
sucking and licking. All of it combined to drive Malcolm crazy.
All around him music played and people danced and laughed,
but Malcolm didn't care. He was utterly absorbed in sensation.
Panting he reached a hand down to the head in his lap in an
attempt to drive his cock deeper into the mouth that was
pleasuring him so. He wanted to abuse that mouth, to drive
deeper, and to be swallowed whole.
With surprising suddenness and violence Malcolm exploded
into the mouth of his anonymous lover. He came long and hard,
screaming out as he pumped his semen into the luscious, warm
nest of sensation that enveloped him.
Having just experienced such an intense orgasm, Malcolm felt
his mind begin to clear. In fact, he sobered up enough to realize
that Ian was out of his sight and that he was supposed to be
protecting him.
Rocking furiously in his seat, Malcolm tried to get up but only
succeeded in beating the head of the young man beneath the
table against the table's underside. This happened several times
before the young man was able to extricate his head from Ian's
lap. Finally crawling out from under the table, the young man
looked none to happy with Malcolm's post-orgasmic thrashing.
"Thanks a lot, man," the young man complained, rubbing the
back of his head. "You really beat the crap out of me down there."
Malcolm ignored him. Reaching into his coat pocket for his
badge and id, it took him some time to realize that he wasn't
wearing a coat. He then spent several moments trying to figure
out where he might have misplaced it. Shrugging the thought
away, he tottered to his feet and attempted to raise his voice
above the music.
"This is the Secret Service. Clear the dance floor!"
Repeating his order several times he succeeded in eliciting
nothing more than a few amused glances. He discovered that his
pants were down around his ankles when he tried to take a step
and found he couldn't. Pulling his slacks and underwear up, most
of the way, he shuffled into the dancing crowd continuing to issue
his order.
"This is the Secret Service. Clear the dance floor
immediately!"
 Reiterating his demand, he finally arrived at the center of the
floor where the crowd separated, most likely to give him room to
pass out. That's where Ian found him.
"Can we go home now?" Malcolm pleaded as Ian caught him
under his arms in order to keep him from falling over.
"Sure, sweetheart," Ian answered kindly. "We can go right
now."
That's all the Malcolm remembered until he woke to be sick in
Ian's car.
Chapter 4
"Alright, so tell me once more, what's in a Long Island Iced
Tea?" Malcolm asked, sitting in a chair in Ian's bedroom and
rubbing his throbbing head with his hands.
"Oh, let me see. Vodka, Tequila, Rum, Gin, and Triple Sec,"
Ian replied, counting the ingredients off on his fingers. "And just a
splash of cola for color."
"And you allowed me to drink this deadly concoction for what
reason?"
"I don't know. I suppose I thought it would be fun," Ian said,
sheepishly. "Besides, I didn't know you were going to go nuts and
try to drink the bar dry."
"Fun? Do you know what's going to happen to me tomorrow
morning when the Chief of Staff reads the newspaper? Because
you know that this incident is going to be reported on heavily.
After all, you were involved," Malcolm concluded, throwing his
hands up in disgust. "Thank God my parents are on vacation in
Honduras."
"But I'll stick up for you."
 "That won't do any good," Malcolm moaned, dropping his
head back down into his hands.
"Malcolm, I think you're looking at this little incident entirely the
wrong way."
"How's that?"
"Nothing happened. I'm safe. Mission accomplished."
"What about keeping you under wraps?"
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that."
"Well, there's no denying the fact that you totally fucked that
up."
"Gee, thanks."
Walking over to where Malcolm sat hunched over in his chair,
Ian crouched down before him, reached out his hands, and
began to massage his shoulders. Rather than resist, Malcolm
remained seated and eventually started to enjoy the attention.
Under Ian's experienced touch, Malcolm felt the stress of the long
day worked from his knotted muscles. Releasing a sigh of
pleasure, Malcolm leaned further forward until he was almost
laying his head in Ian's lap.
"Why don't you come on over to the bed where we can do this
right," Ian suggested.
Malcolm was in no condition to resist. He didn't want to resist.
Ian's hands felt wonderful. And besides, with little more prompting
Malcolm was sure he'd be asleep soon. So, he rose from his
chair and keeping his eyes closed allowed himself to be guided
to the bed. There he crawled across the covers and let his body
plop down with his head upon a pillow.
 Malcolm felt Ian straddle his hips as he too crawled onto the
bed to minister to his fallen comrade. Then there were his hands
once more stroking and prodding at Malcolm's knotted muscles.
Malcolm released another groan while adjusting himself to make
better use of Ian's ministrations. Ian dug his thumbs deep into
Malcolm's back just above the waistline of his pants, then he
slowly worked them up his spine until he spread his hands over
his shoulders and dug his thumbs into Malcolm's neck.
Spending a considerable amount of time working out the
knots and kinks in Malcolm's back, Ian eventually slid himself
down to work on his buttocks and legs. This too felt wonderful
since his muscles had been somewhat stressed by their earlier
swim. Ian ran his hands up the sides of Malcolm's thighs and then
chopped his way down his butt and the backs of his thighs.
Slipping off Malcolm's shoes and socks, Ian then went to work
on his feet. To Malcolm's shock and delight, when Ian was done
with his feet he slid back up Malcolm's body and started all over
again with his shoulders.
"Oh, this feels incredible," Malcolm groaned.
"You think this is nice, you should feel it on bare skin," Ian
observed. "Come on, G-man. Roll over and let me take your shirt
off."
Malcolm certainly saw nothing wrong with Ian's suggestion.
After all, he had received massages from men before. It was no
big deal that this masseuse just happened to be gay. Rolling over
on his back he tried to help unbutton his shirt until his hands were
slapped away at which point he allowed Ian to proceed
unassisted. When his shirt was unbuttoned, Ian pulled it out of
Malcolm's slacks and had him sit up while he removed the
garment. This brought Malcolm's face very close to Ian's chest.
Taking a deep whiff he was surprised at how good Ian smelled.
Sweaty, yes. But there was something more there.
Lying back down, Malcolm rested his hands on Ian's hips and
looked up into those gorgeous eyes.
"Okay, roll over," Ian ordered with a smile.
Malcolm didn't comply. Instead, he reached a hand up to
stroke Ian's cheek. Ian turned his face to increase contact with
Malcolm's hand and lost the smile. Then Malcolm reached up
another hand to cradle Ian's face. Before he knew what he was
doing he started to pull Ian's face down to his.
"Malcolm, honey. Don't do this," Ian whispered, laying a hand
on Malcolm's and rubbing that hand against his cheek.
"Fuck it. I'm already screwed."
Continuing to pull Ian down to him, he touched his lips to Ian's
and shared a gentle kiss. Ian still seemed tentative, but Malcolm
continued to use his fingers on his face to coax him closer. They
kissed again, only this kiss was much deeper.
"Malcolm, are you sure about this?" Ian whispered in a
trembling breath.
"Shut up," Malcolm said, pulling his face down to mash his lips
against Ian's.
This time their lips parted. Turning his head sideways,
Malcolm slipped his tongue deep into Ian's mouth. Soon there
was a war of tongues as each fought to taste the other.
Malcolm's hands wandered from Ian's face to his back. There
he used his considerable strength to crush Ian's body to his. He
then allowed his fingers to wonder, take in the feel of Ian's taut
muscles beneath his silk shirt.
 Malcolm fought Ian when he tried to push away from him. But
then Malcolm found that Ian only wanted to unbutton his own shirt
in order to take it off. This time, slapping Ian's hands away,
Malcolm insisted on unbuttoning Ian's shirt himself. Ian laughed at
his response. But after his shirt was off the laughter ended and he
swooped down upon Malcolm to once more kiss him deeply.
"God, I've wanted this since I first saw you," Ian said, kissing
his way across Malcolm's scratchy face to his ear.
"I think that I've wanted it too," Malcolm conceded. "I was just
too afraid to ask."
Pushing back away from Malcolm, Ian locked eyes with him
and insisted, "Never be afraid again, not of love."
Love? Oh my God, is that what I'm feeling? Malcolm
wondered. Surely it's only lust. Not wanting to stress his mind any
more with complicated issues, he reached out his hands and
pulled Ian's face down to his chest. The moment Ian's face landed
he started to kiss and lick his way down Malcolm's body until he
arrived at his belt buckle. Once there, he looked up to Malcolm in
all earnestness and asked again.
"Are you sure about this?"
Malcolm's only reply was to pull Ian's face back down and
squirm under his hot, wet kisses. As Ian kissed Malcolm's belly,
he used his hands to undo his belt buckle. He then unzipped his
pants and reached inside to see what he could find. Ian gasped
at the size of Malcolm's cock once he had finally uncovered it.
"Oh, boy. Look's like we're going to have a good time tonight,"
he commented, grabbing Malcolm's slacks and underwear and
stripping them down his hips and legs. Once he had the offending
garments off, he threw them into a corner before returning to
Malcolm's prone and vulnerable body.
"Oh, daddy likes," Ian purred, sliding his hands up Malcolm's
bare legs and wrapping both hands around his rock hard penis.
Malcolm felt his legs stiffen and then nearly lost it when Ian leaned
down and gobbled the full length of his cock into his mouth. Oh,
God, he thought, this is nothing like it had been in the club. Maybe
this is love after all.
Slowing down in his attentions, Ian began to kiss Malcolm's
cock as he slowly squeezed his balls. But before he could go any
further, Malcolm propped himself up on his elbows to protest.
"Take your clothes off. I want to see you."
Removing Malcolm's cock from his mouth, Ian smiled a
devilish smile up at Ian before he slipped from the bed to remove
his clothes. First he took off his shoes and socks. Then he ever
so slowly shed his pants. Malcolm was excited to see that Ian had
gone commando this evening. Then there was the matter of his
rock hard prick. Without even realizing it, Malcolm found that he
had been stroking his own cock while Ian stripped. When he saw
Ian's pecker standing straight up, long and hard, he came to a
decision that took all of his fortitude to express.
Before Ian could return to the bed, Malcolm rolled back over
onto his stomach.
"What are you doing?" Ian prompted.
"Take me, Ian." Malcolm found himself cringing at the words.
"Mal, are you sure?"
Nobody had called him Mal since the service. Malcolm liked it.
"Don't make me ask again," Malcolm said, panting so heavily
that he almost didn't have the breath to voice the words.
 Malcolm felt the mattress compress as Ian crawled back onto
the bed. Then he felt Ian caress his buttocks before he started
kissing it.
"So beautiful," Ian said as he reached across the bed to
retrieve something from his end table. "Malcolm, why don't you
raise your leg up here and roll more onto your side," Ian
instructed.
Malcolm did as he was told and reached down between his
legs to squeeze his cock while Ian prepared. The first thing he felt
was the coolness of the lubricant as Ian began to spread it over
his ass. As Ian's strokes became wider and wider, he eventually
began to slip his fingers gently down into Malcolm's crack. After a
time, Ian made contact with Malcolm's anus at which point he
began messaging in small circles. Malcolm bit the pillow to keep
from screaming.
"Now, you tell me if I hurt you," Ian said.
Malcolm braced himself for a sudden pain but instead felt
intense pleasure as Ian slipped a finger into his ass. Sliding the
finger back and forth, Ian worked additional lubricant into
Malcolm as he continued to kiss his buns.
"Oh, you're so tight and warm," Ian observed. "Why don't you
try to loosen up your muscles as I work on you?"
Loosen up my muscles? Malcolm questioned. It took all the
restraint that Malcolm could muster not to reach back and stuff
Ian's entire hand up his ass. But still, he lay on the bed and
followed Ian's instructions as he had his ass probed deeper and
deeper. Then Ian switched to two fingers and Malcolm felt his
breath catch.
"Too much?" Ian asked with concern in his voice.
 "No, just right," Malcolm said with a groan of pleasure.
Again, Ian worked his two fingers in and out of Malcolm's anus
until he felt him begin to loosen up. Then he moved on to three
fingers.
"Oh, God, Ian. You're driving me fucking crazy. I want to feel
you in me," Malcolm nearly screamed.
"That will come in time," Ian said soothingly as he slipped an
additional finger into Malcolm's ass.
This time Malcolm pushed back against Ian's hand, eager to
show his need for the real thing.
"Okay, okay," Ian finally conceded. "I doubt that I could stand
much more of this myself. Here, why don't you slip these
underneath your hips," Ian said, offering Malcolm a stack of
pillows.
Malcolm did as instructed and found that his ass was
pleasingly high in the air, pleading to be filled.
"My God, but you are beautiful," Ian commented, slipped
between Malcolm's legs. "Tell me when you've had enough."
Malcolm expelled a gasp when he first felt the head of Ian's
cock touch his anus. His body actually shivered in joy as he felt
Ian enter him. Pulling up before entering any further than his
fingers had, Ian was apparently determined to take it easy on his
fledgling protege. However, by his second thrust Malcolm had
raised his hips off his stack of pillows and was pushing back for
more.
Malcolm groaned and felt a twinge of pain as Ian's next thrust
buried his cock in Malcolm to it root. Ian gasped and his body
shook as he drove harder with his next thrust. By then he had lost
all control and patience and Malcolm knew that all bets were off.
Whether he liked it or not, Malcolm realized that he was in for the
fucking of his life.
Ian showed no restraint as he drove harder and harder into
Malcolm. Meanwhile, Malcolm continued to push back against his
trusts, driving Ian's cock deeper into his ass as he worked away
furiously at his own hard prick with his hand.
All at once, Ian's muscles strained and Malcolm could actually
feel his warm spunk being pumped into his rectum. It only
required Malcolm a few more quick strokes before he too was
ejaculating across the sheets, feeling his muscles clamp down
hard on Ian's penis as it continued to throb deep inside of him.
"Holy Jesus," Ian groaned, gingerly sliding his cock out of
Malcolm's ass. "I'm not sure I've ever had an orgasm like that."
"Me neither," Malcolm conceded, dropping back down into his
own wet spot.
"Come on, my love," Ian said, swatting Malcolm hard on the
ass. "It's time we cleaned up."
Malcolm didn't argue. Instead he allowed Ian to guide him to
the bathroom where he found that lovely shower once more
waiting for him. First he took a turn by the latrine to expel the bulk
of Ian's semen. Then they both stepped into the shower to share
this time.
To Malcolm's surprise he was almost instantly as hard as a
rock. Ian worked at his erect member with a bar of soap, but it
didn't take long before Malcolm insisted that it was Ian's turn to
do the dirty. Fortunately there was plenty of room amidst the
warm spray to kneel on the floor.
Using a bar of soap, Malcolm tried to use Ian's finger
lubrication technique to loosen Ian up, but he found that he was in
too much of a rush. Lathering his cock liberally, he mounted Ian
forcefully and found that he cared little for the cries and whimpers
that resulted.
Malcolm continued to thrust his cock deep into Ian until he
exploded within him. Keeping his dick buried deep inside Ian, he
proceeded to ride his orgasm as he felt his muscles and balls
continue to convulse well after his spunk had been spent.
Afterwards he felt ashamed of this amateur display.
"I'm sorry, Ian. Did I hurt you?"
"Yes, and no," Ian said with a smile. "Don't worry, Malcolm. It
was wonderful."
And then they kissed. And they kissed. And they kissed.
That night Malcolm slept in Ian's bed instead of on the floor as
he originally planned. The consequences that he must face the
next day were far from his mind as he and Ian spooned.
Wrapping an arm around Ian's waist, he kissed him gently on the
shoulder.
"So, Malcolm. Are you gay?" Ian asked without rolling over.
"I don't know, Ian. It does kinda look that way though, doesn't
it?"
"No worries. I'll continue to love you anyway," Ian said before
drifting off to sleep.
There's that word again, Malcolm mused. As a result he didn't
get a single wink of sleep that night.
Chapter 5
Malcolm Young sat in the Office of the Chief of Staff to
President Arlen Johnston waiting for Tony Rodriguez, the Chief of
Staff, to say something. He wore only shirt sleeves having lost his
coat and tie the night before. Instead of saying anything, Mr.
Rodriguez threw a small wallet across his desk.
"Your badge and id," he explained. "Your coat and tie have
also been returned. They're currently being cleaned and pressed
and will be delivered to your home when they're done."
"Thank you, sir," Malcolm said sheepishly while retrieving his
badge and id.
"Thank heavens you didn't lose your firearm as well."
There followed a moment of silence while the chief considered
what to say next.
"Have you had a chance to read the papers this morning?"
"No, sir. But I can explain."
"Oh, and what is there to explain? Only a Secret Service agent
shuffling around a gay nightclub with his pants down around his
ankles. That hardly warrants explanation."
"Yes, sir. I can see how that would be a little hard to
understand. But I can explain anyway."
"Shut up."
"Sorry, sir?"
"I said, shut up."
"Yes, sir."
Rodriguez then went silent again. Malcolm liked this far less
than when he was shouting. At least when he was shouting he
knew what was on his mind. But instead, Rodriguez sat there
thinking, fingers templed before his eyes. In an attempt to show
discipline, Malcolm remained silent as well.
Malcolm nearly bolted out of his seat when the door behind
him flew open. Again he recognized the voice of the President as
he bellowed at his chief of staff.
"Tony, what the hell is going on this morning?"
"I was just addressing the issue, sir. I feel that I have everything
under control. Agent Young will be reassigned to the moon when
I'm through with him."
"And what about my son?"
"Your son, sir?"
"Yes, my son. He's been chewing my ear off all morning saying
that he'll accept no other detail than Agent Young here when it
comes to protecting his life."
Malcolm then felt the gravity of having two very powerful pairs
of eyes cast his way. Rather than squirm in his chair, Malcolm
tried to sit up a little straighter and kept his eyes pointed dead
ahead. To his disappointment, these actions didn't make him
invisible or anything, but they did help to calm his nerves.
"So, young man," the President finally chimed in, "what are
you doing in here when you should be out guarding my son?"
"I'm afraid we had a bit of an incident last night, sir," Rodriguez
explained.
"Really? How's that?"
"Agent Young here was reported in this morning's papers as
escorting your son to a gay nightclub with his pants pulled down."
"That isn't exactly accurate, sir," Malcolm interjected.
"Close enough," Rodriguez snapped.
"I see," the President said pensively. "Agent Young, was there
any part of yesterday's briefing that you didn't understand?
Particularly in regard to the part about keeping a low profile and
my son under wraps?"
"No, sir. It's just that your son has proven to be quite difficult to
rein in."
"I see. And now that you've had some experience in your role
as guardian, do you feel better equipped to execute those orders
to the letter?"
"Yes, I do, sir."
"You'd better be right. Now, snap to attention, soldier."
"Sir, yes, sir," Malcolm snapped.
"Dismissed!" the President snapped back.
"But Arlen," Rodriguez protested.
Before the discussion could begin anew, Malcolm rose from
his chair, performed a precise snap turn, and marched to the
door. Once outside the office he again leaned his back against
the door and took several deep breaths.
"That bad, was it?" he heard Ian ask from only a few feet
away.
Pleased to find that Ian had been waiting for him outside the
door, Malcolm smiled and nodded his head.
"That bad."
Then he took a moment to admire the man with which he'd had
his first satisfying sexual encounter. In Malcolm's opinion, Ian
looked lovely. He was dressed in a pair of well tailored, light grey
slacks that accentuated his long legs. A pink shirt was
unbuttoned at the collar and he wore a light weight, white tennis
sweater draped about his shoulders. His wavy, blonde hair was
combed back away from his face where it cascaded down past
his collar.
"I assume that you're still assigned to the case," Ian
commented, tentatively.
"Yep, still assigned."
"Good," Ian said flashing his devilish smile. "Shall we walk?"
Malcolm walked with Ian in silence as they both considered
the day and night they'd spent together and what to say now that it
was the morning. As for himself, Malcolm felt his mind reeling
with conflicting thoughts and desires. Ian walked with his head
down, presenting a blank slate to Malcolm's attempts to read his
thoughts.
"Check this out," Ian finally said, opening a door and holding it
for Malcolm to enter.
Once inside, Malcolm felt his breath catch in wonder and
amazement. He had been led to the China Room. Here the place
settings of the past and current presidents were stored. Slowly
turning, Malcolm marveled at the beauty contained in the display
cases.
"So, which place setting was it that my father admired so?" Ian
asked, teasingly.
Malcolm turned back to Ian with a questioning glance before
he recalled his earlier description of his first discussion with the
President.
"Oh, never mind," Ian finally interrupted, rushing forward to
throw his arms around Malcolm's neck and lock his lips with
Malcolm's. Their kiss was deep and lingering; and absolutely
luscious. Malcolm wrapped his own arms around Ian's waist and
ran his hands across his back.
 Then, without warning, Malcolm pushed Ian away causing their
lips to part with an audible smack. Ian looked confused and hurt
forcing Malcolm to try and explain.
"Ian, I can't. At least, not while I'm on duty."
"But you're always on duty. And besides, this is your duty
now," Ian argued, trying to worm his way back into Malcolm's
arms.
"Ian, please," Malcolm snapped, fending off Ian's attentions
while straightening his collar and trying to brush the wrinkles out
of his shirt.
"Oh, alright," Ian conceded, but Malcolm could clearly see that
Ian was not happy with the decision. "Follow me," he said,
grabbing Malcolm's hand and leading him from the room.
Several paces down the hall, Malcolm retrieved his hand,
much to Ian's annoyance, and looked around to insure that they
had not been observed. The two then continued walking through
the mansion until Malcolm found himself descending the all too
familiar front steps of the portico to Ian's waiting Boxster.
"Try to remember this time that speed kills," Malcolm
cautioned as he slipped into the passenger seat.
"Very funny," Ian said as he got behind the wheel.
Once more, Ian burned rubber and raced for the North/East
gate. Once there, he peeled out onto Pennsylvania Avenue and
pointed the car toward the outskirts of town.
"By the way, where are we going?"
"You'll see," Ian replied with a devious smile.
"Oh, shit," Malcolm responded.
Malcolm rode in silence dreading wherever Ian was taking him
and trying to figure out before hand how he was going to explain
himself to Chief of Staff Rodriguez in the morning. To his surprise
they ended up pulling off the road at the Georgetown Park mall
and parking outside the doors of a Nordstrom. Ian had apparently
phoned ahead since he was met at the customer service desk by
his personal shopper, Wayne.
"Hello, Wayne," Ian said cheerily, exchanging kisses on the
cheek with a young, black man. "Have you lost weight?"
"I wish," Wayne said, rolling his eyes. "Don't even get me
started on my diet nightmares of late. So, who's this?"
"This is my lover, Agent Malcolm Young," Ian announced
proudly.
"Ian!" Malcolm scolded.
"Oops, sorry," Ian said with mock embarrassment. "This is my
government assigned, Secret Service Agent, Malcolm Young."
"Hello, Malcolm," Wayne said extending his hand. Malcolm
accepted the hand and shook it. "My, but you do need a new set
of clothes, don't you?" Wayne observed.
"Isn't he just dreadful," Ian said in agreement.
"Well, don't you worry. We'll take care of you." Then Wayne
stopped to consider his new client. "You know what I'm thinking?"
"Hugo Boss," Wayne and Ian said in unison before they each
broke out laughing.
Each of them taking one of Malcolm's hands, they led him to
the gentlemen's section of the store, more specifically to the fine
suits and sportswear. Malcolm found that he had little say in what
clothes were selected for him. Instead he spent the bulk of this
time in the changing room and standing in front of a three way, full
length mirror. He had to admit that he liked Ian and Wayne's
taste, but on occasion felt the need to veto a selection when he
felt that the ensemble was too effeminate.
Together Ian and Wayne dressed their human boy toy in
cashmere sweaters and wool slacks, tweed sport coats and
Italian made scarves, linen suits, vests, and calf skin shoes. They
selected casual wear, formal wear, and even underwear. Seeing
that they were having fun, Malcolm tried not to complain too much
but also found that he was getting tired.
During one of Malcolm's trips to the changing room, Ian
popped in to drop off a striking pair of olive green dress slacks
and caught Malcolm with his pants off. Malcolm found that he
couldn't control himself, grabbing Ian before he could leave.
"Come on, Ian. Let's do it right here in the changing room," he
whispered in Ian's ear, tickling his sides.
"Malcolm, you're crazy," Ian said giggling and squirming
before he could extricate himself from the room.
Malcolm continued to try on clothes, most of them casual
sports ensembles. Many of them fit right off the rack, but Wayne
insisted on marking all of the garments to be tailored anyway.
"And last but not least, we need a dress suit for tonight," Ian
announced.
"For tonight?" Malcolm questioned.
"Yes, didn't I tell you? We're going to a party tonight at the
White House. My father is throwing it for the Prime Minister of
Japan."
"And you've been invited?"
"Not exactly, but then I haven't been uninvited either."
 "Oh, Ian. I don't think this is a good idea."
"Relax, Mal," Ian said patting his stomach. "I'd never steer you
wrong."
Next, Malcolm was fitted for a black, virgin wool Hugo Boss
suit. The suit was a bit more stylish than he was used to, but he
liked the way it more closely fit the contours of his waistline. And
then, finally, came the Hart Schaffner Marx black tuxedo. Malcolm
felt a little silly in the tuxedo, a cross between Tennessee Tuxedo
and James Bond, but Ian assured him that he looked absolutely
devastating.
In the end, Malcolm was exhausted and left wondering how he
was going to pay for all of this stuff given his limited salary. That's
when Ian stepped in to take control.
"I'll need the suit delivered tonight, say seven, and something
for him to wear from the store. Put the entire purchase on my
account."
Well, that was easy, Malcolm mused.
Grateful that they were finally done, Malcolm was surprised
again when he was led deeper into the mall rather than out the
doors of the store. He was soon introduced to Ian's next cohort in
fashion, a mod looking hair stylist named Paul Vega. As was the
case in Nordstrom, Paul was waiting for them when they arrived
at his salon.
"Hello, Ian," he said at the door as he exchanged cheek
kisses with Ian. "Good lord," he then exclaimed when he saw
Malcolm.
"He'll need a cut, tint, and a manicure--" Ian started to explain
before Paul interrupted.
"Hold it right there, honey. I know exactly what needs doing,"
he assured Ian.
Malcolm opened his mouth to object but before he could utter
a word he was swept into the salon where he was stripped of his
sport coat and forced into a chair. In the end he had to admit that
he enjoyed the majority of the attention. When Paul was done with
him he barely recognized himself. He now had a more casual,
what Malcolm would call messier, hair style with golden highlights
that accented his face.
"So, what do you think?" Paul asked Ian, already knowing
what the answer was going to be.
"I think you're a genius," Ian replied.
Pulling Malcolm out of his seat, Ian surprised him with a kiss
and a smile.
And then they were done. Malcolm left the mall wearing a new
pair of brown sports slacks, a wool, burgundy sweater vest, a
grey sports coat, new hair style, and the first ever manicure of his
life. And no tie. Although he felt naked without the tie he also felt
like a million bucks, which he suspected wasn't too far from what
his new look had cost. He left his Sears Roebuck suit behind at
Nordstrom to be delivered along with his new clothes.
Walking across the parking lot to Ian's car, he didn't resist
when Ian took his hand, lacing their fingers together.
"So, what's next?" Malcolm asked.
"First we should eat lunch. Then how about if we stop by the
mall for a stroll? Then let's head back to the house for a swim."
"Sounds delightful," Malcolm confessed.
Leaving the lunch selection to Ian, they drove out to Arlington
where they had an excellent lunch at a place called Harry's Tap
Room. While Malcolm demolished a well done steak sandwich,
Ian did service to a large chef's salad. They chased the food
down with two bottles of fine wine and felt no pain when they
stepped out of the place.
"Maybe we should call a cab," Malcolm suggested.
"Good idea," Ian agreed and stepped back inside to have the
maitre d'call for a cab.
No sooner had Ian stepped back out of the restaurant then the
cab was there waiting for them at the curb. Driving a short
distance, the cabbie dropped them off at the mall where they
ended up walking. There Ian pointed out the various sights while
supplying a running commentary on the history of the mall and the
important individuals who helped shape the city. Malcolm was
impressed by his knowledge.
They began their walk at the Lincoln monument and from there
walked slowly, arm-in-arm, to the Vietnam Memorial. Once there
Ian got antsy and then couldn't help but begin to probe into
Malcolm's own war record.
"So, what's it like?"
"What?"
"War."
"No fun," Malcolm offered. Seeing that he wasn't going to get
away with such a glib response, he elaborated. "It's both terrifying
and exhilarating at the same time. While you're fighting you're
utterly committed and afterwards you're haunted by doubts. I
suppose that fighting in a war is a series of contradictions."
"Have you killed many people?"
"Come on, Ian. You've seen my body. I didn't get those scars
playing hopscotch."
"I'm sorry you had to do it. Fight in wars I mean," Ian said
turning to look deeply into Malcolm's eyes.
"In hindsight, I'm sorry too."
Ian kissed Malcolm's scar on the corner of his mouth. Malcolm
resisted the urge to pull Ian into his arms and devour him. This
place was too public. And too solemn.
"So, is it time to share the story of the tank that ran over your
face?"
"Nope. That's a very special story meant to be saved for a very
special occasion."
They continued to walk and share stories and laughter as they
got to know each other better. Ian explained more about his
frustrations with being both the President's son and gay. How he
felt that his father was disappointed in him and no longer was
able to love him. Malcolm shared his own horror stories
regarding his inept attempts to deal with the feelings that he had
harbored inside. He still didn't use the word gay, but he fully
admitted that he'd been drawn to same sex relationships from an
early age. Of course, he'd never allowed himself to have one, at
least not until Ian came along.
"That's sad," Ian said. "However, I do like the idea of being
your first."
"I like that too," Malcolm admitted.
The two then shared a very sweet kiss. Standing with their
heads together they each turned to look out across a large
expanse of lawn to the White House. To the place that had
brought them together and since then, in a sense, had become
their prison.
 Letting themselves in through the South/East gate, Ian asked
to have his car retrieved from the restaurant. They then walked
hand in hand across the White House lawn to ascend the steps of
the front portico. Once inside the house, something came over
Ian and he decided to run rather than walk to the pool room.
Throwing caution to the wind, Malcolm opted to chase after him
causing quite a stir as he ran past the house staff workers and
other employees of the President.
In the pool room they each changed into their skimpy
swimsuits and then dashed to the pool to dive in. Without
discussion the race was on and they swam laps across the pool,
thoroughly exhausting themselves. When they were finished, and
Ian had once more won the race, they bobbed in each others
arms by the side of the pool with their faces close together.
"Are you ever going to let me win one of these races?"
Malcolm asked.
"Never," Ian insisted. Then he flashed that devilish smile and
Malcolm was utterly captivated.
Their kiss was long and deep. Malcolm pulled Ian into his
arms and Ian wrapped his legs around Malcolm's waist. Cupping
his hands under Ian's buttocks, Malcolm cradled him as he
bobbed around the pool carrying Ian along with him. Malcolm felt
Ian grow hard against his belly as he too became engorged and
pushed himself against Ian. They continued to kiss and didn't
stop until Malcolm carried Ian from the pool.
When they finally separated, Malcolm's lips were burning, but
still he wanted more. His erection was also pocking out of his
swimsuit again. Looking down, he was amused to see that Ian's
shaft was also on full display. Sharing a laugh, they once more
scampered away, out the side door and down the garden path to
Ian's room.
"So, would you like me to take care of that for you?" Ian
offered when they made it back to his room.
"You know, I'm a little sore," Malcolm admitted.
"Well, you were a busy boy yesterday."
"I suppose that's true."
"So, what would you like to do with the rest of our afternoon?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm tire. Fancy a nap?" Malcolm asked,
hopefully.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Stripping out of their constraining suits, the two men crawled
onto the bed and lay down close to one another. They kissed for
a long while. Ian played with Malcolm's hair while Malcolm ran his
hands over Ian's body.
In the end they fell into a deep sleep, arms and legs wrapped
around each other. They slept with smiles on their faces. And they
each dreamed of the other.
Chapter 6
Malcolm woke to the sound of someone knocking at the door.
Yawning, Ian rolled out of bed to answer it and returned carrying
Malcolm's tux and his Sears Roebuck suit.
"What do you think we should do with it?" Ian asked, holding
up the Sears special.
"Have it burned," Malcolm suggested.
"That's the spirit," Ian said with a smile.
Ian hung both the suits in the closet. He then ran back to the
bed and threw himself onto it bouncing Malcolm about.
 "Come on, sleepy head. It's nearly time for the party."
"Ian, are you sure about this?"
"Are you kidding? I hardly ever miss a chance to mess with
daddy."
"Yes, but do I need to be on your arm while you're doing it?"
"Come on, get up," Ian finally said, hopping up and smacking
Malcolm on the ass.
This only prompted a wrestling match which Malcolm won
when he successfully pinned Ian to the bed. They kissed and in a
matter of moments Malcolm was sure that he didn't want to go to
the party. There was something he wanted to do instead. Held
captive, Ian was forced to beg before Malcolm would let him up.
Then they dressed.
Ian wore a modern looking tux with no collar and a simple
crossed bow at his neck. Malcolm's tux fit even better than it had
off the rack in the store. Standing together in front of the mirror,
Malcolm had to admit that they looked a bit like the Bobbsey
Twins. He also admitted to himself that Ian looked good enough
to eat. Maybe later, he thought.
With nothing left to hold them back, Malcolm reached out an
arm and Ian took hold of it. They then marched from Ian's room to
find the party. As they walked, Ian explained that the party was of
course being held in State Dinning Room.
They ran into heavy traffic as they walked the main hall past
the Diplomatic Reception Room. From here they could hear
people being announced in the reception area where invitations
were being verified. Also in this room they could see President
Johnston shaking hand with friends and dignitaries as they were
admitted to his home. Slipping into line, the two walked up the
stairs to the second floor and from there followed the line to the
State Dinning Room. That's as far as they made it without being
accosted.
"Ian, what are you doing here?" Malcolm heard the Chief of
Staff ask as they were about to enter the dinning room.
"Oh, hello, Tony," Ian responded, pleasantly. "We thought we'd
see what was for dinner tonight."
Malcolm tried to hide behind Ian, trusting that his partner knew
what he was doing.
"Don't be ridiculous, you know you weren't invited," the chief
countered.
"Come now, Tony. We all know that you have additional
seating available to say nothing of the odd no-shows. Why not
save yourself some grief and let us in."
"What's the plan, Ian? Prance around the dinning room and
embarrass your father in front of his friends and supporters?"
"You never know. The night is young, as they say," Ian replied,
flippantly. But Malcolm could see by the pain in Ian's eyes that Mr.
Rodriguez had scored a direct hit with his remark.
As the chief opened his mouth to say more, Malcolm stepped
forward to interrupt. He had had enough. Enough of this whole
mess.
"What's the answer, Mr. Rodriguez? Do you have room for us
or not?"
The chief looked like he had an earful to say and that he
wanted to share it with Malcolm, but he didn't. After all, there was
always tomorrow morning. Instead, he signaled over his shoulder
for a waiter.
 "Seat them at the overflow table, near the kitchen door," he
instructed. Then without further word he dissolved into the crowd,
most likely to push the President's latest agenda.
"Now that was pleasant, wasn't it," Malcolm observed. Digging
his fingers into Ian's side he was able to get a weak smile from
him, but no more. "I hope the meal's worth it," he murmured under
his breath.
Following the waiter the full length of the dinning room, Ian and
Malcolm were seated right outside the door through which
waiters passed with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Malcolm felt a bit
as if they were being seated at the children's table, far away from
the adults. Then he noticed that there were several children
seated at the table with them and smiled.
"Well, at least we should get served first," he said to Ian.
"Don't be silly. The guests at the President's table always get
served first."
"Why of course. How foolish of me."
Malcolm sensed that Ian was going to be nervous and snippy
the rest of the night and he didn't know what to do about it. On the
one hand, he saw the benefit of remaining silent and supportive.
On the other, he wanted to stand up and slap the boy silly. Funny
he should view his partner in paternal terms, he thought to
himself, especially having just fucked his eyeballs out the night
before.
"Gay sera sera," he thought with a giggle.
"What's so funny?" Ian asked.
"You are," Malcolm replied, reaching under the table and
squeezing his thigh.
 Again, Ian returned a weak smile but Malcolm could tell that
something was on his mind.
"So, have you met our tablemates?" Malcolm asked.
"As a mater of fact, I already know several of them. You see,
this isn't the first time I've been seated at the children's table," Ian
explained.
Ouch, Malcolm thought. So that explained what was on Ian's
mind.
"To your right is Elizabeth, the Majority Leader's daughter," Ian
said, gesturing to a lovely young girl sitting beside Malcolm.
"How do you do, Elizabeth," Malcolm said, taking her hand.
"And beside her is William, the Speaker of the House's son. I
personally think that Lizzie and Bill would make an adorable
couple, but they won't hear of it."
"Shut up, Ian," William said throwing a shrimp ball at him and
missing.
"And this gentleman sitting next to me who has just been
struck by a shrimp ball is one of my father's staffers, Daniel
Forester."
"Hey Ian. And you must be Agent Young," Daniel said
reaching past Ian to shake hands. "I'm so pleased to finally meet
you. The whole house is abuzz."
This time Malcolm found himself getting hot beneath the collar.
"I leave it up to you to introduce yourself to the remainder of
the imps and outcasts at the table."
Ian was quiet, most likely still fuming, during dinner. Malcolm
was glad of it. The Pouched Sole was absolutely lovely and he
appreciated being allowed to enjoy it. Then the speeches began.
 "Ladies and Gentleman," the President stood to announce.
Malcolm hadn't noticed that there was music until it stopped
playing. Then the President spoke again.
"Ladies and Gentleman. I'd like to thank you all for coming
here this evening. I'd especially like to thank the Prime Minister
for coming all the way from Japan to renew what has always
been, and will always be, a strong relationship between our two
nations."
Here, everyone clapped politely.
"You know, I remember something that my father told me when
I was a young lad..."
Employing his special ability to zone out, an ability that had
served him well during countless boring meetings and stake-outs,
Malcolm let his mind and eyes drift around the room. Everyone
was dressed to the nines this evening. He saw no sign of any
other male couples, though he knew there must be some gay
men here tonight. Maybe even women.
Then he spotted Tony Rodriguez standing in the corner of the
room. He was looking Malcolm's way and smiling as if to say,
"That'll show you for trying to mess with me." Malcolm didn't like
it. Even more, he didn't like the man. He supposed that he was
only just beginning to experience the kind of condescension and
ridicule that Ian had been dealing with on a daily basis for the last
two years that Johnston had been in office. Probably longer.
Possibly his entire life.
Malcolm flipped Tony the bird and Tony stopped smiling.
The President had just completed his speech which was
apparently the signal for dessert to be served. That's when Ian
rose from his seat with ill intent in his demeanor.
 "Where do you think you're going?" Malcolm asked, grabbing
his arm.
"Just watch and see," Ian responded, shaking Malcolm's hand
away.
Malcolm followed Ian across the dinning room as Ian marched
to the President's table. Along the way he noticed the Tony had
peeled himself away from the wall and set himself on an intercept
course. Malcolm was concerned over what was going to happen
when everyone met. Ian arrived at the President's side one step
ahead of Tony and Malcolm. Tony reached out a hand to pull Ian
back away from his president but Malcolm grabbed him and
pulled him back instead. Their eyes locked and Malcolm shook
his head in warning.
"Hello, father," Ian said in a loud, clear voice. "Aren't you going
to introduce me to the Prime Minister?"
President Johnston was obviously surprised by his son's
appearance. After all, his son hadn't even been on the invitation
list for this evening's gathering. Regardless, he hid his shock well
being an old pro when it came to dealing with uncomfortable
situations.
"Why, of course, son," the President said standing. Malcolm
noticed that the Prime Minister stood as well. "Prime Minister
Yoshiro, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Ian Johnston."
"Bonsowa-ru," Ian said taking the Prime Minister's hand and
bowing low. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. Prime Minister."
"And I am pleased to meet you," the Prime Minister replied
delicately in perfect English.
"I'm Papasan Johnston's gay son. You've probably heard of
me but haven't met me before because papa keeps me well
hidden in the closet."
"Ian!" the President objected.
"Ian, that's enough now," Malcolm said calmly, grabbing him
by the arm and trying to lead him away.
"Is it, Malcolm? Is it really? And how would you know what's
enough?"
"A gay man in the Secret Service? Ian, I know," Malcolm
hissed frankly and saw tears coming to Ian's eyes. "Let's go.
Follow me."
Instead of leading him from the room, as most probably
expected him to do, Malcolm led Ian back to the children's table
where he sat him down and tried to comfort him. He accidentally
nudged Tony aside along the way.
"Why did you stop me, Mal?"
"Ian, can't you see? You embarrassed yourself and the Prime
Minister more than you embarrassed your father."
"Well, what should I have done?" Ian pleaded.
"Subtlety is the key. Just watch and learn from a pro," Malcolm
said with a wink.
So they watched and they waited. After the dessert was
distributed and consumed, the President rose to dance with the
First Lady.
"Malcolm, what are we doing here?"
"Wait for it," Malcolm told him.
The Prime Minister and his wife rose to join the President and
the First Lady on the dance floor. Malcolm counted to ten.
"Now," he announced. "Ian, do you know how to dance?"
 "Of course."
"I mean in the role of the woman?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go."
Grabbing Ian's hand, he and Malcolm were the first of the
general audience to hit the dance floor. For a moment the rest of
the diners stayed back, unsure what to do. In the meantime, the
President, First Lady, Prime Minister, his wife, Ian, and Malcolm
had the floor all to themselves. As it turned out, Ian danced
wonderfully. And he couldn't have looked happier.
Eventually the other couples joined the original three on the
floor. Ian and Malcolm danced through several numbers, arm-in-
arm, and even remained on the floor for a slow number during
which Ian placed his cheek on Malcolm's shoulder.
"You see. Subtlety," Malcolm whispered in Ian's ear.
Finally feeling that he had made his point, Malcolm led Ian
back to the children's table.
"That was totally cool," young William announced as they took
their seats. Ian simply winked in response.
"Thank you, Mal," he then said, resisting sneaking a kiss.
"That was wonderful. I swear I could dance with you all night long."
"Now there's just one more thing left to do," Malcolm stated.
"What's that?" Ian asked, dreamily.
"I think you owe someone an apology."
Ian stiffened at the suggestion. Opening his mouth to object,
he saw through his eyes that Malcolm was serious. So, without
protest, he rose and walked back to the President's table.
Malcolm followed. This time it only required a finger raised in
warning to stop Tony in his tracks.
"Excuse me, father," Ian said after clearing his voice.
"Ian, what do you want now," his father replied, looking
disappointed at his son's return.
"I'd like to extend the Prime Minister my apology," Ian
announced to the surprise of all at the table. The Prime Minister
stood immediately at the suggestion. "Mr. Prime Minister, I'd like
to apologize to you and everyone at the table for my dreadful
behavior this evening. I hope that I've done nothing to detract from
your joy in visiting our fine country."
"Apology accepted, Mr. Johnston."
Again, Ian bowed low in deference to the Prime Minister while
shaking his hand. Then he turned to face his father. The
President stood. By the expression on his face, Malcolm could
tell that the President didn't know what to expect.
"Father, I'd like to apologize to you as well," Ian announced to
his father's shock and dismay. "I behaved poorly this evening and
for this I am truly sorry." Then Ian stuck out his hand.
For the moment all attention in the room was directed toward
the two men who stood face-to-face. Again, the music had
stopped playing. Malcolm swore you could hear a pin drop it was
so quite. The President's face was hard to read. Ian looked
contrite and about to cry. Finally, the President accepted his
son's hand into both of his own and smiled.
"Thank you, son." And again. "Thank you."
"And with that I'd like to wish you all a good evening," Ian said,
freeing his hand and turning to address the table.
 "Good night, Ian," the President said, taking his seat.
Malcolm nodded his head to the President's table, turned to
glower at Tony one last time, and then followed his partner into
the hall. Once outside the dinning room, Ian lost all composure.
"Yippee," he hollered, loud enough for all in the dinning room
to hear him.
There was general laughter from behind as the music began
again, but Ian didn't care. He stood in the hall driving his fists into
the air and twirling like a mad dervish.
"Take it easy, Ian," Malcolm cautioned, pulling Ian's arms back
down to his side as he looked around to find out if anyone was
watching. "Don't lose your cool too soon."
"I don't care," Ian replied. "This has been the happiest evening
of my life, and I owe it all to you."
"Well, I'm glad you're so pleased. Come tomorrow morning I'm
going to be out of a job."
"Oh, Mal. You over react," Ian said, wrapping himself around
Malcolm's arm.
"So, how would you like to spend my last night on the job?"
"Let's go back to my room and fuck," Ian suggested, playfully.
"Ian!" Malcolm scolded, again looking around for anyone who
might have heard. "Isn't it a little early to retire?"
"I know," Ian said with excitement, "let's go to the movies."
"Are you kidding me? Take you to another dark, public place
with your assailant still on the loose? I don't think so," Malcolm
protested.
"Come on, let me show you."
 Taking his hand, Ian led Malcolm through the residence and
into one of its back rooms. To Malcolm's surprise, this proved to
be a small theater. Forcing Malcolm into a seat in the front row,
Ian dashed off to do God only knew what. When he returned, after
the lights had already gone down, he was carrying a bucket of
popcorn which he almost spilled as he stumbled into his seat
beside Malcolm.
The movie was an old RKO black and white. When Malcolm
saw the title he laughed, then turned to Ian to issue a line from the
movie.
"Here's looking at you kid."
"No, here's looking at you," Ian said.
Rising from his seat and kneeling on the floor between
Malcolm's legs, Ian laid his body against Malcolm's and kissed
him gently. Rather than do anything to interfere with what was
turning out to be a wonderful experience, Malcolm sat with his
arms clamped to the arm rests, letting Ian have his way.
They kissed for a long time. Malcolm liked that. Then Ian
began to unbutton Malcolm's shirt and run his hands inside,
caressing his chest. Malcolm liked that a lot more. Ian kissed a
trail across Malcolm's face and down his neck and still Malcolm
kept his hands to himself. Kissing Malcolm's chest and toying
with his nipples, Ian eventually began to get the reaction from
Malcolm that he was after. When the trail of saliva reached his
beltline, Malcolm decided he'd had enough.
Gently pushing Ian aside, Malcolm rose from his seat and
started to disrobe. As he did so he took a glance at the screen.
Humphrey Bogart was leaning against the bar in Rick's place
wearing a white dinner jacket and smoking a cigarette. What a
wonderful image, he thought as he slipped off his pants and
underwear. Wondering what had happened to Ian in the dark,
Malcolm was pleased to find him once more standing before him,
but this time he was buck naked.
Ian pushed Malcolm back into his seat. Malcolm's erection
stood tall in his lap. Ian's was pointed squarely between
Malcolm's eyes. Ian tried to go down on his knees again but
instead Malcolm grabbed his hips and drew him near. Forcing
Ian to arch his back in order to draw him close enough, Malcolm
eventually found that he needed to lean far forward as his kisses
moved down Ian's stiff shaft to his balls. Ian's public hair tickled
his face as he popped first one ball, then the other into his mouth.
He felt Ian's hands grab his head when he moved back to Ian's
cock and finally slipped the head of his penis inside his mouth.
Being inexperienced, Malcolm wasn't sure what to do with
Ian's cock as he took it deeper into his mouth. Rather than
interfere, Ian showed patience in allowing Malcolm to experiment
while he moaned encouragement. Malcolm was surprised that he
liked the salty taste of Ian's prick, but what he really enjoyed was
the recognition of how he was pleasuring his lover.
Pulling Ian's hips back and forth, Malcolm got Ian's pelvis
rocking gently in order to slip his head in and out of his mouth
past his lips. At the same time he alternately ran his hand down
Ian's shaft and played with his balls wanting to squeeze every last
drop of cum out of those oblong eggs into his mouth. He found
his lips were going numb after the first several minutes spent
sucking Ian's cock.
Ian's climax and subsequent ejaculation into Malcolm's mouth
seemed to come from nowhere. Malcolm could tell that Ian was
trying to keep from choking Malcolm with his final thrust, but he
failed miserably. Malcolm didn't care. He wanted to be choked
with Ian's cock. And then there was the experience of Ian's spunk
shooting into his mouth.
Holding on tight while Ian's shaft continued to convulse,
Malcolm slid Ian's dick from his mouth and let him cum on his
face as he'd seen female porn stars do in videos. When Ian was
through, Malcolm pulled him down to lock their lips together so
that he could share Ian's semen, swishing it back and forth
between their mouths. Ultimately, Malcolm sucked Ian's spunk
back into his own mouth and choked it down with an
embarrassed smile.
Two things were obvious when the lovers looked into each
other's eyes. The first was that Ian had been thoroughly satisfied.
The next was that Malcolm was hornier than he had ever been in
his life.
Ian reached over to retrieve a small tube from his the pocket of
his pants, which lay on the seat beside Malcolm. He handed the
tube to Malcolm who was surprised to find that it was lubricant.
Did Ian always travel around with this stuff? he thought with
discomfort. Ian's next move was far from subtle. Standing
squarely before Malcolm, he bent over and reached back to
spread his cheeks.
"Would you mind?" Ian said smiling between his legs.
Malcolm had never seen an asshole in his life, but he found
that he was more than eager to explore this one. Squirting
lubricant liberally onto his hand, Malcolm determined that this
time he was going to go slow and gentle. Yah, right, he thought
afterwards as he found himself driving his fingers harder and
harder into Ian's ass. Ian moaned and pushed back against
Malcolm's attentions. But finally, Malcolm could take it no more.
Spinning Ian around, Malcolm pulled him forward into his seat.
There Ian straddled the armrests and lowered his ass into
Malcolm's lap. He sighed with pleasure as Malcolm pressed Ian's
hips down in order to enter him. Then he proceeded to rock. This
rocking motion became more and more frantic as Malcolm
kissed Ian's chest and finally found that he was panting so hard,
and driving his cock into Ian so fast, that the end had to be near.
And it was.
Malcolm shot his load as deep into Ian's ass as he could, and
given their current pose and Malcolm's size, that was deep. Ian
and Malcolm screamed out together as Malcolm's body was
racked by wave after wave of convulsions.
Then it was over. The two continued to rock gently as Malcolm
slowly became limp. They exchanged brief kisses in between
shared smiles.
Looking over Ian's shoulder, Malcolm watched as Rick and
Louis walked off together into the fog.
"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,"
Rick announced. La Marseillaise was played.
And just like that Malcolm discovered that he was in love.
Chapter 7
Tony Rodriguez, the White House Chief of Staff, sat at his
desk drumming his fingers. Across from him sat Secret Service
Agent Malcolm Young, smiling. Neither man said a word. Neither
man had to. They knew that they were facing a classic Mexican
stand-off and that there was little either of them could do about it.
Tony eyed Malcolm's new hair style and wardrobe, paying
special attention to the missing tie, and said nothing.
This time Malcolm barely reacted when the door behind him
flew open and President Johnston entered to bark his demand.
 "Tony, what the hell is going on this morning?"
"How's that, Mr. President?" Tony responded.
"I just ran into Ian in the hall and he kissed me on the cheek,"
the President said, raising a hand to touch the side of his face.
"He hasn't done that in years."
Tony continued to drum his fingers. Malcolm continued to
smile.
"Well, what's up?" the President insisted.
"Maybe Agent Young can explain," Tony suggested.
"I think that your son is happy, sir," Malcolm did explain.
"Happy?"
"Yes, sir."
The President pondered this explanation for a time, and then
he became quite solemn.
"Agent Young, perhaps you could explain this whole gay thing
to me."
"I'd like to, sir, but I'm afraid I'm only just learning myself."
"Well then, I'd like you to have sex with my son and report back
to me as soon as possible."
"Sir!" Tony exclaimed, bolting out of his seat. "You can't order
a secret service agent to have a... homosexual experience. Think
of the reputation of the service."
"Oh, alright," the President said looking like a puppy dog that
had just been scolded. "Well, what ever you're doing son, keep it
up," he added, patting Malcolm on the back. "I like the results."
The President then left the office. Tony sat back down and
recommenced drumming his fingers. Malcolm smiled.
 "Get out!" Tony snarled.
Malcolm rose from his seat and casually strolled from the
office. Once outside he leaned back against the door. Ian was
right there to smother him with a voracious kiss.
"Lord, I missed you," Ian said, separating to catch his breath.
"What are you talking about? I was only gone for fifteen
minutes."
"I can't help it. I've grown rather fond of my little security detail
and I get uncomfortable when it's out of sight."
"Well, we'll just have to insure that doesn't happen again,"
Malcolm said, pulling Ian back into his arms for a deep, lingering
kiss.
The two of them continued to make out in front of Tony's office
as staffers walked by and smiled. It appeared that the White
House functionaries were already getting used to the new couple.
Malcolm no longer cared what they thought. Neither did Ian.
Somehow they had managed to cure each other of that particular
ailment.
"So, what's the plan for the day?" Malcolm asked, separating
his lips from Ian's but continuing to hold him in his arms.
"Oh, Malcolm. I have an assignment."
"What?"
"I've been given an assignment by my father," Ian repeated in
an excited voice.
"What kind of assignment?"
"My father has asked me to stop by a local preschool to read
to the children. I'll be officially representing him as his reading
ambassador."
"When did all of this transpire?" Malcolm asked
uncomfortably. "And why wasn't I informed?"
"It just happened in the hallway while you were in Tony's office.
Can you believe it, Mal? I'm going to be an ambassador."
"Hold on. Before you get too excited, we need to think about
security. In fact, I need to go right away and insure that a security
detail is assigned."
"That's already been taken care of, Mal. The secretary of
education was going to attend but she came down with a last
minute illness."
Malcolm found it amusing that Ian could find such joy in
someone else's misfortune.
"So, what time is this engagement?"
"We're leaving in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes?" Malcolm retorted. "I've got to hurry up and
change."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can't be seen on the job dressed like this," he replied,
holding out the collar of his one-hundred percent worsted wool
sport coat.
"But Malcolm, you look wonderful. Besides, we don't have the
time."
"I thought you said we had fifteen minutes."
"That was ten minutes ago. Oops," Ian added with a giggle.
Linking hands, the couple strolled together down the main
hallway of the White House making eyes at each other. Malcolm
fiddled with his outfit, feeling uncomfortable doing his duty in such
stylish clothes. Again they descended the stairs of the north
portico, only this time instead of Ian's Boxster awaiting them at
the curb a black limousine waited between a pair of black
Cadillac Escalades. Malcolm led the way to the limousine,
brushed the valet aside, and held the door open to indicate to the
other agents in attendance that he was on duty.
The drive to the preschool seemed long but was uneventful. As
they drove, Ian and Malcolm held hands and shared adoring
smiles. They were fast becoming a disgustingly cute couple. Half
way through the drive, Malcolm had to prevent Ian from climbing
out of the sun roof under the auspices of national security. Ian
doubted that there was a presidential edict banning such
behavior, but abided by Malcolm's restriction all the same. Ian
also made a pest of himself by frequently asking the driver of the
limo if they were there yet. The closer they got to the preschool
the more impatient and persistent he became. Rather than
finding this behavior annoying, Malcolm found it to be charming.
But then, he was beginning to find everything about Ian to be
charming.
As they pulled to a stop before the school, Malcolm had to
restrain Ian from jumping out of the vehicle until it had come to a
complete stop. Then Malcolm opened the door to scan the area
before calmly letting Ian out. Some of the school children were
waiting for him, holding up a sign that welcomed the secretary of
education to their school. Only the "Secretary of Education" part
of the sign had been crossed out and "Ian Johnston" had been
written crudely above it.
"Welcome, President Johnston's son," the children chanted as
Ian walked up the path to their school.
 "Oh, Malcolm, the children. They're so cute."
Rather than walking past the school kids as he was supposed
to, Ian got down on his knees and took the time to personally
greet each one of them. He then stood, a little embarrassed, to
meet their teachers who appeared to have been won over by his
attentions. Malcolm noticed two stains on the knees of Ian's linen
pants but said nothing.
Once inside, Ian was formally introduced to the rest of the
school staff by the woman who ran the facility. Ian was more than
cordial as he wondered at the simple one room school house
and complemented the staff on their choice of vocations. But it
didn't take long before he was drawn back to the children.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he was soon buried under a
mountain of kids who wouldn't be warned away by their teachers.
Both Ian and the kids squealed in joy as they grabbed each other
and rolled around on the floor. Malcolm and the rest of the
security detail, as well as the teachers, couldn't help but smile at
Ian's antics. Malcolm did become somewhat concerned when Ian
rose from the pile and looked at him with and expression that
said, "Malcolm, I want one of these."
Malcolm and the other agents kept close track of things as
reporters and camera crews were let in to swarm the school
room. Malcolm couldn't understand how Ian kept from being
blinded as the many cameras flashed in his face. It seemed that
there were an unusual number of reporters for such a simple
event, but then Malcolm assumed that Ian had been good press
of late. Next it was reading time.
Ian again sat cross-legged on the floor and let several kids
share his lap as he held a copy of "Stewart Little" up to his face.
Rather than read the story, he acted it out, giving depth to his
verbal description of Stewart's adventures. At the end of the
chapter he had been assigned, the kids screamed for more and
Ian obliged. By the time he was done with the second chapter the
youngsters in his lap had fallen asleep. He stroked their hair and
cooed to them while the cameras began flashing all over again.
As Ian rose to leave, the reporters started shouting questions
at him. Rather than ignore them, Ian felt the need to stop and field
a few questions before leaving.
"Mr. Johnston, has there been any progress in tracking down
the individual who stabbed you in a gay nightclub last month?"
"No, not to my knowledge."
"Mr. Johnston, is there anything to the rumor that you
embarrassed both your father and the Prime Minister of Japan at
a dinner held in the White House last night, a dinner to which you
were not invited?"
"I made some unfortunate statements for which I apologized.
It's that simple."
"Mr. Johnston, what about the rumors that you're currently
having an elicit affair with a Secret Service agent?"
Declining to respond, Ian raised a hand and shuffled through
the crowd to the outside. Malcolm imagined that Ian was as
sickened by the questions as he was.
Sorry that they had to leave so soon, Ian said his farewells to
the teachers and staff, and of course to the children. Then he
waved goodbye as he walked down the paved walkway to the
waiting limousine. That's when the assassin chose to strike.
There were three quick shots that rang out as Ian was waving
goodbye. Wound tight as a spring in a pocket watch, Malcolm
was on Ian before the second shot was fired. Falling on top of Ian,
Malcolm pinned him to the ground as the other Secret Service
agents scrambled to ring the fallen men.
After the initial attack, there were no additional shots. Voices
called out in the following frenzy asking what had happened and
attempting to determine from where the shots had been fired. Ian
was lifted from the ground and whisked to the open door of the
limo. Two agents piled into the car before and after him.
"Malcolm," Ian called, but he received no answer.
The limo sped away from the curb on the tail of an Escalade
leading the way.
"Are you alright? Have you been hit?" a gruff voice asked. Ian
ignored the questions.
"Malcolm, where are you?" Ian called once more. This time at
receiving no response he began to struggle against those
holding him down. "Turn this car around. We need to go back for
Malcolm.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, sir," one of the secret service
agents explained.
"Oh, God" , Ian said sitting upright and rocking back and forth
in his seat.
As he started to cry, Ian felt hands roughly examining his body.
He felt a burning sensation at the side of his head when the
probing hands made it there. Reaching his own hand up it came
away bloody.
"Only a nick of the ear, sir," one of the secret service agents
explained. "I'd say you were damn lucky today."
By the look on Ian's tortured face he didn't appear to be feeling
damn lucky. In fact, he looked to be in utter agony. The Secret
Service agents that were with him exchanged knowing glances
and looked none too happy themselves. Of course, no one in this
line of work was happy when a comrade went down.
They drove for quite some time. Then the limo in which they
were riding swerved and bumped into a driveway to stop before
the George Washington University Hospital Emergency Room.
The Secret Service agents immediately piled out and proceeded
to secure the area. Meanwhile, one of them roughly removed Ian
from the back of the car and rushed him into the hospital. There
they were met with a storm of questions, none of which Ian
seemed prepared to answer.
Ian was moved directly to the head of the queue of waiting
patients. Before his simple ear injury could be looked to and
dressed, the press corps arrived. The Secret Service agents and
hospital security tried to keep them back but somehow one or
two of them managed to sneak into the emergency room to snap
pictures before they were ushered out.
"Wait a second," Ian called before the last reporter was gone.
"Tell me what happened to the secret service agent that was with
me," he demanded.
"What, the one who was shot?" the reporter called back. And
then he was gone.
Ian simply lay back on his gurney and wept. Later, after his ear
had been bandaged and he was being led from the room he
finally stirred from the far off place his mind had taken him.
"Take me to Agent Young's body," he demanded.
"But Mr. Johnston, I've been ordered to return you to the White
House as soon as possible," the agent attending him argued.
"I said, take me to his body," Ian insisted.
 Leaving Ian standing in the hall of the emergency services
wing of the hospital, the Secret Service agent tried to find
someone who could help guide him to Agent Young. Eventually
he found someone who was willing to talk with him.
"Oh, no. You can't see him now," an admitting nurse explained.
"He's still in surgery."
"You mean he's alive?" Ian said, brightening some.
"Hell yes he's alive. And we're going to keep him that way if
you let us get back to our business."
Ian grabbed the admitting nurse and hugged her. Then he
hugged the Secret Service agent who had helped him. Smiling,
he was led from the hospital to the waiting limo.
That night Ian slept alone. He cried most of the time but
managed to catch a few winks in between. When he slept he
dreamed. He dreamed of he and Malcolm together on a sunny
beach. He dreamed of them swimming and making love amid the
ocean waves.
When he woke because his heart felt to be aching to the point
of bursting, he reminded himself that Malcolm was still alive. Then
he smiled and fell asleep again.
Chapter 8
Malcolm woke expecting to be facing Tony Rodriguez across
his desk. Instead he found that he was looking up at a sterile,
white, acoustical ceiling. Something was beeping off to his right
and he had an uncomfortable tube running beneath his nose.
Besides that, someone was holding his hand.
Carefully turning his head he immediately recognized Ian's
golden head of hair and was glad for the sight of it. Ian was laying
his head on Malcolm's bed by his side, apparently deeply asleep.
Malcolm did nothing to wake him. Instead, he freed his hand from
Ian's and reached down to stroke Ian's hair while Ian continued to
sleep. Ian's hair was soft and felt good in his hand.
After a few moments spent in this blissful occupation, Ian
showed signs of waking. He turned his face up to Malcolm's, and
when he saw Malcolm looking down at him he smiled. Malcolm
returned the smile with ten times the brilliance.
"Hello, love bug," Ian said, dreamily. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been shot," Malcolm replied, shakily. "More
importantly, are you alright?"
"Hardly a scratch," Ian replied, pointing to his bandaged ear.
"Of course I won't be wearing an earring for a while. I guess I'm
just another life saved by Agent Young."
"Actually, this is my first life saved."
"Well, you did an excellent job, for a rookie." Ian
complemented. "So, where were you shot?"
"I think it was somewhere in the chest area," Malcolm said
looking down. "At least they seem to have lots of gauze and
bandages down there."
The two men remained quiet for a time, simply happy to be
alive and together. Ian grabbed Malcolm's hand once more and
peppered it with kisses. Then he looked back up to Malcolm in
annoyance.
"This is fine, but I want to kiss your lips," Ian announced.
"I'd like to kiss you too."
"I wonder if it's too early for you to be having sex."
The two laughed at this until Malcolm began coughing. Then
Ian commenced babying Malcolm, which Malcolm hated. First, he
rang the nurse who assured him that Malcolm was alright. Then
he forced water upon Malcolm until Malcolm had to throw the cup
away. Insisting that Malcolm sleep, Ian wouldn't stop talking about
how he was going to spend his day. All the time he kept
wandering over to a machine to check Malcolm's vital signs.
"Ian, I wish you'd leave and let me sleep," Malcolm finally
requested. "I'm afraid that I can't take your energy in my current
state."
Ian looked hurt, but ultimately understood. He did lean across
to kiss Malcolm on the lips before he left. Then he slipped from
the room and Malcolm slept.
As he slept Malcolm dreamed. He dreamed of past missions,
beginning with boot camp. His days spent in boot camp were
happy days for Malcolm. They were really the first time that he
excelled at anything. Training courses, forced marches, and
inspections were his life back then. There he met friends that he
shipped overseas with. Of course, by the end of his first
campaign many of those friends were gone. Either reassigned or
having made the ultimate sacrifice.
Before he could wake, Ian found himself back in the Mishna
Valley, outside Jalalabad in Afghanistan. It was one of those rare
night patrols. His squad was attempting to find the location of a
Taliban supply route. The only thing they knew was that it was
operating somewhere in these canyons at night and that they
needed to shut it down.
Digging in behind a hillock, Malcolm signaled for his squad to
take cover, and then he listened. The night provided the usual
sounds of blowing wind, night birds, and nothing more. Then he
heard a sound that didn't belong. It was the sound of animal
hooves stepping along a dirt path.
 Reaching into his pack, Malcolm produced an unusually large
bored gun which he aimed at the sky. Pulling the trigger he sent a
magnesium flare skyward. The flare lit the hills and canyons
around their position. It also lit a large Taliban force that was
making its way along the ridge in support of the supply caravan.
Both sides opened fire at the sight of the flare. The difference
was that Malcolm's side could see what they were shooting at.
And they had plenty of targets to choose from. Taliban fighters
danced in death as machine gun fire sprayed from the gullies in
which the American squad was hidden into the hills above.
Having nowhere to hide, the enemy stood and returned
ineffectual fire. And they died. The donkeys being used to
transport weapons fell from the trail as did their tenders. By the
time the firing ceased the hills were strewn with the enemy dead.
Afterward, the mission was deemed an unmitigated success.
Malcolm was awarded a medal for his part in the action. But all
he was really left with was the eerie sight of the men he'd killed
reeling before the steady flash of the gunfire that took their lives.
Of course, there were other missions for Malcolm to dream
about, some of them far less successful than the Mishna Valley
assignment. Malcolm was sick of war after his first tour, but still
he remained for a second tour in Iraq. There the death toll rose
even higher as the coalition forces systematically dismantled
Saddam Hussein's regime.
While there, Malcolm received a serious wound that put him
behind a desk and within a year he was out. He was also utterly
at a loss for what to do with himself, never having been
responsible for finding a job or deciding how he was going to
spend the day. He needed another structured environment and
found it within the secret service.
 Malcolm dreamed for a bit of an alternate life. One in which he
hadn't gone to war to prove his manhood, primarily to himself.
One in which he met Ian much earlier in life and the two of them
settled down. Instead of becoming a warrior, Malcolm became a
carpenter and sent Ian away every morning to a job in the city.
When Ian arrived home there was dinner waiting on the table and
the two of them concluded every night by making love.
The next time that Malcolm woke there was bright sunlight
streaming through his window to light a room chock-a-block full of
flowers. Of course, Ian was also there to welcome him back from
dreamland. Malcolm felt much better this day so he didn't mind
Ian's lively banter.
Malcolm slept off and on for what proved to be several days as
he gathered his strength. By the fourth day spent in the hospital
he was ready to be discharged. Fortunately, his doctor agreed.
Amid a flurry of signed papers, Malcolm was dressed and
then wheeled from the hospital to a waiting limousine, which Ian
explained would be more comfortable than his Boxster for the trip
home. No reporters were waiting to assail them with questions to
Malcolm's relief.
The trip home was a short one. When they pulled up before the
portico, many of the White House staff and secret service agents
were waiting to greet Malcolm at the door. Malcolm was
surprised to find that this included Tony Rodriguez and the
President himself.
"Welcome home, Agent Young," President Johnston said
reaching out a hand which Malcolm shook with vigor. "And thank
you for saving my son."
"Your welcome, sir," Malcolm said with great pride.
 "Congratulations, Agent Young," Tony said while shaking
Malcolm's hand. He didn't look like he meant a single word of
what he said.
Excited at first to be up and about, Malcolm found that he was
utterly exhausted by the time he made it to Ian's bedroom.
Collapsing on Ian's bed, Malcolm started to fall asleep even as
Ian stripped off his clothes. Ian then tucked Malcolm into bed
naked rather than trying to get him into the pair of pajamas that
he had bought for Malcolm while he was in the hospital.
The next day, Malcolm began to walk in earnest. He still
insisted that he and Ian remain indoors, out of sight from potential
attackers, but he also insisted that he and Ian walk every corridor
of the private portion of the White House. Again he collapsed on
Ian's bed in exhaustion when they returned to his room and soon
fell asleep.
The next time he woke it was to the familiar sound of the
shower running in the attached bathroom. Noticing that Ian had
left the bathroom door open, Malcolm watched as Ian showered
and then dried himself. His body was even more lithe and
beautiful than Malcolm had remembered. As he watched Ian
attend to himself he began attending to his own needs by
reaching into his pajama bottoms. Hoping to elicit a specific
response, Malcolm quickly scrambled out of his pajamas so that
he would be lying naked when Ian came out of the bathroom to
change. His plan worked to a tee.
Walking out of the bathroom, Ian didn't notice Malcolm on the
bed until he had finished drying his hair. When he saw that
Malcolm was naked he broke out in a broad grin and giggled.
"Well, well. I was wondering how long it would take you to get
back into action."
 "It looks like the answer is now. I'm able, willing, and waiting."
Taking on the aspect of a cat, Ian slinked onto the bed and
purred in anticipation of the coming action. Malcolm found
himself growing even larger at his partner's display. Ian continued
to crawl around Malcolm, showing off his taut, contoured body.
Fighting the urge to reach out and touch, Malcolm tried to remain
satisfied with simply watching while he also recognized that Ian
was teasing him.
Ian began touching Malcolm at his legs, separating them far
enough apart that he could kiss between them as he worked his
way up to Malcolm's all too vulnerable balls. While Malcolm
moaned with pleasure, Ian kneaded his calves and thighs as he
alternately kissed and licked the insides.
Malcolm jumped when Ian reached up a hand to cup his
genitals. To his frustration, Ian was being slow and gentle with his
attentions when Malcolm wanted it fast and hard. Malcolm forced
himself to dampen his desire and enjoy Ian's movements,
especially while Ian slowly massaged his balls.
Malcolm pulled his legs up and spread them wide. Ian
repositioned himself so that he was almost atop Malcolm with his
head down between his legs. Malcolm reached up to stroke Ian's
ass as Ian continued to work his kisses across Malcolm's thighs.
Finally, he arrived at Malcolm's penis which he slid deep into his
mouth causing Malcolm to shudder.
Ian started to suck noisily. Malcolm's eyes rolled back before
he closed them. Writhing on the bed, Malcolm opened his eyes to
notice how close Ian's own cock was to his face. Reaching a
hand between Ian's legs, Malcolm started massaging Ian's rock
hard cock. He then used Ian's cock as a lever to pull him on top of
himself so that Ian had his knees on either side of Malcolm's
head. This allowed Malcolm to bend Ian's cock down so that he
could slip the head of his prick into his own mouth.
Malcolm tried to concentrate on Ian's dick but soon found that
he was thoroughly distracted by what Ian was doing to him. The
best he could do is fumble Ian's head across his lips but it didn't
take long before he was even unable to do this.
Ian began to increase the pace of his attentions until he was
being brutal with Malcolm's prick. He began sliding his hand up
and down Malcolm's shaft slapping it against the root of his
penis. At the same time he drove the head of Malcolm's cock into
his mouth, sucking his prick and licking it alternately. The lack of
sex over the last several days combined with this furious
stimulation was driving Malcolm fast towards the point of no
return.
When Malcolm's orgasm finally came it was hard enough that
he almost passed out. Malcolm felt like he was going to ejaculate
forever. Ian sucked his cum greedily adding to the intensity of his
orgasm. Malcolm didn't move for almost a full minute after his
loins had stopped convulsing.
When Malcolm came to he found that Ian had gone into the
bathroom to cleanup. When Ian returned, Malcolm insisted that he
lay on the bed while Malcolm positioned himself between Ian's
legs. Again, Malcolm found the salty, coppery taste of Ian's penis
to be pleasant as he slipped it between his lips. Malcolm worked
away at Ian for a time and then decided to experiment with
something new.
Grabbing Ian's legs behind the knees, he pushed his legs up
until his ass was full exposed. He then licked his way down Ian's
balls to his crack and didn't stop until his tongue was probing
deep between his cheeks. Repositioning his arms, he was able
to keep Ian's legs suspended while he slipped his hands down to
Ian's ass to spread his cheeks. This gave Malcolm clear access
to Ian's asshole.
Malcolm began by licking around the edges of Ian's anus,
savoring the sensation. Then he ran his tongue across the tightly
clenched opening before his started to probe tentatively at the
orifice with the tip of his tongue. Ian moaned in response. After a
time spent playing with Ian's ass, Malcolm returned his mouth to
his cock while at the same time he slipped a finger deep into
Ian's asshole.
Ian rocked his hips alternately taking Malcolm's finger deeper
into his ass and plunging his cock deeper into Malcolm's mouth.
When Ian came, Malcolm could feel the muscles in his penis
convulse as his sphincter tightened around his finger.
Malcolm then excused himself to use the bathroom. When he
returned, he fell onto the bed in utter exhaustion. He soon fell fast
asleep.
When Malcolm woke he found Ian sitting on the side of the bed
stroking his hair. Sharing a smile with Ian, Malcolm could tell that
Ian was excited about something.
"Malcolm, I have a surprise for you."
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"I'll show you if you're done sleeping. But first, how do you
feel?"
"I feel great," Malcolm replied, and apparently he was not
lying. Earlier in the day his attending nurse had removed the
dressing from his chest wound and announced that the wound
had heeled well enough that the dressing was no longer needed.
"Then come with me," Ian instructed.
 Helping Malcolm up from the bed, Ian dressed him carefully in
a pair of comfortable, khaki slacks, a short sleeve, linen shirt, and
a pair of sandals. He then led him out the back door of the White
House to the North/West Lawn and the Rose Garden which grew
all around it. There Ian had prepared a picnic. In order to quash
Malcolm's inevitable objections, he'd had the servants erect a
canvas barrier beyond the picnic area which shielded the view
from Lafayette Park across Pennsylvania Avenue.
Ian lowered Malcolm into a hammock that had been set up
specifically for his use. He then plied him with food that had been
unavailable to him during his convalescence. There was fried
chicken in abundance, freshly broiled turkey with gravy, flaky, soft
rolls, and all the side dishes one could imagine. Looking upon
this cornucopia, Malcolm found himself at a loss for words.
"Ian, I can't believe this. This is wonderful," Malcolm said in
amazement.
"Welcome back from the dead, Agent Young," Ian said with a
smile. He then leaned down and kissed Malcolm on the lips.
The two, young lovers hardly did service to the food. When
they were done stuffing themselves it still looked as if no one had
eaten any of the dishes that surrounded them. Malcolm
expressed his misgivings at wasting so much food but Ian
assured him that the White House staff would make easy work of
it this afternoon. Apparently all that was needed was to wheel the
excess into a conference room and send out an email
announcing where it was. Ian assured Malcolm that there would
be no food left by the end of the day.
"Ian, that was the best meal I've ever had," Malcolm
announced, sitting back in his hammock and patting his full
stomach.
 "Alright, that was my contribution," Ian said. "Suppose you tell
me what's next on the agenda."
"Well, in my opinion, there's only one thing left to do," Ian
explained.
"Oh, and what's that?"
"Find out who's trying to have you killed."
Ian thought about Malcolm's statement for a moment. Then he
made a statement which showed that he was paying attention.
"You said: who's trying to have me killed."
"Yes I did."
"That's different than: who's trying to kill me."
"Very much so," Ian agreed.
"Would you mind explaining," Ian said.
"Not at all. Two attacks. One in a crowded bar with a knife.
Looks like an amateur attack. But the second was a sniper
attack. I doubt they were the same man."
"Which means that someone hired them."
"Exactly. But I'm afraid it gets worse."
"Oh? How so?"
"No one outside the White House staff knew that you were
replacing the Secretary of Education at the book reading. That
means that either the sniper was out to kill the Secretary of
Education, which seems unlikely, or someone in the White House
leaked your assignment to the assassin."
"Shit, Malcolm. You can't be serious," Ian said looking back to
the White House with concern. "That means that I could be in
danger within my own home."
"Doubtful," Malcolm responded. "I doubt that the people trying
to kill you would make such an obvious attack. Unless they
became desperate, that is."
Of course, Malcolm's words did little to allay Ian's fears. Ian
continued to look back at the White House with dread.
"Ian, don't worry. I'm here to protect you."
"So, what now?"
"Well, I'd say that there are three obvious courses of action to
be taken from this point on."
"And what are those?"
"First, we study the existing material gathered by the various
investigating authorities concerning the two attacks."
"And second?"
"We visit the scenes of attack in order to conduct our own
investigation."
"That makes sense. And third?"
"If need be, we prompt another attack."
"And how do we do that."
"I'm sorry to have to say it," Malcolm said reaching a hand up
to stroke Ian's cheek. "But we offer you up as bait."
"Malcolm, I'm afraid," Ian said, kneeling down beside Malcolm
and laying his head on his lap.
"No reason to be, Ian. First off, I doubt that things will come to
having to use you as bait. Second, I'll be there to protect you."
"And third?"
 "The killers have already proven to be lousy assassins. A
clumsy knife attack followed by a sniper attack that missed. It's
almost as if they're trying to scare you rather than actually kill
you."
"Well, that's a comfort."
"It all adds up, Ian," Malcolm observed. "It all adds up."
"So, when do we begin our investigation?"
"Our investigation?'
"Yes, you don't think you're going to leave me behind during all
of this, do you?"
"I suppose that would be impossible," Malcolm said in
frustration.
The couple then lay embracing each other for a long while. As
usual, Ian was the first to break the silence.
"You know that I love you, Malcolm Young."
"Yes I know," Malcolm replied. But something kept him from
answering that he loved Ian too.
Chapter 9
Malcolm rose early the next morning. In fact, he woke so early
that he was up and out of bed before Ian was even awake. This
pleased Malcolm to no end since he had always been an early
riser and he therefore interpreted this new state of affairs as a
return to normalcy.
Rather than try to wake Ian, Malcolm headed out on his own to
begin his preliminary investigation. His first stop was the staff
supply cabinet where he grabbed a manila file folder which he
labeled with Ian's name and a pad of legal sized paper which he
planned to use to take notes. He then took time in the staff break
room to document his own thoughts regarding the case and his
memories of the second attack, which were limited.
Armed with the beginnings of a case file, Malcolm lit out in
search of the Chief of White House Security in the hopes that his
current status as White House hero would grant him a glimpse at
the current Secret Service case files. As it turned out, he wasn't
that lucky.
"What do you mean you won't even let me view the material
regarding the person who shot me?" Malcolm objected. But try as
he might the head of security was adamant; it would take and act
of Congress or the President of the United States to open his
files.
So, Malcolm took a trip to the President's office.
"What is it, Malcolm?" the President asked when Malcolm was
finally granted access to the oval office.
"I have a slight problem that I hope you can solve for me, Mr.
President," Malcolm began. He then explained his current
predicament and requested that the President make the requisite
call to the White House Chief of Security.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Agent Young," the
President replied as he picked up the phone.
Malcolm hoped the same thing as well.
During his next trip to the Office of the Chief of White House
Security, Malcolm was met with, if not a welcome mat, at least the
minimum cooperation required to view the Secret Service case
files. Left alone in a conference room, Malcolm furiously scribbled
notes before he was politely asked to leave by one of the
Security Chief's functionaries.
The Secret Service files were slim since the attack had not
occurred on the grounds of the White House. In fact, Malcolm felt
that he already knew everything the Secret Service knew by the
time that he left the White House in search of the FBI offices
located just down the street. The offices of the FBI in Washington
were but a short trip down Pennsylvania Avenue to the J. Edgar
Hoover building.
Walking into the front door of the FBI Headquarters, Malcolm
flashed his badge and in response was led to a conference room
where he was granted an audience with an Agent Fredrick Smith.
Again, Malcolm was told that it would take an act of Congress or
the President of the United States to make the FBI case files
accessible to him. Another quick phone call and Malcolm found
himself sitting in yet another conference room transferring notes
into his own case file from those of the FBI.
The FBI case files contained more information than did the
Secret Service case file, but not much. For instance, Malcolm
learned such informative information as "there was no one that
observed the stabbing of Ian Johnston available by the time that
police arrived at the scene of the crime." Malcolm did learn that
the knife used was most likely an old fashioned stiletto which lent
further credence to the unprofessional nature of the job.
As far as the attack on Ian and Malcolm at the school, the
investigation uncovered the fact that a high powered rifle had
been used to commit the attack. No evidence was recovered to
indicate the location from which the assassin had fired although
analysis showed the general direction from which the bullets had
come. Malcolm then read a rather gory description of his own
wound which he afterwards wished he hadn't.
Next Malcolm traveled to the closest police precinct that he
could find. This proved to be the 12th. Again, he was required to
contact either Congress or the President of the United States to
release the records on the two attacks. Little more information
was provided by the two reports.
Malcolm was left frustrated after a solid morning spent chasing
ghosts through the system. Next, he moved on to step two: his
own, personal investigation.
Pulling up in front of the Club Monaco, Malcolm found that the
club was closed. Liberal banging on the front door finally got the
attention of a janitor who let him in when he flashed his badge.
Malcolm was please at the fact of not having to interrupt the
President this time to gain admittance.
Walking through the club during off hours was eerie after
having seen the mayhem the place attracted during the evening.
Walking to the center of the dance floor, Malcolm found nothing,
all of the blood having long ago been cleaned up. Voicing a four
letter expletive, Malcolm rose from the floor and started to search
his way toward the back door of the club. Sure that there was
most likely something to find during the night of the attack,
Malcolm gave up his search this afternoon, convinced that
whatever evidence had been left behind was long gone.
That only left the preschool.
Determined to find something, Malcolm spent the bulk of the
afternoon at the preschool searching the rooftops of surrounding
buildings. At one location he found the markings of what he
suspected to be the stabilizing feet of a high powered rifle, but in
the end he realized that such a discovery meant little without
supporting evidence, such as shell casings.
Crouching at the edge of a rooftop, Malcolm looked down to
the preschool and tossed a few small stones that constituted the
rooftop's covering into the parking lot just over the building's
edge. As he tossed the stones he tried to combine the evidence
in such a way as to point to the murderer. Of course, this didn't
work, so he tossed the remainder of his handful of stones
peppering a Mercedes in the parking lot below.
"Shit," Malcolm exclaimed, realizing that he would have to
return to the White House with little to show for his day's effort
than a file folder full of useless facts.
Waiting for his cab to arrive outside the preschool, Malcolm
sulked. He found that he had to admit that he was in far over his
head when it came to being a private investigator. He also had to
admit that the results of his first attempt at investigation were
rather dismal. And what am I going to tell Ian? he asked himself
as his cab finally pulled to the curb. Surely there had to be a
reasonable alternative to setting Ian up as a decoy.
All the way back to the White House he continued to sulk. He
sulked as he was dropped off at the North/East gate. He sulked
as walked the circular driveway to the North Portico. He even
sulked as he continued to walk up the steps to the front door of
the White House.
Walking down the White House halls, he made his way to Ian's
room where he opened the door fully prepared to throw himself
on Ian's bed in exhaustion. Instead he was met by a rather lovely
young man who was putting on a pull-over shirt.
"What's going on here?" Malcolm asked.
"Oh, Malcolm. I'm glad you're here," Ian declared, walking
across the room to face him with excitement written in his
features. "This is Jason. He was there at the club the night that I
was stabbed."
"Yes, but what's going on here?" Malcolm repeated.
 "I thought you might want to question him."
"You still haven't explained what's going on," Malcolm pointed
out in frustration.
"Oh, we just got done screwing," Ian said, nonchalantly. "We
haven't seen each other in a long time, so it was nice to fuck
again."
Malcolm didn't know how to respond. Than all of a sudden he
figured out how after all. Cocking his right fist back, he released it
in order to plant his fist squarely on Jason's nose sending him
reeling back onto Ian's bed.
"Malcolm, what the hell are you doing?"
Malcolm didn't reply. Instead, he turned and stomped from
Ian's room. He didn't stop before he was in the Office of the White
House Chief of Staff. He didn't realize that he hadn't even
knocked until he was seated across the desk from Tony
Rodriguez.
"Yes, Malcolm?" Tony asked.
"Tony, I need to be reassigned," Malcolm choked through a
constricted throat.
"Is that so?" Tony replied. "And just what happened to the two
love birds?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Is that so?" Tony repeated with a smile. "Well, I'm afraid that I
can not reassign you without just cause. So, do you think you
might want to change your mind and explain yourself?"
Malcolm looked across the desk at Tony's smug smile and
found that he couldn't explain, not to this man.
"I'd like to be assigned my own room," Malcolm requested
next.
"You don't know? You've always had your own room."
"I have?"
"Of course. It's one of the guest bedrooms within the
residence."
"How do I find it?"
"I'll have a steward lead you to it," Tony offered with a rye
chuckle and a smile.
As Malcolm was being led through the halls of the residence to
his room, Ian finally managed to catch up to him. Grabbing him
gruffly by the arm, Ian spun Malcolm around to confront him with
an angry expression on his face.
"Malcolm, what's come over you all of a sudden?"
"Ian, I'd rather not have this discussion in the hallway."
"Well, what choice do I have when you run off after your school
boy antics back in my room?"
Ignoring him, Malcolm turned and gestured for the steward to
continue leading him to his room. Ian refused to follow.
"You know that you're being childish about this, Agent Young."
Malcolm found his room to be well furnished and suitable to
his Spartan lifestyle. After thanking the steward, he closed the
door and was horrified to find himself alone. Falling onto the bed,
he cried. For the first time since he was a little boy he cried his
eyes out. All the time expecting a knock on the door, expecting
Ian to step into the room and explain himself, he remained prone
on his bed feeling like shit.
After a good long cry, Malcolm rose determined to continue
his investigation. Marching through the halls of the residence,
Malcolm arrived at Ian's door where he knocked loudly. On the
second round of knocks, Ian opened the door. It was obvious by
the look of him that he had also been crying.
"I've come to interview Jason," Malcolm announced, coldly.
"He's in the bathroom. He only stopped by for a quick visit."
"I'm fully aware of what he stopped by for."
"Malcolm, why are you acting this way? Is it the sex? I assure
you it was nothing more than two old friends having a little fun."
Stepping out of the bathroom, Jason walked tentatively across
Ian's bedroom to face Malcolm at the door. He had two wads of
tissue stuffed up his nostrils. The left tissue was clotted with
blood.
"Mr. Johnston, I wonder if you would leave so that Jason and I
can have a talk in private."
"Oh, God. You aren't going to kill him are you?" Ian asked with
genuine concern behind his words.
"Of course not," Malcolm replied in shock.
Looking Malcolm in the eyes in an attempt to read the veracity
of his words, Ian looked back to Jason with a smile and then left
the room without further protest. Malcolm looked to Jason with
malice in his eyes. Jason backed up a few paces at the sight of
him but could go no further when he backed up against an end
table.
"Won't you take a seat, Mr..." Ian said pulling two chairs away
from the wall and setting them face-to-face and close together.
"Please don't kill me," Jason snorted as he slipped into one of
the chairs while trying to remain as far away from Malcolm as he
could manage. "It was only a lark."
Malcolm slipped into the other chair and sat considering
Jason for a time. He noticed that Jason was sweating. He also
appeared to be shaking. His voice was somewhat nasal, most
likely due to the tissues crammed up his nostrils.
"Last name?" Malcolm prompted.
"Pardon?"
"What's you're last name, idiot," Malcolm snapped. He then
took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down and
assume a more professional demeanor.
"Hawthorne. Jason Hawthorne."
"You were there, at Club Monaco, the night of the stabbing?"
"Yes, I was."
"So, what did you see, Jason Hawthorne?"
"Well, it was a busy night, like most weekend nights. Ian was
stoned out of his mind, as usual. He insisted that we keep
dancing. After a while I got tired and sat down. Actually, I became
disgusted because he kept dirty dancing with other men," Jason
said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Then he saw the look in
Malcolm's eyes and decided to change the subject fast. "Anyway,
I was off the dance floor when Ian got stabbed. By the time I
made it to his side he had already fallen on the floor. I tried to
help him while I had someone call 911."
"And?"
"That's about it. Next the paramedics came and took Ian away.
The cops showed up and started questioning people. I gave them
a statement and then left the club."
"That's all you have to tell me?"
 "Yes, that's all," Jason replied timidly. "Please don't kill me
know."
"So, that's what you came to the White House to say."
"Yes."
"I think you came for another reason."
"Oh, God."
"I think you'd better not return to the White House ever again."
"I think you're right," Jason said rising from his seat and
walking around the back of it in order to have something between
himself and Malcolm.
"Now, get out of here."
Jason ran from the room and never looked back. When he
was gone, Ian slipped timidly into the room.
"Sit," Malcolm demanded.
Ian took a seat in the chair just vacated by Jason.
"This is the way things are going to be," Malcolm explained.
"First, you're going to allow me to take you to the hospital for an
HIV test." Ian said nothing. "Second, you're never going to see
Jason Hawthorne again, or any of your other old boyfriends.
Third, you're going to remain faithfully devoted to me for the rest
of your life."
"Oh? And why would I do any of those things?"
"Because I love you, you stupid idiot."
"Oh, Malcolm," Ian exclaimed as he started to cry. "I'm so
sorry, I didn't know."
"And is there anything else you need to say to me?"
 "Of course. I love you too."
Malcolm and Ian sat hand-in-hand in the admitting room of
George Washington University Hospital waiting for their blood to
be drawn in support of their testing for a variety of sexually
transmitted diseases. As they waited they exchanged
embarrassed smiles and shared their dreams for a future
together.
Chapter 10
"So, that's the best plan you could come up with?" Ian asked
as he laid his head on Malcolm's stomach and ran his hand over
his chest.
"I'm afraid so," Malcolm said with a sigh.
"And what do you think the chances are that your little plan will
succeed?"
"Oh, I'd say they're better than fifty-fifty."
"That good, huh?"
"Alright. So tell me, smart aleck, have you got a better plan?"
"No, I didn't mean anything. I was just showing a healthy
amount of skepticism. I thought you'd be proud."
"Hmph," Malcolm grunted.
"So, how do we get started?"
"First, I need to have a little conversation with the White House
Chief of Staff."
"I certainly don't begrudge you that task. And I suppose that I'm
to remain here while the trap is being laid."
"You got it, sweetheart," Malcolm replied, assuming an eerily
accurate Humphrey Bogart impersonation.
 "Well, let's get to it then."
Malcolm dressed, with Ian's help, in a pair of navy blue dress
slacks, sweater vest, and a white, Egyptian cotton shirt. Having
skipped the tie the last several weeks he saw no reason to begin
wearing one now. Stepping into a pair of argyle socks and a pair
of casual, slip-ons, he felt that he had done all he could to delay
his meeting with the boss.
Needless to say, Tony was none to happy to see him when
Malcolm knocked on his door and then stepped into his office
uninvited. Without saying a word he slipped into his regular chair
and allowed Tony the normal amount of time to glower at him.
Then he came straight to the point.
"Tony, I've got a plan," Malcolm began. Then he proceeded to
lay out his plan one step at a time. By the time he was done
explaining what he had in mind Tony still seemed to be paying
attention, which Malcolm interpreted as a good sign.
"Do you think this plan of yours will work?"
"I give it a fifty-fifty chance."
"That good, huh?"
Malcolm opted to skip the smart aleck comment.
"So, what do you say?"
"I say, let's do it."
Malcolm left the Chief of Staff's office feeling like he was
walking on air. According to his calculations, within twenty-four
hours or so they were going to have the culprit behind the multiple
attempts on Ian's life behind bars and the person who hired him
in their sights.
Returning to Ian's room, he gave the thumbs up sign upon
walking through the door. Ian looked excited at the prospect of
being involved in a covert op. Malcolm simply felt nervous.
"So, what do we do until tonight?" Malcolm asked, ringing his
hands in nervous anticipation.
"I know. Why don't we fuck?"
"Oh, Ian. I doubt that I could even get it up I'm so nervous."
"I know I could get it up for you if you just give me half a
chance," Ian said, reaching for Malcolm's belt buckle.
"Come on, stop goofing around."
"Who's goofing around?"
"Ian, we need to think of something constructive to do with our
time while we wait for this evening."
As it turned out, they found that they could get in ten rounds of
chess in a typical afternoon. Then Malcolm began to pace the
floor when Ian told him that they'd have to wait until ten o'clock for
things to really start hopping.
"I know," said Ian, tired of watching Malcolm pace. "Why don't
we go bowling?"
"Don't tell me. This place has a private bowling alley."
"Sure does," Ian replied. Jumping up from his seat on the bed
he grabbed Malcolm's hand and scurried from his bedroom to
the basement below the residence. No sooner had they turned a
corner and opened a door in the deep recesses of the house
than Malcolm was presented by a single lane bowling alley
complete with automated scoring console.
"I don't believe this," Malcolm announced, standing in the
doorway and staring in wonder.
 "Oh, you can believe it. The lane was built by Richard Nixon
who was an avid bowler."
"Incredible."
Neither Ian nor Malcolm had bowling shoes to wear, but they
did find balls waiting for them in the ball return rack. Grabbing a
sixteen pound ball, Ian led the way with a strike which proved to
be the only strike of the evening. After playing several games, Ian
pointed out that it was approaching nine o'clock.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to get clean if I'm going to die
tonight."
"Don't even joke about that," Malcolm cautioned.
As it turned out, the couple showered together. Lathering their
hands liberally, they had a jerk off contest which Ian won when he
backed Malcolm against the shower wall gasping for breath. He
then decided to leave him in this frenzied state rather than going
for the money shot just so Malcolm would be happy to see him
again when the night was through. Malcolm was not pleased with
this decision.
Ian and Malcolm each dressed in their clubbing clothes. Ian's
outfit was far simpler involving a pair of light linen slacks and a
silk shirt. Malcolm had to wear a sport coat so that he could hide
his firearm. Once dressed, the couple was ready for action, both
on the dance floor and beyond.
Malcolm once more found himself walking down the steps of
the North Portico to Ian's waiting Boxster. Slipping into the
passenger seat, Malcolm grabbed on to the dashboard as Ian
peeled out and raced around the circular drive to the North/East
gate. From there they sped onto Pennsylvania Avenue and within
minutes were pulling up before the very busy Club Monaco.
 This time Malcolm tailed Ian like a dog in heat, not allowing
him to get more than a few paces ahead of him as they stepped
through the doors into the noisy club. At the bar, Ian ordered his
typical gin and tonic while Malcolm ordered a Coke, taking the
time to specify that he was interested in the liquid libation as
opposed to nose candy.
Ian and Malcolm then hit the dance floor. Again, Malcolm stuck
to Ian like glue. Even when he found himself becoming exhausted
by the unrelenting pace of the dancing he continued to stick to
Ian's side.
After a time, they took a seat at Ian's usual table where
Malcolm got to meet several of Ian's friends. This included a
rather sultry young man who Malcolm thought he recognized but
was unwilling to give him the time of day. After another Coke and
gin and tonic were consumed, it was back to the dance floor to
dance to the 80's bands.
Malcolm felt like he was finally getting the groove of this
dancing thing when Ian leaned over and yelled in his ear that he
should stop dancing like an ass. Malcolm made sure that his
movements were much more subdued after that warning.
For his part, Ian moved like a live wire. He was all joy and
energy as he writhed and undulated. Malcolm actually began to
feel proud that he was not only being seen with the best looking
man on the dance floor, but with the best dancer as well. But then
it was back to business.
The clock reaching two o'clock in the morning, Malcolm
announced that it was time to leave. Escorting Ian from the dance
floor, he led the way out of the club and waited with Ian at the curb
while the valet fetched the car.
Next, a rather curious thing occurred. Rather than driving down
the street and returning to the White House after entering the
vehicle, Ian drove his car into an alley that ran along the side of
the Club Monaco. There in the depths of the alley he killed the
engine and turned off the headlights. Little could then be seen of
the actions that next took place except that a door opened in the
side of the club to admit someone from the alley.
There Ian's Boxster sat awaiting the lord only knew what. As it
turned out it didn't take long for the fur to fly. Or more accurately,
for the feathers to fly.
Stepping from the deep, dark recesses of the alleyway, a man
pulled the bolt on an automatic weapon and proceeded to empty
the clip of the weapon into the seats of the Boxster. Rather then
sending blood and guts flying everywhere, the assailant seemed
utterly confused when feathers came flying from the bullet riddled
vehicle instead. Too late he noticed that dummies rather than
actual people sat in the seats of the roadster. Throwing his
automatic weapon aside, the assailant disappeared back into
the shadows. Only this time he wasn't alone. A separate shadow
followed close behind.
Walking around the corner of the Club Monaco into its back
alley, the assailant heard footsteps following from behind. Too
late he turned, pulling a silenced weapon from inside his coat,
only to have that weapon kicked from his hand. The assassin
then found himself engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a very
worthy opponent.
Getting in a lucky punch, the assailant was able to free himself
just long enough to make a jump for the fire escape ladder that
hung just above his head on the back wall of the club. Pulling
himself up hand over hand, he was eventually able to make it to
the first stoop where he began climbing the stairs toward the roof.
 Picking himself up off the ground, Malcolm massaged his sore
jaw before he too jumped for the fire escape ladder. It took some
time for Malcolm to climb the ladder and then ascend the stairs to
the roof. When he set foot on the roof he found before him an
eerie tableau lit only by the moon's inadequate light.
Running to a roof vent, Malcolm knelt down as he pulled his
service weapon from his shoulder holster. Crouching there in the
darkness he listened for anything amiss. For a long while there
was no sound, and then he heard a misplaced step over to his
right. Bolting for the source of the sound, Malcolm saw a shadow
dash to the edge of the roof and jump across an alleyway to the
roof of the next building. Running up to the gap, Malcolm required
a few seconds to bolster his willpower.
"Holly shit," he exclaimed, looking down into the darkness.
Feeling that it was probably better that he couldn't see the floor
of the alley so far below, Malcolm strode back several paces
before running pell-mell at the gap between the buildings.
Throwing himself across the gap he managed to make it most of
the way. Clinging to the side of the next building he watched as
his firearm fell from his hand into the darkness below. Damn bum
leg, he cursed. He then pulled himself up only to see his prey
jumping to the yet another distant rooftop.
Issuing a crude expletive, Malcolm ran after his target taking
the next leap in stride. Slipping on the roof of the far building he
twisted an ankle painfully but ran on as if nothing had happened.
He was determined that this adversary would not give him the
slip.
Running to the edge of the roof, Malcolm found that the
distance was too far to jump. "Thank God," he exclaimed looking
down to the street below.
 Turning, he could only assume that Ian's attacker was
somewhere on this rooftop. That meant that Malcolm only had to
check a handful of hiding places. He began by looking behind a
small building with a door in it which must surely be the stairs
leading down. There he found the door locked and no one hiding
behind the building.
"Come out and I won't shoot," Malcolm announced stepping
out into the open. The assailant came out alright, only to
Malcolm's surprise he came out by driving his shoulder into
Malcolm's gut. Malcolm landed flat on his back as he watched the
fugitive dash away.
Jumping to his feet, Malcolm swore when he saw the assassin
jump back across the roof the way they had come. Ignoring the
pain surging up his leg from his twisted ankle, Malcolm put on a
burst of speed and cleared the two alley jumps back to the roof of
the Club Monaco without even flinching. The assailant was only a
few strides ahead of him when they came to front edge of the
building's roof and overlooked a major thoroughfare.
Shooting one quick glimpse behind him, the fugitive jumped
over the edge of the roof onto the Club Monaco sign where he
then hung on for dear life. Not to be outdone, Malcolm jumped
after him. The two men had just begun fighting for a precarious
perch on the sign when they discovered that the sign would hold
one man but not two.
Peeling away from the building, the Club Monaco sign leaned
far out over the street sending a spray of sparks from the wires
that were pulled from the wall. The sign's lights went out a quarter
of the way down. That's when the assailant fell from the sign.
Malcolm held on to ride the sign all the way to the street. At the
last possible second he let go and rolled to his feet unscathed.
His quarry didn't fare as well.
Rushing to the downed man's side, Malcolm was just able to
share the assassins last few breaths before he died.
"Who hired you?" Malcolm demanded, kneeling beside the
fallen man.
The killer looked up to him and smiled, and then he spit a
spray of blood out from between his clinched lips. Continuing to
cough up blood, Malcolm got nothing from him before his
passing.
"Shit," Malcolm exclaimed, taking a seat on the curb and
rubbing his sore ankle.
Looking up he saw that a crowd was forming as the club
proceeded to empty. From out of the center of the crowd came a
weak call followed by Ian pushing his way clear. Ian ran to
Malcolm's side and threw his arms around his shoulders.
"Malcolm, are you alright?"
"Just a sore ankle, that's all."
"What about the killer? I heard the shots from inside the club."
"He didn't come through things quite as well," Malcolm said
pointing to the man lying dead in the middle of the street.
"Oh, Malcolm. I'm just glad that you're safe. But what are we
going to do now?"
"Follow the lead," Malcolm replied. "In a few minutes the
police should be here. They'll finger print and id the man. That
may give us a clue as to who hired him. In the meantime, I have
my own ideas."
Soon the police did arrive. They had several questions for
both Malcolm and Ian. Rather than be interrogated in the street,
Malcolm scheduled a time the next day to sit down with an officer
and make a statement. In just over an hour's time Ian and
Malcolm were set free to go home.
Arriving back in Ian's room, Malcolm immediately stepped to
the phone rather than taking his clothes off or relaxing. Ian raised
a questioning eyebrow but Malcolm ignored him.
"Tony, this is Agent Young," Malcolm said into the handset.
"Yes, sir. I do know what time it is," he added, turning to Ian and
sharing a smile. "I just thought I'd call and inform you that this
evening's exercise didn't go quite as well as planned. I'm afraid
that the assassin is dead." Malcolm listened. "No, we don't know
who he is, but I'm sure we'll find out soon. Oh, and one other thing.
You were the only one that I told about tonight's little outing, which
means that you have a mole in your organization. Yes, I'll need to
know everyone you told about tonight so that I can interview them
tomorrow morning."
Ian looked to Malcolm with surprise and tried to get in a
question of his own. Malcolm shook his head and turned away.
"Yes, sir. I'll be there first thing in the morning and we can talk.
Thank you, sir."
Hanging up the phone, Malcolm turned back to Ian and
allowed him to ask his questions.
"Mal, do you really think that someone in Tony's organization is
behind the murder attempts?"
"Yes, I do."
"And do you have any idea who it might be?"
"Right now, I wouldn't be surprised if it was Tony himself. But
don't worry, we'll find out more in the next few days."
 "Wow, just imagine if it turned out to be Tony."
"Not likely, but possible."
"Or even my father," Ian added, sitting on the edge of his bed
with a look of dread on his face.
"Come on, Ian. Now you're beginning to let your imagination
run away with you. You're father loves you; I could see it in his
eyes the last time we talked. And besides, the President knew
nothing about this evening's plan."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's silly really, but I'm beginning to
see a murderer behind every corner."
"Well stop it. There aren't that many people out to get you."
"Are you sure about that?" Ian asked with a smile.
"I'm positive. Now come here."
Malcolm and Ian got undressed and showered. Ian attended to
Malcolm's wounded ankle, but there was little he could do with a
sprain other than wrap it in an Ace bandage. They then played
one more game of chess before retiring for the night. Malcolm
won, as usual. Ian pretended to pout and then they got into a
pillow fight. Ian won that.
Lying side by side on the bed, Ian played with Malcolm's hair
as they began to fall asleep.
"Malcolm, do you think we'll find the person who's after me
before I'm killed."
"Of course I do. We have to. After all, we're going to spend the
rest of our lives together and I plan on living a good long time."
"Makes sense to me," Ian said with a smile.
That night Malcolm dreamed of vampires and Nazis.
 Chapter 11
"So, you absolutely refuse to give me the names of those you
were in contact with about last night's assignment." Malcolm said
with a stern frown.
"That's right, Agent Young."
"I don't understand the reason why."
"Well now, that would be two fold," Tony Rodriguez began to
explain. "First, I don't like you."
"And second?"
"As I've told you before, the FBI has already contacted me to
inform me that they're on the case. There is absolutely no reason
for you to be conducting your own investigation."
"I see."
"Oh, and another thing. The FBI has asked me to request that
you stop going renegade, which is how they describe you
planning your own clandestine missions. Now, if that is all, Agent
Young, then I have things I'd rather be doing."
Malcolm saw no further course of action than to stand and
remove himself from the Office of the White House Chief of Staff.
Having already made his statement at the police station, there
was nothing left to do but lean back against Tony's door and
brood. Ian was waiting in the hallway to greet him.
"So, what did he say?"
"Basically, he said that I'm off the case."
"You mean he wouldn't give you the names?"
"He's apparently already given them to the FBI," Malcolm said
in disappointment.
 "Well, that just doesn't make sense at all."
"Actually, it makes perfect sense. The FBI is in a far position
to investigate these murder attempts than I am," Malcolm
conceded. "We should leave the investigation to the
professionals."
"Great. And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Wait."
"Wait?"
"Yes, wait."
Taking Ian's hand, Malcolm led him back to his bedroom to
wait. They didn't have to wait long before there was a call on the
phone. Malcolm answered it, just in case it was Tony changing
his mind.
"Hello, this is Agent Young. Mother? What are you doing on
this line? You're back from Honduras. And you and dad want to
meet me for lunch."
At hearing this news, Ian began to pace back and forth in
excitement.
"Tell them yes. Tell them yes," Ian instructed while Malcolm
tried to hear what his mother was saying next.
"You're in town? Well, isn't that wonderful," Malcolm said with a
deep frown. "Well, actually, I'm quite busy mother."
Without warning, and to his utter shock, Ian snatched the
phone out of Malcolm's hands.
"Malcolm and I would love to have lunch with you and Mr.
Young. Just name the place and time and we'll be there."
Snatching the phone back from Ian, Malcolm made a move as
if to backhand his rambunctious lover.
"Hello, mom? Who was that, you ask. That was the person that
I'm currently protecting. Yes, he did sound eager to meet you,
didn't he?" Malcolm flipped off an over excited Ian who was
asking for the phone again. "Well, I suppose I could do that.
Twelve o'clock? Well, I suppose I could make that time. Where?
Well let me see."
"Invite them here!" Ian hollered.
"That? Oh, that was nothing. He just said that I should invite
you here. Why, to the White House. That's right. But mom, we
can't do that. I'm on the job and besides, this is the White House."
"Yes, we can do this!" Ian hollered the next time.
"Alright, mom. It sounds like we can do this after all. So, I'll see
you at twelve o'clock here at the White House. Right. Just drive
up to the North/East Gate and announce yourselves. I'll see you
then. I love you too, mom. Say hello to dad. Bye."
Malcolm set the phone back in its cradle feeling drained.
"Ian, why can't you learn to shut up?" Malcolm sighed.
"I didn't want to shut up. Besides, I want to meet your parents."
"Why?"
"Maybe because my own parental situation is so screwed up."
"Well, if you're a good boy I might introduce you after the lunch
is over."
"You mean you're not inviting me to the lunch? Mal, you've got
to be kidding."
"Ian, I just want to have a quiet lunch with my parents. I don't
need all the excitement involved with having the President's son
there."
"Oh, Mal. Please?"
"No. Now, since you arranged this whole thing, maybe you
should make some phone calls to... arrange this whole thing."
Malcolm said, sounding flustered.
"No worries. I'll take care of everything."
Ian only had to make one phone call. Apparently he had a
personal assistant who he rarely saw but who was available by
phone for such situations. Explaining everything that he wanted,
Ian made sure that the guards at the gates would be awaiting
Malcolm's parent's arrival.
"Thank you, Ian," Malcolm said when Ian was off the line.
"You'll be dining in the Family Dining Room upstairs across
from the State Dining Room."
"That sounds perfect," Malcolm said, looking at his watch.
"Well, I suppose I should be going."
"Mal, it's only eleven o'clock. You have an hour before lunch."
"Well, you never know, they might get here early."
"The guards at the gate will call my room when they arrive."
"Oh, that makes sense," Malcolm said, plopping himself down
on the corner of Ian's bed.
"Why so nervous?" Ian asked, slipping onto the bed and
beginning to massage Malcolm's shoulders.
"I suppose that it's because I haven't seen my parents in quite
some time," Malcolm lied. "And of course, they don't know about
the two of us," he added, coming closer to the crux of the matter.
"And, of course, they don't know that I'm gay."
 Ian blinked twice.
"Do you think you'll tell them?"
"I don't know. Probably not in the White House dining room.
They're reasonable people, but I'm not sure how they would take
the news. I mean, how do you say, a Here's the salt mom, and by
the way I'm a homosexual'."
Malcolm continued to sit, rigidly, on the corner of the bed while
Ian massaged his shoulders. They remained that way for almost
half an hour before the phone rang causing Malcolm to jump.
Dashing across the room, he fumbled the receiver to his ear.
"Hello, this is Agent Young. They're here? Well, tell them to
drive to the North Portico and I'll meet them there. Thank you."
Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Malcolm exhaled a long
sigh then stepped to the mirror to adjust his clothing. Apparently
dissatisfied with his look, Malcolm pulled a tie from a dresser
drawer and proceeded to knot it around his neck. Ian took this as
his queue to step in and help. Together they managed to get the
tie around Malcolm's neck and to produce a presentable knot.
"Wish me luck," Malcolm said at the door. Ian kissed him in
response and with that he was out the door and gone.
It didn't take Malcolm long to make it to the steps of the North
Portico. He began to descend the steps just as his parents pulled
up in their rented Ford Taurus. Valets jumped to open the doors
for his parent who stood at the base of the stairs checking out
their surroundings with wonder in their eyes.
"Hello mom. Hello dad," Malcolm said walking down to his
parents with his arms outstretched.
"Oh, my booby," his mother said to Malcolm's embarrassment.
Then she threw her arms around his neck and buried him in her
ample bosom.
"Come on, mom. I haven't been your booby since I was six
years old," Malcolm retorted, trying to struggle free of her
embrace.
"What? Can't a mother relive the best years of her life?" she
said pushing Malcolm away from her and planting her hands on
either cheek in order to give his head a good squeeze.
"Hello, son," his father said with far fewer theatrics. He then
shared a quick handshake with Malcolm. "I hope the fact that
you're living here doesn't mean you agree with the current
administration."
"No, not on everything, Dad."
"Malcolm, I can't believe that you're having us for lunch in this
wonderful place," his mother said, stepping back and throwing
her hands in the air to take in the grandeur of the moment. Once
an actress, always an actress.
"Neither can I Mom," Malcolm replied with an awkward smile.
"Why don't you two follow me in and I'll give you a quick tour?"
The couple said little as Malcolm led them through the
reception area. Malcolm then decided to give them a treat by
stopping by the Chine Room. His mother was obviously
impressed while his father remained oddly quiet. Then,
unfortunately, his father spoke up.
"All of this money spent on frivolous things when it should have
been spent on the poor and the needy."
"Oh, Marty," his mother said, taking a swat at his arm.
Malcolm next led them up the stairs to the family dining room.
"Oh, my. Would you look at this, Marty," his mother exclaimed.
 Finding that his mother had wandered into the State Dining
Room instead, Malcolm grabbed her by the arm and led her into
the much more modest Family Dining Room next door.
"So, tell me Mom, how have you two been?" Malcolm began
as the waiting staff brought in a selection of food that they set in
the middle of the table.
"Oh, Honduras was wonderful," his mother said. "You wouldn't
believe the beauty of the country side."
"Not to mention the people," his father added. "A very needy
people that we were able to help while we were there. Help them
from the adverse effects of the actions of your current boss, that
is."
"I think I get the point, Dad," Malcolm said. "So, what brought
you back so soon?"
"Why, it was those things we read in the paper," his mother
replied. "News is slow in Honduras, but eventually we read in the
local papers that you were shot. Is that true?"
"Yes, Mom. It's true," Malcolm admitted sheepishly.
"And when were you going to tell your parents?" his mother
chastised.
"Really, Mom. It was no big thing. Just a flesh wound," Malcolm
tried to rationalize.
"And then there were rumors about you and the President's
son," his father added flatly.
"Oh?"
"Yes, the papers said that the two of you have been cavorting
around the city like a couple of young lovers," his father added.
Malcolm opened his mouth but found that he didn't know how
to respond. He tried to look interested in his food, but because
he'd eaten little since they sat down he didn't look convincing.
"Well, who is this mysterious young man?"
"That would be me," Malcolm heard from over his shoulder.
Turning, Malcolm saw Ian step into the doorway leading into
the main corridor. At first he frowned, and then he smiled, and
finally he rose to his feet and walked over to lead Ian into the
room by the arm.
"Mom. Dad. I'd like you to meet Ian Johnston, the President's
son."
"How do you do Mr. and Mrs. Young," Ian said, stepping
forward and shaking each of their hands warmly. "I'm so very
pleased to meet you after all that Mal has told me."
"Oh, and what has he been telling you?" Malcolm's father
asked suspiciously.
"Nothing but good things, I assure you."
"Ian, won't you sit down and join us?" Malcolm's mother
offered.
"Why, I'd be honored to, Mrs. Young," Ian said, taking a seat
next to Malcolm.
No matter how he tried, Ian couldn't stop smiling. Reaching a
hand under the table, he goosed Malcolm who jumped up from
his seat, banging his knees against the underside of the table
and nearly upsetting the wine glasses.
"So, Ian. Tell us something about yourself. What do you do, for
instance?"
"Ah, well. That is a difficult question. You see, I used to be a
painter. But my father requested that I quit that profession to
come live with him when he ran for office."
"Oh, and why was that?"
"I think he had a problem with my subject matter. You see, the
majority of my art involved nude men."
"I see," his mother said.
Mrs. Young looked like she had either run out of steam or was
unwilling to advance into such potentially murky territory.
Malcolm's father looked like he had no such qualms. However,
before his father could say anything else to embarrass himself
and the family, Malcolm jumped in with his own statement.
"You never told me that you used to paint."
"Oh, I didn't? I was sure I had."
"Well, you didn't," Malcolm said, sounding hurt. "That must
have been very painful, having to quit I mean."
"Yes. I guess it was," Ian replied with a weak smile.
"So, Ian. Tell us some more about your family," Malcolm's
mother interrupted, most likely wanting to remove some of the icy
chill from the room.
"Well, let's see. I was very close to my mother, but she died
while I was in my teens. My father remarried, but I'm afraid that my
stepmother hasn't much use for me."
"I didn't know that either," Malcolm said in surprise.
"Well, Mal. Haven't you wondered why my mother hasn't
spoken to me since you began guarding me?"
"I never really thought about it," Malcolm said, looking as if he
was rethinking a lot of things now.
"Tell us more, Ian," Mrs. Young prompted, sympathetically.
 "Well, my father has never been able to accept the facts of my
lifestyle. As a result, I live alone a great deal."
"I don't understand."
"I'm gay, Mrs. Young."
"Oh."
Again, the two couples fell into silence considering what had
been said and what to say next. Mr. Young ultimately broke the
ice.
"So, Ian. Are you fucking my son?"
"Father!" Malcolm exclaimed in shock.
"Marty!" his mother chastised in agreement.
Ian and Mr. Young exchanged eye contact across the table. By
the look in Mr. Young's eyes, it was obvious that he wasn't going
to back down.
"Yes, Mr. Young. Your son and I are having sex."
"Ian!" Malcolm exploded. This time his mother remained silent.
"I see," said Mr. Young. "And do you two love each other?"
"Yes, Mr. Young. I love your son very much."
All eyes turned to Malcolm. He cleared his throat, pushed his
plate away, and addressed his father in a clear, strong voice.
"Yes, father. I'm in love."
"Well, I'd say that's good then," Malcolm's mother said,
solemnly. Mr. Young didn't look so sure, and then he spoke.
"I don't believe it," he snarled. "My son in love with a
Republican."
At first the others at the table weren't sure how to respond.
Then Ian broke out in uncontrollable laughter. Soon Malcolm and
his mother followed suit. Even Mr. Young flashed a smile at the
rest of them before they were through.
"I'm not a Republican, Mr. Young. It turns out that my sexual
persuasion isn't the only thing I disagree with my father about."
"Well, that's good to hear," Malcolm's mother said with a
broad smile on her face.
"I'll drink to that," Mr. Young said, raising his wine glass.
In response, all at the table raised their glasses to share a
salute to Ian not being a Republican. And before their glasses
could touch the table again, none other than President Arlen
Johnston entered the room.
"Oh, excuse me. I thought the dining room was free," the
President said coming to a stop.
"Father, I'm glad you're here," Ian said, rising from his seat. "I'd
like you to meet Malcolm's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Young."
"How do you do," the President said, stepping forward to
shake hands with Malcolm's parents.
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. President," said Mrs. Young.
"Likewise, I'm sure," conceded Mr. Young.
"My, but this is quite a spread that you have here," the
President observed.
"Yes, Father. Why don't you have a seat and join us." Then Ian
donned his evil smile. "As a matter of fact, Malcolm and I were
about to show Mrs. Young the rest of the residence. But I think
that Mr. Young had a few words he wanted to share with you."
"Well, why don't we two hold down the fort while they're gone
then, Mr. Young," the President suggested.
 "I'd love nothing more," Mr. Young said displaying his own evil
smile.
"Come Mother, let's leave the men alone to talk," Malcolm
said, walking around the table to take his mother's arm and lead
her from the room. As they fled the room, Ian took Mrs. Young's
other arm and they all three shared a conspiratorial smile.
"Oh, that was very bad of you, Mr. Johnston," Mrs. Young
observed.
"Please, call me Ian."
Halfway down the corridor Malcolm felt the need to peel off
and insure that his father wasn't going to try to kill the President of
the United States. Hearing no screams for help, he began
following Ian and his mother at a respectful distance.
As usual, Malcolm was astonished by the way that Ian could
step into any situation and simply take over. His personality was
effervescent. There was no one that could resist his charms.
Certainly not his mother judging by the way they were talking like
jaybirds and laughing up a storm.
Malcolm continued to follow Ian and his mother through the
halls of the residence. He even followed as they entered various
rooms that Malcolm himself had never seen. All the while Ian and
his mother continued to share talk and laughter. This only served
to make Malcolm feel like an ass for not having talked more with
Ian about his past.
Returning to the upstairs, the group was just approaching the
Family Dining Room when the President burst from the room
looking rather flustered.
"Did you know that your father is a socialist," the President
said, pointing a finger in Malcolm's face as he flew by.
 "Fascist!" Malcolm heard his father yell from the dining room.
"Communist!" the President took the time to yell back before
he disappeared down the stairs.
"Oh my, it looks like that didn't go well," Ian said as they
stepped into the room.
Having finished with their lunch, Malcolm and Ian led Malcolm's
parents from the White House and saw them to their rented car.
Ian and Mrs. Young shared kisses as they parted and assured
each other that they would remain in touch.
"Thank you, son," Mr. Young said, shaking Ian's hand. "That
was a very scintillating afternoon's worth of debate."
"We aim to please," Ian said with a wink. "I hope this doesn't
get you on the subversives list."
"Son, I'm already on the subversives list," Mr. Young said
proudly.
After they were gone, Ian took Malcolm's hand and walked
back up the steps of the White House.
"Mal, your parents are absolutely lovely," Ian remarked.
"They are different, that's for sure."
"So, why were you in such a rush to get rid of them?"
"I thought we might talk, Ian."
"About what?" Ian asked as they stepped into the residence.
"Why don't you begin with your birth and I'll tell you when to
stop."
The couple ended up walking the residence and the gardens
outside several times as they spent the entire afternoon talking.
Ian told Mal of his happy childhood, his love for his mother, and
how all of his problems had begun when he came out of the
closet. Malcolm told Ian of his struggles with his own sexuality and
his use of extreme occupations to compensate for what he
viewed as a lack of manhood. The two alternately laughed and
cried at each other's tales.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Ian announced that he had a
surprise for Malcolm this evening. Feeling closer to Ian than he
had ever felt, Malcolm simply wanted to hold him and love him for
the rest of the evening, and indeed for the rest of his life. The fact
that Ian had a surprise for him made him feel uncomfortable, but
he followed him anyway to the location of the unveiling.
Chapter 12
Malcolm was surprised when Ian led him from the residence
into the West Wing of the White House. Tracking their progress,
Malcolm resisted when they came to a door that he knew was
usually protected and should have been locked.
"Wait a second, I know this door," Malcolm protested.
"I bet you do," Ian retorted.
"Ian, we can't go in there."
"Why not? It's all been arranged with daddy."
"You mean your father agreed to let us in there?"
"Well, not exactly. But I did find out that daddy will be gone this
evening having dinner with the Secretary of State and I managed
to borrow the key to this room in the meantime."
"What do you mean, you borrowed the key?"
"Haven't you heard, Agent Young, that it's best not to ask too
many questions?"
"No, I hadn't heard that one," Malcolm admitted.
 "Well, it's true," Ian said, slipping the key into the lock and
giving it a turn.
"Ian, we can't do this," Malcolm cautioned, placing a hand on
Ian's arm.
"Mal, your job is to protect me, not this room."
Malcolm had to admit that Ian had a point. And as his lover
slipped inside the room, Malcolm was forced to follow. Once
inside, he stood and marveled at being within perhaps the most
powerful room in the world.
The Oval Office was much larger than he'd expected it to be.
The only other chance that he'd gotten to see it was while
watching the West Wing television series. To see it in real life
was absolutely awe inspiring.
"So, this is it," Malcolm said in wonder, cautiously stepping
further into the room.
"Yep, this is it."
"And this is his desk," Malcolm said, walking across the room
and running his hand along the massive, finely crafted piece of
furniture.
"The Resolute Desk. So named because it was crafted from
the timbres of the HMS Resolute. A gift from the Queen of
England if you can believe it."
"And this is his chair."
"Why don't you try it out," Ian suggested.
In response, Malcolm retrieved his hand from the back of the
chair as if it was red hot.
"Don't even joke about the possibility, Ian," he said.
 "So, what do you think?"
"I think it's wonderful. Thank you for showing it to me. Now, let's
get out of here."
"Not so fast, Agent Young," Ian said, cornering Malcolm
against the desk and playing with his tie.
Malcolm always knew that there was going to be trouble when
Ian referred to him as "Agent Young" . This time he became
somewhat ill realizing that Ian was using that particular title in this
particular room.
"Take your clothes off," Ian ordered.
"No, come on, Ian. We can't be doing this."
Pushing Malcolm back into the President's chair, Ian made it
clear that they definitely would be doing this. Malcolm found the
chair to be incredibly comfortable. It was made of fine leather
which seemed to completely envelop him as he laid back.
However, he had little time to marvel at the chair's comfort before
Ian was kneeling down between his legs working away at his belt
buckle.
"Oh, Ian. Do you really think we should be doing this?"
"I respond with an emphatic affirmative," Ian declared.
This left Malcolm with little choice other than to lean back in the
chair and enjoy the ride. So he did.
Rather than applying his usual gentle touch, Ian was rough this
time, seeming to be frantic in his rush to get to Malcolm's swelling
cock exposed and into his hands. For his part, Malcolm felt the
same desire when he saw Ian's face between his legs, his mouth
puckered, ready to accept him.
As soon as Malcolm's cock was free from his trousers Ian had
it in his mouth and was sucking. He sucked hard this time
showing his partner no mercy. Malcolm's head shot back into his
seat as Ian ran his tongue up and down the front of his shaft and
then started probing, playfully with the tip of his tongue in his pee
hole.
Next, Ian reached up and ripped Malcolm's pants from around
his hips. He had them off and had flung them across the office
faster than Malcolm could say Jack Sprat. Now having
unobscured access to Malcolm's cock, Ian drove his face into
Malcolm's lap sending his penis deep into his mouth and down
his throat. Malcolm thrust forward and felt his penis give a slight
convulsion in anticipation of things to come.
Malcolm was basking in the intensity of the ride when Ian rose,
a drool of precum and spittle running down his chin. Slathering
Malcolm up good with saliva from his mouth, he next began to
strip off his pants. Malcolm was left to pleasure himself as the
show proceeded. When Ian was done, he hoisted himself onto
the arms of the President's chair and reached down to point
Malcolm's cock at his anus.
Accepting no prisoners this evening, Malcolm drove the full
length of his shaft into Ian's ass. Ian yelped in his surprise at the
ferocity of the assault. However, he also threw his head back and
cried in pleasure at having a lover who was willing to deal out a
little pain along with the pleasure.
Malcolm allowed Ian to ride him for a time, and then he
decided that it was time for him to take over. Lifting Ian off of is
feet, he spun him around and forced him to lay down upon the
Resolute Desk. Ian reached back and spread his cheeks with his
hands as Malcolm worked his way between his legs and slipped
his cock back into place. Ian moaned as Malcolm drove his cock
in, deeper possibly than it had ever been before. Still, Ian wanted
more. And Malcolm was in no position to deny him.
Ian panted as he was pounded against the front of his father's
desk. Malcolm panted as well, driving his cock deeper and
deeper into Ian's ass. However, feeling that he was about to cum,
Malcolm began to slow down, wanting to extend the pleasure by
slipping only the head of his penis back and forth between Ian's
cheeks.
Ian moaned and begged for release, but Malcolm wouldn't
give it to him. Instead, he pushed down with the palm of his hand
against Ian's back, pinning him to the desk, as he slowly slid his
cock in and out. As he fucked his partner, he looked around the
room and marveled at where they were having sex. This had to
be rarer than the mile high club, Malcolm thought as he continued
to dominate his partner. After all, there was probably only one
president who'd had sex in this room.
Tiring of Ian's squealing, Malcolm started to drive hard into his
partner's rectum. As it turned out it only required a handful of
strokes before Malcolm exploded. As usual, he was surprised at
how strong his orgasm was when ejaculating into Ian rather than
any of the alternatives that had as of yet presented themselves.
Malcolm was barely able to stand upright as he threw his head
back and howled.
Stepping back and quivering as he worked his full length from
Ian's ass, Malcolm felt somewhat excited and uncomfortable at
the fact that it was now his turn. Spanking him with a riding crop,
about which Malcolm had no warning, Ian maneuvered Malcolm
into the center of the office. There he moved a small desk out of
the way so that they would have clear access to the Presidential
seal embossed in the rug on the floor.
 "Where did you get that thing?"
Ian didn't answer. Instead, spanking Malcolm several times
with the whip, Ian ordered him to kneel down on the seal. Then he
really began to go to town on him with the riding crop.
"You nasty, little bitch," Ian called out as he worked the whip
back and forth across Malcolm's bare ass.
Rather than finding this treatment unpleasurable, Malcolm was
surprised when he found himself growing hard in response. In
fact, the harder that Ian lashed at him the harder he found that he
was becoming. Panting for breath, Malcolm bent low to the floor,
thrusting his ass up, eager for the abuse.
For a time, Ian stopped ministering to Malcolm's exposed
buttocks. Finally looking back, Malcolm found that Ian had peeled
the rest his clothes off to expose the fact that he was dressed in
strips and straps of leather which could only just be considered
an outfit.
Feeling that he was becoming even harder at the idea of
having a dominator working away at him, Malcolm reached down
between his legs to start stroking himself. The insertion of Ian's
rock hard cock into his ass came as a total surprise. Malcolm
nearly cried out that it was too much and too fast but in the end
forced his hips backward greedy for more.
"Fuck me, Ian. Fuck me hard," Malcolm pleaded as he
lowered his forehead onto the Presidential seal.
Full of cock to the brim, Malcolm dug his fingers into the carpet
just trying to ride things out as he was brutalized by his partner.
Feeling as if he could take no more, he screamed in satisfaction,
begging for more. Ian was at him a short time longer before his
loins began to quiver and he shot his load into Malcolm's up
thrust ass. Looking down, Malcolm saw that he himself had cum
onto the seal of the President.
"Oh my lord, Ian," Malcolm exclaimed. "That was possibly the
most intense experience of my life."
That's when they heard the door rattle behind them as if
someone was letting themselves in. Gathering his clothes, Ian
quickly dashed for a door at the opposite end of the room. Trying
the handle, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He was even
more surprised when he opened the door to find a closet
awaiting him.
"Oh, shit," Malcolm exclaimed.
"Never mind, get in," Ian ordered.
No sooner had they entered the small closet than the door to
the Oval Office opened and President Johnston let himself in,
followed by his Secretary of State and several other people.
Neither Ian nor Malcolm could clearly hear what they were saying
but they both moaned when it sounded as if the entire party had
seated themselves on the two couches positioned in the center of
the room.
The two of them remained in the closet while Ian tried to figure
out his clothes in the dark. Raising his leg, Ian planted and
inadvertent knee against the closet door and by so doing forced
it open. Rather than remain on display, clutched together in the
closet, the couple decided to walk out and introduce themselves.
"Good evening. I'm the President's son," Ian announced,
stepping out of the closet wearing a scanty, leather outfit.
"Good evening. I'd rather not be remembered," Malcolm said
as he walked from the closet wearing no pants.
"I believe these are yours," the President said, holding out a
pair of slacks to Malcolm.
"Thank you, Mr. President," Malcolm said, taking the slacks
and sliding into them.
Holding hands, the couple then left the room.
"I'd rather that you pretend you didn't see that," the President
requested of his guests as Ian and Malcolm slipped from the
room.
Once outside, Malcolm was horrified by what had happened.
Standing in the hallway, he slapped himself in the head with open
hands while Ian got dressed. All the time the Secret Service
agent guarding the door watched them and smiled.
"I can't believe we got caught having sex in the Oval Office,"
Malcolm said as Ian led him down the hall.
"Well, we didn't actually get caught having sex."
"Close enough. Now what are we going to do?"
"I know, let's have sex on the White House lawn," Ian
suggested with a chuckle.
Looking up in pain, Malcolm showed by his look that he didn't
appreciate the humor. Ian smiled at him, but it did no good. At a
loss as to what to do, Ian suggested an array of activities
including clubbing, swimming, and bowling. Malcolm rejected all
of them.
"You know what your problem is? You're in a rut," Ian
announced. "I thought that having fun in the Oval Office would get
you out of it, but I was apparently wrong."
"Please Ian, don't try to get me out of my rut any more,"
Malcolm pleaded.
"Oh, you," Ian exclaimed, ruffling Malcolm's hair.
 The only thing left to do was to go back to Ian's room and
watch television. They began watching reruns of Will and Grace,
but Malcolm changed the channel not finding the program
amusing in the slightest.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do with you," Ian said, curly
up in bed beside Malcolm.
"I don't know," Malcolm said, sounding blase. "Maybe it's just
that this has been a very long day."
"Maybe you're right," Ian said in encouragement.
With the lights out, Ian continued to pet Malcolm as they fell
asleep. Sensing through Malcolm's tenseness that his
ministrations were not working, Ian released a sigh of frustration
and leaned over to make eye-to-eye contact.
"So, what's it to be, Agent Young? Sleep or more Will and
Grace."
"Oh, God. Don't tease me any more."
Ian sighed.
"Ian, do you ever wish that you were straight?"
"No? And you?"
"Yeah, like every day," Malcolm said enthusiastically. Sensing
that he may have hurt Ian's feelings, he tried to explain." It
certainly would make life a lot easier."
"But then the two of us would never have met."
"That's true," Malcolm conceded.
But Ian wasn't satisfied with the lack of earnestness in his
voice. So, he dug his thumb into Malcolm's side producing a
satisfactory squirm and giggle.
 "Alright, it's true. I wouldn't want to be straight because that
would mean I'd never have fallen in love with you."
"That's better," Ian said with a sigh, lying back down.
That night, Malcolm dreamed of scorpions and spiders, and
goose stepping Nazis in high heels.
Chapter 13
Malcolm rose early the next morning, before the sun, in a bit of
a funk. After all, he had just been caught the evening before in the
oval office, without authorization to be there, and with his pants
off. As he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands,
moping, he fully expected the Secret Service to arrive at any
moment to arrest him. To his relief and to some extent his
disappointment, no one came for him.
As the sun slowly rose, so did Ian. He didn't say a word.
Apparently sensing the mood that Malcolm was in, he laid his
head on Malcolm's back and ran his hands over the smooth
muscles of his neck and shoulders in an attempt to sooth him.
This did nothing to allay Malcolm's fears and concerns, but
Malcolm appreciated the thought all the same.
"So, what do you think we should do today?" Ian mumbled with
his face still pinned against Malcolm's back.
"I don't know. What do you think your father is going to do
about last night?"
"Oh, come on, Mal. Is that what you're sulking about?"
"Of course."
"Well, he won't do anything, that's what. I've been fucking with
daddy for years and he hasn't done anything yet. I think that
having to put up with me is a condition of my imprisonment in his
home."
"Easy for you to say, but I'm not the President's son."
"No, you're the President's son's boyfriend. And no harm has
come to any of my boyfriends yet."
"So, you don't think anything will come of last night's tom
foolery?"
"No, I do not," Ian said, pulling Malcolm back onto the bed and
flashing a dazzling smile into his face. "Now, does that make you
feel any better?"
"Much," Malcolm admitted breathing a sigh of relief.
"Now, I put it to you again. What should we do today?"
"How about a swim?"
"Race you to the pool," Ian said, jumping up from the bed and
racing out the door without a stitch of clothing on.
Being more demure, Malcolm ran to the bathroom for a robe
before he followed Ian out the door. Running through the garden
he arrived in the pool room well behind Ian. There he found that
Ian hadn't even bothered putting on his suit before he dove in.
Never having been disturbed while in the pool room before,
Malcolm decided to cast off his robe along with his inhibition and
join Ian in a casual skinny dip.
Beginning with playful splashing and cuddling, it didn't take
long before the race was on. This time Malcolm made sure that
he began the race so that he had a considerable head start. He
knew that Ian would call foul but then he also knew that he was
very likely to win the race. The race lasted twelve laps before
each of the contestants bobbed to the service after air.
"You cheated," Ian protested.
 "Yes, but I also won," Malcolm responded, raising his fists in
the air in victory.
Cradling Ian in his arms, Ian wrapped his legs around
Malcolm's waist and they kissed as Malcolm toted Ian around the
pool. Feeling that they were each getting hard, Malcolm
suggested that they head back to Ian's bed room to take care of
things. To his surprise, Ian refused, breaking contact and running
back to his room sopping wet. Malcolm grabbed his bathrobe
once out of the pool and gave chase. When he made it back to
Ian's room he found that Ian was already in the shower. Rather
than having another jerk off contest, losing, and then being left in
agony, Malcolm opted to wait for Ian to exit the shower before he
entered.
"So, Mal. Have you gotten over the shock of last night's
surprise?"
"Just barely," Malcolm admitted.
"Good. Then maybe you won't be too concerned to hear that I
have another surprise for you this afternoon."
Malcolm stopped lathering his face and looked toward the
source of Ian's voice in lathery concern. Malcolm really didn't want
any more surprises, but then again he didn't want to hurt Ian's
feelings either.
"Maybe you should give me a hint about what this surprise is,"
Malcolm suggested. "That way I won't be too surprised when it
happens."
"Do you think that's wise?"
"Yes, I definitely do."
"Well, it involves the second most important room in the
world?"
 "The Vice President's Office?"
"Not even close," Ian told him with a chuckle.
"Why don't you just tell me Ian," Malcolm pleaded. "After
yesterday I'm not sure if I can take any more surprises."
"Nope."
And that was that. Malcolm felt his nerves getting on edge at
the thought of all the unpleasant possibilities. The second most
important room in the world, Malcolm thought. It couldn't be
something related to our nuclear arsenal, could it? And it couldn't
possibly be the Kremlin. Malcolm had to accept the fact that he
was at a loss and Ian was once more in the driver's seat. God
save us all.
"Of course, you know what the problem is?" Ian asked.
"No, what is it?"
"It's only seven o'clock in the morning and your present won't
be ready until late this afternoon."
"Oh, that is too bad."
"You know what I suggest?"
"What's that?"
"Let's have breakfast."
"A wonderful idea."
The two once more raced each other, this time through the
halls of the residence to the kitchen. There they found the chef
already baking fresh bread and croissants for the day's various
snacks, lunches, and dinners. Ian and Malcolm ordered up eggs,
sausage, and hash browns which the chef was all too happy to
set to cooking. Meanwhile, the couple took up seats at a small
table in the kitchen to await their fare.
"So, Andre," Ian said, addressing the chef. "What's the most
extravagant meal that you've ever cooked?"
"Oh, that's simple," Andre announced as he attended their
food at the stove. "That would be a thirteen course meal that I
prepared for a visit by the Queen of England."
"Sound's extravagant."
"Of course, the meal I prepared recently for the Prime Minister
of Japan wasn't bad."
"Oh, we were there," Ian said, excitedly.
"And what did you think?"
"The meal was very good," Ian assured him.
"Yes, I was there too and the meal was the best part of the
evening," Malcolm said. Ian reached across and pinched
Malcolm on the leg for disparaging his best evening ever.
"And here you are," Andre announced. "Two ham, cheese,
and asparagus omelets with farm fresh sausage, hash browns,
and fresh baked wheat toast."
"Oh my, but this looks wonderful," Ian observed, pulling his
plate closer and wafting the rising steam to his nose.
"And to top it off, fresh squeezed orange juice. Bon Appetit."
Ian and Malcolm dug in like two pigs at a feeding troth. As they
proceeded to stuff their faces, they eventually realized that they
should slow down and enjoy the fare in deference to the chef. But
Andre assured them that he loved to see a healthy appetite, so
they continued to gorge instead. Eventually they arrived at the
bottom of their plates with nothing left to do but lick them clean.
And Malcolm started to do so before Ian slapped at him playfully.
 "Now what?" Malcolm asked, turning to address Ian.
"How about a trip to the Smithsonian. I think I can even get us
in for some behind the scenes tours."
"Ian, I never knew you were such a history buff."
"You bet. Can't get enough of it. So, what do you say?"
"Let's go."
"There's only one problem."
"What's that?"
"I think that the majority of the museums don't open until ten
o'clock."
"Well then, let's take a stroll around the mall on the way there."
So, expressing their gratitude for a sumptuous breakfast to
Andre, they left the White House via the North/East Gate to tour
the mall. Walking across the wide expanse of The Eclipse, they
arrived at the Washington Monument and from there decided to
circle the tidal basin and visit the Jefferson Monument before
heading back up to the mall and the Smithsonian. That's where
the argument began.
Ian wanted to show Malcolm the National Art Museum;
whereas, Malcolm wanted to go directly to the National Air and
Space Museum. A game of rock, paper, and scissors decided
the debate in Ian's favor. Malcolm promised not to roll his eyes
too much as he was led to the art museum.
When they arrived at the gates, Ian's suspicion was confirmed
as he was given instructions to meet a museum representative
later for a backroom tour of the Art Museum. Thanking the
managers of the museum, Ian looked ecstatic as he led Malcolm
into this hollowed house of learning. Ian showed Malcolm works
by Renoir and Van Gogh, Monet and Picasso. Within half and
hour, Malcolm was bored. Rather than listen to him whine all
morning, Ian consented to be dragged to the Air and Space
Museum where Malcolm cavorted amongst the displays like a
young boy.
"Malcolm, how am I ever going to cram any culture into you if
you continue to resist me to play with toys instead?"
"Yes, but look at the size of these toys," Malcolm replied,
pointing to the ceiling where one of the full size, original X-15
hypersonic test planes hung.
"You child," Ian said with a sigh.
Malcolm grabbed his hand and led him deeper into the
museum. There they saw the original Wright Brother's flier, the
Spirit of Saint Louis, the Apollo 11 Command Module Columbia,
and an actual moon rock. Malcolm was beside himself with
excitement. Ian tried to seem interested as Malcolm marveled
over the displays.
"Just imagine, the rock in this display case came all the way
from the moon."
"Looks an awful lot like rocks on earth, doesn't it," Ian
commented.
"Yeah, I suppose it does. But just think of where it came from,"
Malcolm replied in excitement.
Then Malcolm led Ian to the crown jewels as far as he was
concerned. The display of the Univac 1232 Computer. This early
computer was the grandfather to many later entries including an
original Apple Computer, which they had on display, and one of
the first IBM Dual Floppy computers. Malcolm was in heaven. Ian
looked like he was afraid he'd fallen in love with a moron.
 Having spent the bulk of the day in the Air and Space
Museum, Ian was relieved when he was finally allowed to exit the
museum and catch a breath of fresh air.
"Well, did you have a good time?" Ian asked.
"You bet," Malcolm said enthusiastically, having to adjust his
space helmet on his head so that he could see Ian clearly.
"Why don't you take that thing off now," Ian suggested in
annoyance.
"Oh, yeah," Malcolm agreed, slipping the helmet off his head
and carrying it at his side as would a real astronaut. "What's
next?"
"Next is your little surprise," Ian announced.
Malcolm said nothing. Instead he continued to eat from his
cotton candy until it was gone. His mouth and lips were colored
pink as a result. Stepping out onto Jefferson Drive, Malcolm was
surprised when a limousine pulled to the curb and the driver
jumped out to open the door for them. Climbing into the limo the
two were whisked off to sights unknown.
Malcolm started to become concerned when he found that
they were approaching Andrews Air Force Base. Once there they
skipped the normal departure gates and waited while private
gates were opened allowing them to drive onto the field. Malcolm
stared out the windows in wonder as they pulled to a stop. The
driver opened the door and the couple stepped out onto the
tarmac.
"Oh, no, Ian," Malcolm said looking up at the massive 747.
"You haven't actually hijacked Air Force One, have you?"
"Don't be silly. We're only going to borrow it for the evening."
 Taking Malcolm's arm, Ian proceeded to guide Malcolm to the
stairs leading up to the side of the aircraft. Malcolm followed in
shock for a while but then pulled back before setting foot on the
portable stairs.
"No, Ian. We can't do this. We'll really get in trouble this time if
we do."
"As you like it," Ian said, breaking away and running up the set
of stairs. Watching him, Malcolm saw that at the top of the stairs
he was met by a Secret Service agent who checked him out
before admitting him to the plane. Suspicious, Malcolm made his
own way up the stairs and entered the plane. There he was
greeted by the President and First Lady.
"Welcome aboard, Malcolm," the President said, shaking his
hand. "Glad you could make it."
"Sir, about last night," Malcolm began.
"Oh, don't mention it, son," the President assured him.
"But really, sir," Malcolm tried to continue.
"I said don't mention it!" the President shouted. Then as if
nothing had happened, he resumed his previous calm.
"Mrs. Johnston," Malcolm said to the First Lady. She
completely ignored him.
"Come on, Malcolm," Ian said, grabbing his shirt sleeve and
guiding him back into the plane. "Man, you certainly know how to
push the old man's buttons," he said, laughing.
"Ian, you should have told me," Malcolm insisted. "I actually
thought you had hijacked the plane."
"Come on Malcolm, get real. This isn't exactly like stealing the
keys to the old man's office."
 "I guess you're right," Malcolm said as he was led past rows of
seats filled with various functionaries on their way to the guest
facilities. Malcolm took a seat in the large, comfortable chair and
breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey, this is nice," he commented.
"You sound surprised."
"No, it's just that it doesn't feel like and airplane."
"I suppose you're right."
"By the way, where are we headed?"
"That's part of the surprise."
Malcolm began to feel antsy about not knowing their
destination, and then he became very antsy as the President sat
down in the seat beside him and clapped him on the knee.
"So, how's it going lad?" he asked in a congenial voice.
"Can't complain, sir."
"That's good. That's good," the President said. Then he turned
to address Ian.
"Son, I believe that your mother had something she wanted to
discuss with you in the Presidential Suite at the front of the
plane."
"You mean your wife, don't you?"
The President said nothing in reply.
"Oh, I just bet she has something to say to me," Ian said in a
voice dripping with contempt.
"Would you please give your old man a break and see what it
is?"
"Sure, pop," Ian said, rising from his seat and walking to the
front of the plane.
 The President watched Ian until he was out of ear shot before
he began speaking again.
"I'm not sure if you know this, but Ian and his mother don't
exactly get along."
"You mean his stepmother, don't you?" Malcolm asked,
innocently.
"Yes, of course. That's exactly what I mean," the President
said, sounding hurt.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything."
"Yes, of course you didn't." Then he looked like he was
prepared to confide something to Malcolm. "It's just that it's been
hard all of these years, trying to keep the family together."
"I would image that's very difficult, sir."
"Would you mind cooling it with the a sir'crap?" the President
asked to Malcolm's surprise. "I get enough of that from my staff."
"Yes, Arlen. I think I can do that."
"You know that Tony hates you."
"Yes."
"He's not too fond of my son either."
"Yes, I'm aware of that as well."
"I thought you might be. I just figured I should mention it just
incase."
"I appreciate that, Arlen."
"Anyway, it's been long enough that I should probably step
back and separate the other two family members."
"Do you really expect it to be that bad?"
 The President didn't have a chance to respond before the
door to his quarters was thrown open and Ian came striding to the
back of the plane.
"That utter and complete b-" Ian began.
"Ian!" Malcolm cautioned before he could finish.
"I better go back and clean up the wreckage," the President
said, rising. "Thanks son. Thanks a lot."
Ian plopped himself down in a seat and proceeded to fume.
Malcolm was afraid to ask what he was so upset about, so
instead he reached an arm around his back and tried to comfort
him. Finally, Ian's breathing started to slow.
"I'm not sure that I can share this plane with that woman," Ian
suggested. "It's not big enough for the two of us."
"Come now, Ian. It couldn't have been that bad." Ian turned and
glared darts through Malcolm's head. "Could it?"
"Maybe we should get off and catch a later flight," Ian
suggested.
"I don't know. This all looks pretty comfortable to me."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Besides, this way I can be sure
that the witch hasn't planted a bomb on our plane."
As Malcolm sat comforting Ian he heard the stairway retracted
from the plane as the door was closed. The plane then began to
taxi toward the runway. Malcolm grabbed the arms of his seat
and dug his fingers into the plush leather.
"Malcolm, what's wrong?"
"I guess I forgot to tell you. I'm just slightly terrified of flying."
"You've got to be kidding. A big, tough Ranger like you?"
 By the look in Malcolm's eyes and the sweat that started to
form on his forehead, Ian got the impression that he wasn't
kidding. Peeling Malcolm's hand from the armrest, Ian held it in
his and started to sing to him. Malcolm was caught off guard by
the beauty of his voice.
Meanwhile, Air Force One taxied to the runway and applied full
thrusters to takeoff. Malcolm, mesmerized by Ian's voice started
to relax. By the time they were in the air he was actually smiling.
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Ian asked.
"What wasn't so bad," Malcolm asked, dreamily.
"Why the takeoff of course."
"What, you mean we're in the fucking air!"
Ian's throat was becoming scratchy by the time they left
Washington airspace. Fortunately, Malcolm was lulled to sleep as
he listened. Malcolm dreamed of giant flies being swatted out of
the air by equally large fly swatters.
Chapter 14
Malcolm woke while flying somewhere over the eastern
seaboard. Before he could begin to panic, Ian started talking with
him to draw his attention. This technique worked fine until they hit
a bit of turbulence which immediately set Malcolm off.
"What was that?"
"Just a little turbulence," Ian explained. "Nothing to be
concerned about."
"That's easy for you to say."
Digging through a small box that he produced from his hip
pocket, Ian finally came up with what he hoped was the answer to
the Malcolm's anxiety problems.
 "Here, Mal. Take this," he said, extending a hand with a little
blue and white capsule in it.
"What is it?"
"It's an anxiety pill. It will help take the edge off."
Malcolm took the pill from Ian's hand and swallowed it dry. As
a result he was knocked out for the full hour the flight took to
arrive in La Guardia airspace. Suspecting that he may have
drugged Malcolm a little too much, Ian tried to wake him so that
he could change into his tuxedo. Failing in that, Ian had to dress
Malcolm himself.
Malcolm did eventually wake after the plane was on the ground
and they had taxied to a stop. However, he was still a little groggy
and had an uncharacteristically broad smile on his face.
"Okay, Mal. You'll be happy to hear that we're on the ground,"
Ian announced.
"We're on the ground," Malcolm responded. "That's good, isn't
it? I love being on the ground."
"Well, it beats being in the air with you."
"In the air. That's good too, isn't it? I love being in the air."
"Mal, you haven't taken a lot of drugs in your life, have you?"
Ian said with a smile.
"Why? Do you have any you'd like me to take now?"
"Not any more. Besides, we want to keep your bloodstream
as pure as rain water, don't we?"
"Pure as the driven snow," Malcolm agreed.
Next came walking, which proved to be an adventure in itself.
In fact, Malcolm and Ian looked like they were engaged in a
clumsy dance when the President himself stepped back to see
what was keeping them.
"What's going on back here?" the President asked
impatiently.
"I'm sorry Dad. I gave Mal a little relaxant to help him with the
flight and now he's having a problem remembering how to walk."
"Good Lord, what did you give him, heroin?"
"No dad, just a little Chloral Hydrate to relax him."
"You mean you slipped him a Mickey Finn?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," Ian replied,
sheepishly.
The next thing Ian knew, the President was under Malcolm's
other arm helping him down the aisle.
"Hello, Mr. President. You know, I really love you, man."
"I appreciate that a great deal, young man," the President
replied, uncomfortably.
"No, I mean I really love you, man." Malcolm planted a rather
sloppy kiss on the President's cheek. And just to prove that he
meant it, he did it again.
"Ew," the President protested.
And that's what they looked like as they stepped from the
plane to appear before the press corps that was already taking
pictures. The President's gay son under one arm of the obviously
stoned Secret Service agent and the President under the other.
Malcolm planting sloppy kisses on the President's face while the
President scowled. They continued in this pose for a good long
while, halfway down the mobile stairway, before two Secret
Service agents stepped in to help. They dragged Malcolm the
rest of the way to the waiting limousine where he was
unceremoniously dumped into the back seat.
"Wonderful. You just know this is going to be on the front page
of every newspaper tomorrow. I'll probably have to hold a press
conference just to explain."
"Sorry, Dad," Ian said on Malcolm's behalf.
"I love you, man," Malcolm said.
Looking across the limo to the seat in which the President sat,
Ian noticed that his stepmother was sitting beside him. She
continued to scowl as the President pulled a handkerchief from
his pocket to wipe the drool from his cheek and neck.
"So, Ian. I see you brought your latest boy toy along just to
make our little family evening more delightful."
"I did it just for you, Mom."
"Oh, please," the President interjected. "Do the two of you
need to start already?"
"I think I'm going to be sick," Malcolm announced.
"Don't you dare," the First Lady warned.
"Oh lord. Here it comes," the President said, viewing the
expression on Malcolm's face with horror.
Fortunately, Ian quickly produced an air sickness bag which he
had brought from the plane just in case. With the bag placed
before his face, Malcolm commenced to fill the bag.
"Good Lord. What do we do when it's full?" the President
asked in dismay.
"Hopefully it won't get to that," Ian said, trying to sound
encouraging. "Okay, Mal. You might want to stop now," Ian said
continuing to help Malcolm hold the half full bag to his face.
Malcolm did not oblige. And as the bag proceeded to fill the
inside of the limo began to take on a certain je ne sais quoi. That
is to say that the occupants of the vehicle looked as if their nostril
hairs were about to catch fire. Ian saw that his stepmother was
also fast becoming a mouth breather. The two Secret Service
agents that were in the car with the President were also turning
green.
"Mr. President. Would you like for me to pull over?" the driver
finally asked.
"Maybe you'd better do that, Nathan."
So, the President's motorcade pulled over to the side of the
highway so that the occupants of the President's limo could have
a good hurl onto the sidewalk. The First Lady was amongst the
participants. The President stood by her side doing his best to
keep things off of her evening dress. Several of the Secret
Service agents from the pursuit vehicles decided to join in. Ian
stepped out to dispose of the full air sickness bag in a nearby
garbage can. He kept the door open allowing the limo to air out.
When the spectacle was over, everyone piled back into their
respective vehicles and they were off again.
"Well, that was delightful," the President commented.
"I really love you, man," Malcolm told the President by way of
thanks.
"Don't you even think of kissing me again with that foul mouth
of yours," the President warned.
In no time, the Presidential motorcade pulled up before the
restaurant that the President had chosen for the evening, Chez
La Vive. An unhappy looking family disembarked from the limo to
enter the restaurant. By this time, Malcolm was walking fine but
still feeling no pain.
They were seated at a private table in the back of the
restaurant. The place was extremely elegant and the staff very
attentive. First, they took the drink order.
"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea," Malcolm said when it was
his turn to order.
"I don't think so, Mal," Ian said, placing a hand on his arm and
ordering for him. "He'll have a standard iced tea with a twist of
lemon."
"Thanks, Ian," Malcolm said. "You know, I really love you,
man."
"Malcolm, have you considered slipping off to the restroom to
rinse out your mouth?" Ian suggested, pulling back from
Malcolm's proffered kiss.
"Anything for you. Where is it?"
"I'll show the gentleman the way," a restaurant attendant
offered, helping Malcolm from his seat.
The way to the restroom proved to be a long and winding path.
Malcolm walked it, but he did so feeling as if one leg was slightly
longer than the other. Along the way he ran into several people
that he thought he knew. But upon greeting each of them
vociferously, it turned out that he had no idea who they were.
Almost to the restroom, Malcolm came upon the bar. Having
forgotten where he was headed, he decided to stop off for a
drink.
"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea," he ordered.
"Right away, sir."
 While he waited he looked for the bowl of peanuts but there
was none. He pointed this out to the bartender who apologized
as he brought him his drink.
"Down the hatch," Malcolm said, and then he downed his
entire drink in several large gulps. Slapping the glass down on
the bar top he said, "I'll have another."
And he did. And he did again.
By the time Ian found him, Malcolm was once more having
problems walking. Leading him to the restroom, Ian splashed
water on Malcolm's face and tried to help him get his act
together. He then led him back to the table where his soup was
waiting.
"Oh, goody. I love soup," Malcolm said, taking his seat.
Judging by the volume of his slurping, Malcolm did indeed love
his soup. Fortunately Ian had stuffed his napkin into the front of
Malcolm's shirt collar or he would have been wearing half of his
soup down his shirt front. The President and First Lady
pretended to ignore the show as they enjoyed their salads.
Ian looked concerned when Malcolm picked up his fork in
preparation for eating his salad. This was especially the case
when Malcolm held the handle of the fork to his eye so that he
could sight down the length of its tongs toward his salad plate.
The preparation must have helped because his first stab slipped
easily through the plate's contents and hit the salad plate with a
loud plink. Before Malcolm could do it again, Ian offered to
operate the fork for him.
"What's this, piss?" Malcolm asked after taking a sip from his
drink.
"That's iced tea, Malcolm," Ian explained.
 "This isn't iced tea," Malcolm protested.
"What's the matter? Don't you love it, man?" the First Lady
asked.
"I don't love this at all," Malcolm admitted.
"For God's sake, someone take it away," the President
ordered. "Give the man what he wants."
"I don't think that would be wise, Father."
"Why, what does he want? Another Mickey Finn?"
Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the next
course. This was a wonderful seafood combination with a whole
fish as the centerpiece. Everyone marveled at the attractive
presentation. All but Malcolm. He was displaying that queasy look
again.
"Our dinner is staring at me," Malcolm commented to Ian.
"It is not, Mal. Besides, our dinner is dead," Ian corrected.
"What happened, did someone run it over?"
"It's seafood, Mal. Not road kill."
"Ian, do you mind," Ian's stepmother protested. Looking to her,
Ian could see that she was looking a might bit piqued.
"Oh, no. Not this again," the President cautioned.
"Don't worry, dad. I think Mal will be fine," Ian assured him. "I'm
not so sure about your wife though."
The First Lady was looking worse by the second. As she
turned her head away from the table, the President tried to gauge
her condition.
"Are you alright, Marion?"
 "I'm not feeling so well. And those fish eyes. I'm afraid that I'm
feeling a tad disgusting."
"Waiter, would you please take this away," the President
ordered.
"Oui, monsieur," the waiter replied, and the course was
whisked away back to the kitchen.
Having finished his salad course, Malcolm was eager for
whatever was to be next.
"Bring us more food," he called back in the direction of the
kitchen.
"Malcolm, settle down," Ian scolded.
"I'm sorry, but I'm suddenly very hungry. I feel like my stomach
is empty."
In response, the First Lady held her hand to her mouth.
Rather than the next course coming out of the kitchen, the
head chef appeared to see how things were going at the
President's table.
"I'm sorry, monsieur, if the last course was not to your liking."
"She said that the dish was disgusting," Malcolm said,
pointing a finger across the table at the First Lady.
"Disgusting, madam?" the chef asked.
"She didn't say that," the President countered. "She said that
she was disgusting."
"Arlen!" the First Lady objected.
"Well, all I know is that he complemented the dish," Malcolm
said pointing to Ian, "by telling me that it wasn't road kill."
"Mal!" Ian protested.
 "Road kill?" the chef asked, obviously becoming heated by
this point.
"Maybe we should just leave," the First Lady suggested.
"Maybe you should leave," Malcolm countered. "I'm sure we'd
all have a much better time without you."
"I think I will," the First Lady said, rising from the table. "Arlen,
enjoy the rest of your evening, alone with your disappointment of
a son and his inebriate lover."
"Marion, please sit back down," the President commanded.
But she was gone. The President tried to stand but found that
his coat tails were caught in his chair. By the time he rose from
his seat to give pursuit, his wife was out of the door of the
restaurant and entering a limousine which had pulled to the curb
outside.
"Shit!" the President said, tossing his napkin down on the
table.
"I don't think he was talking about the food," Malcolm said,
trying to comfort a chef who was looking confused.
"Bring me a scotch on the rocks," the President ordered. "And
a beer chaser."
"Bring me a gin and tonic," Ian added.
"Bring me a Long Island Iced Tea," Malcolm said, completing
the trifecta.
The trio drank late into the night, and as they drank they
discussed their lives, loves, and lamentations.
"She really can be a witch when she wants to," the President
said in a melancholy voice. "I can see why you don't like her
much."
"Oh, dad. She can't really be as bad as I think she is."
"She used to be a gem."
"Yeah, I bet she was great before she learned how to speak."
"What about you, Malcolm? How are you doing with the girls?"
Malcolm's head was lying on the table. He rolled it to the other
side so that he could face the President. Using his fists he
formed a pedestal with which to elevate his head. However, he
found that he had temporarily lost the ability to speak.
"Yes, Mal. How are you doing with the girls?" Ian asked, laying
his own head on his fists so he could make eye contact.
Malcolm grunted and they all laughed. As they ordered another
round, a Secret Service agent approached the table.
"Excuse me, Mr. President, but you've missed the first act of
the opera you were planning on attending this evening and you'll
miss the entire show if we don't leave soon."
"Fuck the opera!" the President insisted.
"Fuck the opera," Malcolm echoed.
"He lives," Ian observed with glee.
"Wait a second. Watch this," the President said.
He placed a beer bottle cap in his hand and cocked his wrist
back near his shoulder.
"Remember this from college?"
He then snapped his fingers and sent the bottle cap soaring
across the restaurant. Eventually it bounced of the forehead of
one of the patrons and landed in his soup. The trio at the table
burst into unrestrained laughter.
 "Wait, let me try that," Malcolm suggested.
Placing a beer cap into his hand, Malcolm snapped his fingers
and sent the cap flying back into his own eye.
"Ow, man. That really hurt." Malcolm said, rubbing his eye
vigorously.
This time Ian and the President led the laughter. Malcolm soon
followed suit.
"Here, I'll show you how it's done," Ian said.
Cocking a bottle cap into place, Ian let fly. This cap knocked
the fork out of the hand of a woman who was about to take a bite
of her Pheasant, Done Three Ways.
"Score," Ian called, sharing a high-five with his father.
"Excuse me, gentleman." It was the maitre d. "I'm afraid that
I'm going to have to ask you to leave the restaurant.
"You mean you're throwing us out?" the President said in
shock. "Why, that's outrageous. Don't you know who I am?"
"Oui, monsieur, but we can't have you disturbing the other
patrons."
"Okay. We'll be good," the President said in a solemn voice.
"Scouts honor."
This seemed to satisfy the maitre d who turned to leave.
"And could you bring us more beer," the President added
before the maitre d was gone.
"Just the caps will do," Ian suggested.
"I will bring you several cans of beer, monsieur," the maitre d
said with a smug smile.
"Clever little bastard," the President commented under his
breath.
"The man gave me the impression that they don't want us here
anymore," Ian observed.
"Maybe you should shoot him in the head with a bottle cap,"
Malcolm slurred, raising his head from his fist pedestal.
"We're out of beer bottle caps, Mal. And he's bringing us
cans."
"Maybe you should hit him in the head with a beer can."
"I could have him shot," the President suggested. "After all, I'm
the President of the United States."
"I know what we should do," Ian stated. "We should go
clubbing."
"I'm the President of the United States, Ian. I can't go
clubbing."
"Oh. Too bad."
"But what we can do is go back to my hotel room and shoot
bottle caps all we want."
"Great idea," Ian replied.
"I'm with ya," Malcolm added.
To the great pleasure of the owners and operators of the Chez
La Vive restaurant, the President announced that they were
leaving. The three piled into the limousine and the motorcade
swept off to the President's hotel. The drive took somewhat
longer than expected because Malcolm insisted that they stop off
at a McDonald's along the way.
The motorcade pulled up in front of Waldorf Astoria Hotel.
Malcolm in particular had fun riding the elevator to the
Presidential Suite. So he rode it down and up again. Twice.
Once in the room, they proceeded to pass out one after another.
Oddly enough, Malcolm was the last to go.
That night Malcolm dreamed of the Wizard of Oz. He was
Dorothy. The President was the Tin Man, Ian the Scarecrow, and
the First Lady was the Wicked Witch. The Cowardly Lion was
conspicuously absent.
Chapter 15
Malcolm woke the next morning with someone's toe in his ear.
His mouth felt like it was stuffed full with an old gym sock. He
opened his eyes to find that someone had set shards of glass
into them. When he moved his head the razors punched through
his skull began to cut away at his brain. In almost all respects he
was sorry he was awake but also knew that there was no way he
was going to be able to slip back into the blissful balm of sleep.
Malcolm heard someone groan. The toe was removed from
his ear. Then a pair of spattered dress shoes was planted on the
floor to either side of his face.
"Mal, are you alive?" It was Ian's voice that accompanied an
investigatory prodding from one of his shod feet.
"I'm afraid so," Malcolm replied having to really work his pasty
mouth to get any words out. The good news was that the gym
sock was gone from his mouth. The bad news was that it had left
its smell behind.
Malcolm raised his head and found that he had been lying on
the floor in a pool of saliva. He was pretty sure that the saliva was
his own, but that didn't make the experience any more pleasant.
Sitting upright, he leaned back against a sofa. He found that he
was in an unfamiliar room.
 "Where are we, Ian?"
"Hell if I know."
Then a door was thrown open behind them and someone
strode briskly into the room.
"Good morning, you two." It was the President of the United
States sounding frisky. "It's about time that you were awake.
Come on, we've got to catch a plane."
Turning, Malcolm saw Ian sitting on the couch behind him. He
was wearing a tuxedo, but other than that he looked terrible. The
President was standing behind the couch leaning forward with his
hands on the backrest.
"Good morning, Mr. President," Malcolm said.
"Good morning, Dad," Ian added.
"What a night we had last night, hey boys," the President said,
clapping Ian on the shoulder. "Well, let's go. You have barely
enough time to shower and change."
"Where are we going?"
"Why to Texas, of course."
"Oh, no," Ian groaned.
"What's wrong with Texas, boy?" the President responded.
"After all, it's your home."
"No, Dad. It's your home. I'm from Connecticut, remember?"
"Could we all keep our voices down, just a little?" Malcolm
requested rising slowly from the floor.
"What's the matter, Mal? Can't handle your liquor?" the
President prodded with a chuckle.
"No, sir. I obviously can't."
 "Besides, what happened to calling me Arlen?"
"I think I've forgotten that along with my own name, sir."
"You know, Ian. This boy cracks me up. You should keep him
around. He's great fun."
"So, what's put you in such a good mood this morning?" Ian
asked.
"It's my first day of vacation and I'm headed home to the ranch,
that's what."
"Yeehaw, sir," Malcolm said with absolutely no enthusiasm.
"Ah, here they come," the President said as the door to his
suite opened to admit a gentleman carrying a tray with two, tall
drinks on it. "This'll cure the ills that ail yah."
"What is it?" Ian said, getting up from the sofa and walking
over to take a whiff of one of the concoctions.
"My own, secret recipe. Works like a charm."
"Are you sure it's legal?" Ian asked.
"In forty-six states," the President replied.
"Is this to drink or rub on your skin?" Ian teased.
The President cocked his head at his son in reply.
"Ah, what the hell," Ian said, grabbing one of the drinks off the
tray and raising it in the air. "Salute."
And with that he downed his father's secret concoction in
several gulps. Some of the mixture spilled from the corners of his
mouth and dribbled from his chin. When he finished the brew, he
smacked his lips for a while. Then his eyes lit up and he started
coughing uncontrollably. He even put his hands on his knees to
achieve full extension.
 "Ian, are you alright?" Malcolm asked in concern.
"Don't worry, son. This happens every time," the President
assured him.
After some time, Ian's coughing fit began to calm down. He
pushed himself upright and tried smelling his own breath. He
wrinkled his nose at what he found. Then he smacked his lips a
few times and looked to his father.
"You know, I do feel better. Thanks Dad."
"Your welcome. Now it's your turn, Mal."
Malcolm stepped up to the tray that the servant continued to
hold aloft. Taking his glass, he sniffed at its contents and pulled
back in revulsion. Then, holding his nose with his other hand, he
picked up the glass and began to sip at its contents.
"No, no. Quaff it, don't sip," the President said, stepping in to
help lift the bottom of Malcolm's glass. Liquid spilled down
Malcolm's face as he tried to keep up with the increased flow.
And then the glass was empty.
Malcolm smacked his lips, distastefully. Then a bomb went off
inside his head and stomach. Bending well over Malcolm started
to cough. After the night before he was afraid that he was going
to hurl, but he didn't. Instead, he almost coughed up a lung. When
he was through he stood upright.
"My God. I feel better too."
"Good. Now, hit the showers, boys, so we can get going."
Feeling surprisingly good, Malcolm followed Ian toward the
President's bathroom to hit the shower. He was pulled up short by
a recommendation from the President.
"You might want to each shower in your own rooms so that you
can shower at the same time. Besides, your clothes are waiting
in your rooms."
Smiling, Malcolm changed course and stepped out into the
hallway. From there he was led by a fellow Secret Service agent
to his own room. Waving goodbye to Ian, he stepped inside and
hit his own shower.
The hot water felt incredible pounding on his skull and
coursing down his body. Malcolm took much longer than he knew
he should, luxuriating in the heat and steam. In fact, the only thing
that got him out of the shower in the end was a pounding at his
door.
Quickly throwing on a robe, he ran to the front door and let Ian
in.
"What, you aren't ready yet?"
"Sorry, got stuck in the shower."
"It was wonderful, wasn't it?"
"The best."
Malcolm ran back to the bathroom to dry himself. When he
stepped back into his room he found that Ian had already packed
away his wrinkled tuxedo and laid out a set of casual clothes that
included Wrangler jeans and a Garth Brooks style bicolor, black
and white shirt. There was even a white, straw cowboy hat and a
pair of boots waiting for him.
Eyeing Ian, Malcolm finally noticed that he too was dressed in
western wear.
"Oh, Ian. I don't know about this," Malcolm protested.
"When in Rome."
"Besides, how do I hide my gun."
 "You don't hide your gun in the west, you wear it on your hip,"
Ian explained.
Deciding to take a chance and not wanting to waste any more
time, Malcolm slipped into his country duds. He notice that Ian
had also provide a suede coat to hide his gun.
"Let's go, you two," Malcolm heard the President call from the
hallway as he banged on Malcolm's door.
"Coming," Ian and Malcolm chorused.
As they ran from the room, porters accompanied by Secret
Service agents rushed in to gather Malcolm's luggage. Malcolm
and Ian then rushed down the hall on the heels of the President to
their private elevator. This took them to the garage where the
motorcade was waiting. The three men climbed in. The First
Lady was waiting to greet them.
"Morning, Marion," the President said, then looked to Ian for
support.
"Yes, good morning, Ma."
"Good morning, ma'am," Malcolm said sheepishly.
"So, he is to go with us," the First Lady said, looking down her
nose at Malcolm.
"Afraid so," the President said. "I'm afraid that Tony insists,"
he added, winking at Ian and Malcolm.
"So be it," Marion said, looking away.
"Now, Mal," the President said, getting real serious. "Are we
going to have any problems on the plane like we did the last
time?"
"I certainly hope not, sir," Malcolm said, trying to sound
reassuring. "For starters, I think I'll take a pass on the anxiety pill."
"Good choice," said the President, slapping him on the knee.
The trip to LaGuardia was uneventful. The First Lady spent the
time looking out the window and ignoring the other occupants in
the vehicle. The President kept trying out jokes in an attempt to
break the ice and win his wife over. He failed miserably.
Malcolm and Ian held hands inconspicuously. Malcolm wanted
to spend the time getting in a little snuggling, but he was sure the
President, and especially the First Lady, wouldn't approve.
Getting onto Air Force One, Malcolm started to feel his knees
shake. Ian held his arm and kept guiding him forward afraid that
at any time he would bolt for freedom. Malcolm appreciated the
gesture since he too was afraid he might bolt for freedom given
half a chance.
This time, rather than leading Malcolm to the bullpen seating
area, Ian led him into the dinning room. There he closed the door
and had Malcolm take a seat. Soon the jet engines started to rev
up and the plane started to move. Malcolm was becoming visibly
upset. That's when Ian knelt between Malcolm's legs and started
to undo his pants.
"Ian, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"But we can't do this here," Malcolm said, struggling in vain to
keep in pants buckled and his fly up.
"Welcome to the Mile High Club," Ian said with a lascivious
smile.
Snaking a hand into Malcolm's pants, Ian pulled Malcolm's
limp dick out and immediately popped it in his mouth. Rather than
try to resist, Malcolm leaned back and began to enjoy the warm
sensations running over his penis as he became hard.
At first, Ian was able to take almost all of Malcolm's cock into
his mouth. But as he slowly started to swell, less and less of him
fit. By the time Malcolm was fully erect, Ian could fit little more than
Malcolm's head in his mouth. Ian then took some time to reach
back and slide Malcolm's jeans down to his boots.
"Mal, have you ever face fucked anyone?" Ian asked while he
licked the precum from the head of Malcolm's penis.
"You tell me, Ian. You're the only man I've ever had sex with,"
Malcolm said, conveniently forgetting the young man in the club.
"Well, it's easy. All you do is fuck away while I let you slip down
my throat."
"Isn't that going to choke you?"
"That's part of the pleasure, my sweet."
Ian backed up giving Malcolm room to stand from his chair
and take his boots and pants off. He then had Malcolm kneel on
the floor. Next, Ian got down on all fours as if they were about to
do it dog style but instead he took Malcolm into his mouth and
swallowed the entire length of his cock.
Malcolm went wild at the sensation of having his cock fully in
Ian's mouth. Then he started to rock his hips. He found to his
surprise that he was actually fucking Ian's face. His prick slid so
deep into Ian's mouth that it was almost like taking his ass. Only
this felt different. His balls slapped against Ian's chin. It was
wetter and slicker, and it also felt like he was doing something
very naughty.
With little regard for Ian, Malcolm slid his hands down behind
Ian's head and started to fuck him harder. Ian didn't resist.
Fucking Ian's mouth as hard as he could, Malcolm felt himself
getting ready to cum. The thought of shooting his wad down Ian's
throat was more than he could stand. With little warning,
Malcolm's mind and body was completely consumed by a huge
orgasm. As he came down Ian's throat, he felt his ass tighten as
he tried to drive himself into Ian one last time.
When he was done, he pulled his penis out of Ian's mouth and
Ian came up choking for air. Malcolm pulled Ian up to insure that
he was alright and saw a huge smile on his face. He also noticed
that Ian had cum all over the floor.
"Oh Jesus, Ian. That was incredible," Malcolm said gasping
for breath.
"I liked it too," Ian said, still smiling broadly.
It was then that Malcolm noticed that they were in the air.
Except he didn't care. Recognizing how silly it was becoming so
upset over something that was completely out of his control, he
wrapped his arms around Ian and pulled him to his chest.
"Is there a bed somewhere," Malcolm asked. "I want to
snuggle."
"I'm afraid that only the President's bed is available," Ian
replied. "But we can snuggle on a couch in the back."
After pulling his clothes back on, Malcolm allowed Ian to lead
him to a large, comfortable sofa in the guest section of the plane.
There Malcolm sat and Ian laid down placing his head in
Malcolm's lap. Malcolm stroked his hair and tried not to notice
that they were thousands of feet in the air flying in the human
equivalent of a bumble bee.
The couple stayed that way for the rest of the flight, with
Malcolm playing with Ian's hair and Ian making small talk to keep
Malcolm's attention away from flying. During the descent into
Dallas International Airport, Malcolm once more dug his fingers
into the armrests of a seat. But at least he only white knuckled it
through a small portion of the flight. Once on the ground he was
much better.
Again, the First Family was met by a limousine on the tarmac
of the airport. This time the President was allowed to disembark
with dignity and the family filed peacefully into the backseat of the
waiting vehicle. The motorcade then sped off for the President's
ranch outside Abilene.
"I don't know why you ever bought this silly place," the First
Lady commented as they drove through the gates of the ranch.
"Because it's beautiful country out here," the President replied.
"Besides, it got me to the White House, didn't it?"
The ranch proved to be a thousand acres of open country
upon which a small herd of steers lived the good life. At the
center of the property sat a large, humble ranch house, a red
barn, and several corrals. The limousine pulled to a stop in front
of the ranch house and the family and entourage slowly
disembarked.
"Senor Johnston!" the party heard a female voice cry from the
direction of the ranch house.
Turning in the direction of the cry, all got to see a large,
Mexican woman run from the house to throw her arms around the
President. To Malcolm's surprise, the President didn't resist, in
fact he wrapped his arms around the woman and actually lifted
her off her feet.
"Ah, this is Rosita," Ian explained. "The only good thing that
came from buying this lousy dump."
 As Rosita worked her way down the line, greeting each of the
family members in a manner befitting, an elderly, Mexican man
came from the abode to shake hands with the President.
"And that's Manuel, Rosita's husband," Ian barely had time to
explain before he was wrapped in Rosita's arms. "Hola Rosita,"
he said excitedly. Then he turned to Malcolm. "Esta es mi amigo,
Malcolm."
"Hola, Malcolm," Rosita said, shaking Malcolm's hand
respectfully.
Eventually, Manuel worked his way down the line to shake
hands with both Ian and Malcolm. His smile looked like a badly
warn picket fence, but his handshake was warm and heartfelt.
"Manuel is a useless, old lay about," Ian said to Malcolm. "But
it's well worth the cost of having him around to have Rosita in the
house."
Having completed the introductions, Ian felt that it was time to
give Malcolm a tour of the ranch house. At two stories and
seventy-two hundred square feet the tour wasn't exactly a short
one.
Done up to look like a log cabin, the house was beautiful. The
family room looked like a picture out of Field and Stream
magazine. There was a bear skin rug on the floor and a huge
fireplace done in natural rock. Pine furniture was used to continue
the effect and there was even a pipe rack on the end table near a
huge leather easy chair which could only be the President's. The
rest of the house was equally charming except the kitchen which
was functional and done in stainless steel.
Ian led Malcolm to his bedroom. Stepping through the door,
Malcolm was instantly in awe. The walls of the bedroom were
almost completely covered in Ian's art. This being the panhandle,
the art depicted the dessert and the native people who lived in it.
Malcolm instantly fell in love all over again with his partner.
"You stopped doing this for your father?" Malcolm asked,
turning to face Ian.
"Yeah. I guess so."
"And you've never had an urge to start painting again?"
"Oh, just every day."
"Ian, you have to paint."
"This is old stuff. My new stuff is quite a bit more provocative."
"Ian, I don't care. You have to paint," Malcolm insisted, feeling
as if he was drawing a line in the sand.
"We'll see," Ian said playfully.
"No, we won't. I insist."
"Don't you think you should see my other work before you start
laying down demands?"
"No. I don't think so. Ian, I love you. Seeing these, I know you
have the talent. Loving you, I know you have the heart. You must
paint again. I insist."
This time Ian didn't smile. In fact, this was one of the rare times
that he looked like he was taking Malcolm seriously.
"Oh, Mal. I would love to. But I promised my father."
"Here," Malcolm said, taking Ian's hand. "Come with me."
And Malcolm proceeded to march Ian down the stairs to the
first floor in search of the President. He found Arlen Johnston in
the kitchen making a sandwich.
 "Mr. President, I've come to inform you that your son is about
to start painting again."
"I beg your pardon," the President said.
"The deal is off. Your son has to paint. I insist."
And with that, Malcolm turned and led Ian from the kitchen. The
President stood watching with his mouth open, hand holding a
knife in mid swipe with the mayonnaise. Malcolm didn't stop until
he had Ian back in his bedroom at which time he released his
hand and started to strip.
"Mal, what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm taking my clothes off."
"Yes, but why?"
"How else do you expect me to be your subject," Malcolm
explained, impatiently. "Now, go get your supplies and start
painting."
"I'd rather draw to get started."
"Whatever," Malcolm protested.
Ian disappeared for a while as he rummaged around in his
closet. Coming up with a large pad of paper and a box full of
pencils, he watched Malcolm as he reclined on the bed trying to
accentuate his body.
"Stop!" Ian commanded.
Malcolm stopped, and Ian drew. They continued to do this for
the remainder of the afternoon. After several hours spent posing,
Malcolm just had to check on what Ian was making of him. The
drawings that he was doing were extremely flattering. In fact,
Malcolm had a hard time believing that it was him that was being
drawn.
 When they were done the floor was strewn with drawings of
Malcolm. When it was too dark to draw by natural light, they
switched on the lights and changed places. Malcolm produced
hideous, stick figure drawings of Ian. But they laughed all the
same. Eventually, they fell into each other's arms and began to
fall asleep.
This night, Malcolm dreamed of Ian's paintings.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Malcolm woke to the sound of a rooster
crowing. That and the sound of Ian snoring. He lay in bed for a
time trying to gauge which was louder. In the end, Ian's snoring
won out.
Rolling onto his side, he wiped a crusty film from his eyes.
Pushing his ass back against Ian in an attempt to achieve a
comfortable spoon position, he found that his new position was
made distinctly uncomfortable due to the fact that Ian had a
massive erection. Trying to achieve the right position, he finally
found that the most comfortable one involved pressing Ian's
boner hard between his cheeks. He then closed his eyes and
began to fall asleep.
Ian started to rock his hips. Having a rock hard cock slip
between his cheeks was something that Malcolm found he could
not properly ignore. So he rolled over. This sent the two lovers
into a sword fight. Because Ian was already prepared with his
shaft fully extended, he was winning. Malcolm gave a few swipes
with his own sword then sighed and pulled away from Ian. Ian
advanced like an expert swordsman chasing his foe to the edge
of the bed.
"Ian, would you tuck that thing away," Malcolm complained.
 Ian rolled over. Malcolm moved back into spoon position. By
this time he found that he too was rock hard. He slipped his cock
in between Ian's buns. Ian protested and pulled away. Malcolm
felt like he was involved in an Errol Flynn movie, crossing swords
with Basil Rathbone.
Finally, Malcolm found peace by rolling over, onto his side,
and pressing his back against Ian's. In this way he was able to
sleep for another thirty seconds before the cock crowed again
and Ian resumed snoring.
Malcolm decided to get up. Sitting on the edge of the bed he
marveled at the art which Ian had created the day before, art
which was now strewn all over the floor. In some of the pieces Ian
had focused on Malcolm's hands and face, or even his feet. In
others he had taken in the entire length of his body. Malcolm was
stunned by the beauty of each piece. He couldn't understand how
Ian could have abandoned such a craft.
"Malcolm, what are you doing?" Ian asked, rolling over to face
Malcolm.
"Marveling at your incredible gift," Malcolm said.
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far."
"I would."
Ian smiled at Malcolm, and then they kissed. Their kiss
lingered and soon they were lying back on the bed rolling around
in each other's arms and laughing. Malcolm felt that it was a
prefect way to start the day. Ian had other ideas.
"Come on, let's go horseback riding."
"Horseback riding? You've got to be kidding me. Besides, I
thought you said you were from Connecticut."
 "So? We ride horses in Connecticut too. Now, let's go,
slowpoke."
"You mind if I shower first?"
"No need. You're only going to get dirty again."
So, Malcolm dressed in the same duds he had worn the day
before right down to the cowboy boots. Ian also wore his same
clothes. This time Malcolm noticed that Ian had provided a holster
and revolver. Malcolm checked it out and decided to wear it.
Together they walked out of the bedroom to the smell of griddle
cakes cooking on the stove.
"Oops. Looks like we're going to have to make a detour via
the kitchen," Ian said.
"I'm right behind you, partner," Malcolm replied.
"And wait until you taste these babies. They're Rosita's
specialty."
Malcolm found it unlikely that he could be wowed by pancakes,
but he took a seat and gladly accepted a short stack anyway.
Then he poured syrup over the stack before forking up a mouthful.
He froze in mid-chew. Rosita's pancakes were exceptional,
clearly the best he had ever had. They were made with multigrain
flour but were as light as a cloud. And the real maple syrup
complemented them well.
"Wow," Malcolm said after his first mouthful.
"I told you," Ian said with a laugh.
Ian and Malcolm devoured their breakfasts which included
bacon, coffee, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Then they rose
from the table complementing Rosita profusely.
The walk to the stables was a short one. There Ian introduced
Malcolm to the stable hands, then to the family horses. Ian's horse
was a palomino named Scout. Ian explained that Scout was
named after Tonto's palomino in the Lone Ranger television
series. Finally he introduced Malcolm to an old mare named
Penelope who was to be Malcolm's horse for the morning.
Penelope was described as a sweet old girl who was sure to get
Malcolm back to the stables in one piece a apparently she never
missed a meal.
While Ian and Malcolm watched, the stable hands saddled and
reined their mounts. Ian explained what they were doing every
step of the way. He also explained what the various pieces of
equipment were called. By the time they were done Malcolm was
no more comfortable with the idea of riding one of these massive
beasts then he had been back in the ranch house. Regardless,
he was determined not to embarrass Ian in front of the stable
hands.
"Now, you mount the horse from the left. First you grab the
reins in your left hand and grab onto the pummel. Next you put
your left foot in the stirrup. Then you pull yourself up kicking your
right leg over the saddle."
Malcolm was surprised that by following instructions he found
himself seated in the saddle and facing the proper direction. Of
course, Ian had to help him lift his right leg over the horse.
Penelope also helped by standing still during the entire process.
Ian then made it to the right side of the horse where he helped
Malcolm get his right foot in the stirrup. Then he had one of the
stable hands hold Malcolm's horse while he mounted Scout.
"To move forward, give you horse a gentle kick in the sides
with the heels of your boots. To stop, pull gently back on the reins.
Pull the reins to either side to turn. Got it?"
 "Got it."
"Then let's go," Ian said, nudging his horse forward with a flick
of the reins while making a clicking sound with his mouth.
Malcolm held the reins loosely in his hands and gave
Penelope a gentle nudge in the sides with the heels of his boots.
Darned if his horse didn't start moving. Pulling gently to either
side he found that he was able to turn Penelope right and left. The
big test, of course, was stopping which worked exactly as Ian had
explained.
Feeling like he had the basics down, Malcolm kicked
Penelope into gear and pointed her down the trail which she
seemed to find on her own anyway. Ian rode behind and watched
Malcolm like a hawk.
About a mile down the trail they came to a wide space where
Ian was able to ride at Malcolm's side.
"How's it moseying there, cowboy?" Ian asked.
"My ass hurts already," Malcolm complained.
"You'll get used to it. You grow calluses after a while."
"On my ass? That doesn't sound very flattering."
"Don't worry. I'll still love you."
The two rode on over hills and through the flat lands. They
stopped from time to time to allow Malcolm to rearrange himself
in the saddle and to take in the scenery, such as it was. For a
time they galloped which Malcolm found too frightening. Then
they rode side-by-side and held hands. It was obvious to Malcolm
that Ian was enjoying himself. He too enjoyed the fresh air and
being away from the turmoil of the city.
It was while they were headed down by a creek that they ran
into trouble. Anxious to get to water, Penelope almost stepped on
a rattlesnake which ended up spooking her. Unsure what else to
do, she bolted for home. And took Malcolm with her.
Dodging low hanging tree limbs, Malcolm was nearly knocked
from his mount three or four times before they made it to wide
open land. There Penelope put on speed. Malcolm had lost hold
of the reins by that time and was holding onto the pummel for
dear life. Fortunately, Ian was soon beside him, grabbing up
Penelope's reins and pulling her back under control.
Climbing down off Penelope, Malcolm staggered around for a
bit holding his ass. Ian dismounted and assured Malcolm that
everything was alright. Malcolm wasn't sure how everything could
be alright when his ass was broken. Ian suggested that they take
a short ride into town for a beer. Malcolm grudgingly agreed.
Riding up to the saloon, Malcolm was surprised to find that
they even had a hitching post and watering trough out front. He
smiled at this, feeling like he was a real cowboy. He even had the
bowlegged walk down pretty good.
Once inside the bar, Malcolm hoisted himself gingerly onto
one of the barstools and ordered two Budweisers. He had to
wiggle around a bit until he found the part of his ass that hurt the
least. Ian took his place on the barstool beside Malcolm and
downed his drink thirstily in a handful of gulps. Malcolm ordered a
second round.
"Well, if it ain't the President's faggot son," Malcolm heard
someone call from the back of the bar.
Looking to the source of the voice, Malcolm saw several
young men, all dressed in cowboy dud's, standing around a pool
table drinking beer. One of them, a particularly large brute, was
walking Ian's way carrying a pool queue.
 "Now, we don't want any trouble here today, Shep," the elderly
bartender warned.
"Shut up, Wimpy. Ain't nobody talkin'to you."
Wimpy looked to Malcolm and Ian, then back to Shep, and
decided to back away from the dispute and disappear into the
back room. Shep continued to advance. Malcolm stepped down
off his barstool to assume a surprisingly relaxed looking,
defensive stance.
"What do you want?" Shep asked Malcolm.
"I don't want any trouble either, if that's what you're asking,"
Malcolm replied.
"Then you'd best sit your scrawny ass back down," said the
brute. This garnered him calls of support from his fellow pool
players who drew themselves around the table to back him up.
"This here discussion's between me and the sissy boy."
"Believe me when I tell you that you're making a terrible
mistake," Malcolm said coldly, by way of warning.
Still, the brute continued to advance, only now he was focused
on Malcolm. To enhance the threat, he began to slap the pool
queue down hard into his left hand.
"Malcolm, maybe we should leave," Ian suggested.
"Good idea," Malcolm agreed. "Why don't you head for the
door?"
Malcolm raised his hands in supplication and began to back
toward the door. Then the brute took one step too many, entering
Malcolm's personal kill zone.
In one lightning fast strike, Malcolm shot a hand out toward the
brute's chest with his knuckles extended. The fist hit with a solid
thud just beneath the ribcage. The brute expelled all of the breath
from his lungs in one mighty whoosh. His face displayed shock
before he first dropped his pool queue to the floor and then
followed it with his body. He fell first to his knees, then teetered
slowly forward and landed face first on the floor in a cloud of dust.
The brute's buddies watched Shep go down without moving.
Once they saw that he wasn't getting back up, they chose to rush
Malcolm. This was a poor decision.
In response to the group assault, Malcolm made short, precise
movements that caused either a weapon, a pool queue or bottle,
or a human combatant to fly through the air and come in hard
contact with a wall or a piece of furniture. After the pool players
were dispatched, Malcolm stood and patiently waited for them to
dust themselves off and mount a second offensive.
Again, Malcolm displayed incredible economy of movement
when it came to dealing with the aggressors. This time they came
at him wielding knives which angered Malcolm. In response, he
broke noses and arms before sending the bodies flying. When he
was done, the place looked pretty busted up and so did the
clientele.
When the fighting was over, Ian walked tentatively back into
the saloon, stepping over broken furniture and broken people to
make it to the bar.
"Send the bill to my father, Wimpy," Ian called.
"Will do, Ian," Wimpy replied without stepping out of the back
room.
Malcolm remounted Penelope and rode out of town feeling
pretty good. After all, it had been a long time since he'd been in a
fight. And after the runaway horse incident, he was feeling in the
need of a little ego stroke. Looking over to Ian he noticed that he
was smiling.
"My hero," he said. "Race you back to the stables," Ian added,
whipping Scout into a gallop.
Malcolm had no choice but to follow suit. This time he felt in
complete control of Penelope as he slowly increased speed. His
ass was still killing him, but he supposed that was just part of
being a rootin', tootin'cowboy.
They arrived back at the stables in the early afternoon. When
they got to the ranch house, they found that Rosita was planning
an outside barbeque for the late afternoon. In the meantime, Ian
and Malcolm satisfied themselves with turkey sandwiches which
they made for themselves in the kitchen. Then Malcolm insisted
that they go for a walk so that he could get some feeling back into
his ass.
"So, what did you think of your first horse riding experience?"
Ian asked, hopefully.
"I've never appreciated riding a motorcycle more."
"Oh, Ian. That's not the correct response if you're going to be
living with me."
"But I suppose I'll get used to the feeling of being humped by a
rhinoceros."
"That's more like it," Ian said, laughing.
Together they walked down by the pond. They skipped rocks
together, seeing who could get the most skips. Ian won, as he
seemed to win in most things. Then Malcolm sat himself down,
gingerly, on the ground. Ian plopped himself down at his side.
"You know, that was an impressive fighting display that you put
on back there in the saloon."
"Aw, shucks. It was nothin'"
"I just hope that I never get you so mad at me that you start
pulling that Kung Foo stuff on me."
"I'm glad that I've garnered the proper respect from you."
"No kidding, I'm serious. You were scary back there."
"I had an excuse. I was defending the man I love."
And they kissed.
As the sun started to get low in the sky, the heat went out of the
day and it almost started to become cool. Malcolm suggested
they take a shower together to which Ian complained that
Malcolm was a clean freak. Picking up handfuls of dirt, he rubbed
them all over Malcolm's clothes and then took off at a run.
Malcolm caught up with him easily, either that or Ian let himself be
caught. He tackled Ian to the ground and they rolled around for a
spell. Then they kissed some more.
By the time they returned to the ranch house they were each a
mess. Dirt covered their clothes and weeds stuck out from their
hair. They walked with their arms around each other which made
Rosita smile when she saw them coming. They hung out on the
front steps of the ranch house swapping stories with Manuel.
"Manuel says that he doesn't ride horses," Ian said, translating
for the old man.
"Oh, why not," Malcolm queried.
Ian asked the question and Manuel responded. Ian laughed at
the response then turned back to Malcolm.
"He says that as far as his ass is involved, he wants to
maintain his virginity."
 "I'm with him there," Malcolm said, still unable to find a
comfortable way to sit down.
The dinner bell rang which got the attention of the three men.
Rosita continued to ring the bell until the President came running
out of the ranch house to complain.
"Rosita, do you have to ring that damn bell so loud and so
long? It's enough to raise the dead."
"I sonar la compana. Usted come el alimento," Rosita
retorted.
"What did she say," Malcolm asked.
"What she always says. a I ring the bell. You eat the food.'"
"That's good," Malcolm observed.
The family, ranch hands, and government agents then all
gathered at several picnic benches to enjoy dinner together.
Malcolm wasn't particularly hungry having eaten not long ago, but
still he couldn't resist Rosita's cooking. Rosita and Manuel had
barbequed a pig and a couple of turkeys for dinner. This was
accompanied by tasty, Mexican style beans, corn on the cob,
rice, and tortillas.
After dinner, the entire assembly moved to a fire that someone
had setup. There the President sang country and western songs
to a guitar played by one of the ranch hands. When it finally got
dark enough, Ian and Malcolm slipped away to be together.
The first thing that Malcolm insisted on was a shower. Of
course, Ian joined him. In no time at all things became heated.
They began by lathering each other up in an attempt to get
clean. This led to kissing which caused each of them to become
aroused. Then they started to play with each others dicks and
soon they were jerking each other off in a frenzy.
As they flogged each other, they grappled for position. This at
times became quite violent as one followed by the other of them
was slammed against either a tile wall or the shower stall. At one
point Malcolm was almost thrown from the shower when he hit the
door sending it flying open. Ian freed his grip on Malcolm's cock
and grabbed his shoulders to save him.
Sensing that he now had the upper hand, Malcolm moved in
for the kill with renewed vigor while squirming in an attempt to
keep Ian from regaining a hold on his own member. Backing Ian
into a corner, he pushed his body hard against him, stroking Ian
against his belly. At the same time he wrapped his free hand
around Ian's neck and stuffed his tongue deep into his mouth.
Malcolm thought that he almost had Ian when Ian got control of
Malcolm's cock and started stroking. Malcolm tried to pull away
but found that doing so would mean having to release his own
grip on Ian's cock. He wasn't willing to do that so they continued
the stroke battle.
Then Ian cheated.
Releasing Malcolm's cock, Ian got the proper leverage
needed to spin Malcolm around and force him up against the
wall. Before Malcolm knew what was happening, Ian's penis was
out of his hand and in his ass. He shivered with excitement and
tried to push back. He wanted nothing more than to bend over to
grant Ian unrestricted access to the depths of his ass, but he
found that he was pinned against the tile wall and Ian was
refusing to let him up. Ian then reached around and grabbed
Malcolm's dick. He needn't have bothered.
Malcolm had a powerfully intense orgasm from the stimulus to
his ass alone. He felt his rectum cinch down on Ian's cock as he
squirmed and squirted his jizz all over the shower. He squealed
with the intensity of his orgasm and almost fell over when his eyes
rolled back.
Ian pulled his cock from Malcolm's asshole and lowered
Malcolm to the floor of the shower stall. There he kneeled behind
Malcolm and reinserted his cock. Long, hard strokes were used
to fill Malcolm up. Again, Malcolm was paralyzed with pleasure.
He played with his own penis for a time since it was still hard and
even wondered if he would be able to cum again. But there was
no time for such thoughts with Ian on his back demanding to be
satisfied.
Malcolm's asshole was burning from soap and friction by the
time that Ian came. By the size of his convulsions, it felt as if Ian
was giving him both barrels. Fully spent, Ian slid from Malcolm's
ass and lay on the floor of the shower. Malcolm joined him there
where they wrapped their arms around each other and rested
enough to be able to stand again.
Malcolm spent the night in Ian's room. That night he dreamed
that he was Indiana Jones, fighting desperados for the
possession of some lost artifact. And there were snakes.
Chapter 17
"What is he doing here?" Ian asked as he stepped into his
father's study and found Tony Rodriguez sitting on the sofa.
"I'm here to bring your father up to speed on how things are
going in Washington without him," Tony replied. "Do you mind if I
do that, Ian?"
The last week that they had spent at the ranch had probably
been the happiest time of Ian's life. During that time he had spent
almost every waking and sleeping hour with Malcolm. The ranch
hands had taken to referring to them as Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid. Malcolm had become a fair rider and had actually
established a bond with Penelope. They had fished in the pond
and Ian squirmed when Malcolm made him clean his own catch.
Simply put, it had been wonderful.
Now Tony was here, no doubt looking to mess things up.
"So, is there something you wanted, son?" his father asked.
"Malcolm and I were headed out on the pond to do some
fishing. We just wondered if you wanted to come along."
"No, I'm afraid I'll have to take a pass," the President replied.
"Matters of state and all."
"Alright. See you later."
But before he could leave, Tony had to get in the last dig.
"Ian, would you have Malcolm come and see me when you get
back."
"Why?"
"Well, if you must know, its time that he was reassigned. After
all, the FBI has determined that the killer he brought down at the
Club Monaco was most likely the only one who was after you."
"You don't say?"
"Sorry, but you knew that playtime had to end eventually."
"Try to take it easy on the boy, Tony," the President cautioned.
"After all, he and Mal have grown close over the last several
weeks."
"Just have Ian stop by if you would," Tony said. He then turned
his attention back to the papers that cluttered his lap.
Ian slammed the door when he left. He knew that it was a
childish thing to do but he couldn't help himself. He then stomped
into the living room where Malcolm was waiting with their fishing
gear.
"Tony is here," he announced and then stood with his arms
crossed and a pout on his lips waiting for some commiseration.
"You don't say," Malcolm replied, nonchalantly.
"I do say. And he wants to see you when we get back."
"Oh? Did he say why?"
"To reassign you."
"Reassign me? Well that can't be the case. After all, how do
we know that person who wants you dead is done trying to kill
you?"
"He said the FBI has determined that the man you killed at the
Club Monaco was acting alone."
There was silence as the two contemplated this news. Then
Ian started to cry.
"Ian."
That was all Malcolm was able to say before Ian was across
the room and in his arms. Pressing his face to Malcolm's chest
he let the tears flow freely. Malcolm knew that there was nothing
he could say, so he simply held Ian and let the grief run out of him
onto his shirt.
"You almost done?" Malcolm asked after a time.
"I guess," Ian replied, sniffing and wiping his cheeks.
"Good. Then let's go fishing."
Grabbing his own gear, Ian followed Malcolm out to the
rowboat on the pond. There he climbed into the boat and allowed
Malcolm to row them out to the middle of the large body of water.
Once there, in the fresh air and away from people, he began to
feel much better. Neither of them fished that day.
"So, Mal. What are we going to do?"
"I don't know what I can do," Malcolm replied. "After all, I'm a
Secret Service agent."
"Can't you be permanently assigned to me?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure how effective it is trying to
protect someone you're sleeping with."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I stepped over a line. Ian, I'm not sure if I can
properly perform my duty any more."
"Than quit."
"It's not as easy as that," Malcolm said, trying to sound
understanding but getting frustrated at the same time. "The last
several weeks have been wonderful. I'll grant you that. And I
meant it when I said that I want to spend the rest of my life with
you. But, dammit Ian, I need the job too."
"Why?"
"For one thing, I'm good at it. Or at least I used to be."
"So, what does that mean for me?" Ian asked, becoming
upset again.
"I don't know. I haven't had much time to figure that out. To tell
you the truth, I've been enjoying our time together too much to
give it much thought."
"Well, why don't you get back in touch with me when you've
figured out our future," Ian shouted.
 Ian then rose to his feet and dove over the side of the boat into
the pond. As he swam for shore he didn't show the same grace
that he had back at the White House in the pool. Probably
because he was weighted down with fifty pounds worth of fishing
apparel. As a result, Malcolm didn't have much difficulty keeping
up in the rowboat.
"Ian, would you stop this and get in the boat," Malcolm insisted
as he rowed beside Ian.
Of course, Ian ignored him and continued to flounder toward
shore. Eventually Ian made it to a depth at which he could wade
at which point Malcolm had to jump into the water to keep up. The
two pulled themselves ashore, sopping wet, and Malcolm brought
Ian to a stop by stepping into his way.
"Look, Ian."
But Ian stepped around him and continued to stomp his way to
the ranch house. He kept on stomping, with Malcolm in toe, right
through the front door and up to his bedroom. There he slammed
the door in Malcolm's face.
Malcolm was about to knock on the door and then potentially
force the door open, but then he thought the better of such action.
Instead, he decided to let Ian cool off while he went and saw what
Tony wanted. But first, he needed to get dressed.
Malcolm was surprised when he found that someone had
packed one of his Sears Roebuck suits. Putting it on felt terrible,
especially the tie, but he decided that he wanted to look like a
Secret Service agent when he met with Tony. As he walked past
Ian's room, he was glad that Ian had locked himself inside since it
would have broken his heart to have seen Malcolm in his current
attire.
 Knocking on the door to the President's study, Malcolm waited
patiently to receive the order to enter. Once ordered, he opened
the door and stepped lively to the center of the room where he
stood awaiting orders.
"Have a seat, Agent Young," Mr. Rodriguez said.
As Malcolm sat in a chair before the President's desk, he
noticed that the President was sitting in the corner of the room
watching him. His Chief of Staff rose from the sofa on which he
had been sitting and took a seat in the President's chair behind
the desk.
"Do you know why I've called you here?"
"I believe that it has something to do with reassignment."
"Yes, it does indeed. You see, I've requested that you return to
Washington with me and, once there, that you be reassigned to
the general agent pool. I'm afraid that your services are no longer
needed by the White House."
Malcolm didn't know what to say in response. In fact, since he
hadn't been asked to speak there was nothing to be said. He did
chance a glance at the President who remained seated in the
corner of the room, looking glum.
"Sir, may a respectfully be allowed to ask a question."
"You may," Mr. Rodriguez replied with a nod.
"Has the performance of my current assignment been
dissatisfactory in any way?"
"Let's say it's been a mixed bag."
"Sir?"
"You did manage to protect the President's son at the same
time that you killed his would be assassin. That we can not deny,"
the chief said as if it gave him a nasty taste in his mouth. "At the
same time you were insubordinate to me, caused the President
to be caught in more than one embarrassing situation which we
now must deal with, and have incurred the undying wrath of the
First Lady."
"I see."
"Then you will also see that you can no longer be retained in
your current position, nor can we allow you to enter upon any
other positions that might jeopardize the stability of this
administration."
"Yes, sir."
"So, now it is my pleasure to issue you your last order."
"Yes, sir."
"Go upstairs and pack your bags. Then say goodbye to your
lover."
"I'm afraid that Ian is no longer speaking with me."
"Oh, a lover's spat," Mr. Rodriguez said, clapping his hand
together. "It just keeps getting better. In that case, pack your
bags, bring them downstairs, and place them in the trunk of my
car which is waiting outside."
"Come now, Tony. Why the rush? I thought we agreed that you
were going to spend the weekend and we'd all return next
Monday."
The Chief of Staff considered the President's words for a
moment. Then a smile came over his face.
"You say that you and Ian are no longer speaking?" he asked.
"That's right, sir," Malcolm replied.
 "You know, Arlen. I think it might be pleasant after all to spend
the weekend with your wonderful family." Considering Malcolm
once more, he spoke directly. "Agent Young, you are to spend
this weekend as close to Ian Johnston as you can possibly get. I
want you by his side at all times. We will leave together come
Monday morning."
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed."
Malcolm rose, performed a crisp turn, and began to march
from the room. He was only just able to open the door before the
President's voice brought him up short.
"You disappoint me, boy."
"How's that, sir?" Malcolm asked without turning.
"I thought you had balls."
Malcolm stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Leaning back against the door, he felt tears of frustration come to
his eyes as he contemplated the weekend ahead of him.
On the brink of stepping back through that door and giving
Tony Rodriguez a piece of his mind, he instead walked upstairs
and knocked on Ian's door. Receiving no answer, he tried the
doorknob and was surprised when he found the room unlocked.
He was even more surprised that Ian was not in the room.
Running down the stairs he did a quick canvas of the ranch
house and still found no Ian. Running outside, he asked one of the
Secret Service Agents on the porch if they had seen Ian. One of
them said that he had seen him riding off on a horse.
"Do you know where he was heading?" Malcolm asked in
desperation.
 "He said he was headed into town to go to the saloon."
That crazy idiot, Malcolm thought. What is he doing? Trying to
commit suicide?
"Quick, throw me the keys to this car," Malcolm ordered.
Apparently the word was not yet out that he was currently in
disgrace because one of the agents threw him a set of car keys
without further question. Key's in hand, Malcolm jumped into the
car and turned it over. No sooner had the vehicle started than he
peeled out to head in the direction of town.
It took Malcolm only ten minutes to drive to town. Once there,
he recognized Scout who was tied to the hitching post outside
the saloon. Barely waiting for the car to come to a stop, Malcolm
had the door open and was running for the saloon. Once inside
he found what he was afraid he might find.
A large group of hooligans were gathered around the pool
table. They parted to consider Malcolm when they heard him rush
into the bar. That's when Malcolm saw that Ian was pinned to the
pool table by four men who were holding his legs and arms. Shep
stood at the head of the table with his fist cocked. Malcolm
couldn't see what state Ian was in but he could clearly see blood
on Shep's fist.
"Stop what you're doing right now," Malcolm ordered in an
attempt to garner the attention of those who had yet to notice him.
One of the people who noticed him was Shep himself.
"You," Shep snarled when he saw Malcolm standing in the
center of the saloon.
"Yep. It's me," Malcolm said, displaying an obnoxious smile
which he knew would draw Shep to him and away from Ian.
His plan worked to near perfection. The only downside was
that as Shep walked around the pool table to greet Malcolm, he
pulled a .357 Magnum from the waistline of his pants. Though
Malcolm was armed, the last thing he wanted was to have a
shoot-out with Ian laid out in such a vulnerable position.
"Wait a second, Shep. I'm unarmed," Malcolm said, raising his
hands to show that they were empty.
"What's under your coat?"
Malcolm opened his coat to show that there was nothing there.
He had never been so happy that he chose to wear his back
holster instead of his shoulder holster.
"Well then, It looks like its time to tap dance on your face, little
fella," Shep said.
Fortunately, as Shep advanced he slipped his pistol back into
the waistline of the Wranglers. Malcolm had only to wait for Shep
to get within distance before extending his fist and sending him
back down to the floor in a heap.
"Holy shit," someone said by the pool table.
Rather than advancing, Shep's pool buddies stepped back
and raised their hands in supplication. Malcolm ran forward,
pushing men aside to get close enough to help Ian up off the pool
table. Fortunately Ian was conscious, although his face looked
like he'd been worked over pretty well before Malcolm arrived.
Only one of Shep's buddies tried to attack Malcolm with a pool
queue. Malcolm disarmed the thug, handily, and then broke the
pool queue over his skull. The rest of the hooligans kept their
distance although Malcolm could see in their eyes that they
wanted to jump him.
Once outside, Malcolm lowered Ian gingerly into the
passenger seat of the car. He took a moment to examine Ian and
found that, although he was groggy, he seemed to be suffering
primarily from surface scratches and bruises. He sure wasn't
going to be a pretty sight to look at for a while, but at least he
would live.
He climbed behind the wheel and took off for the ranch. When
he pulled up in front of the place there were several people there
waiting for him, including the President and Chief Rodriguez. The
President helped to pull his son from the car and carry him inside.
There he and Malcolm laid him on the sofa in the living room
while Rosita brought out cold water and compresses with which
to attend him.
"So, Agent Young," Mr. Rodriguez called from across the
room. "Not even back on the job for fifteen minutes and you let
the President's son get beat up."
Malcolm wanted to get up and clean Tony's clock. Instead he
remained kneeling by Ian's side, applying compresses to his
bruises and wiping the blood away. Before Malcolm could do
much more, the President's doctor entered the room and took
over.
Malcolm stood in the ranch house considering what to do
about Tony. As he did so, he started to breathe hard and his lip
curled.
"See that," Tony said to a nearby agent. "He's about to attack
me. You guys need to place him under arrest before he comes
after me."
"Relax, Tony," the President said. "Malcolm. Go outside and
get some air," he added, placing a hand on Malcolm's shoulder.
Malcolm didn't budge.
"Malcolm. Go outside," the President repeated.
 Feeling his rage break, Malcolm was finally able to follow the
President's order. After spending some time outside cooling off
he was glad that he hadn't been allowed to do what he had
planned. Malcolm had killed many men. It wouldn't have been
hard to add Tony Rodriguez to the list.
Malcolm walked to the pond where he took a seat before he
started to cry. He cried long and hard. Once he was all dried up
he spent some time skipping rocks. He was surprised when a
rock not thrown by him skipped across the pond. Turning, he saw
Ian standing only a few feet away.
"Where did you get that cheep suit?" Ian asked. His speech
was greatly impaired by a pair of swollen lips, but he was able to
make himself understood.
"Look whose talking. Where did you get that face?"
As Ian approached, Malcolm got a better look at the severity
of the beating he had taken. Ian was badly bruised and he'd had
several stitches in his face to close multiple wounds. This made
the rage in Malcolm begin to build again. Reaching out a hand,
he gently touched the areas of Ian's face that didn't look battered.
He then gently kissed these places.
"At least they hadn't begun to work on my body," Ian said,
trying to sound encouraging.
Malcolm pulled Ian close and wrapped his arms around him.
Ian squeezed back, and then they walked together to the ranch
house. Walking through the front door and across the living room,
they ignored the barrage of questions that were thrown their way.
Once in Ian's room, Malcolm helped Ian off with his clothes and
laid him down in bed. He kissed and massaged Ian's body until
late into the night. They shared stories and joked together and
laughed a great deal. Before they fell asleep, Malcolm looked
solemnly into Ian's eyes.
"I love you," he said.
"I know. I love you too."
"I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
"What about your job?"
"I think that I just resigned."
That night, Malcolm dreamed of floating in a lounger in the
middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
Chapter 18
The next morning, Ian's face looked much better in some
respects and worse in others. Rather than being red from impact
and abrasion, his face was now red, black, blue, and yellow. A
great deal of the swelling had gone down, but nothing had
happened to improve the looks of the stitches which were holding
portions of his face together.
Ian and Malcolm showered together after getting up, this time
with none of the tom foolery of the day before. Ian was careful
about getting water on his face and complained that he wanted to
scratch it because the stitches itched. Malcolm washed his back
and kissed his body liberally.
Again there were griddle cakes cooking on the stove as they
headed downstairs. Rosita was also there to wish them good
morning and to give Ian an extra big hug. It looked like it was
going to be a marvelous day before Tony Rodriguez stepped into
the kitchen.
"Agent Young, what are you doing out of uniform?" he said in
response to Malcolm sitting at the table wearing his cowboy
duds.
"Fuck off, Rodriguez," Malcolm replied without taking a break
in the enjoyment of his flapjacks.
"You do like to live dangerously, don't you Agent Young?"
"Call it what you will."
"You realize that I can drum you out of the service for this kind
of insubordination."
"Better be quick if you want to fire me before I resign."
"Brave words, but can you walk the talk?"
"Just try me," Malcolm replied, standing to his full height and
walking to within inches of Tony.
As Tony backed away, Malcolm continued to carry his empty
dish to the sink. Ian jumped up from his own seat and followed
Malcolm, ultimately leaving the kitchen with his arm locked in
Malcolm's. They shared a conspiratorial smile as they headed
out of the house for their morning ride.
By this point in his horse riding experience, Malcolm had
begun saddling Penelope for himself. He found that he enjoyed
the process and that the act brought him closer to his horse. He
was going to miss the old girl when he left on Monday, but then he
tried not to think of such things.
Mounting up, Penelope and Scout left the stable area at a mild
trot. Malcolm then prodded Penelope into a gentle gallop as they
headed in the general direction of a nearby lake. Ian caught up
and rode by Malcolm's side. Without a word shared between
them they knew already what the other was thinking and feeling.
This was beautiful country, and it felt right to be together.
It took nearly and hour for them to make it to lake Wanobi. The
lake sat in a gentle shallow. Standing in their mounts on a nearby
rise it seemed as if they could see for hundreds of miles in every
direction. Malcolm spurred Penelope on and led the way down to
the lake shore. Once there, they dismounted and let the horses
roam free to eat on grass and drink out of the lake. Meanwhile,
Ian and Malcolm took a seat under a shade tree.
"Sure is calm water," Ian observed.
"Sure is."
"You know, if there's one thing I hate, it's calm water."
Before Malcolm knew what was happening, Ian was up on his
feet taking his cloths off. He stumbled a bit getting his boots and
socks off, but then he quickly stripped the remainder of his
clothes and ran for the shoreline.
"Are you sure that's wise, with your face and all?" Malcolm
called.
"We'll find out," Ian replied, dashing into the shallows.
Unwilling to let his partner get too far from his side, Malcolm
slowly stripped off his own clothes and followed Ian into the lake.
The water was refreshing, to say the least. Malcolm felt his balls
shrivel up inside at the feel of the cool wave lapping at his
genitals. Once he was in above his waste he dove in to end the
suspense.
Swimming out to join Ian, Malcolm found himself on the butt
end of a splash fight for his troubles. Rather than fight back, he
swam in to take control of the situation. Wrapping Ian in his arms
he held him tight to stop his thrashing. They then kissed as they
bobbed on the surface of the crystal, cool water.
"I know. Why don't we stay here forever?" Ian asked,
impetuously.
 "I thought you didn't like daddy's ranch."
"That was before I brought the right company."
"Might it be the company and not the ranch that you've fallen in
love with?"
"Sadly, I think that might be the case," Ian said, smiling broadly
before moving in for a deep kiss.
Of course, the two of them had to have a race before they left
the water. Ian insisted that they make a try for the far shore.
Malcolm didn't protest. They each bobbed to the surface about
midway gasping for air. Then they spent a leisurely time floating
on their backs and kicking their way toward the shore that they'd
come from.
Once on shore they had to drip dry before putting their clothes
back on. This proved to be a sticky job since neither of them was
completely dry. It especially didn't help when Ian instigated a
pushing fight while Malcolm was trying to get his boots back on.
Pushing back Malcolm soon found himself in a wrestling match
which covered the two opponents in mud since their clothes were
still wet.
It didn't take long for them to dry in the heat of the noonday sun
as they prepared to leave.
"Hey, Malcolm. Have you ever fucked on a horse?" Ian asked
as they were getting ready to mount up.
"No. Have you?"
"No. But I've always wanted to try."
"Is it even possible?"
"Let's find out."
 And before Malcolm knew it, Ian had his pants and underwear
off and his boots back on.
"Come on. Take your pants off," Ian insisted.
Intrigued by the idea, Malcolm did as Ian had done, stripping
off his pants and putting his boots back on. Ian then had Malcolm
mount up and handed him a tube of lubricant.
"Here you go. Get hard and lube up."
"Oh, Ian. This is ridiculous. I'm not sure if I can do this."
"Well, I sure can," Ian said, and Malcolm noticed that he was
hard as a rock. "Why don't you get down and we'll mount up on
old Scout here," Ian said with a lascivious smile.
Ian mounted up first. He then took the tube of lubricant from
Malcolm and slathered it all over his erection. Reaching down, he
helped Malcolm mount both he and the horse at the same time.
Malcolm let his knees go high as he slid onto Ian facing him,
riding backwards on Scout. He moaned as he felt Ian enter him,
and then wrapped his arms around Ian's back to keep him in
place.
"Ready?" Ian asked. Malcolm nodded his head. "Then here
we go."
Ian began with the horse walking. This did little but make the
two of them jiggle around slightly in the saddle. It was when he
spurred Scout into a gentle trot that things really started to
happen. Even at a gentle trot Malcolm felt his asshole being
slammed by the rhythmic, up and down motion of the horse. They
rode together for a time this way until Ian couldn't take it any
more. Helping Malcolm down off his horse, Ian had Malcolm
kneel down in the sand while he fucked him.
In the end, Malcolm's ass was sore for a completely different
reason after this particular ride. Only this time he enjoyed the
feeling of being slightly raw.
The couple rode back to the ranch with their pants on. The last
few hundred yards they had to race. Ian won. Malcolm called him
a cheater. It was time for lunch.
Again, Rosita and Manuel had prepared an outside barbeque
for everybody on the ranch. The picnic tables were packed with
food and Ian and Malcolm got to share a table with the President
and the First Lady. Unfortunately, Tony was also present.
"Mal, I heard that you told Tony to fuck off this morning," the
President said.
"Yes, Arlen. That's true."
"Good for you."
"Arlen!" Tony and Marion objected in unison.
"I'm sorry, but I think it's good to see a man stand his ground."
"Even when the ground he's standing on is quicksand?" Tony
asked.
"Even then, Tony."
The table was quiet for a time while everyone shoveled food
onto their plates and stuffed their faces. Then the President broke
the silence with a loud laugh.
"Did I ever tell you two boys about the only time I ever went
bear hunting?" the President asked.
"You went bear hunting?" Ian asked in surprise. "Let's hear it."
"It was up in Montana. I was in the woods with a guide. We
were tracking black bear. I had a brand new Marlin high powered
rifle with me. It had a high powered scope attached and every
other doodad I could find including a compass.
"We set out from camp one morning with the fog lying low
between the trees. It was damn frigid that morning and I was
bundled up in every piece of clothing I could find. Of course I had
my trusty Marlin with me so I feared for nothing.
"Half a mile out of camp we came upon fresh bear spore. I
was excited. My guide looked bored. We followed the bear's trail
for almost two miles before we came upon a massive black bear
carving up a pine tree with its claws.
"At the guide's instruction, I dropped to one knee and took
aim. The bear saw us and started to charge. Sighting in on it's
chest, I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger."
The President paused in his story at this point. Everyone was
on the edge of their seats waiting for the climax. Even people at
other tables were leaning over to hear the end of the story.
Finally, the President spoke again.
"The gun went a click'. I had forgotten to load it. Here I was in
the middle of nowhere with a modern marvel in firearms and it
didn't work because I had forgotten to load it."
"Well, what happened next?" Malcolm asked in excitement.
"The bear charged me, swatted me out of its way, and kept on
running into the woods."
To emphasis his point, the President lifted his shirt and
showed everyone a thin scar on his stomach. The people around
him Uh'ed and Ah'ed in appropriate wonder.
"It's a scar from his appendix surgery," the First Lady chimed
in. "He tells that fake story every chance he gets."
"Oh, Marion. Do you have to ruin my fun?"
 The people at the tables broke down in laughter. The laughter
was probably as much do to relief as it was to the comedy of the
situation. Then the President directed his attention to Malcolm.
"Mal, I suppose that you must have some real stories of the
war. Why don't you tell us one?"
"Oh, I avoid war stories unless I absolutely have to tell one,
Arlen."
"I'd be much obliged if you did."
Additional encouragement came from the others at the tables.
Under that much weight of regard, Malcolm felt that he had no
choice but to give in.
"Alright, here's one. This happened during my first tour of duty
in Afghanistan.
"I was assigned to guard duty one night. Earlier in the day
there were rumors that the Taliban was planning a sneak attack
on our base for the middle of the night. So, I was on heightened
alert as I walked my post at the perimeter.
"Anyway, nothing much was going on and I was getting bored.
So I wasn't paying much attention. Then in the wee hours of the
morning I heard something that sounded to me like a Taliban
soldier preparing a bomb near the barbed wire. I came to
attention and quick, especially since two of our guys had been
blown up a week before by a surprise attack.
"There I was, at the wire, with my M16 pointed out into the
dessert, scanning the night for the Taliban attacker. I had my
flashlight on so that I could see but that also meant that I could be
seen, so I moved it around frantically trying to find the source of
the sound.
"It was a dog. It had wandered over from the dump where it
had gotten its head stuck in a can. So, I shot it."
Rather than laughter, Malcolm received looks of horror and
dismay from the people at the tables. They looked particularly
confused when Malcolm started to laugh.
"I'm just kidding. I got the can off its head and shooed the dog
away."
Still no laughter, but looks of relief replaced shock. Malcolm
felt like a bit of an asshole after this poor attempt at levity.
"Yes, well," the President chimed in to break the awkward
silence. "I suppose that's enough stories for one day."
People then started to disperse from the tables to go about
the afternoon chores. Only Ian and Malcolm were left within a few
minutes.
"I liked your story," Ian said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"No, I'm afraid that I'm just not much of a story teller."
"Maybe it's the subject matter that's the problem."
"You're probably right," Malcolm said, brightening up.
Ian and Malcolm spent the rest of the day kicking around the
stables. They shared in the joy of giving first Penelope and then
Scout baths and then brushing their coats. Both the horses
seemed to like the attention almost as much as the two men
enjoyed giving it. They then helped the stable hands out by
cleaning Penelope and Scout's stalls and laying in new hay and
feed. This was hot, sweaty work. By the time they were done they
were ready for a shower.
Malcolm received a hand job from Ian as they showered. He
found that he had a hard time standing upright as things got
closer to the conclusion. When he finally ejaculated he had to rest
his hands on Ian's shoulders to keep from falling over. Feeling
refreshed and clean both inside and out, Malcolm led the way out
of the shower and dried both Ian and himself.
When they made it downstairs, they found that the President
and several Secret Service agents were preparing to go into
town to attend a hoedown at the local grange. Malcolm and Ian
eventually gave in and said that they would join him when the
President asked repeatedly.
The people outside the grange looked surprised when a
limousine pulled up at the front door. Several of the people there
knew the President and greeted him as he headed into the hall.
Malcolm had no idea what to expect as he too entered the dance
hall. One thing was for certain; he wouldn't be dancing with Ian
this evening.
The dance of the night turned out to be square dancing.
Malcolm and Ian got assigned to a beginner's square while the
President and his wife headed to the advanced side of the
building. Malcolm was surprised that with little instruction he was
actually able to begin square dancing. Fortunately there were
many more ladies at the dance than men, so Malcolm and Ian
found partners easily. Ian appeared to already know his partner
and his partner seemed to have a hard time keeping her eyes off
of him.
Malcolm enjoyed the dancing but found that it was sweaty
work. Excusing himself, he stepped over to a makeshift bar to
order a beer. Ian came to the bar as well with his dance partner
cleaved to his arm.
"Mal, I want you to meet Mary Sue. We met the last time I
came here to dance."
"And I swore then I wasn't going to let him go," Marry Sue
added. "I'm sure not going to make the same mistake tonight that
I did back then."
"Well, good for you, Mary Sue. You two have fun now."
Malcolm stepped outside for some air leaving Ian at the bar
with his new beau. Ian looked distinctly unhappy to be seeing
Malcolm walk away. Malcolm felt that he was safe leaving Ian in
Mary Sue's charge.
The night outside was cool and the air was sweet. As Malcolm
stood leaning on a pine fence he thought that he heard a coyote
howling at the moon. Finishing his beer, he deposited the empty
in a nearby trash can and wandered back into the grange
building. He was swarmed immediately by woman wanting to
dance with him.
Several more dances in the beginners square and Malcolm
was ready to move up to intermediate. Ian proved to be a far
better dancer than Malcolm. He also attracted the majority of the
women. At one point Malcolm was afraid that a fight was going to
break out over who got to dance with Ian.
The two of them danced several more squares before they
found that the President was ready to leave. The President
complemented them roundly on their skill, which pleased Ian
greatly. Malcolm was also pleased, but mostly by the fact that the
President and his son seemed to be getting along so well.
Back at the ranch house, Malcolm and Ian sat on the front
porch for a while looking for shooting stars. Not finding any, they
started trying to identify constellations. Orion and the Big Dipper
were the only two they could come up with. While they looked, a
couple of cowhands came over and started rattling off all the
other constellations. Both Ian and Malcolm had a hard time
seeing them all as they were described.
 That night they slept together in Ian's room. While he slept,
Malcolm dreamed about herding cattle and having shootouts with
rustlers.
Chapter 19
Malcolm was up and ready to go early the next day. This being
the last day on the ranch, he wanted to get an early start so that
he could get in a full day before having to leave. In order to start
the day as early as he wanted, he first needed to wake Ian.
"Come on, sleepy head," Malcolm said, poking at his partner
and pulling the pillow out from under his head.
Finding that such gentle prodding produced little more than
grumbles, Malcolm decided to bring out the heavy artillery. This
involved pulling the covers off the bed and eventually pushing Ian
onto the floor. Still Ian resisted.
"Malcolm, what time is it?" he whined.
"Five o'clock in the morning. Time to get up."
"Five o'clock. Not even the rooster is awake at five o'clock in
the morning."
"I want to see the sunrise, so let's go."
Malcolm finally got Ian to move by whipping him in the ass with
a bathroom towel. Climbing into yesterday's duds, Ian
complained that he felt disgusting. Malcolm ignored him and
physically dragged him from the room.
There were no griddle cakes this morning, so Malcolm and Ian
were able to head straight out to the stables to saddle their
horses. To both their surprise, the stable hands were already up
and working.
Riding out toward the lake, Malcolm was able to see his
sunrise. The two of them stopped for a time so that they could
marvel at how beautiful it was. Then they rode on toward the lake.
When they arrived at its shore it was as if they were in a race to
see who could get naked first and get into the water. Ian won, as
usual, but Malcolm wasn't far behind this time.
Once in the water they splashed, raced, and held each other.
The two of them were having a high old time when Malcolm's
senses were aroused by the sound of several horses galloping in
the distance. Looking to the rise, Malcolm saw a group of men on
horseback come galloping down the slope toward the water's
edge, and toward his own horse. My gun is on that saddle,
Malcolm thought as he dug into the water trying to race the group
to his firearm.
Ian had apparently seen the riders too. He started for shore
ahead of Malcolm and put on a serious burst of speed. As a
result, Ian was the first on shore. He arrived there about the same
time as their unwanted visitors.
As Malcolm stepped on shore the riders came to a skidding
stop. There were six of them on horseback. He then watched as
none other than Shep stepped down from an old paint in the lead.
Malcolm froze, trying to judge the distance to his rifle secured to
his saddle and whether he could make it to his gun before Shep.
No way, Malcolm concluded. Shep noticed the rifle too and
stepped over to pluck it from its scabbard before Malcolm could
make a move.
"Well, what have we here?" Shep said, leisurely pointing
Malcolm's rifle in Ian's direction. "A couple of fairies with their
dicks hanging out."
"What do you want Shep?" Ian asked.
"As a matter of fact, I want you, sweetheart," Shep said,
stepping over and throwing an arm around Ian's neck.
Dragging Ian backwards, he next trained the rifle on Malcolm.
When he made it back to his mount, he handed Ian off to one of
his buddies who had hopped down to back Shep up. His buddy
draped an arm around Ian and held a knife to his neck. Freed of
his burden, Shep was able to direct his entire attention toward
Malcolm.
"What do you want with Ian, Shep?" Malcolm asked.
"It turns out that I'm getting'paid to bring him to someone,"
Shep explained. "But they didn't say what to do with you."
Stepping to within a few feet of Malcolm, Shep signaled for
another of his buddies to come forward.
"Now, you stand right there. If you move, George over there is
going to slice your partner up. Got it?"
Malcolm remained still as one of Shep's goons ran around
behind him and pinned his arms behind his back. Shep then
stepped in to deliver a devastating right hand to Malcolm's
abdomen. Next came a left to the jaw. Several more blows
followed at which point Malcolm passed out.
When he came to, Malcolm was lying in the dirt. Shep was
chasing his horse away. Malcolm saw that Ian was dressed and
tied with a noose around his neck. He was on the back of Scout.
Tipping his hat to Malcolm, Shep mounted his horse and followed
as the rest of the group rode away.
Malcolm felt badly battered as he rose from the ground. He
daubed at his face and found that it was covered in blood. He
wasn't seeing so well out of his left eye. He dressed as fast as he
could and then whistled for his horse. It didn't take long before
Penelope came galloping over the ridge to greet him. Swinging
onto her back he set a course for the ranch and sat Penelope at
a full gallop.
Riding at speed, it didn't take Malcolm long to make it back to
the ranch house. Raising the alarm he was able to gather a
considerable group out in the front yard to deal with the matter at
hand. As he began to explain, he saw the President step out from
the front door of the house.
"Mr. President. They've kidnapped Ian."
"Who's kidnapped Ian?"
"I don't know who he's working for, but the kidnapper is a kid
named Shep."
"I know him, the young punk. Where did this happen?"
"Out by the lake."
"Let me call in for a helicopter," the President said.
"There's no time, Mr. President. Besides, a helicopter wouldn't
be able to follow their trail. I'm gathering a posse now and I'm
about to head out."
"Stewart, saddle a horse for me as well," the President
ordered. "He's my son. I'm coming too."
"Mr. President. Where's Tony Rodriguez?"
"Strange, but I haven't seen him this morning."
"I suspected as much," Malcolm said to the President's
surprise. "I'll explain later. Right now we have to ride."
And ride they did, back out to the lake at full gallop. Once
there, Malcolm easily found the trail of the kidnappers. He then
led the posse at a gallop on their trail clearly being able to see
where they needed to go. They rode hard and long. After a time
spent at full gallop they had to stop and give their horses a rest.
Malcolm watered Penelope from his canteen. After walking a
spell, they were back on their horses following the trail at an easy
trot.
The trail didn't become difficult to follow until they made it out
of the sand and sagebrush and into rocky territory. They were
entering an area with lots of arroyos to hide in so everyone was
on watch for an ambush. All the while as they followed the tracks
of horses, Malcolm was afraid that he would come upon the tire
tracks of a vehicle that had driven out to pickup Ian. Fortunately,
this didn't happen.
They continued to follow the trail for the better part of the day.
The trail dipped into deep arroyos and traversed steep ridges.
But still they were not in sight of the kidnappers.
Finally, the group came to the top of a rise and looked down
the far side to a small shack at the bottom of a deep depression.
Malcolm raised his hand to warn the other's as he quickly
dismounted. Grabbing his rifle from it's scabbard, he released
Penelope back down the hill and dug in at the hill's peek to get a
good look at the shack below.
There were no signs of movement below. However, there were
six horses tied up in a broken down corral and smoke coming
from the chimney. Malcolm gave the signal for the rest of the
Secret Service agents and stable hands to spread out across the
top of the hill. When they were dug well into the sage brush, that's
when they heard the sound of a helicopter coming from far in the
distance. As they waited, the helicopter got closer and finally
landed beside the shack.
The President landed in the dirt to Malcolm's right. He was
carrying a lever action carbine, the type that was carried in the
days of the old west.
"What do you make of this, Mal?"
"I'd say that Tony Rodriguez just arrived to take possession of
your son."
"Tony? No, Mal. You've got to be wrong."
"Think about it, Mr. President. Tony is the only one who's
known of all our plans. He's one of the few people in the world
who could gather the resources and have the access required to
get to the President's son. Also, he hates Ian with a passion. It all
adds up to murder, Mr. President, with your Chief of Staff's finger
on the trigger."
"We'll see, I suppose. But what are we going to do now?"
"During the transfer to the helicopter is our best chance of
getting to Ian. I say we move in and prepare ourselves."
"As you say. Let's do it."
Waving his arm to signal that they were to move out, Malcolm
led the way down the hill to the shack below. When he made it to
the shack, he gave the signal to spread out. He himself headed
to the side of the shack nearest the helicopter. Then he waited.
He didn't have to wait long before none other than Tony
Rodriguez emerged from the house leading Ian by the noose that
was still tied around his neck. Before he could make it to the
waiting helicopter, Malcolm stepped out into Tony's way.
"Hello, Tony," he said with a smile.
Tony was fast, much faster than Malcolm had expected.
Before Malcolm could get a hand on him Tony had dodged
behind Ian and placed a gun to his head. Malcolm stopped in
mid-dash considering his next action carefully.
 "Back off, Agent Young," Tony ordered as he backed toward
the open door to the shack.
"Give it up, Rodriguez. You're surrounded," Malcolm warned.
But still Tony continued to shuffle backward toward the shack.
Looking up, Malcolm noticed that the President was standing on
the edge of the roof above the shack's door preparing to jump.
"No, don't do it Mr. President," Malcolm cautioned.
"You don't seriously think I'll fall for that old gag, do you Young.
Now, say goodbye," Tony said, pointing the gun at Malcolm.
That's when the President acted. Malcolm was sure that he
had meant to jump, but losing his footing he fell instead. The
result was probably the same as if he'd jumped; he landed on
Tony's back and sent him flying straight into Malcolm's fist. Tony
fell backward and hit the dirt without first bending his knees.
Meanwhile Ian helped the President pick himself up and dust
himself off.
"Mr. President. That was spectacular," Malcolm
complemented.
Ian added his own complement by throwing his arms around
his Dad's neck and kissing him on both cheeks. In response,
Arlen Johnston hugged his son back vigorously. Malcolm then
rushed forward to make it a group hug.
While the three men hugged, the rest of the posse was busy
rounding up bad guys. Tony Rodriguez was pulled up out of the
dirt and placed in protective custody. Shep and his gang was
shepherded from the shack and placed in cuffs. Then they were
led to their horses for the long ride back to town.
Before he was taken away, the President wanted a brief word
with his Chief of Staff.
 "Tony, why did you do it?" he asked.
"Don't you see, Arlen? He was making a mockery of your
presidency. Believe me, Arlen, you can't afford him."
"No, Tony. What I can't afford is to work with gutter slime like
you. Take him away, boys."
The President stood and watched as the leader of his cabinet
was led away in manacles. He looked sad until Ian and Malcolm
approached and each threw and arm over his shoulder.
"Well, what now, Arlen?" Malcolm asked.
"I suppose we go back to Washington and straighten this
whole mess out," the President said, not sounding too sure of
himself.
"How would you like to quit your job and join the United States
Secret Service?" Malcolm asked jokingly.
"How would you like to be the White House Chief of Staff?" the
President retorted.
"I'm not going to be busy any time soon," Ian said. "Can I be
your Chief of Staff?"
"No, I'm afraid you'll be busy being my beloved son. Sound
good."
"Sounds excellent, Dad."
"Anyway, I'll see you two back at the ranch. In the meantime,
I've got a helicopter to catch."
Ian and Malcolm stood holding hands as they watched the
President board the waiting helicopter and take off for the ranch
house. Once he was gone, they turned to each other and kissed.
Ian's lips were still a little puffy, so it was a tender kiss.
 "Did they hurt you at all," Malcolm asked.
"Only my pride," Ian answered. "It looks like you got yourself
pretty beat up."
"Yeah. It's only beginning to hurt now."
"Think you can stand the ride back."
"I think that sounds lovely."
Ian then watched as Malcolm began to whistle. He was
impressed when Penelope came running up to him from over the
nearby hill.
"How did you teach her that?" Ian asked.
"Apples."
"Apples?"
"Yes, I feed her an apple every time she comes," Malcolm
said taking an apple from his saddle pack and handing it over to
Penelope.
"Clever."
"I possess unplumbed depths."
"I'd like to plumb your depths for you."
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Mounting up, the two of them rode close together the entire
way back to the ranch. When they arrived before the ranch house,
they found that Rosita and Manuel had prepared a party to
celebrate Ian's return.
There was eating and drinking late into the night. The First
Lady even took the time to welcome Ian and Malcolm back.
Malcolm apologized for previous rude behavior and was told that
his behavior was nothing compared to that of her husband at his
worst. By the end of the evening, Malcolm felt that he was
beginning to like the old broad.
Ian and Malcolm retired early that night so that they could be
up bright and early for the flight back to Washington. They slept
bundled in each other arms. Malcolm dreamed of spending the
rest of his life with Ian.
Chapter 20
Malcolm stood before the mirror dressed in a black, wool,
Hugo Boss suit. The suit was impeccably tailored and fit him to
perfection. Finding that he was exceptionally nervous, he spent a
good deal of time before the mirror adjusting the knot in his tie
and straightening his shirt sleeves. Then the door opened and an
attendant stuck his head into the waiting room.
"It's time," the attendant announced and was gone.
That's when Malcolm's stomach really started to do
summersaults. Pulling himself away from the mirror, Malcolm
walked at attention, eyes straight ahead, from the waiting room
and down the main corridor of the White House. As he stepped
into the State Dinning Room, the crowd that filled the room rose
to their feet and started to applaud.
"Ladies and Gentleman," the President announced. "Allow me
to present the man of the hour, Agent Malcolm Young."
Malcolm tried to smile as he stepped onto the raised platform
and walked to the podium. There the President shook his hand
vigorously, waited for the pictures to be taken, and then took his
seat. Malcolm stood at attention, scanning the crowd for Ian. The
Director of the Secret Service stood and approached the
podium.
"Agent Young. We are here today to honor your service to the
Secret Service of the United States of America. For bravery
beyond the call of duty, I now award you the service's highest
honor, the Director's Award of Valor."
There was more applause as Malcolm stepped forward to
accept a very nice plaque. Turning to the audience, he held the
plaque up as cameras flashed. Then the speeches began.
Using his special power, Malcolm blocked out the speeches
and scanned the audience, smiling. He was looking for Ian. So
far he hadn't seen him much this morning. Ian said something
about this being Malcolm's special day and not wanting to be a
distraction, and then he disappeared. The problem was that now,
more than ever, Malcolm wanted Ian here by his side.
Malcolm was about to give up searching for him when he
finally spotted Ian sitting right before him in the front row.
Malcolm's parents were sitting beside him. That's when he began
to smile in earnest. Sensing that the Director was coming to the
conclusion, Malcolm tuned back in to his speech.
"I therefore ask you to all stand and give a warm hand to Agent
Malcolm Young."
More applause followed, and then the podium was cleared
allowing Malcolm to speak. He stepped before the microphone,
tentatively, cleared his throat, and pulled his prepared speech
from his breast pocket. Looking down at Ian, he shared a smile
with him. He thought for a moment. Then he folded the speech
and put it back in his breast pocket.
"Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I'm gay."
He paused for effect. There was no applause. Instead the
room was filled with murmuring. Cameras flashed from all
corners of the room. Deciding that the audience had probably
fully digested his initial remark, he continued.
"I'm in love with Ian Johnston, the President's son."
Again he paused. Still there was no applause. The murmuring
was even louder this time. More cameras flashed. He had only
one more thing to say.
"Thank you for the award. I'd now like to tenure my resignation
to the Director."
The room exploded in excited conversation. Cameras flashed
again, only this time the reporters attached to them rushed the
podium. They had a lot of questions they wanted answered.
"Agent Young, how long have you known you're gay?"
"Agent Young, is the President's son in love with you?"
"Agent Young, are you resigning because you're gay?"
Before Malcolm could answer any of these questions he was
hurried from the room by the Director of the Secret Service and
the President of the United States. Finding himself back in the
waiting room, Malcolm was faced by a barrage of questions
coming from the Director and the President. But they all seemed
to boil down to this.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Malcolm waited for the excitement to subside. Then, as the
two most powerful men in his life awaited answers, he spoke.
"I want to be with Ian."
The President and director looked to each other in confusion.
The President then took the Director aside and started to explain.
There was bickering and raised voices after he was done
explaining. Finally, they adjourned their private meeting and
came back to address Malcolm.
 "Are you sure about this, son?" the Director asked.
"I'm sure, sir," Malcolm replied.
The two men walked Malcolm back into the State Dining
Room. There the Director of the Secret Service took to the
podium and asked everyone to quiet down.
"If you'll please be quiet, I have an important announcement to
make," the Director said. When the room finally quieted down, he
proceeded. "Ladies and gentleman. I'd first like to announce that
Agent Young's resignation has been withdrawn."
Malcolm nearly broke from attention to object. Instead he
remained standing erect and waited for the rest of what the
Director had to say.
"Second, I'd like to announce that no man has ever, or will
ever, be ejected from the Secret Service for being gay.
"Finally, I'd like to announce that Agent Young is being
permanently assigned to the protection of Mr. Ian Johnston, the
President's son.
"Thank you. That is all."
Again, the room exploded with the noise of hundreds of
excited voices. As Malcolm stood smiling, the reporters once
more assaulted him with questions.
"Agent Young, are you satisfied with the director's
announcement?"
"Yes. Yes I am," Malcolm replied. And he was.
Stretching onto tippy-toes, Malcolm was just able to spot Ian
standing in the front row of the audience. Ian too was being
swarmed by reporters. As Malcolm watched, Ian mouthed the
words "Meet you in the pool room." That's when Malcolm broke
and rushed into the White House to their clandestine rendezvous.
Malcolm was reading his plaque when Ian entered the room.
Looking up he smiled. Then he looked down to reconsider his
award.
"It says here that I did a good job," Malcolm said.
"Don't believe your own press," Ian countered.
"It's all bullshit, you know."
"What's that?"
"The Secret Service. If we hadn't caught up with Tony last
weekend, they would be drumming me out of the service this
week instead of giving me an award."
"Yes?"
"My point is that it's too arbitrary. I need structure in my life if
I'm going to survive."
"Where are you planning on getting that?"
"From you?" Malcolm said it more as a question than as a
statement of fact.
"I could try."
"Ian, do you really see the two of us staying together for the
rest of our lives?"
"Yes, I do."
"Because, sometimes I lose sight of it, and that makes me
scared. You've become my rock Ian, and I need you to be there."
"I accept," Ian replied in all seriousness.
"Now what?"
"Well, for starters, how do you feel about moving out of the
White House?"
"I feel good. What did you have in mind?"
"I found a loft with plenty of light for me to paint. It's right above
a little shop that could be easily turned into a gallery. That is if I
had the right manager."
"I accept," Ian said.
Reaching out a hand, Ian took it. They then turned and together
stepped out of the room to begin their life together. And they
never looked back.
About the Author
Brian Jackson is a retired software developer who is finally
getting an opportunity to pursue his dream of becoming an
author. If you liked this book, please visit www.smashwords.com
to see other works by the author.

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