The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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RancH HanDs 08 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Scrutinizing the paper in his hand, the eighteen year old held it up, comparing it to the address on the double doors. Unlike most of the entry ways into or out of areas or rooms, thick panes of glass lining metal, these two were composed entirely of metallic alloy.
"E.H.M.S.?" Denis read, not from the paper, but the square frame on the door.
If anyone was more disappointed in transitioning from his past life, to the boundaries of Elemental Habitats, it was Denis Crew. Of course, with the liquidation of Glenn Watney's business, to his own demise, Ponzi scheming the culprit lending to both owner and client's misery, it was the first big downer cast into Denis' life. Second, was arrival at the habitat, only to find out instead of a continuation of his dream, to become a fashion model, he was assigned to laundry detail!
Denis had to admit, his first class at the college, textiles was something of interest, a varied amount of subject manner dealing with design, selection and in the long run a chance to display class projects, which meant the students of the class would all be chosen to model finished product.
However, he wasn't so sure of this E.H.M.S.' or what it represented. Too, not sure if he should go in or knock, knock' he resorted to, smartly figuring it would be the only way anybody knew he was out there, wanting to gain entry. He waited. It didn't work! Trying the knob, it refused to turn.
As with a person in the middle of something, the door knob turns, the door ajar and seemingly on its own, begins to close. Regardless, Denis catches it before fully causing him again to wait outside.
At first, the dude who opened the door says without emotion, "Close it up. We're in a session." A quick glance over his shoulder, reveals to the looker a blond, but not just any blond! "Well, hello," he changes his tune.
Later on, it would come to pass, the studio director in fact was in the middle of conversation, turned to the door knob to admit, catching only a glimpse of who wished to gain entry. It didn't register until seconds later, a hot blond was standing there, waiting!
"Hi," Denis replies, entering the dimly lit place. From first impressions, he quick-thinks it, spotting a shirtless guy behind a set of drums, a dude in a sleeveless flannel shirt, parted down the middle, a guitar hiding his lower half and another keyboard player in a tank top.
"C'mon in. We've been waiting for you!"
Little did Denis know, it was an instantaneous pickup line!
"You have?" Denis tread lighly, unsure of why he had been assigned to `the band.'
"Oh course," and fudging his way through it, "your name again?"
"Denis," Denis replies, still skeptical of things.
He thought the guys friendly, the guitarist holding his instrument by the neck, walking over and saying, "Hey man, the name's Flick. Ben Flick."
Dropping the guitar, Denis made out the rest of the outlay, the smooth chest giving way to a hefty treasure trail, but his main interest lay in the friendliness.
After Ben retreated to behind his mic, another dude leans over the keyboard, his hand out, "Phillippe and back there on drums is Jeremie."
"Hey," Jeremie nods, pushing the stylish beige hat up with a drumstick against the brim.
Denis gauged him to be quite a hot looking dude, nice tan, but not the kind of tan you get from the sun, prolly Italian.
"So, what do you do? Sing? Play guitar?"
Pushy, Phillippe barks out the order, "Hey Dick, you dick, what about yourself, dude?"
They all laughed, Dick' realizing Phillippe in the right, "It's not Dick'. It's Richard," turning to the band, "and the next wiseass who calls me `Dick', with whatever meaning is going to see his day in the presence of Art Smith!"
Replying to Richard's threat, Ben replies, "Oo-oo, like I'm so scared!"
Ben Flick comments, "Yeah, promises, promises, Dick!"
They all laughed, Richard getting down to business with Denis, "So, what did you say your instrument was?"
Carrying off on a conversation with Richard, the trio of band members each begin their own practicing, which produced off key material to the ears.
"I don't know how to play anything," Denis replies.
Richard could see Denis trying to block out the cacophony, "Don't worry. They're just tuning up. If you don't play an instrument, then you're a singer."
"I've never sung in front of anyone!" Denis said in a ghastly manner, like he had just seen a ghost!
"Don't worry. Neither did these misfits when they first came into the studio."
Ben calls out, "We heard that Dick!"
What he could see of Ben's bod was enough to forgive him, Richard getting even in a different way, "Ben, give Denis your mic."
Put on high tech audio, Denis froze.
Phillippe walks over to Denis, asking, "You look nervous."
"I am," Denis replies to the dirty blond.
Richard had retreated to the console, allowing the group to help warm Denis up.
"Loosen up a bit," Phillippe smiles, lifting his hands to Denis' buttoned down shirt.
He didn't move to stop Phillippe, Denis looking down at hands unbuttoning his regulation shirt, "What are you doing?"
"Oh nice!" Phillippe says of the smooth appearance of Denis' chest and abs.
Calling from the console, Richard yells, "Uh, Phillippe, you want to go shopping later?"
"Okay, `Dick'!" Phillippe says in a sassy manner, turning to Richard and giving him an imaginary gesture of licking up a guy's chest. Or, could have been another bod part!
More help, Ben leans to Denis, who was between him and the keyboard, "Say, you know `Twinkle, Twinkle?'"
"The nursery rhyme?"
"One in the same. Sing it. We'll cover you."
Phillippe wiseasses, "I don't think I know that one?"
Ben denounces him, "Just shut the fuck up and play it Ontario!"
"Ontario?" Denis questions.
Proudly, Phillippe announces, "Phillippe Ontario, from Ontario, Caneeda!"
Now Jeremie gets inpatient, "Any day now, Ontario?"
"Shut the fuck up. I'm getting to it," Phillippe flicks all kinds of switches, making the right mix, then with one finger plays the tune.
"Are you a bass or tenor?" `Ontario' asks.
Honestly, Denis didn't know, "I dunno."
"Forget it Ontario," Ben sounds out the notes with his guitar.
Next, he starts singing it, coaxing Denis along.
"Go Flick," Ontario passes the mentoring onto Ben.
With someone else, Denis was able to carry the tune, but as soon as Flick fades, Denis follows suit.
"Can we get some beats in here, Jeremie?" Ben Flick calls out.
"Hold it up!" Richard calls out, all the instruments running silent.
On the playback, Denis questions, "Is that Flick," Denis changes direction, talking to the guitarist, "should I call you Flick or Ben?"
"Anything you want," Ben replies, adding a smile, but on the demo, "It's all `you', Denis, baby!" With a strap affirming his guitar to his bod, it made Ben flexible enough to lean in towards Denis, congratulating him with a back rub.
For whatever reason, Denis suddenly felt comfortable, more confident. So much, he says, "I didn't know I could sing even. Can we do it again?"
Again they belted out Twinkle, Twinkle', Jeremie getting with the rhythms, Ontario' all over the keys, `Flick' pickin' out some notes, Denis getting bolder, singing out louder, because he thought the band was louder than he.
They worked for quite awhile, Flick, more or less the leader, asking Denis what songs he knew.
"I really like the Beatles, but any song I sing, I sing it `gay'?"
Ontario didn't need gender, to want to hold more than Denis' hand!
"Pick one. Maybe we know it," Jeremie broke silence.
"I Saw Him Standing There?" Denis replies.
They did need the original translation, Ben picking out the tune on his guitar.
Right away, Ontario says, "Oh yeah. I know that one!"
In not time they were working their way into shaping up the song, Jeremie with the easiest part.
When they got the music together, Flick says, "Ready, Denis?"
"No," Denis replies with a smile, but holds the mic up to his lips.
Again, leading things, Jeremie sets them off, "A-one! Two! A-one, two, three, four!"
With the sound of the drum, Flick and Ontario sounded in, but Denis didn't!
The music stopped, Denis saying, "Sorry. I didn't know when to start."
By this time, Richard had given up, said he was going out and would be back when they were ready to record something.
Ontario says to him, "Yeah, right Dick. We'll see ya in a coupla days!"
Leaving, Richard flashed his `fuck-finger' at Ontario, saying, "I'm writing you up, Ontario!"
In a slow reverie for a few seconds, Ontario conjurs up some images, Dick's bod slung over the console, Ontario slipping his hands around in front, unbuckling Dick's belt, lowering his pants, briefs with them, then separating his asscheeks and digging his tongue in, a prelude to totally servicing the twenty-seven year old producer!
"Hey asshole, wake up!"
"What?" Ontario realizes Flick means him! Snagged, he makes fun of himself, like he's on drugs, "Um, where am I?"
Flick replies, "Start us off."
Ontario replies, "I thought Jeremie was counting off?"
"Pay attention for once in your life, Ontario?" Ben scolds.
"Yeah, okay, Flicka," Phillippe replies.
By now Denis had figured out the band to the bare minimum. Flick was more the leader, but could joke around. Jeremie was total serious' and rarely joined in, allowing Flick to do all the disciplining. Ontario, or as Denis sway towards calling him Ontario', found him to be the joker of the group. Of the trio, Denis could not pick out which one was the most handsome though.
Jeremie had a really nice bod, as he thought earlier, `tan', with a faint pec-covering of dark hair, combining midchest, a stripe painted down to the drumset!
With half a shirt on, he didn't need to check further. Flick was a real hottie.
Tank top, Ontario' was definitely of the muscle' crowd. His pec-line was succinct, as well as some, but not all of his abs musculature.
"Are we awake still, Denis?" Was Flick's way of alerting Denis to their readiness.
Taking it not as ridicule, Denis felt more like fitting in, "Awak and ready, Flick!"
They worked through the Beatles' tune, then on to Billy Joel, updating themselves to doing `Moves Like Jagger'.
He didn't know all the words, mainly the chorus, but since Flick was right next to him and really getting into it, Denis flow right in. Plus he did the fill in part, re: Christina Aguilera. Denis marveled at his falssetto.
They went on with the song, making it an extended play and when they quit, whereas on stage it would never end in the middle, they were all sweated up.
"That was so fuckin' fox!" Ontario high-fived Denis.
Denis was on cloud 9 though, the best acceptance anyone could achieve from a group of strangers, Flick hugging him, announcing, "Welcome to the Cowbulls!"
"Thanks!" Denis replies, matching Flick's enthusiastic greeting.
Whipping out a cellphone, Flick asks, "What's your buzz number?"
"Buzz number?" Denis questions Flick, gazing at the prototype I-Phone.
"Seanie?" Flick commands.
"Yeah?" he looks over Flick's shoulder, chin resting, a hand holding his flute.
"Go tell Dick, Denis doesn't have a buzz number?"
"Dick?" Denis says, "He won't get mad at me for calling me that?"
"Nah."
Denis move forth with his original question, "Dick can get me a phone, too?"
Realizing a buzz number is no good without a way to message, Flick signals, "Oak?"
"What?" mimicking Seanie, violin dropped to his side, his goatee resting on Flick's shoulder.
"Want to get that hairy beast off my shoulder?" Flick responds first, then, "Go tell Seanie to tell Dick that Denis doesn't have a phone neither."
Connecting the fiddle to the ledge of a stand, Patrick Oaken runs off.
Ontario speaks up, "Flick?"
"What?"
Nodding to Oak's stand, Ontario says, "He's done it again."
"Done what?" Denis asks.
Flick degrades, "Well don't sit there like a bonehead, Ontario! Fix it!" He then clues Denis in, "We watch out for each other."
"But what if Oak wants his violin there?" Denis questions.
"Let me put it to you this way, Den, sometimes Oak don't know which way his head is screwed on. Two times he left his violin hanging from the stand. Two times his violin got smacked to the floor. Oak don't have collision insurance on his violin and he forgets, so we got to help him out."
"Cool," Denis replies. He thought it cool too, Seanie and Oak returning, with Dick in tow, thinking of getting his own personal phone.
Right away Dick badgers, "What do you think I am? A magician Flick?"
Incentive to get to know Denis, because Flick was really digging him, he stretches his authority, "Is it too much to ask to get him a buzz number and phone, Dick, after all the work the band does to make `you' look good?"
It stemmed beyond this, information shared only between Flick and his producer, so it was only Dick getting the message, "I'll see what I can do," not flinching a muscle as he stares at Flick.
Ontario opens his big mouth, "We all know the story, Dick and since Denis is one of us now, you might as well tell him?"
Fired up, probably more than Dick, Flick turns to him, "Y'know, Ontario, you got the biggest, fuckin' mouth?"
Joking, Ontario licks him lips, "Better to eat you with!" He said it to be funny, a catch-phrase. In reality, Ontario stood at 6'1", an average lad around the waste. Below the waist he flaunted an 8c, preferring to use it according to whom he was using it on.
"Get real, Ontario?" Flick returns, knowing Ontario could be oral, but thrived on having his hard shaft deeply implanted.
Being casual in his opinion, Denis says, as Oak lightly bows his violin, "I don't have to know anything, if you guys don't want me to know?"
"Good," Richard let it slide.
Denis hadn't a clue to why, but Flick speaks up, like he's picking on him, "Tell him Dick. It's better he knows what he's getting into."
Another thing occurring to Denis, age difference, Dick looking to be four or five years older than Flick and why was he allowing Flick to push him around?
"Denis, are you sure you like being in the Cowbulls?" Dick asks.
Flick answers, "He likes it."
The other band members looked among themselves, then Denis boldly says, "I can answer for myself, thank you." Then, "Go ahead Dick."
Of course a lot of this conversational material was for Flick's benefit and the twenty-three year old was eating it up!' Except primarily for Ontario, the other members of the Cowbulls were duds,' not very outgoing. They all knew it too, Flick and Ontario getting it on at least once a week. Slipping Art Smith some of their credits', the two would rent out' the discipline facilities and act out their wildest fantasies, which culminated in Ontario driving his cock up Flick's tunnel of love!
Other than Ontario, Dick reports, "Have you been told this is not the only Elemental Habitat?"
"Nope," Denis replies.
"Well there are a few around the world, some run by other governments, but policed by district supervisors. On occasion the district supervisor pays a visit and thought it's not in any rule book, we tend to put on a show for him," Dick sketches out the scenario.
"I don't see a problem in that," Denis says. "I don't mind singing with the band while he's here."
Ontario speaks out, "What Dick's not telling you is, Efrem likes to have his little harem of boys to play with, during the `downtimes'!"
"Efrem?"
Flick takes over, "Efrem Montoe. Dude from Vanatu, who likes to spend some extra time here, while visiting the states."
Because he knows Flick is on the edge of deepening the explanation, Dick says, "Yeah, but mostly he requests the presence of Heath Hartshorn."
"Yeah, lucky us!" Patrick Oaken speaks up.
Denis asks, "Why would that be?"
Because it is synonymous with the type of activity he and Flick are involved, Ontario explains, "Because Efrem is into driving a man wild with the pleasure of giving him pain."
"What?" Denis looks to Ontario. "How's that go? How can a guy `like' getting pain?"
Ontario says, "Get with Flick and me and I'll give you a lesson or two!" He laughs.
"I still don't get it," Denis replies.
Jeremie Quayle, heard the same sales talk when he joined the band last year, saying, "
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While James, Tom and Thor conversed at the bar, Rally kept getting buzzed' on his cell phone. First, it were two different calls from guys in the Verts, each looking for a date tonight, one hanging around at Atlantis, the other headed over to the habitat theater for a presentation of the new porn flick, It Takes Two To Tangle,' featuring Trystan Stalk and Gage Wilkerson. He opted for neither, in favor of, I guess I should head back to the Verts. I've got a project to work on and..."
"Coming back to Atlantis later?" Thor asks him.
"I doubt it," Rally replies in a somber mood.
Based on James' knowledge of how Rally perceives his own gay relationship status, holding out for Mr. Right, James asks, "Why not?"
"No special reason," Rally makes up the excuse, same one he's utilized for himself over past years, except I really have this project due for EHC and..."
Tom, because he thinks Rally is both cute and hot, "Who else is going to show James what to do?" he slaps his brother on the stomach, bare at the moment, since both James and Rally had slipped off their clothes.
Staring into James' eyes, Rally dropped them for a mere two seconds, giving off a silent message, which the two had discussed earlier, regarding feeling up James' hairy chest, then returns to James' affixed gaze, "If James wants me too?" he steps into a pair of Atlantis-furnished board shorts, instead of the pants he came in.
Overriding all that, James replies, "Sure," he then excuses himself away from his brother and Thor, escorting Rally over to the door.
"Thanks for not giving me away," Rally says to James.
"For?"
"Did you forget already, me feeling up your chest?"
Laughing, James replies, "And tweaking my nips? Did I mention it felt damn hot?"
Another glance, not only at the dark brown fur covering James' pecs, but the two pink dots on his chest, "Y'know, I feel real envious of your partner?"
Smiling, James replies, "You might not be later, when you see Laurent's hairy features?"
"I have. Remember, I've been here longer than you?"
"Oh right. So, have you monopolized your time at Atlantis on scoping him out?"
"Him and others, but like I said..."
"I know," James cuts in, "Mr. Right?"
Though, at this very moment, the built up longing for the perfect man, for so long, in a dash of a second, Rally would amend his search to Mr. Right-now!
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"How does that bracelet fit?" Demont asks Heath, after he, his twenty-three year old offender and Art Smith have traveled from the security office, to one of the disciplining rooms.
Beginning to truss him up in leather cuffs, each placed around a wrist, Heath responds, "Whatever your pleasure, sir."
Supposing he was there to please Art Smith, possibly a indoctrination into his disciplining position at Elemental Habitat, Demont had it on his mind to follow through as is expected of him, when in reality, his desires were of a much different sort. Though, he did share, "Pleasure? That is a good answer."
Art Smith yawned.
Whether real or fake, it sent a message, which Demont deciphers as get a move on it.' However, hot enchilada' in front of him, tall and stripped down, arms up and spread, getting ready to do the same as he squats down to prepare ankle cuffs, he had his own agenda developing, to carry this out as far as the hot erotica could take him.
"You're boring me, Demont." Art Smith did let out a fake yawn this time, getting up from chillin' out, "If you ain't gonna start workin' this boy over," he warms up his fists, approaching Heath, all staked out in the cuffs.
Like before, Demont figured it out, if you wanted to get along with Art, you either had to stand up to him, beat him or join him at his own game, or else get stepped on. Not afraid of being vocal in his opinion, Demont says, "Yeah? You mean something like this?!"
Heath didn't see it coming, which definitely surprised Smith as well, Demont's fist from out of nowhere, putting a dent in Heath's gut, right above his navel.
"Ugh-h-h-oh-h-h-h!" The surprise jab turns into a sigh of feeling good, a fist making contact with Heath's abs.
"Fuck that was hot, Demont!" Art Smith exclaims, his warmed up fist' flattening out and feeling up his crotch. Patting Demont on the shoulder, he adds, "Now that's what I mean. Let me give you a hint though. With this boy, don't be shy about pouring it on. Trust me," he finishes congratulating Demont on the nice' way of delivering the gut punch, "don't hold back." Then, reaching down, grabbing up Heath's cock, "See, already you're getting a reaction from how much this boy is loving the abuse!"
"I see," Demont replies, looking to Heath for confirmation.
Smith, seeing Demont's reaction, says to Heath, "Ain't that right, boy?"
It became a staring contest, Demont focused up on Heath, Heath returning the look as he says, "Yeah, I mean yes, sir. Whatever you want."
Satisfied with Demont's attitude of not holding back, Art Smith slaps the back of his hand against Demont's arm, saying, "I think I can leave you to disciplining this boy, while I make the rounds."
As Art Smith had done a minute ago, Demont put on a good show of rounding his big-handed knuckles with one hand and as if his mouth drool with an insatiable desire to punish, "Oh yeah. Turn this boy's abs to mush."
On a more peaked note, Art Smith turns, before leaving and mixing laughter with words, "Yeah, well don't forget to give them balls a good going over!" A trail of laughter dies as the door is closed from the hallway side.
Closing of the metal door, Heath asks, "Permission to speak, sir?"
"No," deftly Demont replies, taking Heath around the middle and making love to his lips!
%
When he left his office for lunch, little did Nolan think his afternoon was going to be so `interesting.' At lunch, while dining with the professors associated with Elemental Habitat College, he felt a little sorry for one, apparently being slighted, introduced to him as the only instructor not holding a master's degree, Sean Hartkett. In the middle of a second of silence, Nolan asks, "So, what's your story, Sean?"
It was apparent, the others were not interested in someone of less intellect than themselves, except for one other professor, of psychology, whom voices with more favorable disposition, "Sean is our adjunct music professor."
One of the stiff shirts butts in, "You mean `teacher', Ivri?"
One the same stature plane as the outspoken instructor, Ivri replies, "No, Bruce, but do we have to put labels on everyone? Sean can teach music no less than you can get across any aspect of biogeochemistry?"
Making excuse, Dr. Cannon looks at his watch and says he needs to get going, being the means for a mass exodus of the few remaining professors who did not have classes at the moment.
Contrary to the consensus, one other professor, Dr. Stone Birch, heralding in his Aussie accent, turns after the others have left, "Uh, Mr. Harrellsson, it's nice to meet you mate!"
"Same here, `mate'!" Nolan replies, in a very poor inflection of the Aussie dialect.
It left the three scattered at the banquet table. Getting up from where he sat at one of the heads to the table, Nolan gestures with a handshake, "As you know, I'm Nolan Harrellsson, but I don't think I got your name, rank and serial number?" he jokes.
Rising, he pins on himself, "Ivri Coen, professor of psychology," and not using it as a vehicle to slight the third member, "and this is Sean Harkett. He is really a very talented musician."
Nolan decides there's more to Ivri standing up for Sean, as he greets both. Doing a quick analysis, he believes there to be not much difference in age of the two.
"It's great to meet you," Sean shakes Nolan's hand. "I hear you are next in line to head up the presidency of the habitat. Congratulations."
Not officially handed over `the keys', Nolan replies, "That's what I hear from everyone, but it's not official yet."
Again, after the formalities of meeting and greeting each other were put to rest, Nolan took up the subject of finding out about his newest acquaintances. In a way, he was very curious about finding out if his assumptions were correct, if these two had something `going'.
He mulled it over, Sean talking about his teenage life, working and studying at the habitat, but the lack of a fine arts program. It wasn't until after he left the habitat in his early twenties, pursued a degree in music, toured the country with a rock band and then found himself a job at the local high school, as a music teacher, he presented the powers to be about adding at least music to the facility.
All through Sean's mini-autobiography, Nolan saw how Ivri took every ounce of effort to boast about Sean's achievements.
Then, when it came for Ivri's turn, Nolan's little plan was thwarted, him being torn away by Greg Smith. Though, he smiled, seeing the two walk off together.
Confronted with his first problem, Nolan asks, "What's this about?"
"Seedlings. There was an accident this morning, which caused a retaining wall to collapse. I don't know all of the details, because one of our men was taken out."
"Taken out?!" Nolan gasped, like a permanent issue.
"By ambulance," Greg knew Nolan thought by rifle fire, "Dr. Love is in stable condition, however we have already expected the fifty-seven year old's retirement, so have brought on a new man."
Instead of heading to the area where the accident took place, Greg leads Nolan to the security wing. He first knocked, then upon hearing Art Smith's voice, enters the security office.
`All eyes', Nolan peruses the inner sanctum, Greg first introducing him, "This is Art Smith, our top security officer here at the habitat."
He already knew Art Smith had covered his dossier from top to bottom, but Nolan has only heard about him from rumor, "I understand you run a tight ship here?"
Of course Smith, all into himself, put himself up high on that pedestal, "I keep things running orderly."
"And these fellows?" Nolan asks of the four guys standing, like they are holding up the wall!
Of course, two directly involved in the offenses occurring at the seedling lab, Eamon Kiley and Johnny Contreras, were there, but also two fellow lab techies and onlookers, Dillon Li and Brett Lansing, whom Art Smith quickly mumbled out their last names. Nolan did' catch Smith's use of the word, boy'.
"What seems to be the problem?" Nolan led with the first question into the incident.
With no surprise to Nolan, Greg Smith says, "I'll leave you to your investigation, Art," before leaving, saying he would catch up with Nolan later, but never did connect!
Since Dr. Love wasn't there to speak for himself or of the details of the retaining wall between the lab and his office showing failure, Eamon was asked to lay out the facts.
It took sometime and as Eamon spoke, Nolan's attention kept wandering to Art Smith, him seeming to take pleasure in watching one of the others, introduced to him as `Johnny Contreras', sweating profusely. In addition to his nervous demeanor, Johnny more than once shifted his weight from one foot to the other, another reaction of nerves.
Finally Smith interjected, "As far as I can see, from what you're telling me there, boy..."
He was interrupted by Johnny, "He has a name, you know?"
Smith immediately comes back at Johnny, "I should put you on report for insubordination, but I'll let it go for now, on account of we want to get to the bottom of things," yet if Nolan had known Art Smith and his habits, if Smith and Johnny had been alone in the office, most likely Johnny would be on his knees, doing more than begging for mercy!
If Art Smith thought of this as rude, he got another kick in the ass, Nolan commenting, "Not that I'm saying Johnny is correct Art, but I would prefer you abstain from using the word `boy'?"
For Smith, this was downright humiliating, but he `took it like a man', "As you wish," then continued with the questioning.
As it came out, the part about the retaining wall was truly an accident on Dr. Love's part. However, Smith gloated when he brought up, "Now, the part about the wasting of seedlings," looking at the sheet of paper printed up from a computer file, "I understand, from Mr. Li's account of the incident..."
It was apparent, from Eamon and Johnny's perspective, they hadn't a clue to a report being filed on their behalf by Dillon Li, Smith going on about the loss of a whole flat of seedlings."
Not knowing much about it, Nolan asks, "How much of a loss are a few baby plants in such a large facility as this?"
Perhaps getting even, but speaking truthfully, Smith replies, "A few baby plants', Mr. Harrellsson," meant to correct, "grow into very large specimens," probably not as big as the specimen' between Art Smith's legs, feeling the excitement of putting Nolan in his place, "which, if we allowed everyone to get away with destruction of habitat property, would wipeout the need to continue our research, thus employing so many young men?"
It seemed a little wishy-washy to him, but some of it concrete fact, however Nolan had his reservations, especially where it was making Johnny Contreras more nervous, "Yes, but I don't see where," he picks up the same piece of paper, reading off, "three days in solitary confinement is going to do any justice?"
Little did Nolan know or understand Art Smith's justice'. The tossing of a flat of seedlings off the cart, even though with good intentions on Johnny's part, to create a movable stretcher for Dr. Love's bod, didn't focus on the comfort of the doctor, but rather Johnny's willful intent on the destruction of habitat property. The other part of the equation, Smith would coincide Johnny's punishment with the ensuing weekend and he was looking forward to a solid weekend of entertainment. Even Dillon Li was promised, in cooperation of the evidence presented, some of the fun,' in helping Johnny Contreras fill up that void of nothing to do, isolated from habitat activities for the whole `boring' weekend.
Little did Nolan have an inkling to Art Smith's total disappointment, upon presentation, "According to your records," he again makes reference to the sheet of paper, "this is Johnny's first offense and, in light of his statement, of being terribly sorry, I think we should give him some leeway and dismiss the charges. Too, I can't see where he is in the wrong for his actions, in doing so, the saving of a man's life. Now you tell me, Art, what is more important? A few plants or a man's life?"
If Smith could really project what was on his mind, it would be having his big cock in and out of Johnny's ass all weekend, but biting his tongue, he reconciled, going against his own principles and humbled himself, "I see your point," not that he agreed with it!
"Good, then I'll take your signature on this report," Nolan covered for himself as well, having Art Smith amend the report to give warning, rather than punishment, signing his name to it.
With business officially ended, Nolan, Eamon, Johnny and the fourth witness, Brett Lansing, who never made a sound, leave.
"You still owe me," Dillon tells Art.
Sitting at his desk, he fires up the monitor, "Shut up! I gotta figure something out here."
Since Johnny was `out', Art still had a few reports of offenses lingering on record. In the back of his mind, if he didn't have a boy to play with this weekend, he could always make amends and substitute... "Oh shit-dang-nabbit!"
"What?" Dillon questions the burst of cursing out.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," Art replies, going back to the computer. However it burned him to think he had given up his prize possession to Demont earlier this afternoon. In the past, when all else failed, he had Heath Hartshorn to fall back on. Back to the drawing board!
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Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`CoMPany payLoaD' - RancH HanDs may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.