The Perfect Holiday After All

Tavington awoke to feeling that now familiar blade, but that time it was on his back. He had been turned over, tied, of course, and a pillow had been placed under his hips.

He laughed out loud, knowing for sure then that Martin would weaken and succumb to taking him. - Why else would he lift my ass at this angle? - This would just be another type of pain he had learned to endure as a boy. He would survive. That’s not, however, to say that Tavington wasn’t infuriated that he would be meant to take it in that way when he had spent his entire adulthood being the one to inflict it on others. It was simply a matter of knowing that he could. - Besides, - he seethed inside, - one day I will come upon Martin unaware, and on that day it will be ME holding that knife! -

More gasps of pain came; that bloody knife was cutting into his back and shoulders. - Bugger that hurts! - he cried in his mind, as he clenched his teeth to endure it like a man.

Benjamin kept right on going, although he was beginning to be distracted by the long silky hair that kept getting in his way. A part of him wanted to run his fingers through it, smell it, and knowing what he wanted inflamed him even more. It was something, though, that he could easily take care of. In one slice the temptation was removed and tossed onto the floor.

Tavington just laughed. Hair would grow back, assuming he lived.

“Stop laughing!” Benjamin screamed in fury and jumped from the bed.

I …. I … I,” he stammered through laughter into the mattress, “can’t help it! You’re not a man, Martin! A real man would have tired of bleeding me by now, would have tired of the straining in his own trousers and taken what he wanted.” And his eyes moved up to stare pointedly at that large straining at near eye level, showing Martin that it wasn’t about to be ignored by both men in the room.

“I may not be a man anymore,” Benjamin’s voice lowered dangerously, “but I was never a monster like you.”

“I’d rather be a monster than a pathetic excuse for a man!”

Surprisingly, the blue eyes cleared suddenly through the alchohol and furor. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be Oh Wise One since I’M the one tied up and can’t do much of anything?”

“You’re trying to goad me,” he sneered. “You think that if I just explode, take out my anger on you in one fell swoop, it’ll drain me in some way and I’ll let you live. Or, maybe, you think I’ll make a mistake when I’m out of control and you’ll find a way to free yourself.“

- Damn farmer’s smarter than he looks! - Tavington thought bitterly and looked away.

“LOOK AT ME!” Benjamin bellowed and grabbed what was left of the hair on the back of Tavington’s head to force the face towards him. “You were right,” he rumbled right in his ear with lips that did not quite touch the man. “You ARE my devil, and I’m going to exorcise you out of me right now.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Tavington replied quite dryly. – Amazing, other than a couple slaps, a brief strangling, scooping up drops of blood and cutting my hair, the man hasn’t really directly touched me yet with his hands. Impressive willpower…. until now ….. -

Before he even had a chance to finish his thoughts, Benjamin was upon him, his trousers open just enough to press, with only a quick spit of lubrication on himself, his thickly engorged member into the tight orifice, an act he had not carried out on a man in decades.

Tavington’s teeth ripped into the mattress beneath him to keep from screaming out loud. Every muscle on his body went taunt, fighting the intrusion, although his mind begged him to push aside the agony and relax, to loosen just enough so that the inevitable violation could be taken better.

Unfortunately, his body wouldn’t listen to his mind. He bucked and thrashed and lost control for the first time since finding himself tied. Ropes were pulled so hard it was a miracle he didn’t break the thick wooden posts in half in his desperation to free himself from the man’s slow punishing advance into him.

Benjamin barely noticed.

He was drenched in perspiration and felt little but the heat enveloping him inch by inch by the exquisite tightness of the beautiful body around him. Beautiful body or not, as he thought, he remained careful to keep his own body away from Tavington’s as much as possible. And, to that end, his hands stayed firmly planted on the mattress on each side of the man’s back, safe from further temptation. Benjamin wasn’t about to make the act any more intimate than it already was.

Once fully sheathed, he thrusted, soon moving harder and faster, as snorts of air blasted out of his flaring nostrils turned upwards to the ceiling and his teeth bit into the inside of his bottom lip, deliberately. Yes, his most hated enemy aroused him, and he hated himself for it, but Benjamin Martin would be damned if he’d let the man know just how much he thoroughly enjoyed the act of fornication with him.

He wasn’t the only one that enjoyed the act now.

Tavington had stopped struggling and turned limp. The agony had receded just enough so that he finally felt the beginnings of that unmistakable pleasure he had learned as a youngster. His own member had already known it would. It had never lost it’s arousal, even through the blinding pain, and now it was pushing down into the pillow in more than just a response to being forced in that direction by the strength of the man above him. Tavington was searching for his own release. If he could, it would be a victory over Martin, a victory to show the man that he wasn’t able to truly harm him after all.

– It will be like laughing in his face, - he thought gleefully, something he planned to do literally as soon as he was able to actually get face to face with the man.

And once he decided that, that he would relent completely and enjoy what he could, Tavington hit his stride. His groin rubbed against the pillow in just the right way, Martin abused his prostate in just the right way, and he was ready, ready and willing to let it ALLLL out. Not only did he gush beneath himself, he howled with pleasure, long and loud. The damn Colonial was truly a perfect fit once the initial pain diminished, and he wanted Martin to know just that; that William Tavington wasn’t the kind of man that could beken ken by a buggering, no matter how savagely it was done like this one.

His howl of rapture brought about Benjamin’s own release of torment. Fireworks shot off in the sky outside the window, lighting up the room, and Benjamin frantically pushed as deep as he could to drain himself into his enemy. In a single bite of all-consuming joy, his teeth pierced clean through the inner skin of his lip, blood ran down his throat, and he opened his mouth to howl his own cry of ecstasy to the heavens, or hell, depending on his ever-changing viewpoint.

It was music to Tavington’s ears. Not only had he broken the man into performing a sexual act that he normally held in revulsion, he had even gotten him to lose control and show the true extent of his feeling for it. The fireworks were second rate compared to what he had just made Martin do. And he knew Martin knew that.

It was the tenth anniversary of the country’s freedom, and although Benjamin should have felt gratified with vengeance at what he had done to his personal sworn enemy, an enemy of his country, all he felt was disgust now, disgust with himself. He had allowed Tavington, a monster, to win after all, and Benjamin couldn’t abide it.

A flash of silver in the shimmering lights came towards Tavington’s head, and he knew the war was lost, that Martin was ready to end it now, forever. He didn’t want to die, as wretched as his life had become. And he would never go easily to meet his maker for his crimes, especially for the only crime he truly regretted, the murder of the boy named Thomas Martin. And with those final thoughts, he did the only thing he could to save his life, and, possibly, his soul. For the first time in his adult life, William Tavington apologized.

Strangely, the words came easier than he ever would have expected, probably because he really did mean it. “Benjamin,” he rushed out at seeing the knife descending to his throat, as he deliberately used the man’s first name for once, “I’m sorry for Thomas.”

The knife stopped in midair, only inches from the defenseless neck of the man it was about to slit open from ear to ear.

Benjamin hadn’t even withdrawn himself yet. He remained propped up over Tavington on one forearm, and he lowered his face to the back of Tavington’s head. “What did you say?”

The man being asked stared at the knife, poised to strike, and knew if he said one wrong word that time it would be over. Tavington was a pusher by nature, and he knew that. He enjoyed pushing people to see what would happen, but he was no fool. He understood full well this time that he would never see another day if he pushed this particular man at this particular moment. He knew he was absolutely about to die. There was no doubt about it.

“I said, Benjamin,” he tried desperately to control the tone of his voice to sound sincere, not too hard to do when a deep down part of him actually was, “that I’m sorry for Thomas. Gabriel was a soldier at war, a man. Thomas was a boy, like mine. I was wrong.”

A sudden shuffling noise of air expelled onto the back of his neck. Warm air that had been held in washed over him, and Tavington shivered with delight, not just that it had worked, that Martin would let him live, but from a delectable tremor caused by the highly stimulating breath of that certain man on his bare skin, so stimulating, in fact, that he seriously wanted a joining of flesh with him again, although in a very different way.

Benjamin was convinced he didn’t want a joining of any kind ever again with a man, especially with THAT man. He would simply pretend it had never happened and go on with his lonely life, the way he had dealt with it before. Denial, denial, denial. And with that determination coursing through him, strength found at hearing Tavington apologize and hearing the ring of sincerity within it, he pushed back his own desire at feeling the man’s muscles clenching around him, hardening him again in that sweet perfect embrace …… and withdrew.

For a second, as he watched him dow down the knife and lace his trousers back up, Tavington thought that was it, that Martin would just walk out.

But he didn’t.

Tavington’s head had just turned back towards the headboard, biting his lip in disappointment to keep from asking the man to untie him, to stay with him, to ….. anything, when he suddenly shouted in pain, “BLOODY BASTARD!”

Benjamin was carving much deeper into his flesh than he had done previously. The flesh on his left buttock felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece by that knife, and it felt like an eternity to Tavington, a man who had never suffered torture quite like that before.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

There was, indeed, something Martin could do to him that he had never experienced or even performed on someone in this way. He was being marked ..… permanently. And while he cursed explosively in fury at realizing what was being done, Benjamin just grinned a bit until he was satisfied, then wiped the blade on his trousers like before, cut one constricted hand loose and left the room without a single word.

Tavington didn’t bother yelling after the man. He wouldn’t lower himself to do it. Cursing while he was being cut that deep was one thing, but threatening a man who had just done it while he was still defenseless seemed not only foolish, but a waste of breath ….. and dignity.

Within minutes he untied himself and stood up on shaky legs to look in the dresser mirror. Yes, there was a mark all right; a very large, very deep M on his ass, a mark that would eventually scar brilliantly, just like Benjamin had known it would. And not just there, he realized with a start. There were smaller ones he hadn’t expected to see. High on his shoulders, one on each, he saw two smaller less deeply cut Ms, obviously in meaning for the two whelps he had kd. d. – Well, now I know why he cut my hair! –

It was actually hysterical to Tavington. He couldn’t quite work up a rage on it anymore like he had thought he would. He ended up laughing, and tears actually fell from his eyes in laughter when he bent over holding his knees and saw that his long locks of hair were missing from the floor …. that the bloody farmer had taken them with him.

CRACK CRACK Something hit lightly on the window, a miracle he could hear it over the fireworks still going off. But it was a different kind of sound, and it caught the room’s sole occupant’s ears even through his hysteria.

Wiping the tears of hilarity from his face, he walked over to the window, still very much bare-skinned and not caring in the least, and saw Benjamin standing in the street beneath the tavern in a crowd of revelers under the lit up sky. The man was actually smiling broadly, and his hat tipped to Tavington while his other hand slowly waved in obvious taunt one of those annoying little red, white and blue flags …. the flags people seemed to make everywhere to wave about on their insidious little holiday.

The sight of it taunting him infuriated him even more than everything that had been done to his body, even the massive marking of possession. That lowly man was mocking him utterly with his stupid little flag and his stupid national pride that he had wrested out of Tavington’s grasp a decade ago …. and it was the final bloody straw. The laughter within disappeared entirely. Tavington WOULD get even ….. even if it took him his whole life to attain the goal. He had a purpose now. Benjamin Martin would be his, inside and out, completely.

Benjamin didn’t feel any fear looking up at Tavington’s dark expression. He saw how the chiseled face had set itself in stone and the eyes had filled with fury to blaze down onto him with a careful nod back, and he didn’t care in the least. He knew Tavington would find him some day. It was inevitable. His mind could deny it all it wanted, but his soul knew their lives were entwined …. in more ways than one. So let the man come. They would fight. They would bleed ..… and then they would see what happens.

And with that almost feeling of anticipation, a sense of new life entering his old bones, he turned from the window and melted into the crowd to enjoy his first Fourth of July celebration in years. It had turned out to be the perfect holiday after all.

~*~ FINIS ~*~


© M. Goss