The Spy and his Boy (Patreon)

I did this story for a Goodreads challenge years ago, but several people (rightly) commented that the relationship with the two guys wasn't well established.  So, this is the first third of the story with 8K more words of relationship.  Because I lost this in the great computer crash, I've had to dictate the piece from the version available online and then clean up the mistakes the dictation added into it.  So, it make take me a few days to get the conclusion up, which will be largely unchanged from the previously published version.

Part One

Jakob walked into the club, his heart pounding. This was a dangerous place, this hidden club that called itself Cris et Chuchotements, Shouts and Whispers. The whisper part came from the lack of any signs or advertisements. No one spoke of this sort of club other than in the most hushed and horrified of voices. In Berlin, many people talked about the natural expression of love between two men. One of the boys from his class it even talked about going to the Institute of Sexual Science where they experimented with changing males to females. Jakob liked his cock far too much for that, but those illicit whispers had led to such thoughts.

And now he was in Reims where no one would recognize him. His German accent made him someone to distrust, but his wide shoulders and handsome face would overcome that. And since no one knew him, he could indulge in his darkest fantasies. Heinz might've told stories about men doing the unimaginable with each other, but Jakob wanted more than stories.

He dreamed not of someone who would touch him like a woman, but someone who would use him – hurt him –feed the darkness that lived in his soul. Sometimes, early in the morning when he would stroke himself to fullness, he would use his left hand to dig his nails deep into his flesh so that the pain would give the experience sharper edges. He thought himself damaged in some way – sadly unique in his appetites. But now he believed differently.

At the factory where he apprenticed as a master machiner, it was said that this place provided pain with the pleasure, screams with the moans of pleasure. Jakob never would've guessed that the French, with their finery and fussy manners, would hide such perversion. But it was only in Reims that he had heard whispers of others who shared his hunger.

And now he was here. French gentlemen in high wasted suits sat at small tables drinking their wine with their spirits. But Jakob's gaze was drawn to the men farther back in the shadows. A workman with wide shoulders was laid across to table, his back crisscrossed with lash marks. Two others sat on a low bench, smoking while an older gentleman spanked a youth who couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen. He still had the gangly limbs of adolescence.

Jakob's breath caught at every pained wine, every echoing slap and soft sigh. That was where he wanted to be.

“What can I get you?” The barkeep asked. Jakob had been so distracted that he did not notice that many of those nearby now watched him with sharp eyes.

“Bière Titan,” he requested. He had no taste for the French wines and three months of apprenticeship had not changed that. His father's will had required him to seek training outside of Germany to receive his inheritance, and he had chosen France because he spoke the language. But he had underestimated the hostility that still existed from the Great War. Germany had lost, and had suffered greatly for that loss, and yet the second these Frenchmen heard his accent, their disdain and anger turned to bitterness.

Like now. Several men turned their backs to him. It was almost enough to make Jakob flee back to his small room where a large stack of books describing the internal gears of massive lawmaking machines waited for him to study each intricate part. Only the barkeep return with this beer stopped him. That and the pained grunts of the man being spanked. Jakob yearned for that so much that he would endure the attitude of these Frenchmen. If they disliked Germans that much, they should be happy to take a whip to one's backside.

That was where the fantasy sometimes failed. How could he trust someone who hated him? Lost in that contradiction, Jakob moved to a corner and sat on a bench where he could watch the men and nurse his beer.

The older man providing the spanking finished, and the youth went to his knees. Tear trails marred his face, and hot jealousy sliced Jakob’s guts.

“Which are you imagining yourself as—the man with the warm hand or the boy on the floor?”

Jakob looked up at the cultured tones. It was a gentleman with a well-trimmed beard. He was young, but no youth. Dark-haired and eyed, but with fair skin. He was beautiful. At another time or in another place, Jakob might've attempted some coy answer, but he was still breathless with wonder at this place and honesty overtook his common sense. “I would be that boy.”

The man smiled and held out his hand. “Merle Dubois,” he introduced himself.

“Jakob Weber,” Jakob responded, and a half second too late, it occurred to him that he should lie. He had no way to know if Merle Dubois had provided his real name, and unlike in Germany where most people had a more liberal view of sexuality, the French still enforced anti-homosexuality laws. Jakob could lose his apprenticeship for such conduct, and he had no doubt the shop master would keep the fees he'd already paid. He could ill afford such a loss, especially since he had no access to his father's funds yet.

Merle smiled. “First time?”

Jakob narrowed his eyes and didn't answer. He was not so young that he could still be easily bent to new shapes, but this Merle had such amusement in his expression, he seemed to think otherwise. “Perhaps,” Jakob eventually answered.

Merle laughed and slapped Jakob on the shoulder before sitting next to him. “A good answer. Now I would rather be the one providing the spanking, although I prefer switch or even a good whip in my hand. Does that frighten you?”

Quite the opposite. Jakob’s cock began to harden; however, he limited himself to saying, “No.”

“You're a good German boy. No doubt you know how to endure stoically as your race does.”

That cooled Jakob’s ardor. “If you wish to find one more way to take some price from Germany, seek another. I find the French people unforgiving and cruel, and I have no interest in feeding that nationalistic cruelty.”

Merle raised his eyebrows. “The little shepherd pup has teeth. What have the French done to inspire such an attitude?”

“They are poor winners and worse losers.”

“Since we won the war, I imagine I don't know what sort of losers my people would be as a whole, but as for me, I'm a gracious winner and an insufferable loser. I will hound my prey until it drops from exhaustion. Once I set my sights on a proper course, I will never look away.” He leaned closer. “I am truly unwilling to lose, which saves everyone from having to endure my bad temper when I do.” Merle’s smile was so open and gracious that Jakob was not sure how to take that statement.

He drank his beer.

Merle settled back again. “I'm trying to decide I'm chasing you. After all, you would look so very nice with red stripes against that pale skin and tears and those blue eyes of yours.”

Jakob nearly choked on his beer. Even after he swallowed, he could only stare at Merle.

“Oh, I am definitely interested in seeing you at my feet.” Merle stroked Jakob’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

That broke Jakob out of his stupor. He caught Merle's hand. “Stop.”

“Why?”

The answer to that should have been obvious, but Jakob couldn't come up with one.

“I will wait for you in the shadows.” Merle stood and gave Jakob one last smile before he walked toward the back of the dimly lit space. He walked with a grace that suggested that he had never done hard labor. He looked more like someone you might spend all day on horseback – his trim figure would fill out riding gear quite well. Jakob was rather obsessed with watching the man's ass.

And then Merle vanished into the shadows, and Jakob was left alone with his thoughts and his beer. And his cock, which was uncomfortably hard. He couldn't get up and leave without embarrassing himself, and he couldn't remain without staring into the shadows and wondering what it would feel like to be under Merle's control.

It was strange, because Jakob disliked anyone trying to tell them what to do. His father, a Russian, had seen trouble coming before the Bolsheviks had taken over the country. He fled Russia before that revolution, landing in Berlin in advance of the Great War. He all but ordered Jakob to leave Germany to seek his fortune elsewhere. Jakob had resisted out of a need to resist more than any great loyalty to the Fatherland. He loved Germany, but the deep poverty and desperation would have driven him away had his father not ordered him to go.

So, like the mule his father so often accused him of being, Jakob had dug in his heels and refused to step foot out of Berlin. He'd suffered the food shortages, the violence, the ugly politics, and the petty crime. And then his father had died, and Jakob had only one way to claim his inheritance – to go elsewhere.

Jakob resented his father for that.

But now he wanted someone to issue orders, to force him to yield. The urge was so strong that some days Jakob questioned whether he was possessed by some spirit. Until he had come to France, he had never heard of the works of Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade.

Now they were all he could think about.

Something struck flesh, and the victim gave a muffled shout. Jakob startled so badly his beer sloshed over the side of his mug. In preparation for the sound of the next hit, he placed his beer next to him on the bench as he listened to the beautiful suffering of some anonymous man.

He wanted that, but fear stirred through his gut. He could walk out. He should walk out.

If he did, he would always wonder, though. Steeling his nerve, Jakob stood and walked toward the back. A few dim lights cast weak shadows. It was like walking into some great maw that threatened to swallow him alive. It excited him in ways he could not describe. The men in this part of the club were in some state of address undress. One man had stained the crotch of his trousers, and Jakob averted his eyes to avoid embarrassing the man who had clearly been unable to contain his orgasm. In the back of the room, Jakob finally spotted Merle watching. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, and his foot twitched as though he could hear some inaudible music.

Keenly honed fear and desire warred as he made his way toward Merle. The man stood, and even his posture commanded attention. He owned the space in which he stood, and as soon as Jakob came near, Merle wrapped his hand around the back of Jakob’s neck and pulled him close. Jakob was prepared for the pain of teeth biting into his lip. Instead Merle kissed him gently while stroking his shoulder. A shudder went up his spine. Even though this wasn't the pain he craved, the kiss possessed them in a way he couldn't describe. When Merle stepped back, Jakob rocked forward onto his toes before settling.

Merle’s smirk made a blush rise on Jakob's cheeks.

“Strip off your shirt,” Merle commanded. Jakob's hands went to his buttons, but he didn't follow orders. It was as if he couldn't move his fingers.

“Are you disobeying, boy?” Merle gave Jakob a cold and evaluative stare, but slowly his expression softened. “Oh I think my boy is dumbstruck. You are new to this, yes?”

Jakob swallowed. “Maybe.”

Merle ran his hand over Jakob's chest and pushed Jakob’s fingers away from the buttons. Then he started to unfasten them himself. “Such a beautiful boy,” he whispered. Jakob’s skin warmed wherever Merle touched him—his chest, his shoulders, and then as Merle worked his way down, the heat spread to Jakob's stomach.

When he unfastened the last button, Merle pushed the fabric off Jakob's shoulders and let it fall to the ground. He twisted Jakob's peaked nipple through the undershirt, and Jakob gasped as pain and need and heat lanced his body.

“So responsive. I like that in a partner,” Merle said. “Have you had sex with a man?”

Jakob blinked, struggling to reconstruct his thoughts after such an onslaught. It didn't help that the French words were like water sliding past him, the meaning just out of his grasp.

“I need an answer. Have you had sex with a man?”

This time the words penetrated the fog. “I exchanged favors with a boy in my class.”

“So with hands?”

Jakob began to sweat as he thought of the other options that Merle might have in mind. He was a man who done what Jakob had only dreamed of. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

“So an untouched boy with beautiful eyes and broad shoulders manages to wander his way into my life. I have clearly been blessed.” Merle ran his thumb over Jakob's lower lip. Then he walked around to Jakob's back. When Jakob tried to turn, Merle kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder.

Several deep breaths stilled the trembling in Jakob legs, but then Merle kissed the back of his neck. Nothing could stop the earthquake that rocked him. Merle pulled Jakob’s undershirt free from his trousers and then his bare hands ghosted over Jakob’s sides. He slid his hands around to Jakob's stomach and pressed against his back, hugging him from behind.

“I –”

“Shhh,” Merle hushed him, and Jakob fell silent.

When Merle pulled on the bottom of the undershirt, Jakob lifted his arms and allowed Merle to strip him. The shirt was tossed aside – Jakob did not even see where. He was more focused on the dry kisses Merle placed on his shoulder and then up to his neck.

Where Jakob had expected brutality, Merle offered soft touches. It wasn't what Jakob and wanted, and yet he couldn't break away from those commanding hands. Then Merle slipped his hands into Jakob’s trousers and grabbed his cock.

Jakob grabbed Merle's full forearm. “Holla die Waldfee!”

“Merle laughed, his warm breath stirring the hairs at the back of Jakob’s neck. “I will take that as a good thing.” He then walked away. Shock robbed Jakob of his words, and he was so hard he could not walk out onto the street without risk of arrest, so he stood mute. However Merle didn’t go far. He stopped at a shelf at the back of the room and chose something before returning.

Iron shackles. He had heavy iron shackles. A hard shiver travelled down Jakob’s spine. Somewhere along the way, Jakob realized he had stopped breathing, and his head was spinning. He sucked in air, forcing himself to breathe steadily as Merle locked each shackle around Jakob’s wrists. The chain between them was short, and immediately Jakob felt trapped.

Merle could do anything, and the men watching would not stop him.

“Hush, my boy. I will only whip you a little tonight. We have many more nights to see how much of your soul I can claim,” Merle reassured him, and then he led Jakob to a spot against one of the heavy timbers holding up the room. An old hook was set deep in the wood. Merle urged Jakob to step onto a small stool and put the center chain over this hook.

When Jakob stepped down, Merle removed the stool, and Jakob was truly trapped. He could not free himself because the chains were unyielding. He expected pain, but Merle surprised him again by stroking his back.

“How do you feel, my beautiful?” Merle asked. Jakob had no answer, but he shuddered so strongly that the chain rattled.

“Do your shoulders hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid?”

Jakob hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“I have to ask—do you want me to free you or do you want the pain?”

The words stuck in Jakob's throat. He knew what a normal man would say, but he could not say it. If he asked for freedom, he would never again find the courage to come back here. Before he'd stepped into the club, he’d half believed the stories of this club were mere legends told the foreigners so that they might make fools of themselves. But now that he knew the truth, he would never find this courage again.

“The pain,” Jakob confessed in a whisper.

“And are you offering your pain freely?”

Jakob wanted the questions to stop. He wanted to indulge in his darkness without giving voice to the wrong in his own head. But Merle stood still, waiting. If Jakob wanted this, he had to ask for it, which seemed the cruelest indignity of all.

“I'm offering it,” Jakob whispered. He feared Merle might make him say it louder.

Instead Merle said, “And I accept.”

Time became a fluid and fickle thing. “Jakob couldn’t seem to control his shallow breathing, but on the good side, he was remembering to breathe no matter how ragged it was. Merle had gone silent. He ran his hands over Jakob’s back, sometimes gently, and sometimes while raking his nails down Jakob’s skin. Each time he did the latter, Jakob’s lust deepened until he was so hard that his cock provided all the pain he could want.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” Merle said. He walked back to that shelf, and Jakob was left on display for the other men. About half watched, some seemingly bored and others leaning forward eagerly. Jakob faced the post and rested his forehead against the cool, painted wood.“When Merle returned, he had a flogger in hand and he let the leather tails brush against Jakob’s side.

“The more tense you are, the more this will hurt,” Merle said, even as he kept the flogger’s touch feather light.

“I am not too weak to withstand pain.”

“The goal is not to withstand it, but to enjoy it.” Merle swung the leather, and it lashed across Jakob’s pants. He yelled out a surprise, but it was little more than a dull sting. Merle leaned close and whispered in his ear, his breath stirring Jakob’s hair. “Don't anticipate the feelings. Feel them. Sink into them.” His words made little sense. Jakob was vibrating so badly that he feared his spine might spontaneously fall apart like a child's tinker toys

Merle brought the flogger down on Jakob's upper back, and for second it felt like no more than the first strike – a simple sting. Then the heat started to build. It sank into his muscles, and Jakob strained against the chains.

The second and third strike added fuel to the fire, and Jakob panted as the pain settled into his bones.

“Ride the feeling,” Merle said. He pressed a fingernail against Jakob’s abused skin and that small point of pain felt like a knife slowly pressing into him. Then Merle moved his hand and kissed the spot. The freedom from that one point of pain contrasted against the heat in his back combined until Jakob’s head spun. He felt as if the world existed on the other side of a gauze curtain. Nothing was real except Merle's hands.

“You are such a good boy, a treasure.” Merle brushed his hands gently across Jakob’s sides. Jakob was trapped in heaven. When Merle backed up a step, Jakob wanted to cry at the loss of contact, but then the flogger hit him, sending a cascade of hot prickles up and down his body. Merle fell into a pattern, alternating sides as Jakob swayed from side to side from the force of the hits.

It was pain, but it was more. Jakob was so hard that his cock throbbed. If Merle asked right now, Jakob would be willing to try so much more than a simple exchange of hands. But Merle didn't ask. He swung the flogger harder, once on Jakob’s right shoulder and then on his left before he began to work his way down Jakob's body with lighter strokes. The second some of the strands began to hit the fabric of Jakob’s pants, Jakob regretted leaving them on. He wanted to feel the bite of the leather and the long lines of heat across his ass. He wanted that moment where everything felt brighter and better.

However Jakob was long past the point of being able to parse French words to ask for that. He closed his eyes and swayed with the music created by the slapping of the flogger against his skin.

Merle worked his way back up, and now the heat was more intense. Jakob was caught between twin desires – a need to get away and the need for more. When Merle stopped, it was as if Jakob lost his balance. He clung to the chains to keep from falling down.

“You are a natural.” Merle's tone was almost reverent.

Jakob opened his mouth determined to offer some complement even with his malfunctioning thoughts. However, Merle laid a finger over his lips. Once Jakob closed his mouth Merle let his hand trail down over Jakob's shoulder and then he flicked at Jakob’s left nipple.

Jakob yelled, the pain making his whole body flair with heat.

“Perhaps this virgin skin is too sensitive yet.” Merle reached for Jakob's other nipple, pulling more gently this time. It was the difference between scalding water spilled from a boiling pot and the heat of a long soak in a bath. Jakob's whole body became one massive ball of warm need. He groaned and arched his back.

“So beautiful.” Merle kissed her Jakob’s shoulder and stroked his chest, but every movement made Jakob flinch as he waited for the next onslaught with hungry anticipation. “I must say that as a selfish bastard, I may not want to share you.”

One of the men watching answered. “He'll be back, and if you're not here, I'm sure we'll find someone to indulge his love of the whip.”

“And then I'll take the whip to that man's back,” Merle said fiercely.

“You are too young to be such a bastard,” one of the others said.

“But that's why all the boys who love pain flock to him,” the first watcher observed. “But watch yourself, German, Merle's attention can be fickle.”

Merle pressed his body up against Jakob, the whip marks hot between them. “Ignore them. They are jealous. You are beautiful, and my whip sings only for you.” With no warning Merle shoved his hand down the front of Jakob’s trousers and grabbed his cock. Jakob thrust wildly into Merle's grip twice, three times, and then he started to come, soiling his best trousers in the process.

Around them, men sighed appreciatively, and now that the fog of lust had lifted a little, Jakob blushed at being on display. With his hands bound, all he could do was hide his face in the crook of his arm.

“I can help you come,” Jakob offered softly. He didn't want to be seen as the greedy partner.

Merle pressed his body against Jakob’s hot and bruised back. “For me, control is the ultimate aphrodisiac – and that includes control over myself. I quite enjoy waiting, my beautiful. But I do hope you'll allow me to introduce you to a few of the other firsts that your body could offer.”

“I…” Jakob let the word trail off because he didn't know what to say. He'd expected something much different. He thought the point would be for the dominant partner to come and leave him suffering. When Jakob looked around, none of the other men seem shocked by Merle's actions, so perhaps his expectations were not realistic.

Merle chuckled, the paths of warm air on Jakob’s cooling shoulder. “Wait here, my boy.” Merle gave him a slap on the ass and then walked away. Jakob watched over shoulder as Merle disappeared into the next room, and he was alone – restrained – surrounded by men who enjoyed causing pain. Now that he had sated his lust, the fear crept back in. He was foolish for coming here. He'd risked too much, and for what? An orgasm?

He was weak. If he found a way out of here, he would never return. That was the thought that finally settled at the forefront of his mind.

Then Merle returned with a warm washcloth. He opened Jakob’s trousers and gently cleaned his spent cock. He wiped out the worst of the mess Jakob had made inside his trousers and then buttoned him back up.

The tenderness confused Jakob as much as his own reaction to the pain.

“You don't need to do this,” Jakob said quietly as Merle took a second warm cloth and began to wipe him down.

“But I enjoy it. If you’re mine to control for the night, and you did offer yourself to me, then I shall enjoy bringing you both pleasure and pain. After all, if I do not tend you, then I've given up a chance to control you, and I very much enjoy control.” Merle finished watching washing Jakob’s back and then moved to stand next to him.

Merle's trousers tented out from his erection, but he made no move to touch it as he studied Jakob. “I'm going to give you a paper with an address on it. It is mine. When you feel the need to explore more of what pleasures your body can hold for both of us, come to my home before 7 PM. I will never do anything without a clear offer from you, but there are pleasures beyond your understanding, and I can introduce you to each and every dark indulgence you have ever conceived, and many that have not occurred to you. Do you understand?”

Jakob nodded. “And if I do not come?”

Merle was silent for a time. “You will,” he said with confidence. “It may take some time for your courage to overcome your fear, but you will. For now, stand here and be pretty so the others can enjoy looking at what they have not earned the right to touch. I am going to have a drink and a cigarette, and I will release you afterward, unless you have some objection to that plan, Merle added almost as an afterthought.

“No, no objection,” Jakob said. The disdain for Germans had vanished from the expression of those men that Jakob could see. They looked at Jakob with hunger and lust that made even his spent cock twitch. And when Merle retreated to the table, his gaze always on Jakob, Jakob began to get hard again.

Chapter Two

Merle set the newspaper to one side, concerned about what American changes to finance would mean for the rest of the world. The Pecora hearings were certainly necessary considering how Americans had mishandled their finances severely enough to trigger a depression that had rippled out into the world as powerfully as Germany's current financial situation. But still. He was concerned about how these new financial woes appeared like the Hydra’s heads—chop off one and two more would appear.

Luckily he had lost little in the recent troubles. Much of his family's wealth was trapped in ancestral treasures that it made speculation financially difficult. So Merle was not as concerned as some families who had grown too fascinated by America's young wealth. At the same time as gold and quality racehorse lines and gems were losing their worth, America was defining the new wealth in terms of railroads and stock portfolios. Many in Merle’s social circle hoped to follow the lead of these new financial leaders.

It was a world that Merle poorly understood, and he feared that he could not navigate it.

But he also feared having too much of his wealth sitting in his house. He was fortunate to been raised in privilege, but at this point, one good house fire would remove the majority of his financial security. And the insurance required to protect that was becoming onerous.

Sometimes Merle wondered if his own desire for control in the bedroom was not an outgrowth of the many ways in which he felt out of control in the rest of his life. His grandfather had raised him to believe that possessing a line of horses whose pedigree was above reproach was better than money in the bank.

World War I had proved his grandfather no soothsayer. Most of their horses had died in the war, some commandeered by the Army, and others killed for food. Bloodlines that could be traced back three hundred years ended over the spit of some soldier’s fire. He continued to train their few remaining animals and even worked for other families under carefully negotiated conditions that allowed him to deny that he had hired himself out, but he still feared it would not be enough if the world continued to lose its way.

Others dismissed his fear because Germany was no longer the villain they had proved themselves at the beginning of the century. Their back was broken, and as Germany had been the center of most of the plots to expand empires in Europe, others felt safe. But Germany were not unique in their avarice.

Japan was moving, and a half dozen European countries had their feet firmly planted in Asia. Merle feared that a fire that started there could very well end up back in the home countries.

Since the financial news was depressing to say the least, Merle turned his attention to the social pages. A few families of note had placed announcements of a soirée, and he studied the listings for those that might contain women of enough means for him to manage their wealth and enough disinterest that they would have little call for his time.

One could usually tell which women preferred either their own company or the company of a female companion. They were the women who avoided marriage too long for propriety, the women who would speak of unions in terms of political alliances or financial practicalities instead of expecting a man to whisper words of love. Merle had no words of love to share with anyone.

He possessed words of lust, but was the best he could do.

After a time, he had to give up. The social pages annoyed him as much as the financial news, and he folded the newspaper and shoved it to one side.

“Sir, will you need anything else?” Amelia asked as she appeared at the dining room door. She had a magical sense of when he was either finished with his dinner or too fed up by the state of the world to handle indigestion longer any longer.

“No. I’m finished. Thank you.”

She ducked her head in an imitation of a bow. She had worked for his family since before he had been born, so he imagined that having changed Merle's diapers, she felt no need for the obsequious manners some servants put on. “Then I shall clear the dinner plates and leave you.”

“Of course.” Merle headed into the front parlor, his thoughts spinning. His mother had left some particularly ostentatious pieces of jewelry, and as much as America had suffered a massive financial setback, she did still have individuals of great wealth who might pay significantly for pieces of jewelry with strong links to the royals who had died on the guillotine. There were any number of English nobles who might be interested for the same reason. More than one of his distant cousins had fled Paris during those days and had landed in England. Perhaps one of them would be interested in a ruby that had once passed from the royal coffers into the hands of one of his ancestors.

The problem was getting word of his willingness to sell to the correct ears. In these days of financial instability, even the hint that someone was attempting to sell off treasures could lead to rumors of desperation that led others to offer only a few francs for priceless treasures.

He disliked the mercenary turn the human race seemed to have taken. Or perhaps humans were always mercenary and Merle had simply been too caught up in his horses and his books and his history lessons to notice. That was possible.

Amelia appeared at the door of the parlor and Merle gave her his full attention. Usually once she had cleared dinner, she returned home and he did not see her again until she needed to prepare his lunch. “Yes?”

“A young man has come to see you,” she said. The way she pronounced man made her displeasure clear. Merle frowned, not sure which of his acquaintances would have caused her such disapproval. She was usually pleased when he deigned to socialize, despairing that he would never have children if he did not find a wife willing to put up with his eccentricities. Eccentricities. That was another code by which one might know that a person was uninterested in a true marriage. No doubt Amelia had developed her suspicions long ago, but Merle ensured that he kept any relationships discrete. If he were arrested for his less than savory sexual appetites, the vultures would no doubt tear this home and every last treasure he owned into pieces.

“Did he offer a name?”

“Monsieur Weber, a man of German origin,” Amelia said.

That explained her disdain. Her oldest son had died in the war, and she did have a visceral response to anyone with a German accent. Considering her own mother had come from Essen, the reaction was illogical, but Merle did not expect logic, not anymore.

He kept his expression neutral to avoid appearing overly interested in a certain man with a Germanic accent. “Please show him in and then you are dismissed for the evening.”

She nodded, and he could sense disapproval, but he was no child to take her scolding to heart. She might have gray hairs from handling his antics as a youth, but she was not his mother to send his friends away.

A moment later, she opened the parlor door and ushered Jakob into the room. He was as handsome as he had been in the club, his gaze clear and suspicious. This was no simpleminded youth who hoped to dally before committing himself to a marriage with some uninspiring maid. Merle enjoyed calling him boy only because the sharp intelligence in his eyes made it clear that he was not one. And mastering him felt much more satisfying for that very reason.

Merle stood and gestured to the settee. For a moment, Jakob stood at the parlor door, running his hat through his fingers nervously. “Please, come in. Sit.”

Jakob looked around. “This isn't what I expected.”

Merle smiled. Jakob might not be a boy, but in many ways he was naïve. He likely expected whips and chains hanging from the walls. “One's public life and one's private life do not necessarily align.”

Jakob took a step into the parlor and closed the door behind him. “And who are you publicly?”

“I am the son of a man who died in the Great War. The grandson of a man who lived for horses more than his family. The brother to two sisters, one of whom is safely married into a union which is as boring as wallpaper. Old wallpaper. And one of whom died in a swimming accident. If you asked anyone on the streets, they could have told you as much of Merle Dubois. And who are you publicly?” Usually Merle cared little for the lives of his partners, but he waited for this answer.

“I am here studying machines.”

“Jakob Weber, a student of machines. No doubt from Germany. Siblings?”

Jakob shook his head. “Only cousins.” He might study machines, but he was no simple workmen. His eyes lingered on the artwork, the figurines on the mantle, the cut crystal. Merle found most workmen failed to notice such trappings of wealth. Their gaze tended to focus on the cracking plaster in the north corner of the parlor and the way the grout needed to be redone on the fireplace.

“Parents?”

Jakob seem to shake himself free of whatever demon had captured his tongue and looked at Merle. “My mother died in childbirth and my father recently passed, either of old age or poor diet… or both. He was prone to gout.”

That spoke of some money. Merle had yet to meet a poor person who could indulge to the point of illness. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“He would not let me inherit unless I studied abroad. It's why I came to France.”

“An odd requirement for the fulfillment of an inheritance.” Merle had never heard of such a stipulation, and in his circle, the vagaries of wills was a favorite subject for post-dinner conversation.

Jakob shrugged. His parlor manners were clearly limited.

“Please, sit.”

Jakob considered the settee with all the warmth that another man might consider a snake preparing to strike, but he did finally sit. “He was Russian.”

“Who was?” Merle had been distracted by Jakob’s strong hands and had lost track of their conversation.

“My father. He was Russian. He feared politics in Germany right now. He wanted to make sure I had connections outside the Fatherland.”

“Was he concerned about this new chancellor or the rising of these Marxists or some other political danger on the horizon?” Merle assumed that any man who would disinherit a son who remained too ardently patriotic would have good reasons, but he did not know German politics well enough to understand what those might be. He saw only what the newspaper covered, and he had always been more interested in news from America and the East. The East was a popular topic for journalistic complaints.

Jakob shrugged again. “I'm not sure. I don't know why I came here.” Jakob started to stand, and Merle got to his feet.

“Sit.” He ordered. Merle smiled when Jakob obeyed. A calm settled over Merle's skin. He knew this. He knew how to read a man's body the way another would read the twitches in a horse right before it bucked or the mutinous expression in a hunting dog. Jakob was desperate for the whip, but his fear and his desire were so evenly matched that they were two horses yoked to the same wagon but pulling in different directions.

Merle knew how to tip the balance to his favor. He moved closer, relishing that moment when Jakob shivered in anticipation. Merle rested a hand on Jakob's shoulder and waited until the tight muscles slowly relaxed. “You know me better than most in terms of my private life. I would love to indulge some of my private eccentricities. And for you to show up at my doorstep, I assume that you would enjoy allowing me to seek my pleasure.” Merle ran the back of his fingers down Jakob's cheek. Stubble caught at his knuckles and Jakob swallowed so that his Adam's apple bobbed.

“I don't know why I came.”

“Yes you do,” Merle said with confidence. “I remember what it felt like to be new to this world, to be afraid of speaking the hidden passions that motivated me to find men in the shadows. Do not allow that fear to steal your voice. Anything you could want, I have heard of. And while there are certain…” Merle hesitated before choosing his words, “activities… that I might not indulge in, there are very few that I would be unable to either assist you in personally or help you find someone who would better match your needs.”

Merle ignored a sharp twinge of jealousy at the idea that Jakob could have lovers outside of him. Men could not form alliances of marriage the way a man could form with a woman. He had no right to expect fidelity. And yet, he had the same jealousy in his heart that another might feel for a wife. He had never excelled at sharing. Even as a child, his nannies had despaired at his selfishness. But he had a uniquely powerful need to keep Jakob close.

Perhaps that was because he was so obviously new to this world. There were men who used the proclivity of others to take advantage, either by forcing others to submit in ways that they did not find pleasurable or by pursuing blackmail. Blackmail was so universally common that all the men in their circles feared it. Merle envied women who often indulged in their appetites with friends and called it girlish exploration. He'd heard that in the Americas women could even have what they called a Boston marriage. Two women would form a household and society would pretend that they were nothing more than sisterly acquaintances seeking to help one another in a male-dominated world. Men did control the world, but sometimes Merle envied the fact that that made it easier for women to slip into the shadows and do that which was forbidden.

“All the bruises have healed,” Jakob said.

Merle raised his eyebrows. Either Jakob healed slowly due to some underlying health condition or poor diet, or he had been pressing fingers into the bruises to prolong their life. Merle suspected the latter. He rested his palm against the back of Jakob's neck. “Is that what you need? New bruises?”

Jakob swallowed and then nodded.

“And if I told you that the price for new bruises was to remain shackled to my bed all night? If I informed you that I wish to wake with your bound body next to me so that I could run my hands over you, grab my own morning hardness, and then splatter my seed across to your belly?” It was the filthiest fantasy Merle owned. Seeking out an hour of comfort in the darkness of a bar could be dismissed as entertainment. But to exert ownership over a man all night was to admit to a level of perversion beyond the norm.

Part of Merle expected Jakob to be sane and flee the house of someone who had an excessive need for such control. Instead, Jakob tilted his head up, exposing the arch of his neck. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown until they looked almost inhuman. He swallowed, licked his lips, and then lightly touched Merle's hip before pulling his hand back again. “Please.”

That one word whispered in a German accent shot desire through Merle's body. Merle leaned closer, resting his cheek against the top of Jakob's head. “I want to own you. To control you. To feel you strain under me when you have leather locking every part of you down.”

Merle suspected he was trying to drive Jakob away. Instead, Jakob whispered. “Okay.”

Merle took a deep breath and tried to settle the nervousness that fluttered through his body.

“I have to be to work at nine. I work with the cotton looms on avenue des Gobelins. Will you release me in time to get to work?”

So they had entered the mundane details of negotiations. Usually, this is when Merle's partner would explain what they would not do—when they would demand those activities which they sought in return for Merle's cooperation. They would discuss whether to meet for an hour or two, and what house to use. They would debate the relative security of the various locations before releasing the reins on their lust. But this did not feel like negotiation. This felt like surrender. Instead of feeling the pull to argue and demand and secure each of his own wants, Merle felt obligated to protect Jakob and guide him through this new world of obstacles that he was clearly not well prepared to navigate.

“Will you need to return home for clean clothing or for personal grooming?” He stroked his thumb over the stubble of Jakob's cheek.

Jakob shook his head. “I changed before I came here. These clothes are clean enough as long as I don't soil them.” His hand reached for his own crotch, and his cock was straining at the buttons.

“Then we shall have to get you out of those quickly.” Merle stood. “Will you strip them off now?” Amelia would have pulled all the drapes for the evening, but Jakob would not know that. More than anything, Merle wondered how deeply Jakob felt this surrender. A sane man would insist they retreat to the boudoir where he could be more confident of privacy. Jakob’s hands flew to the buttons of his shirt and then paused, hovering as if he didn't know what to do, as if he had lost the ability to work buttons.

Merle caught Jakob’s hands and his own. “We can go upstairs first.”

“No.” Jakob pulled free before unbuttoning his shirt and draping it over the end of the settee. He stood to disrobe, and Merle stepped back to give him enough space to work. His undershirt was next and then his boots, his heavy socks and his trousers, and finally he slipped free of his underpants. He stood with his hard cock, his gaze locked on Merle.

The quickness of his response and his willingness to trust that Merle had the ability to keep him safe left Merle almost intoxicated. Merle wrapped an arm around the small of Jakob's back and pulled him close. “You are beautiful,” he said before he bit Jakob’s shoulder hard enough to leave dimples on that beautiful skin.

Jakob shivered. “Are you going to tie me up?” he asked.

“I shall keep you tied up as much as you allow,” Merle answered. Pulling his own belt out, he looped it roughly around Jakob's wrists before fastening the buckle. It was a rudimentary binding, and he had things far more appropriate for human limbs in his bedroom, but for now he just wanted to see leather against Jakob's bare flesh. Jakob licked his lips and watched as Merle grabbed the leather and led Jakob from the room.

Some men indulged once and never found the courage to indulge again. Merle had suspected that Jakob would fall into that category. His needs were so strong and his fears so great the denial would have been the easiest path. But he had come, and Merle would do his best to not only honor that submission but to ensure that Jakob enjoyed himself so much that he could not avoid returning to Merle's home again and again.

Chapter Three

As usual, Merle woke before Jakob.

He loved the hour in the morning when he could sit with his tea and study his lover. It been over two years since Jakob had moved in, and Merle sometimes felt like a boring married man. It was feeling he rather enjoyed. At one point, he would have thought variety was the most powerful aphrodisiac, but they had a certain rhythm to their lives that offered great comfort, and each of them brought perversions enough to the bedroom that Merle still grew hard thinking about Jakob.

Of course, they had to take precautions. They had to limit how much they indulged. if Jakob wore leather cuffs as often as he would like or as often as Merle would like to keep him cuffed, he would have permanent marks around his wrists and ankles. That would be pushing the bounds of propriety beyond what people could overlook.

It was strange enough that Merle had a German living in his home, but since the German in question had a sizable inheritance from his father and paid a considerable rent, society tended to overlook it as one more example of an old family that had fallen on financial hard times and had to consider the unthinkable in order to meet their tax obligations and insurance payments.

That was too close to the truth.

Merle had balked at accepting such money, but as Jakob rightfully pointed out, moving money out of Germany was no small feat, not even with the recent political reconciliations between Germany, Britain, France, and Italy. The Munich agreement had calmed some of the rumors of pending war that hung on the air like pollen in the spring, but it did not dispel them entirely. And Germans who moved to quickly to divest themselves of investments in the Fatherland found themselves penniless as Hitler and his cronies confiscated everything.

Merle doubted that Germany would stop with the Sudetenland. Germany had always turned her eyes to their Slavic neighbors and their resources. No doubt Hitler would like to put together the same sort of Empire that existed in years past. Merle felt safe enough in France, but he knew that Jakob walked a difficult line. His inheritance was only safe—his cousins and their families were only safe—as long as Jakob remained outwardly agreeable to the ridiculous little man who had taken over his country.

Merle found it ironic that the will that had forced Jakob to leave the increasingly militant Germany had also prevented Jakob from accessing him his money until it was too late to safely move it abroad.

Then again, had Jakob attempted to move his money when he had first come to Paris, his fortune would have been so greatly diminished by an unfavorable exchange rate that it would've been worthless anyway.

Merle pulled his thoughts away from such morbid things and enjoyed the fact that on this fine morning, he had a beautiful man in his bed. Jakob wore nothing but leather wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs, and one ankle was chained to the footboard. He had enough room to turn easily, but Jakob literally could not leave the immediate area of the bed without Merle's permission. And without Merle going to fetch the key. Such perfect trust was a thing of great beauty.

At one point Merle would've said he understood submission by what the men in the club did in the shadows, but he had been wrong. Those men were indulging a kink. They were scratching an itch. They were not giving themselves to one another.

Sometimes Merle still struggled with giving himself over to his lover. He had hidden his distress when he finally found a buyer for his grandmother's ruby necklace. He had pretended it was nothing more than a financial dealing, and Jakob had waited with perfect patience until Merle cracked beneath the weight of guilt at leaving his lover out of his confidence. It took three weeks, but he had  confessed his pain at watching the agent take the velvet box from his possession. It been his grandmother's prize, a necklace his mother had only worn on her own wedding day because it was too precious to risk.

But Merle needed to make insurance payments and have enough money in the bank to ensure he could continue to do so. Therefore he sold the greatest of his jewels and invested the proceeds against difficult times he expected to come. Germany could not move against Austria or Czechoslovakia without France suffering the financial backlash. The Maginot line could hold back German troops, but it could not stabilize financial markets.

When Merle had finally confessed that he feared what his mother would say when he saw her in the next life, Jakob listened. Merle feared his father and grandfather would look down on him for failing to maintain the family wealth and treasures, and Jakob had laughed and said, “I'm glad you're not one of these idiot Frenchmen who think that a piece of history is enough to prevent starvation.”

His thoughts unaccountably morbid, Merle slipped out of bed and went downstairs to fix a cup of tea and grab a pair of pastries before he went back upstairs. He still had some time before Jakob had to get ready for work. The mail was sitting on the kitchen counter where Amelia had left it, and he scooped it up before returning to the bedroom. He settled into the chair and went through his correspondence as Jakob slowly started stirring. He turned, his hand reaching out towards Merle's side of the bed. Putting his tea to one side, Merle let his dressing down fall from his shoulders and he climbed back into the bed. Jakob’s questing fingers found his stomach and then Jakob was scooting closer.

“Good morning,” Merle said.

“I hate how easily you wake in the morning,” Jakob grumbled. It was a common complaint.

Merle leaned closer and kissed the base of Jakob's throat. “I know how I can wake you.”

Jakob cracked his eyes open and studied Merle's face. “I can't be late for work.”

“Then I shall have to move quickly.” Merle curled his hand around the back of Jakob's neck and squeezed it. Jakob's eyes came open and his back arched slightly.

“I haven't pissed yet.”

Beautifully crude. Some days Merle did despair for the vocabulary Jakob learned at his factory. “Then this might hurt,” Merle said without sympathy. He grabbed Jakob’s cock and ran a thumb along the slit. Jakob hissed and arched his back more, and Merle cupped his balls in one hand, squeezing them until the tremble of pleasure turned into a flinch. Then he let go.

Jakob whined low in his throat, always hungry for pleasure and pain and touch. He'd been raised in a household that didn't show affection, and Merle knew how to take advantage of that touch starvation that still haunted him. He fisted Jakob’s hair and pulled his head to one side so he could nip where the neck met the shoulder. “I am going to fuck you raw,” he promised. Before Jakob could even finish groaning, Merle flipped him onto his stomach and put a knee between his butt cheeks and lean his weight into it. Jakob gave a rough cry and thrashed, his fingers finding the headboard and hanging onto the rail until his knuckles turned white.

Merle lowered himself so that his weight lay along Jakob’s back, his own hard cock nestled between Jakob’s butt cheeks. “Too much?” He asked in a tone that he knew another might describe as condescending or smug.

“I thought you promised to shove something in me, not talk me to death,” Jakob challenged him.

“But you like having hard things shoved in you, and I enjoy torturing you. So maybe I'll make you earn your reward,” Merle said. He ran his hands along Jakob's arms up to the wrists where he held them firmly and pinned them to the mattress.

Jakob groaned. “You’re a bastard, Merle Dubois.”

“My parents were married, but if you are attempting to cast aspersions on my personality, I wouldn't argue. I have been told I am a very overbearing sort. My lover tells me this often.” Merle latched onto Jakob's shoulder and sucked until he could feel the skin bruise and heat. No doubt the people at the machine shop would believe that Jakob frequented local prostitutes if they were to ever see him without his shirt. Luckily, Jakob was not one for sea-side swims. That left Merle free to mark him as he liked, and he did like to leave marks. He loved the fact that his lover's body was always a map of yellow and green and purple mottling, long lines from the whip, and round marks from his mouth, and spiderwebs of whites and red from a good flogging.

“And what payment would you demand for a good stuffing?” Jakob asked.

Merle laughed. “I would say that I want you naked and on your knees, but you are in that position more often than not, aren't you?”

Jakob hummed in agreement. Once Amelia had gone home for the evening and the dinner dishes were clean, that was their most common position as they listen to the evening radio.

“I could make you get me hard with your mouth, but you enjoy that, and I am already hard enough to stuff you. So, decisions, decisions.” Merle made a production out of considering his options. “What would be a proper cost for the sort of service you are seeking?”

Jakob groaned. “You could use my mouth,” Jakob offered. It was a position he was not overly fond of, but having Jakob offer something solely for Merle's pleasure had a certain appeal.

“That sounds like proper payment. Get into position,” he ordered as he climbed off the bed. Jakob scrambled to obey. With his one leg still chained to the footboard, he had to squirm around until he could get his head to hang off Merle's side of the bed. The position was awkward and his legs were trapped by a tangle of the bedsheets, but his cock was still hard and leaking.

Merle traced Jakob’s lips and then the line of his jaw before he pressed on the jaw muscle to encourage Jakob to open his mouth. Jakob did so, and Merle loosened the drawstrings of his sleep pants and pulled his own cock out. Because Jakob was laying on his back, the position would force Jakob’s head between Merle's legs.

This particular activity frustrated Jakob. He complained that he couldn't see Merle's face. He could only lay still while Merle used him, driving in and out of his mouth. And yet, Jakob offered it with the same submissive sweetness that he offered his hands when he wanted to be chained or his back when he wanted to be whipped.

Merle moved closer and lined his cock up with that hungry mouth that waited for him. He pushed in slowly feeling the pressure when he reached the back of Jakob's throat. He pushed a little harder and felt the moment when Jakob lost the ability to breathe. Jakob’s hands curled around Merle's thighs. But he wasn't pushing Merle away. No. He pulled Merle closer, and Merle drove in a little farther.

The tightness around the head of his cock was almost painful now, but Jakob held him in place, those strong hands that worked machines and levered gears and lifted heavy beams held him so close that Jakob had lost the ability to breathe. Merle waited ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Sixty seconds. Jakob’s fingers loosened, and Merle pulled back. He let Jakob grab gasp for air before he pushed in, but this time he didn't hold his position.

He pistoned and in and out of Jakob's mouth as the spit began to escape from the corners of his lips. It ran over his cheeks and into his eyes so that it almost appeared that tears streamed from his eyes down into his hair as he hung upside down. And yet, Jakob’s cock grew harder with each thrust. Jakob was perfect. His perfect boy. His to use and to love and to cherish and to keep chained it to his bed for all their lives.

Jakob dug his heels into the mattress and tried to thrust, but his chained ankle made the movement awkward and he grabbed at Merle's hips is trying to stabilize himself. If this were evening, Merle would've continued to torture him, to steal his breath and tease him and then walk away to have a cigarette on the balcony before returning to resume their games. But Jakob had work. And with much of his wealth trapped in Germany, he was quite protective of his income. Merle had to honor that.

So he pulled out before rubbing the head of his cock across Jakob’s lips. “On your knees,” he ordered.

Jakob scrambled to get into position, the bedsheets more tangled than other ever. At this point they bound him more than the leather cuffs he wore.

Merle retrieved the jar of lotion they kept in their room. It was a scentless formula intended for burns, only Merle had found a much more useful application. He scooped some onto two fingers, and immediately pressed both into Jakob’s hungry hole.

Jakob curled his fingers around the bed head and gasped at the sudden intrusion. If Merle did not have time to play and indulge his darker fantasies, then he was not giving Jakob time to adjust to the intrusion. Besides, far, far larger objects had fit into this particular hole.

Merle shoved some of the scentless lotion down into the depths before he rubbed more onto his own cock. Without offering any warning, he lined up and drove himself forward. Jakob gave a strangled scream, and Merle's eyes watered from the tightness of that sheath around his cock. But he had never allowed a little pain to slow him. He drew back and then slammed forward into the willing body below him. He thrust over and over again until sweat beaded along Jakob’s back. Merle ran his fingernails across that sweat -soaked skin, digging in enough to leave eight white trails across the pale skin, lines that quickly turned to pink. Merle chose a new direction and repeated the motion, creating a basket weave pattern on his boy’s vulnerable flash. The whole time he slammed into that willing body over and over.

Merle's balls drew up when he was near overwhelmed with lust, but he controlled his own desires with an iron will and held on as he reached around for Jakob’s cock. He had no more than touched it when Jakob exploded, his own seed spilling out onto the bedsheets before he collapsed. A few more thrusts, and Jakob followed him into that bliss of lethargy that followed their orgasms.

He collapsed, his weight pinning Jakob to the bed and trapping him in the wet spot he had made, but Jakob didn't complain. Merle chose a spot on Jakob's shoulder and sucked the salty skin, feeling the warmth rise to his mouth as he left yet another bruise.

“I am going to feel that all day,” Jakob said.

“I certainly hope so. I'm going to be thinking all day about the sight of you, your head dangling off the side of the mattress as spit runs out of your mouth.”

Jakob turned his head and looked at Merle over his shoulder. “You have the strangest perversions.”

Merle rested his palm against Jakob’s cheek. “Luckily, my appetites align with yours. Don't complain or you may spend the evening with my come-stained handkerchief in your mouth.” Merle raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Jakob pursed his lips. “I believe I should have a right to complain about whatever I like, including your odd appetites. After all, seeing me covered in my own spit would seem to be an unhealthy desire.” He raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“Is it?”

Jakob shrugged. “If that opinion is enough for you to punish me…” He let his words trail off.

Merle ran his finger across the bow of Jakob’s lips. “Oh it is. While you're at work, I'm going to come in a handkerchief, maybe even twice if I can manage it, and when you come home, I'm going to shove that handkerchief in your mouth and tie a scarf around it so that you can't remove it.”

“I have hands that can easily untie a scarf,” Jakob said wiggling his fingers.

Merle laughed. “If you touch those knots, I will have to chain your hands behind your back.”

Jakob hummed, and that was not the sound of protest. “I may have to leave work early,” Jakob said in an airy tone.

That surprised Merle. He shifted his weight off Jakob and laid next to him in the bed as he studied his lover. “You would leave work early? For one of our games?”

“I enjoy our games.” Jakob rested his hand on Merle's stomach. The words were reasonable, but there was a distance in Jakob’s gaze that worried Merle.  Merle was the one who struggled to open up—Jakob had always brought his worries to the altar of their relationship, but there was something he was holding back.

“What are you not telling me?” Merle asked.

Jakob shifted to lay on his side, facing away from Merle. This was no simple hesitation to speak of desire. There was something far darker in Jakob’s manner, and now that Merle was paying attention, he could see that. They rarely used the cuffs unless Jakob had a day off for the skin to recover, and yet he had worn the cuffs all night. And now he was offering to leave work early.

“Jakob Weber, do not lie to me and do not hide from me,” Merle said firmly. Sometimes the teasing did not serve as well as a firmer hand.

Jakob sighed.

Merle grabbed his shoulder and rolled her him over so that he could see Jakob’s face. Jakob held out for a minute before his expression crumpled into something that came close to despair. “I received a letter.”

“Is something wrong? Is a family member ill?” Jakob had few family members still living, but he did have cousins he was very fond of who lived north of Berlin. Merle had wanted to offer to house them here in Paris, but he had been relieved when Jakob refused. Their lives would not stand up to scrutiny if anyone lived too closely and having other adults in the home would have required them to stay in separate bedrooms. As it was, they tried to use Jakob’s bed at least twice a week so that when Amelia laundered the bedclothing she would not have cause for any additional suspicion. Having Jakob’s family in the home would have forced them to move their activities elsewhere. Plenty of men had a well-appointed groomsman office in their stables for that very reason, but Merle had grown spoiled by having their lives so entwined. However, if there was illness or some tragedy, Merle might need to adjust.

“No illness,” Jakob said. He pressed his eyes closed for long seconds before the fight appeared to drain from his frame. “I have received notice of my conscription.”

Merle sat bolt upright in bed. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, the German army requires my expertise.” Jakob sounded bitter.

“German army? You don't even live in Germany.” Slow panic stirred in Merle’s soul.

“No,” Jakob said slowly. “But I am German. And my estate is in Germany and my family is in Germany.”

“Your family has done nothing for you. And your estate… I know it will pain you to abandon what your father has left, but you can live here. You are a master machiner. You have skills which are in demand in today's world.” And as France began to build her great war machines in increasing numbers, Merle suspected that those with mechanical talent would be of even greater employability.

Jakob shook his head. “It's not the estate. I could walk away from the estate.”

“Then do. You can make a living here, and I can return all of the money you have paid to me for rent. I have kept it in a separate account for you.”

“You have?”

Sometimes Merle found it sad how thankful Jakob was for every tiny kindness. “I am not going to take money from my lover. Neither of us pay for what we enjoy or receive pay.” Merle pulled Jakob close and pressed their lips together. “We only need one another.”

Jakob returned the kiss but then he pulled back and shook his head. “My cousin sent a letter.”

Merle frowned, not sure where this conversation was going.

Jakob broke eye contact. “People who have family members seen as disloyal to the Fatherland are coming under suspicion. If I do not answer the conscription, both my cousins and their families will be painted with the brush of traitors.”

“You can’t go. You know what it's been like in Germany. They now arrest people like us. It is not the same city that you used to brag about—the one where two men could walk down a Berlin street holding hands. It’s different. That Chancellor they have elected,” Merle scoffed to make the depth of his dislike for tiny Adolf clear, “and I say the word elected only loosely given what's going on in Germany, he is a madman.”

“He can't be too mad. France and England have both made a treaty with him.”

“Because they fear him,” Merle countered. “You can't possibly can be considering this.”

“Can I leave my cousins and their children and husbands to suffer because I will not? Germany is my home. My cousins are the only family I have, the only blood I have that was not spilled on Russian soil. Besides, I can never earn the money to replace what I will lose if I do not answer the conscription. My father’s farm is fertile and the land valuable. Those who work it have paid good rents in the past few years.”

“I will buy you land,” Merle promised. “I do not even like living in Paris. If we sell this place, we can own a large estate in the country.”

“I won't let you sell it for me,” Jakob said quietly.

Merle caught his hand and held it. “I would sell it for us. And I believe we are worth it.”

Jakob shook his head. “It is only two years. No doubt they wish to have someone skilled with machines to help them bring the Sudentenland up to the technological level of the Fatherland. And then I can come back here.”

“Two years is a long time.” Merle didn't say it, but that was roughly the amount of time they had lived together. The thought of losing Jakob for that long made something in Merle's heart crack.

“No doubt the boys in the club will be happy to see you return with your whip,” Jakob said with a smile, but the expression did not replace the fear in his eyes.

Merle tightened his hold on Jakob. “I have no interest in anyone else. If you do this, you condemn me to two years of celibacy. Do you have any idea how frustrated and vengeful I will be after two years of celibacy?”

“I can't ask that from you,” Jakob whispered.

Merle captured one of Jakob's hands and kissed first the knuckles and then the leather strap around Jakob’s wrist. “You're not asking anything of me. I am stating facts. If you take yourself from me, I do not wish to spend time with others.”

“And I do not wish for anyone else to touch me,” Jakob confessed. “But two years seems a small price to pay to secure the social position of my cousins and to protect my ownership of the land. No doubt those in the Army are given leave, so I can visit you.”

As much as Merle wanted that, he wanted Jakob to put aside his naivete and keep himself safe. “That might not be wise.”

“I don’t care what the German Workers’ Party claims or what speeches Hitler makes. The German people are far more liberal than the French with their love of social propriety. We might have laws on the books against homosexuality, but no one in Germany is going to chase a person to learn what he might do behind closed doors.”

Merle frowned. He was a student of history, and he doubted that the sort of liberal respect for others that Jakob described could survive the sword of nationalism he saw reported in the newspaper and on radio. But Jakob was his own man. As much as he might be Merle's boy, he had to make his own choices. “I will be here for you,” Merle said.

Jakob nodded. “I don't have to leave for a week. We can indulge in those things that perhaps we put off with the expectation we would have time later.” The look he offered Merle was the same sort of lost expression he'd worn when he first walked into Cris et Chuchotements. The sûreté had raided the club about a year after he had met Jakob, but luckily, they had stopped frequenting the establishment. More than one well-heeled gentleman had gone down to social ignominy after being caught by the authorities indulging not only in sodomy, but in a perverted form of it.

If Jakob were not careful, Merle feared he risked far more if the Germans learned of his proclivities. He wanted to order Jakob to stay home because two years was too long. The danger was too great. He wanted someone else to fix Adolf’s machines, but he had to respect Jakob’s choices. More than that, he had to be the rock Jakob could return home to after he had served his two years. Right now he looked adrift, and Merle needed him to feel secure before he had to take on the world.

“Two years, and then you come home to me. Or else I swear, I shall move to Germany and track you down and see whether Berlin is still as liberal as you assume.”

“Of course,” Jakob said, “I know how obsessive you are, and I would expect nothing less of you.” He leaned in for another kiss, and then they stared awkwardly at each other. “I have to go to work,” he offered.

The spell around them broke, and outside obligations pushed into their lives. Merle went to get the key to unlock the chain, but the whole time, he could not escape the feeling that he was standing at the top of an icy hill. One wrong move and he would fall all the way to the bottom. For someone who liked control as much as he did, it wasn't a pleasant feeling.