PART I
He hated sneaking away when Hazzard was in such chaos, but he was only able to get away once every couple months or so and refused to miss his chance. In the dark, Capitol City could be baffling and he was almost forced to rely on memory as he navigated the streets. He parked in back of the usual bar and stepped inside, fidgeting with the brim of his hat as he glanced around.
"Davenport." A familiar man waved from the bar and Cooter approached.
"Ey, Davis."
"Want a beer?"
"Nah, thanks."
Grinning, Davis led him to a door half-hidden in a shadowed corner and locked it behind them. The dim lighting from the cieling gave newcomers no clue as to what went on, but Cooter knew the men standing around meant him no harm. In fact, their intentions were just the opposite and he reciprocated.
The first man to step forward was already bare-chested and Cooter knew by the feel of scar tissue on his palm that Ethan was stroking his neck. Their lips met, tongues sliding across each other, and Cooter removed his belt, Ethan undoing the buttons of the shirt. The room, carefully soundproofed, bore witness to similar displays as the men silently chose partners, disrobing each other as bold hands started their explorations. Moans and stifled whimpers grew with intensity, harsh panted breaths filling the air among slaps of skin against skin punctuated by various grunts as passions reached a fever pitch.
Hours later, the men lounging against each other in varying states of undress and satiation, a lamp clicked on in a corner and Cooter slid out from under the dark-haired man, watching the older man who had turned on the light.
"We'll start biddin' after tha hour."
Cooter swallowed heavily, his pulse going up as his eyes darted to the bound figure on the other side of the lamp. He was subtly toned with a dusting of hair that trailed into his slacks, his excited body quivering as some of the men brushed a hand across his flesh, and the pale blue fabric of his gag and blindfold made him seem pale. The distinct voice that whimpered with every touch was as powerful a clue as the badge pinned next to the gold belt buckle, telling Cooter instantly at whom he looked.
"Mason." Cooter stood, approaching the older man as he fought back his apprehension. "This is a bad idea."
"Why?"
"I know 'im. Folks in Hazzard've been lookin' for 'im for hours now."
"Then I guess you'd better bid high." Mason dismissed the concern with a toss of his hand, recounting the money in his hand.
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