AUTHOR'S NOTES:
It's been far too long. I pledge to get posting more often.
Culture Karma, the story of the evil abuser James has begun to post. Check it out if you haven't already. An original about Tony and Dane is also nearly done. And if anyone would be interested in Milan and his fellow hunky waiters as they encounter a pair of thirsty zombies, that short is finished and available now on Amazon ~dot~ com. Search for Spunk Craving Zombies, or for me, John T. Liz has also included a link on her blog.
Huge giant smooch to my brilliant little twin sister for all her help. A special thank you to Miss Pauline for helping me with my Britishisms.
Somehow I seem to have survived the FF witch hunt. It may or may not be over. I will continue to post here and move to AO3 as and when I have to. When/if I am forced to complete the relocation you can find me at - archiveofourown ~dot~ org. Then just do a search for Jtrue.
Anyone who has not read the incredible Equal & Opposite, or is not now reading the brilliance that is Errors & Omissions, or Enticements & Obstructions, all by OhJasperMyJasper, should go do so right now. Here is how you find them since the FF witch hunt removed Liz from this site - ohjaspermyjasper ~dot~ blogspot ~dot~ com.
WARNING:
This story is intended for an adult audience! There is crude speech, hate speech and adult sexual subject matter of a homosexual nature. If you are under 18 stop reading now!
AU/AH/OC
All character names from Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. All character names from Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. Any similarities end there.
Chapter 17: Let the Games Begin
A light mist hung over the Berkeley Vale that morning, but the sun had burned it away by the time they were up. A knee in the balls was any father's least favorite way to wake up, but such was H's luck. He was sound asleep on his back when one of his son's felt it better to go over him than around to the other side to get to his mother.
"Goh!" H cried out and doubled up on his side as Albus climbed over him. "Bloody, Albie!" H held himself a moment before he looked over to find his younger son and his pooh bear snuggled in his mother's arms. "Christ."
"He didn't mean to, Har," Ginny offered.
"I know he didn't mean to, but he should be more bloody careful!" H put his pillow against the headboard and slid himself up into a sitting position. He ran one hand through his sleep mussed hair while ever so gently holding his nuts with the other. "Jesus, that hurts."
"Albie, be careful when you crawl across your father like that," Ginny spoke softly to her younger son. "You know how sensitive your little bollocks are. Daddy's are too. Tell him you're sorry."
"I'm sorry, Daddy," Albus looked up at his father with huge, innocent eyes. As much pain as he was still in and as angry as he wanted to be, H's heart softened at the look on his son's face.
"Come here, then," H spread his arms and Albus crawled from his mother's arms into his father's. H held his son and Albus rested his head on his father's white vest clad chest.
James padded into their bedroom and stood for a long moment wiping sleep from his eyes. "What's daddy yelling about now?" he finally asked.
"Lovely. You come here too," H beckoned. James crawled up onto his parents' bed and snuggled in between them.
"There's my big boy," Ginny cuddled her older son.
"Who's for a big country fry up?" H asked.
"Me!" James raised a hand while his brother just nodded and wiggled his agreement.
"Let's have a shower then, men. We can walk about a bit while Mummy gets ready," H moved Albus off of his lap and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"I'll order up a pot of tea," Ginny rose on her side. Her sons dutifully followed their father into the bathroom, all three of them shedding clothes as they went.
The Potter men had showered together, brushed their teeth, combed their hair and were dressed for their morning in less than twenty minutes. The clothes Ginny had laid out for all three of them while they were in the shower helped. Ginny would need a solid hour to shower, dress and primp and her family well knew it.
Ginny discovered there was no room service in the Berkeley Arms, but as it was the Countess Berkeley asking, a pot of tea was brought up to her anyway.
H and his boys wandered downstairs and out onto the narrow street. The pavement wasn't overly wide and H didn't want his kids walking so close to a lane of traffic, no matter how light that traffic might be. The street was just wide enough to allow parking on the other side and H took his sons by the hand as he led them across to that side. The parked cars provided a buffer that put the parent in H at ease.
They walked toward the center of town along the hundreds of year old buildings and their storefronts. They passed a fish bar for takeaway fish and chips that looked inviting. A takeaway Chinese place looked terrible. The Bengal Spice shop reminded H of the filthy little money mooching Indian kid who had taken Rick away from him and he couldn't even look at it. H vowed to himself then and there that if the family moved here full time and permanently, he would never allow any of them to set foot in this little curry shop.
The bakery improved H's spirits and made all three of them very hungry for their breakfast. H was just about to steer them into the newsstand for a local paper when his cell chirped.
"Is it Mummy?" James asked as his father read the text.
"Mummy is just getting a table for us. Let's head back and join her," H slipped his phone back in his pocket. "Are we hungry?" he prompted as he steered them back toward the hotel.
"Starving!" James made little fists and bent over in his drama.
"Come on then," H encouraged and took his boys' hands.
Ginny had taken a table by the windows and saw her family walk past. She ordered for them. Two full English, one for her husband and one for her boys to share. She ordered the eggs benedict for herself, another pot of tea, and orange juice for all of them. Booster seats had been provided and H lifted Albus up onto his while James needed no help climbing up onto his own.
"What's on our agenda today?" H asked as he took his own seat and poured himself a cup of tea.
"The ceremony at the castle is at two and the reception will follow in the Great Hall," Ginny informed.
"Ceremony," H added milk to his tea. "I'm to make a speech, am I?"
"Not a speech necessarily, but a few words," Ginny confirmed. She steeled herself in readiness to do battle with her husband's ill humor, but, surprisingly, this time, it wasn't forthcoming.
H heaved a sigh and took a sip of his tea. What good would it do to fight about this now? They were here. It was happening. He resolved to get through the day as much on autopilot as possible.
"There will be a few reporters," Ginny cautiously added.
"Of course. The bigger the spectacle the better," H sighed again. He looked around the small dining room and noticed that every eye met his. Patrons and staff alike had a smile and a nod for their Earl. And H hated it.
The morning passed uneventfully and by noon Ginny had her family back in their rooms to change.
"Alright, men, down to your underpants. You too, Har," Ginny opened the closet where she had hung up their clothes.
"What are we wearing?" H asked as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"I'm dressing the three of you to match," Ginny laid out their suits on the bed that had been made by housekeeping in their absence.
Bespoke dark blue two piece suits were ready for all three Potter men, down to white dress shirts, matching striped yellow neckties and even pocket squares. Ginny changed into a beautiful, flowery yellow dress and was the picture of her station with a big yellow hat on her head.
"You know," Ginny regarded her husband as he slipped on his suit jacket, "I think we need a trip to the suit shop when we get back to town."
"Is something wrong with this?" H looked down at himself.
"Not at all. I just want to get you and the boys some double breasted suits," Ginny stated.
"Oh, no," H shook his head.
"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, wears double breasted suits, and he always looks perfectly put together," Ginny reasoned.
"And old," H added. "I may consider double breasted suits when Jimmy and Albie both have kids and we're grandparents several times over, and not a moment before."
"Har...," Ginny shook her head.
"Gin," H moved to his wife and took hold of her hands, "I don't want to fight about it. I don't want to fight about anything today. I'm here. I'm going along. I'll put a smile on my face and shake all the hands thrust at me. You look lovely, by the way."
"Thank you," Ginny gave a grateful smile.
"Boys," H leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on her lips, "doesn't your mother look nice?"
"You look very nice, Mummy!" James bounded into the room with his brother hot on his heels.
"Very nice!" Albus echoed his brother.
"Thank you, boys," Ginny smiled at her sons.
"Come here, both of you. Let me fix those ties," H knelt down to tie his sons' little neckties that matched his properly.
The town was curiously quiet for midday when they walked out of the hotel. They didn't need the car. Even in her heels, it was an easy walk down the three short blocks along the narrow lane adjacent to the hotel, to the castle.
They could see the church and bell tower of Saint Mary's Berkeley on the grounds of the castle. Though part of the Church of England, the building and land were technically owned by H. The church itself was a huge, magnificent structure of stained glass and grey stone, and dated from 1225.
At the end of the third block, they turned and headed up the castle drive. The gates of the old gatehouse, which was now the residence of the Berkeley Estate Manager, stood open and they walked through to the outer ward of H's ancestral home. The huge Norman fortress of tan and grey stone, completed in the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, loomed enormous before them.
And here the circus was waiting for the stars of the show to arrive. Argus Filch spotted them first. Unlike most, he at least knew them and so recognized them on sight.
"Mr. Potter," Argus greeted. The old man had long gray hair that hung down from the back and sides of his balding head. H had never seen him dressed nicely and today Argus wore dress pants and shirt, and even a suit jacket of corduroy, complete with patched elbows, that was entirely out of fashion. The jacket was covered in cat hair and the source was in his arms. He managed to spare a hand from holding his cat, to shake his employer's hand.
"Mr. Filch. Good to see you," H was friendly.
"Countess," Argus greeted her. He knew H didn't like his title just as much as his wife loved hers. "Young men."
"Is this them?" a squat woman in black pants and a short sleeved Anglican collared shirt bustled over to them. Her brown hair was worn in a simple bob and she wore a gleaming smile on her face.
"Reverend Gerry, Harry and Ginny Potter, the Earl and Countess of Berkeley," Argus made introduction.
"So very pleased to meet you!" Gerry grabbed H's hand in both of hers and pumped it for all she was worth.
"Gerry, was it?" H asked.
"Short for Geraldine. Reverend Vicar Geraldine Granger. So fussy! Reverend Gerry is much better. I prefer something shorter and easier," Gerry beamed.
"As do I. Call me H," H bid.
"I shall then. And Countess," Gerry moved to Ginny. "We're all just so thrilled to have you here."
"Reverend," Ginny was not about to give the woman leave to call her familiar. Not yet anyway. Once they were moved here then perhaps.
"And your little ones!" Gerry bent down. "What handsome young men! Who would like a jelly baby?" she produced a pouch of them from a pocket in her big pants.
"Oh, me!" James enthused.
"May I?" Gerry looked up at the parents who had little choice now.
"Good ahead, boys. Just one," Ginny instructed.
"Thank you," James reached into the Vicar's bag, took one, and popped it into his mouth.
"Thank you," Albus did the same.
It pleased Ginny no end when her boys were perfect little gentlemen.
"Earl Berkeley?" a man who looked to be nearly Argus Filch's age approached them. He wore a black suit with an elaborate ceremonial medal that was draped over his shoulders on long, heavy, metal chains. With him was a woman with short white hair who was dressed nicely in a mint green skirt suit.
"Yes?" H offered his hand again.
"Duncan Frost, Lord High Sheriff," Duncan introduced himself. "And this is Dame Janet Trotter, Lord Lieutenant of Gloucestershire."
"Oh, how do you do?" H shook the man's hand. "Dame Janet," he shook her hand as well. The woman he took for this man's wife was in fact his boss, and the single most important person here. "My wife, the Countess Berkeley."
"Dame Janet. Lord Sheriff," Ginny greeted them.
"Your Ladyship," Janet smiled. "We're thrilled to have you back in Gloucestershire with us."
"We're quite thrilled to be back. We can't wait to be back full time," Ginny expressed though she well knew her husband didn't feel that way at all. "So much better for the children and the whole family."
They turned as a car drove slowly through the outer gate and parked off to the side. A young dark skinned man had the wheel of a vintage silver 1965 Aston Martin DB5 convertible with the top down. His mixed heritage gave him full lips and curly black hair. He wore a dark blue suit like the Potter men, but wore a bowtie. An older white man with a full head of steel grey hair struggled up out of the passenger side. He wore a three piece suit in a green and yellow plaid tweed, and a bowtie with it.
"Ah, here's Horace," Janet gestured.
"Hello! Are you Harry Potter?" Horace latched onto H. The older man was a good bit taller than H and immediately made him uncomfortable.
"Please...," H began, but never finished.
"And is this your lovely wife?" Horace pulled Ginny to him.
"Oh!" Ginny was not expecting to be pulled into such an exuberant hug from a man she did not know.
"Horace Slughorn, MP Stroud," Horace introduced himself. "At your service and very pleased to meet you at last. Blaise Zabini, my assistant."
"Hullo," Blaise, for as foreign as he looked, spoke English just like the rest of them. He was H's height and the smile he gave, combined with the way his body just naturally seemed to lean into the older man, left H to wonder what else he did for the MP.
A veritable parade of people lined up to meet them. Keith Palmer, Mayor of Berkeley, was notable for his wild clown-like mop of hair. The Town Clerk was a tall and flat chested woman whose name H didn't even catch. Gladys Fitzjohn, President of the Midcounties Co-operative, had long stringy hair. The little old man, whose name H never did learn, from the front desk of the Berkeley Arms was there with his daughter and grandson, the beaming, bag fetching, car parking Nigel. It seemed the whole staff was here among the townsfolk and H had to wonder who, if anyone, was running the hotel.
Photographers and even a television news crew set up and began to record footage.
A small wooden platform had been set up with a lectern borrowed from the church, in front of the three story stone walls of the fourteenth century Norman castle and four story walls of the twelfth century Keep. Argus Filch stepped up onto this dais and pulled an object from his inner suit jacket pocket. He placed it on the podium and walked off, still carrying and petting his cat. When Janet Trotter saw him do this, she took the dais and podium. The Lord Lieutenant tapped the microphone to make sure the speakers were on.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Janet began. "I'm so happy to see so many good people of Berkeley and Gloucestershire here on this fine, sunny afternoon. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Dame Janet Trotter, Lord Lieutenant of Gloucestershire. As Lord Lieutenant, I speak for Her Majesty the Queen when I say, welcome home, Lord and Lady Berkeley, and their children!" she paused to clap and the crowd broke into applause with her.
"Oh my God," H had to work very hard to keep the smile on his face. He waved and nodded like he meant it. Ginny waved as well, very pleased so far with her husband's performance.
"Berkeley Castle, behind me, is the ancestral home of the Earl," Janet continued with a gesture to H. "Indeed it has been in his family and occupied by his family since it was built in the twelfth century. That came to an end twenty eight years ago. The sixteenth Earl, James Potter and his wife the Countess Lilly, were both killed in a tragic automobile accident. Our present Earl inherited his title and estate at the tender age of only one year old, but his extended family took him from us and raised him as their own."
And H seethed. He would never forget a single moment of being raised as if he were a terrible burden to his aunt and uncle, until that fateful day when his godfather informed him of his birthright.
"The castle has been maintained and managed by the Berkeley Castle Charitable Trust and the Heritage Commission ever since, but it has ever remained in the ownership of the Potter family," Janet went on. "Today, the work of the Trust and the oversight of the Commission, is at an end. Today, it is my great pleasure and my privilege, to return the key to his castle, to the Earl of Berkeley," she held up the ten inch long key that Filch had deposited for her.
Applause broke out again and H and his family walked forward. All of them joined Dame Janet on the small stage. H accepted the key and the applause continued. Janet stepped back while she continued to clap and it was clear it was time for H to take the podium. He held up his hands to stop the applause. H smiled when all he really wanted to do was crawl into a hole. Or go home. He was desperate for some intimate male companionship. Rick was lost to him, but he was sure he could talk Seamus, the younger Scottish man, back to the secret house for a little relief. That is if Rick's crazy outburst hadn't scared him off permanently.
The applause died down after a minute and everyone looked at H expectantly.
"Good afternoon, everyone, and," H gestured to the high stone wall behind him, "welcome to my home. I look out at all of you and I see only friends," what he really saw was a gay wasteland. "On behalf of my family, thank you for receiving us so warmly and, may I say, how good it is to be home," H held up his key and the crowd broke out in applause and cheers.
Dame Janet stepped up to the microphone again. "The Earl and Countess have graciously invited everyone into their home for a reception in the Great Hall," she announced and the cheering continued.
H took James' hand and Ginny did the same with Albus as they stepped down and walked toward the huge, six inch thick wood gates set in the wall of the castle itself.
"I have no idea how to do this," H held out the key to Argus who waited beside the gates, cat in arms.
"Don't need to. It's not locked. Just push it open," Argus gestured with his head.
"Right then. C'mon, men. Help daddy open the gate," H prompted. James and Albus were only too ready to do that and pushed on the gate for all they were worth. Only when H added his strength to theirs did the gate move.
It was the perfect photo opp and cameras clicked away as H and his identically dressed sons pushed the right gate open until it came flush with the wall of the tunnel that passed through the castle. Argus walked with the Potters, past the small door set in the wall of the tunnel just inside the gates to his Estate Office, and through to the open inner ward of the castle. Here was the innermost protected area. Attached to the original twelfth century keep, the castle had been quintupled in size and scope, and defensive capability, in the fourteenth century. The inner ward was a large open flagstone area where a few dozen cars could have parked. And straight ahead was the main entrance to the castle and the Great Hall.
The dignitaries and gathered townsfolk followed through the half open gates as the Potters led everyone into their castle. The big, old, wide door of the entrance that led most directly to the Great Hall of the castle stood open onto a spacious vestibule backed by heavy drapes. Beyond was a long, low antechamber. An elaborately framed antique mirror hung over a long and beautifully carved console table. The opposite wall was hung with a tapestry and a long, armed and backed bench of intricately carved mahogany sat beneath it.
The big, wood doors stood open to the Great Hall and H led his family and guests inside. The cathedral space was forty feet wide and tall, and eighty feet long. The arched ceiling had exposed timbers. Tall stained glass windows depicted various family alliances throughout the centuries. The space above the antechamber was open to the Great Hall and created a big loft space.
There were twin, twenty foot long tables in the center of the Great Hall that were set with tray after tray of hors d'oeuvres. There were slices of duck breast with blood orange sauce on ciabatta, lamb with mint yogurt in mini pitas, mini beef wellington, mini venison pies with chestnut and juniper, a triple cooked chip with a slice of filet mignon and béarnaise, salmon blinis with sour cream and chives, Cornish crab with cucumber jelly, coconut prawns, mini coquille Saint Jacques, and even a heaping bowl of caviar nestled in a mountain of ice. For those who preferred something vegetarian there were goat cheese and red onion tarts, bruschetta with slow roasted heritage tomatoes and sweet purple basil, and leek and mushroom rarebit bites.
Waiters entirely in black, pants, shirts and ties, poured Ponsardin champagne into flutes and handed them to the adults with a smile.
"Bloody hell," H took in not the grandeur of his ancestral home, but the spread. "What is this costing me?"
"We're entertaining the Lord Lieutenant today, Har," Ginny reminded.
"And two hundred of her closest friends?" H was flip as he took a sip of his champagne.
"We have a status to maintain," Ginny tried not to let her irritation show. "Boys," she called after her sons as they took off across the room.
"They're fine," H was dismissive.
Albus followed his older and bigger brother as James tore toward the massive fireplace at the far end of the Great Hall. A large beautifully carved stone archway in the side wall at this end of the room led to other parts of the castle. Both boys turned at full charge and ran straight through it.
"Fine are they?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"Boys," H called after his children as he set out in pursuit. Ginny followed, but neither of them made it to the arch when a strikingly handsome black man herded the Potter boys back through. The man was taller than H. He was Rick's height exactly and H hated that this was the first thing he noticed. The man wore well fitted jeans with his dress shirt and dark suit jacket.
"Are these yours?" the tall black man had a friendly smile as he caught sight of the adults who very much looked like they were tracking down children.
"They are," H confirmed. "Boys, don't go running off. Stay were mummy and daddy can see you. Do you hear?"
"Yes, Daddy," James answered for himself and his brother.
"Magnificent castle, isn't it?" the friendly man smiled. "Have you seen the Earl and Countess?" he looked over the crowd.
"Every time we look in the mirror," Ginny was clever.
"Oh! Your Ladyship," the man took her hand. "My Lord," he shook H's hand as well. "I'm so very pleased to meet you at last! I'm Dean Thomas, your curator."
"Please call me H," H bid.
"Mr. Thomas, of course. We've spoken on the phone," Ginny stated.
"Yes we have. So lovely to meet both of you. Oh," Dean turned to look on the two children with entirely new eyes, "and your sons. Well, I guess they have every right to go where they please. It's their house."
"They can't run off," Ginny disagreed. "The place is much too big. We'll never find them."
"Would you like me to walk you through your collections?" Dean offered. "There are some truly remarkable artifacts in your possession."
"I'd adore it," Ginny smiled.
"When were you here last?" Dean enquired.
"This is my fourth time in this castle," H answered. "I have no recollection of living here. Sirius brought me the first time. I came twice as an adult, both times with Ginny, and then now here we are."
"Now you've taken possession of your castle again, my Lord, it has been in your family for eight hundred and fifty years," Dean informed.
"H, or Mr. Potter if you absolutely must," H insisted.
"Very well, Sir," Dean agreed. "Yours is one of only three families in England that can trace its ancestry to Saxon times. Your castle is the oldest in the UK to be owned by the same family. The wall of your Keep is left breached, since the siege of sixteen forty five, save for the twenty eight foot retaining wall to keep people falling from the Keep garden. Your family is forbidden to properly repair the breach to the Keep by Act of Parliament."
"Oh, drat," H was flip. "Best we not then."
"Shall we walk through?" Dean gestured.
"Let's do. Come along, boys," Ginny held out a hand to her sons.
Dean led them back through the arch and down the wide, stone, Grand Staircase. Though nothing the size of the Great Hall, the staircase ended in a large, open space.
"This will be the lobby," Ginny informed as they arrived.
"The Morning Room is right through here," Dean led the way into a well appointed room with tall windows that faced East. "Here is Queen Elizabeth I's bedspread," he gestured to where it hung on the wall between the windows, protected from direct sunlight. "The Queen was so incensed with the eighth Earl that her cortege left in such dispatch, she forgot her beloved bedspread. It's belonged to your family ever since."
"Are these the bibles?" Ginny walked toward the end of the room.
"This used to be the chapel, so it seemed fitting," Dean answered. "The one on the left is your Gutenberg bible, printed in fourteen fifty four, and the one on the right is from the sixteenth century in Norman French."
"Marvelous," Ginny nodded.
"Bibles," H had no interest whatever. "I suppose they're historically valuable."
"Only forty eight of the forty two line Gutenberg bibles exist today and only twenty one of those are complete," Dean elaborated. "Most have leaves or whole volumes missing. Those that are complete are valued today at thirty million pounds. Only one of the earlier forty line volumes is known to still exist. It is whole and complete, and it is priceless. And it sits there before you."
"Extraordinary," Ginny ran her fingertips over it ever so gently.
"Your Anglo Norman bible is the very first to be sanctioned by Henry the eighth," Dean continued. "The dedication refers to his Majesty as Defender of the Faith and under God the chief and Supreme Head of the Church of England."
"As it should be," Ginny nodded. Her family was no more religious than her husband's, but she felt no allegiance whatever to a far away Pope.
"There's so much more to see," Dean smiled.
"Lead on," H bid.
They walked through the 'long' drawing room and the 'small' drawing room. Each were enormous rooms with magnificent antique furniture. Dean pointed out the suite of furniture embroidered over a period of ten years by H's ancestor, the Countess to the fourth Earl. The library and yet another grand sitting room brought them finally to the Estate offices and the stairs that led up to a number of bedrooms.
"It's the plumbing that will present the greatest challenge and expense," Ginny commented as they walked through.
"Now here is one of my personal favorite pieces," Dean led the Potters into the master bedchamber.
The large room was dominated by the massive and intricately carved four poster, canopied bed.
"This bed is over four hundred years old," Dean told H what he had never known. "It is the oldest bed still in use in the UK. Or, that is, it was."
"It will be again," Ginny smiled.
"It's grotesque," H wanted nothing to do with the monstrosity.
"You were conceived here, Har," Ginny curled a hand around her husband's arm. She thought it a romantic notion.
"Very possibly," H had to admit.
"I am going to create an apartment for us from several rooms in the Keep. I'll have this bed, and all this furniture," Ginny swept her free hand around the room, "moved there for us."
"Brilliant," H found it anything but.
"In the next bedroom," Dean led the way back out through the medieval stone doorway, "is the ebony bed, table and chairs, used by Sir Francis Drake when he voyaged round the world."
"Guess which room is going be called the Francis Drake suite," Ginny bid as they followed.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," H played dumb.
They walked through the bedrooms at this end of the castle and crossed back. The long corridor that led from the Great Hall antechamber was lined with suits of armor worn by various Earls throughout the family's history. They walked through the medieval and partially modernized kitchen. Ginny had many plans for this room to make it fully functional for a hotel with a restaurant, while retaining its original and authentic character. Rooms beyond were ideal for a restaurant and bar, and the ballroom would be used as a function room for meetings, wedding receptions or other private events. Smaller rooms in between were perfectly suited to become offices for Ginny and her various staff.
They went outside and crossed the inner ward to the Keep. Enclosed stone staircases led up into the Keep and down to the dungeons beneath it. Ginny intended to make the Berkeley Apartment, with significant modernization, out of the twelfth century sleeping chambers, and a spa down in the dungeon.
"Would you like to walk through the gardens?" Dean asked.
"We shouldn't be missing from our guests for too awfully long," Ginny thought out loud, "but I think we can take a quick turn."
Dean led them out through the tunnel to the postern gate in the curtain wall of the castle. This was too narrow for a vehicle, but certainly wide enough for armed men and horses. They emerged outside the castle under a covered walkway that led into the trees behind the church. A pleasant flagstone path through the thicket of trees brought them to an expanse of lawn and a ten foot high stone wall as old as the castle itself.
"I've never seen this," H admitted. On his few visits to the family castle, he had never ventured out here.
"This is the kitchen gardens," Dean led them through an open gate.
Within the nearly acre sized walled enclosure there were many rows of vegetables. But that wasn't what caught their attention.
"What the bloody hell is that?" H took in the round, dark blue, non permanent looking structure in a near corner. As they watched an older couple walked out of it, she holding his arm and he picking his teeth with a toothpick.
"A yurt, my Lord. Sorry, Mr. Potter," Dean answered.
"Right. I can see it's a yurt. I meant, what is it doing here?" H clarified.
"Is it some sort of little restaurant?" Ginny observed.
"It is. The same firm who catered today in the castle, run the Yurt Restaurant here," Dean explained. "I do believe they pay you rent. Mr. Filch could better answer that."
"And he shall," H stated.
"They serve just light meals. It's not a full kitchen, I don't believe," Dean added.
"It's hideous," H declared.
"It will have to go, though it does serve to inspire," Ginny nodded to herself.
"What?" H had no idea what his wife meant.
"There's no casual dining in the plans," Ginny explained. "We're going to have proper, formal dining in the castle restaurant. I intend to name it Edward the Second, after the king who was murdered here at the castle, and the adjoining bar after you. We'll do proper high tea in the Great Hall, but there was no plan for a more casual dining venue. Imagine a lovely little bistro here with indoor and outdoor dining, in the style of the castle, of course."
"Gin, for the first time, I couldn't agree with you more. This thing is ghastly," H stated.
"Would you like to see the formal gardens on the lawn below the castle?" Dean attempted to deflect them. "Queen Elizabeth's bowling green is there."
"Let's do," Ginny headed back out the garden gate.
"Ah, here they are," Argus Filch and his cat led two other men from the castle.
The men with him, one older and the younger in his twenties, were dressed identically in black riding breeches and boots, white dress shirts and yellow hunt suit jackets with hunter green collars. Their neckties were matching green and they both wore black bowlers on their heads.
"This is Randolph Finch-Fetchley, your Hunt Master, and his son Gary, your Pack Master," Argus introduced the men who took off their hats as he did so. "The Earl and Countess of Berkeley, and their two young men."
"Earl. Countess," Randolph shook their hands first. "I know I speak for all of us when I say how thrilled we are to have you among us again."
"Well, not quite yet," H cautioned.
"My Lord. My Lady," Gary shook their hands.
"Yours is the oldest and, may I say, undoubtedly the finest pack of foxhounds in all England, my Lord," Randolph stated with conviction. "We all look so forward to having you lead us on the hunt. It means so much to all of us to have you back. And you'll join us for the Hunt Ball at Frampton Court, of course."
"We wouldn't miss it," Ginny put a hand on her husband's arm. "And this will be the last time it's held at Frampton Court. From here on the ball will be held here, in the castle with us, where it belongs."
"I can't tell you what that would mean to us, my Lord, my Lady," Randolph positively glowed at the prospect. "Would you like to come meet your pack? The hounds would love it. Your kennels and stables are just across the Great Lawn."
"Doggies?" James was listening far too attentively.
"Would you like to come meet your hounds, young master?" Randolph bent down to talk to James and Albus.
"I don't think...," H began to decline.
"Daddy, please!" James cried. "I want to pet the doggies!"
"Me too!" Albus jumped on the spot and pulled on his father's pantleg while he did it. "Please!"
"Please, Daddy!" James chorused.
"Boys, these dogs aren't house pets," H pointed out.
"Loving and gentle creatures, the lot of them, my Lord," Gary spoke for his charges.
"Unless you're a fox!" Randolph much enjoyed his own joke.
"Go ahead, Har," Ginny gave permission. "Take the boys."
"You're not coming?" H asked.
"I'm not marching across that expanse of lawn in these heels. Mr. Filch and Mr. Thomas can walk me back into the castle," Ginny smiled at her escorts.
"We'd be delighted," Dean smiled at the Countess just a little too warmly.
"Fine," H agreed. "Lead on, then. C'mon, men," he bid.
"Yay!" James and Albus danced and jumped around their father until the Hunt and Pack Masters set off. They followed with their father down and around to the lower terrace of lawn beneath the castle. From here their ancestral home was even more imposing. The Masters of Hunt and Pack led them across two footbridges over small creeks, and then the several acre Great Lawn.
"I shall have to invest in a golf cart," H commented as they crossed another bridge. This canal was at least large enough to be named. The Little Avon River cut through H's land and separated his castle from his kennels.
Large, thick, centuries old stone walls nearly two stories tall protected the enclosure. Earl's past couldn't very well leave their horses or hounds unprotected. An attached manor house in the same stone provided housing for the Finch-Fetchleys and all who saw to the needs of the dogs and horses.
Through open iron gates, they walked into a wide, paved courtyard. The kennels were low stone buildings with large paved pens attached. The dogs were all out in the largest pen at this time of the day and keenly attentive heads looked out through the fence at the people.
"Jesus, how many are there?" H asked. He was not expecting to see so many dogs.
"Forty three in your pack, my Lord," Gary answered.
"I don't need that. Mr. Potter is quite formal enough, if you please," H bid.
"As you wish, Mr. Potter," Gary nodded.
The hounds stood on their feet as tall as his older son stood and H was concerned. They were mostly white with varying degrees of dark patches in their fur. All of the dogs watched them and some started to give wooing barks as hounds were want to do.
"Are you sure they're quite safe?" H put his hands on his son's heads to keep them from dashing over to the fence.
"I'll bring out Dodger and Dozer," Gary walked over to the pen gate. "Dodger, Dozer," he called and gave a whistle. Those two pushed their way to the front at the gate and Gary opened it a small way to let them out.
The dogs ran around the Potters, slightly wary, but more curious than anything. Both boys squealed in delight as the dogs came and poked them. James and Albus both tried to pet them, but the dogs wouldn't hold still for it. They were in constant motion and this spurred the boys to do the same.
"Boys!" H called as his sons jumped and chased the dogs.
"They're just having a bit of fun," Gary was unconcerned.
And H could see the truth of it. The dogs were delighted with the little humans who jumped and ran around with them. The children squealed and the two dogs wooed right back as they ran around them and poked them.
"They certainly seem very fit," H observed, resigned to let his kids and the dogs play with each other, though he kept a close eye.
"I'm up half past six every morning," Gary informed. "I take them on a ten mile run to give them their exercise. I ride my bike so as to keep up with them and really let them stretch their legs."
"What, on the roads?" H couldn't imagine that was safe.
"Yes, Sir," Gary gave a nod. "The young hounds learn from the old. When a car comes along, and I stop, they know to stop and get over with me. We stay out of town, just run through the farms," he gestured to the road on the other side of the compound. "We usually stop someplace for a cuppa. If I'm lucky, I'll get breakfast."
"Well, when we're in residence, you'll bring them round the castle. I'll see you're fed properly," H decided. "Would you like that boys? Would you like Mr. Gary to bring the hounds round to see us every morning?"
"Oh, yes, Daddy! That would be grand!" James had hold of his dog and it stood still indulging the little human while James hugged him for all he was worth.
Only the prospect of meeting the horses could tear H's children away from the hounds. They walked through the stables in a larger, but equally old stone building. The horses were all in individual stalls and stood with their heads out over the half doors. H had to pick his boys up to pet the horses who didn't at all seem to mind the attention, but were for the most part indifferent.
H brushed at the dog hair on all three of them, all the way back across the Great Lawn to the castle.
"Daddy, I love it here!" James enthused as he danced along.
"I'm glad, Jimmy," H felt exactly the opposite.
They walked back in through the main gate, crossed the inner ward and finally made their way back inside the castle.
Ginny stood chatting with the Lord Lieutenant, Lord High Sheriff and MP Slughorn in the Great Hall. She excused herself to intercept her family before her husband saw it.
"You're not going to like this," Ginny began.
But it was too late. H saw the big cage that had been carried in by several men.
"What the bloody hell is that?" H had the good taste not to point, but his eyes were wide as he took in the cage and the creature within.
Ginny smiled broadly as the men and women responsible came forward. "The Mayor and Town Council wanted to present you with your very own owl," she gestured.
"An owl?!" H made no attempt to hide his utter dismay.
"The Official Town Bird, your Lordship," the Mayor whose name H did not remember did the talking. "In recognition and appreciation of your return, the town of Berkeley wanted to present you with your very own owl. This is a Snowy Owl. Her name is Hedwig. Isn't she beautiful?"
The bird in question was indeed beautiful. And enormous. H judged it to weigh at least three or four kilos. It looked to stand as tall as his younger son and H could only guess at the terrible length of its wingspan. Hedwig's plumage was mostly white with dark scalloping. She stared back at H with her almost mesmerizing amber eyes.
"Indeed. Indeed she is," H decided to go with it. What else could he do? "What a marvelous gift. Thank you all so much," he shook the Mayor's hand and each nameless, smiling member of the Council in turn. "I have my own owl. And why shouldn't I?" H started to laugh.
How much more absurd could this day possibly get?
Football fans were lined up waiting for the gates to open at Emirates Stadium for the opening match of the season. The bus from Swansea pulled up and discharged the opposing team and their gear. What few Swansea fans there were, cheered for them.
The Arsenal team arrived a few at a time. Viktor arrived with Tomas Rosicky as usual. If any of them took the train, they would have been mobbed. Viktor and Tomas always made a point to walk along the barricade to greet their fans, sign autographs and thank them for coming out to see them play.
Emirates Stadium seated sixty thousand people and it sure looked like it might do just that today. Kick off was at five and the main stadium opened two hours prior, while the club and executive levels opened a half hour before that.
Greg Goyle was a man of average height, but short next to his guest. Dylan Hammersmith wore a thin sweater with a deep V neck while Greg wore a polo shirt. They were both in snug jeans. Dylan let Greg be his guide as they made their way to the club level entrance. Greg displayed his membership card and their tickets, and in they went while the vast majority of fans continued to wait in queue.
"This is real treat, Greg. Thank you for bringing me," Dylan expressed as they made their way up to the club level of the stadium.
"Happy to have you along, Mate," Greg was sincere. "I'd be delighted if you'd join us every time," he pulled out his wallet to present his membership card and ID to reception at the members only W Club. "Greg Goyle and my guest Dylan Hammersmith."
"Welcome, gentlemen. Your booth is waiting of course," the smiling receptionist handed Greg back his cards.
"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Crabbe are expecting guests as well," Greg consulted his phone. "Misters Milton and O'Brennan."
"I'll note that down," the receptionist did so.
"My goodness," Dylan commented as he took in the elegance of the private club while they were walked back to Greg's booth.
Unlike every other space in the stadium, the lighting was subdued and illumination was provided by sleek pendant lights. Crushed velvet upholstered chairs and sofas in the lounge area had backs as tall as Greg stood. Low coffee tables and tufted leather ottomans made the area even more comfortable. The color scheme in the club was gray and burgundy and continued to the booths in the back. Deep booths that could easily seat three on each side were upholstered in tufted burgundy leather with backs high enough to make each booth completely private. Ice buckets with bottles of champagne stood between each of the booths and the receptionist pour Greg and Dylan a glass as they slid into their booth.
"I didn't expect it to be like this," Dylan admitted as he took a sip of his champagne. "Claire would love it. I rather thought it would be all beer drinking and loudness, but this is quite refined."
"Oh, that part's coming up," Greg assured. "We can have a bite to eat here in the club and then head to our seats before the match starts. I've invited an Irishman today, so I've no doubt there will be plenty of drinking and loudness on offer."
Dylan laughed at Greg's humor.
"Speaking of," Greg pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I wonder where those chaps are."
Far below, on the other side of the stadium, the stewards made everything ready in the dressing room. It wasn't a locker room as there were no lockers. A wide wood bench ran around the big U shaped room and the players jerseys were hung in the open cubbies. The players were assigned a cubby by their match jersey hung up with the back facing out to display their name and number. The first position was always assigned to the Keeper. He was followed around the U by the Defenders, Midfielders and Strikers, in no particular order save one. The Captain always had the cubby at the end and center of the U from where he could see and address all of his squad. At the opposite end were the substitutes.
It was a club rule at Arsenal that all the players wore the same uniform, both during warm up and for the match itself. The decision of what uniforms were worn on matchday was left to the team Captain. As the weather was still warm, the short sleeved uniforms were an easy and obvious choice. Their uniforms of the day, apart from the hanging match jersey to identify their locker, waited at the bottom of their assigned cubby. Their cleats were in a marked rack beneath the large central desk on which was a huge tub of bottles of water packed in ice.
Viktor and Tomas walked in together and both of them patted Theo, Jack, Kieran and Lukasz on the butt as they passed them. Neither of them were on terms like that with the new players yet and Viktor figured that some of them might not like an openly gay man touching their butt.
The rest of the players in the First Team wandered in and all them changed into their pre-match kit. Viktor and the squad pulled on their form fitting and clinging red and white striped jerseys, white shorts, and red striped white knee socks. The shirts had the Arsenal cannon logo on the left upper chest, the PUMA cat opposite on the right, and 'Fly Emirates' in large letters in the center just above where the horizontal stripes began. The back of these shirts were plain red without the player's name or number. Lukasz and Lars had black versions of the same.
"Gunner!" Viktor clapped his hands. "Warm up now. Come!" he grabbed a bottle of water as he led the team out of the dressing room. Before the match, at home or away, they always warmed up with a few drills at the home end of the pitch. Part of the pre-match show was to be able to watch the players while they did so.
The 49ers bar in the northwest corner of the stadium on the club level was a long concourse with tall tables and barstools. The tables were all arranged to view 80 large screens arranged in ten tall rows that broadcast Sky Sports and Arsenal TV continuously. The outer wall was two stories of glass overlooking the train tracks. The inner wall was a never ending counter where pasties, hamburgers or fish and chips could be purchased along with half bottles of wine, beer on tap and soft drinks. The surface of the tables and counters was all white laminate. The walls of the vast space were white. As sports bars went, it was remarkably sterile and lacking in atmosphere.
Drake Milton occupied one of the many tall tables in the bar and watched one of the screens that played an interview with one of the new players. Drake wore a henley with his sleeves scrunched up and tight jeans. With his model good looks he turned the eye of more than a few of his fellow fans. Drake perched atop a barstool with a white leather seat that turned up in the back.
"Here ya go, Drakey Boy. I got ya a Fosters," Johnny announced as he returned with two cups of beer. He set Drake's down in front of him. The Irishman wore snug jeans and his Cesc Fabregas jersey. His dark hair was a shadow on his not quite closely shaved head. His eyebrows were thick and dark. A trim goatee adorned his face.
"Thanks, Johnny. They don't have Guinness?" Drake recognized that the beer in his lover's cup wasn't dark enough to be a stout.
"Newcastle," Johnny answered. He stood beside Drake with a hand on the Englishman's lower back. "It was this or John Smith Piss, Kronenbourg Pale Piss, fecking cider, or that shite yer drinking."
Drake couldn't help but smile. He knew his Irishman didn't like regular beer, but didn't begrudge him drinking what he liked.
"When'll they be along, do you suppose?" Johnny echoed Drake's own thoughts.
"I'm not sure. I would think they'd want to grab a bite or at least a beer," Drake pulled his phone out of his pocket.
And then Johnny noticed a table of three men nearby who had clearly noticed that he had his hand on Drake's lower back in an obviously affectionate manner.
"Whaya lookin at?" Johnny demanded.
"Johnny!" Drake twisted around in his chair and put a hand on Johnny's strong chest. He had heard this tone and those words from his lover before. What followed was never good.
The strangers could see by the man's fierceness and by the long healed gash across one eyebrow, that this Irish scrapper was more than ready to fight and perfectly willing to take on the three of them. All three men held up their hands, picked up their beers and walked away from their table.
"Slink off, ya clatty cunts!" Johnny called after them.
"Johnny!" Drake tried again to calm his lover down.
People all around Johnny and Drake looked at them and just as quickly learned to look away, lest they also be drawn into the commotion.
"Hey, look at me," Drake urged as he gently gripped the back of Johnny's neck. He knew it was not easy to talk his man down once his ire was up. "What those blokes may think is meaningless."
"I won't have anyone look at you like that, Drakey. I won't have it," Johnny stressed. He put his hands flat on the table and took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.
"They didn't say or do anything, and I could give a rat's arse what those bollock bags think," Drake stated. Just as he intended, the colorful language nearly earned him a smile. "Do we want to get thrown out and banned on our first visit to this stadium?"
"Not on our first visit," Johnny reluctantly agreed.
"There you are. Drink yer dark piss whilst I drink mine," Drake bid and took a gulp of his beer.
"You're good for me," Johnny admitted as he leaned closer and put his arm around Drake's shoulders.
"I think I am at that," Drake smiled. His cell, forgotten on the table, rang at that moment. "Oh, there's Greg now. Ello, Greg," Drake answered.
"Drake, are you chaps on your way?" Greg asked.
"We're here in the Forty Niners, hoping to run into you," Drake answered.
"Ah, you're round the other side of the stadium," Greg realized aloud.
"Our seats are in B Forty One," Drake pulled them out to check. "That's really quite close."
"I mean we're in the club. It's on the east side. The W club. I've left your names at the desk. Come round and join us," Greg invited.
"Alright, we'll do that. The W Club, you said? We're on our way," Drake slid off his barstool.
"See you in a minute," Greg hung up.
"They've invited us to join them in one of the clubs," Drake answered Johnny's inquisitive gaze.
Johnny nodded and downed his beer. And then aided Drake by doing the same with his. "Ahh," he shook his head. "Feckin piss."
"C'mon!" Drake laughed and pulled on his arm.
They made their way out of 49ers and proceeded along the walkway that overlooked the club level seats. They passed the Royal Oak restaurant at the north apex of the stadium, Emirates Lounge in the northeast corner, and Woolwich restaurant on the east side before they came to the entrance to the conjoined W and M Clubs.
"Hello, Drake Milton and Johnny O'Brennan. Greg Goyle should be expecting us," Drake did the talking.
"Of course, gentlemen. Right this way," the receptionist walked them back.
"Ah, here they are," Greg smiled as he slid out of the booth. "Drake, Johnny," he gave them each a clasping handshake. "I'd like you chaps to meet my neighbor and good friend, Dylan."
"Hello, Chaps," Dylan had a warm smile for Drake and Johnny.
"Dylan," Drake and Johnny both shook his hand.
"Do sit down," Greg bid. "Join us."
Dylan sat beside Greg this time while the other men slid in across from them.
"What's this poof juice?" Johnny gestured to the two flutes of champagne on the table.
"If it's not Guinness, or at least some type of beer, my guy won't drink it," Drake explained.
"No sense offering you a glass of champagne then," Greg concluded.
"May I pour for you gentlemen?" a stewardess plucked a bottle of champagne from its icy bath.
"You may not and ye dinna have Guinness. Reverend James? Brains Black?" Johnny asked.
"We don't have those, I'm sorry," the Stewardess answered. "Arsenal has a long standing agreement with Heineken Carlsberg. We offer Fosters lager, John Smith ale, Newcastle brown ale, Kronenbourg pale lager and Strongbow cider."
"A Fosters and a Newcastle for us and whatever these fine gentlemen would like," Johnny ordered.
"I think I'll stick with poof juice," Dylan found that very entertaining.
"I'm fine," Greg nodded.
"You yokes won't let us buy you a drink?" Johnny was prepared to be offended.
"It's all complimentary here in the club," Greg informed. "As is the menu," he gestured. "Might we order? I don't know when..."
Greg didn't finish his sentence as Dré and Vince arrived.
"Alright, you lot, off your arses," Dré commanded as he strode up to their table. "I rang up Mausoleum Malfoy and Dobby kindly informed me that my parents are out of town for the weekend. That means we can have the box. Off we go," he charged off as quickly as he arrived.
"Oh, that's jolly good," Greg finished his champagne. "I think I mentioned the friend whose father has an executive box which we can use if the father is not here using it himself. That rude git was the friend," he explained as they all slid out of the booth.
"Your beers, gentlemen?" the stewardess returned with Drake and Johnny's frosty glasses.
"We're off to our executive box. Can they take them with?" Greg asked. He knew that beverages were not meant to leave the venues.
"I'm not supposed to say yes, but if you go right up this first stairway here, who's to know?" she handed over the beers.
"Thanks ever so," Greg smiled.
He led the way out of W and sought out the first stairway up to the executive level. It was a long walk around to the exact opposite side of the stadium. 150 executive boxes ringed Emirates Stadium. Some were the large deluxe boxes that could comfortably accommodate up to twenty five people and many were of the smaller size that could only accommodate ten. Box 1 had a brass nameplate with a large and elaborate M and the name Malfoy beneath it. Greg rapped on the door and opened it without waiting.
"Come in, you chaps. Make yourselves comfortable," Dré bid, his rudeness partially redeemed.
The Malfoy box was one of the largest and very spacious. A bar and buffet ran along the rear wall. An elegant table that could seat ten for dinner was set with linens, crystal and even fresh flowers. Opposite the dining area was a lounge with sofas, club chairs and low tables in grays and light blues. The front wall was glass and looked out into the bowl of the stadium. Their private outdoor captain's chair seats upholstered in Arsenal red leather gave them an excellent view of the pitch.
"Stop the feckin lights!" Johnny was more than a little impressed.
"Dré, Vince, you remember Dylan of course," Greg began. "This is Drake and Johnny."
"Right, from the Admiral," Vince pointed as he recalled the bartender. He wore his Viktor Krum jersey and cargo shorts. His lover was extra sexy in form fitting skinny jeans and a dark shirt with a neck so wide it left his collar bones exposed and a good bit of his smooth, pale chest.
"Ah, this is the chap that poured Diggory into your care?" Dré got it. "I'm Dré," he offered his hand. "This is my partner, Vince."
"Nice to meet you blokes. This is my boyfriend Johnny," Drake put his arm around Johnny.
"Vince, Dré, how's the form?" Johnny used a typical Irish greeting.
"An Irishman," Dré observed the obvious aloud. "What kind of name is Johnny for an Irishman?"
"Me real name is Sean, but I don want ta sound Irish do I?" Johnny joked.
"Oh, no chance of that!" Dré laughed.
"Me mates at work gave me that nickname," Johnny stated.
"Because Sean translates to John in the Queen's English," Dré thought he understood.
"No, it just worked out that way. It's because I was always askin' them if they could spare me a Johnny," Johnny attempted to explain.
"A what?" Dylan bit.
"A wellie," Drake gave the more accustomed British slang word for condom.
"Oh!" Dré laughed.
The door opened and stadium wait staff rolled in two carts full of food and beverage.
"I took the liberty of ordering for us on the way over," Dré gestured.
The platters that were set out on the buffet contained chilled, smoked salmon from Scotland, carpaccio of beef from Aberdeenshire, spreadable smoked mackerel with an assortment of crackers, beer battered haddock and chips, chargrilled chicken caesar salad, honey glazed Gressingham duck breast, rosemary and thyme roasted potatoes, Moroccan couscous and assorted grilled vegetables.
"Dig in, chaps," Dré bid.
Another knock on the door signaled new arrivals.
"Is that Rick and Ashok?" Greg asked as he helped himself to the carpaccio.
"I texted them," Dré nodded.
"Ello, mates?" Rick called in as he opened the door.
"Get yer arses in here," Dré called back.
Rick wore snug jeans and a pale blue henley that highlighted his eyes. He led his partner by the hand. The smaller man wore a pair of low rise shorts that were very form fitting. They came down to his knees, hugged his thighs and crotch, and moulded perfectly to his little, round butt. With this he wore a white short sleeved hoodie with a deep, open V neck. Both garments complimented his skin tone and highlighted his trim physique.
"Ah, someone's been shopping," Greg smiled.
"Hi, Greg," Ashok smiled.
"You look smashing," Greg gave the smaller man a warm hug. "And so do you," he pulled Rick into a tight embrace as well.
"C'mere, little mate," Vince had a big hug for the small Indian man as well.
"Vince, Dré," Ashok was passed from Vince to his partner.
It warmed Rick's heart to see the warm affection everyone had for the man he loved, and most especially Dré. The youngest Malfoy was guarded with his affections. Dré only allowed his inner circle to ever see even fondness. He loved them, but he virtually never expressed it. Apart from Vince. Vince was in a class by himself. Dré loved Vince and did not hesitate to ever show it. He was more grateful to Vince for being in his life than he could ever express.
"Dylan," Rick shook the hand of the one man as tall as he was.
"Rick," Dylan had a warm smile. "Hello again, Ashok," he shook the smaller man's hand as well.
"Rick, I do hope you'll remember Drake," Greg introduced.
"Ah, now I remember," Drake finally fitted all the pieces together. "Hello again, Rick. You look better than I saw you last," he offered Rick his hand.
"I should hope!" Rick laughed. "Nice to see you again, Drake. This is Ashok," he slipped his arm around the smaller man's waist and gave him a loving smile. "The man who healed my heart."
"This is who you had waiting for you at home?" Drake enquired. "What the hell were you doing at my bar?!" he asked laughingly.
"One might well ask," Greg quipped.
"Hello, Ashok," Drake shook Ashok's hand as well. "My boyfriend, Johnny," he introduced the man who slung a possessive arm around his neck.
"Johnny O'Brennan," he offered his hand and gave a firm handshake. "Sounds like there's a story there."
"The best story," Ashok wrapped his arms around his tall lover's torso and pressed the side of his face into Rick's chest.
"We'll want to take a seat for this one," Greg suggested. He carried his plate to the lounge and happened to look out onto pitch. "Here, just a minute," Greg slide open one of the glass doors and stepped outside.
The practice coaches had the Gunners running and prancing between cones on the pitch. They ran in a tight circle as a group around the coach before a dozen balls were tossed out. Viktor wanted his Strikers and Midfielders, himself included, to make strike attempts on the net while Lars defended it. Lukasz was stationed at midfield to prevent stray balls from flying down to where the opposing team was warming up as well. The Defenders kicked balls back and forth between each other.
Until it was time to go and change into their match kit.
And high above as the stadium continued to fill and the roar of the crowd steadily grew, Greg saw them heading in to do just that.
"If anyone wants to visit the dressing room, now's the time to do it," Greg set his plate down and pulled his BBC credentials from his pocket. He slipped the lanyard over his head to hang around his neck.
"You should wait here, Drakey boy," Johnny patted his guy on the back.
"Fuck that!" Drake laughed.
"I'm not going," Dré reclined on the long L shaped sofa. "Nothing in that locker room as fine as what I have at home."
"We can go to the locker room?" Ashok looked up at Rick.
"I've been. Go along if you like," Rick smiled.
"May I?" Ashok asked.
"You come right along with me," Greg took Ashok's hand. "And you chaps, follow me," he bid as he led the way out the door.
They took the stairs down to the lower stands, went out through the stands and down onto the pitch. Greg's BBC badge got them through each line of security until they finally walked into the Players Tunnel and entered the bowels of the stadium. They were just four of dozens of media and stadium staff that came and went.
Two sets of double doors were set at the end of the passage. The one on the left led to the visiting team's facilities. Greg pulled open one of the doors on the right and walked in like he owned the place. Past the hydrotherapy spa and entrance to the showers, and the black tiled wall with ARSENAL in white tiles, they reached the changing room.
Sixteen players in states of undress, some of them naked, occupied the changing room, and none of them, at first, even noticed Greg and his guests arrive. Sports players were accustomed to all manner of people walking through their locker rooms. They were used to it and thought nothing of it.
"Hey, Greg!" Theo Walcott, though stark naked, didn't hesitate to give his Captain's partner a hug, once he looked up and recognized who it was.
"Theo," Greg made certain to keep his hands on the naked straight man's upper back. "Kieran, Lukasz, what the devil are you all doing over here?" he knew where the substitutes changed.
"Arséne wants all the new guys to start today," Theo gave a shrug.
"Slunchitze," Viktor strode forward from his place at the apex of the room, in only his jock. He didn't hesitate to take hold of Greg by the back of his head and give him a kiss on his lips. "Dylan," he had only a manly handshake for his straight neighbor, "glad you come."
"Viktor," Dylan gave a smile and a nod.
"My Viktor, obviously," Greg laughed as he began his introductions for those who didn't know each other. "Kieran and Lukasz. That's Tomas down there," he pointed at the men. "And Jack and Aaron, and this delightful young naked thing here is Theo. Some of you chaps know Ashok," Greg put his arm around the young Indian man. "This is our neighbor and good friend Dylan. Drake and his boyfriend Johnny."
"You bartender look after Rick," Viktor pulled Drake into a hug. "Blagodarya."
"Thank you," Greg translated as his husband patted the surprised bartender on the back.
"Da. Thank you," Viktor nodded as he let Drake go.
Johnny shook Viktor's hand, but didn't say a word. Viktor was built just like he was, only bigger and almost certainly stronger. He knew how much Drake would like that and he didn't want this big stud of a footballer anywhere near his guy. Especially in nothing but his jock.
"Hi, Ashok," Kieran, in his uniform shorts, had a hug for the Indian.
"Hi, Kieran," Ashok was happy of the warm greeting.
"How come Viktor's husband gets to come in the locker room?" Theo complained goodnaturedly as he bent to pull on his white match shorts with the Arsenal logo on the front of the right leg and his number on the front of the left. "My girlfriend doesn't get to come in."
"Greg, bring Anezka with you next time," Tomas called.
"I have press credentials and not incidentally, the same thing between my legs that you do. Would you like your wife or girlfriend in here with all this marvelous tackle on display?" Greg posited with a sweeping gesture around the room.
"No," Theo and Tomas answered in unison and shook their heads.
"There you are then," Greg gave a nod.
"You go back now," Viktor put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "We go out soon."
"Right. Have a good match, chaps. Kick their arses," Greg bid and for emphasis gave his partner a loving pat on his bare backside.
Greg led his guests back out and Viktor returned to his cubby to finish dressing. Only Viktor, Tomas and Lukasz wore a jock. Some wore compression shorts and the younger players just pulled on their uniform shorts. They didn't at all mind if things flopped around and the fans could see it.
Dressed in their red match jerseys that displayed each player's huge individual number on their back and, above it, their last name across their shoulders, Viktor led the team out into the player's tunnel. His uniform was unique with the addition of the Captain's armband, which he wore proudly for the first time today.
Both teams lined up and awaited the signal to take the pitch.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Matchday at Emirates Stadium," the booming announcement echoed throughout the bowl of the stadium. "Your Arsenal players: number nine, Viktor Krum!"
The starting eleven players marched in single file, the teams side by side, led by their Captains, out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, while the crowd roared.
"Number twenty four, Lars Jakobsen!" the announcer continued.
The cheering for the new player was not as loud as it had been for Viktor. The Keeper always followed the Captain, and the rest of the players behind them. Each man was listed off and then the same was done for the opposing team. The southeast corner of the bowl for visiting fans made as much noise for their team as humanly possible.
Viktor led his men to line up on the pitch with the referees and the Swansea players did the same.
"All rise for the National Anthem, as performed by Arsenal fan Leona Lewis, accompanied by a band of the Welsh Guards," the announcer bid.
Greg led Dylan, Drake, Johnny and Ashok into the Malfoy box and through to the outdoor gallery where Vince, Dré and Rick waited.
"I din see Cesc in the locker room. What's become of our Captain today, then?" Johnny asked after his favorite player as the singer's voice was broadcast throughout the stadium.
"Huh!" Dré offered no explanation with his scoff.
"Oh, dear. I suppose this is still news," Greg informed. "It only just happened in the last few days. We'll never see Cesc in that locker room again. Cesc has returned to his home in Barcelona. Viktor is our Captain now."
Johnny just gave Greg an incredulous stare for a long moment. He shared a look of disappointment and betrayal with Drake, and then pulled his Cesc Fabregas jersey off over his head. "Gyppo cunt," he muttered as he threw his formerly beloved jersey into a far corner. Johnny would rather be shirtless than wear that garment one more second. And Drake didn't mind that one bit.
The singer finished and made her way off the pitch as did the band. The Swansea City players in their away kit of red and blue jerseys, red shorts and socks, all went down the row to shake the hands of the referees and the Arsenal players. The Swansea Captain led the Keeper, followed by the players and went through Arsenal in the same order. When they were finished, Viktor led his squad in shaking the hands of the referees as well, and then they all took the pitch.
High above, in the gallery outside the Malfoy box, they made themselves comfortable with fresh cups of beer as the referee met with Viktor and the Swansea Captain in the center circle of the pitch. The referee tossed a coin and Swansea won the kickoff. Viktor retreated to his position in the team formation on the Arsenal side of the pitch while the Swansea kicker and receiver took the circle. Jacinto Araujo had the center striking position. He was flanked by two smaller, but very fast men, Mykelti Ahidjo and Angus MacGregor. With Viktor in the midfield were Denbe Birungi on the extreme left, Eduardo Cortez on the other side of Viktor, and Jack Wilshere was on the far right. Behind them in defending position Wambua Mwangi held the center, flanked by David Smith and Santino Conti. Keeping the Arsenal net was Lars Jakobsen.
At the referee's whistle, the match began.
The Swansea kicker tapped the ball to his receiver and, with their team behind them, headed toward the Arsenal net, only to have all of Arsenal press the defence. But Swansea was a cohesive team who knew each other's strengths and moves. This gave them an advantage over the home team. They passed the ball back and forth while Arsenal scrambled.
The Arsenal 11 performed like anything but a team. There were pockets of solid performance, delivered mostly by Viktor, Jack and Wambua. The able Kenyan twice inserted himself into an attack on their net and disrupted it. Once he kicked the ball clear and the second time delivered the ball directly into Lars' arms, where it was safe and out of play.
But Wambua couldn't be everywhere and neither could Viktor. Swansea dominated the pitch with possession of the ball and within the first fifteen minutes sent the ball past Lars and into the net.
The whole stadium reacted and up in the Malfoy box, Johnny was instantly on his feet.
"Gack!" the shirtless, hot blooded Irishman yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Bloody hell!" Dré was not shy at voicing his discontent either.
"Who is this feckin eejit in our net?!" Johnny demanded, still on his feet.
"Not off to an auspicious start," Greg commented.
"Oh, do ya think that?!" Johnny challenged.
"Johnny," Drake pulled on his arm to get him to sit down.
"Jaysus fuck!" Johnny sat back down.
On the pitch, the referee resumed play and almost immediately, Swansea dominated. The ball was kicked over the heads of the majority of players and a quick Swansea Striker charged the Arsenal net. Only David Smith was in range to catch up with him and the fast Jamaican dogged him stride for stride. They flew down the pitch at lightning speed and Lars, determined not to let what just happened, happen again, gave a roar and charged out of his net. The Swansea Striker, with David right beside him and the Keeper barreling straight at him, had to at least try. The shot went far wide.
And then Lars collided with him. The Swansea Striker was sent off his feet. He landed on his side and slid on the grass a good ten feet.
In the Malfoy box Dré was on his feet just as fast as the Irishman.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" Dré demanded.
"Windy maggot cunt!" Johnny exclaimed and put both hands on top of his head. "I'm ta lose me feckin head!"
And Drake knew what that meant. He rose as well and took hold of Johnny's wrist. "Come with me."
"Don't be pullin' on me!" Johnny jerked his arm from Drake's grasp.
"Johnny," Drake stood his ground, but spoke in a calm tone, "please come with me for a moment."
Johnny stood still for a long moment during which no one else in the viewing gallery of the executive box with them drew a breath. He knew his boyfriend as well as Drake knew him, and he finally relented and followed Drake inside.
Down on the pitch, the referee blew his whistle to stop play and pulled a red card from his pocket.
"Bloody hell," Dré threw up his arms and sat back down.
Inside, Drake led his boyfriend into the ensuite powder room and locked the door behind them.
"What's this, then?" Johnny challenged.
"You," Drake grabbed the Irishman's packed crotch, "need to blow off some steam."
"Oh, do I now?" Johnny gave a smirk.
"You do," Drake pulled down Johnny's zipper as he sank to his knees.
"You want this?" Johnny reached into his fly and pulled out his already bloating cock. "This what you want?" he pulled his balls out through his fly as well. "You want this fat Irish flute down yer throat?" Johnny grabbed a fistful of Drake's hair as he fed him his half hard meat. "Oh, fuck!" he held Drake's head firmly in both hands, pressed to his crotch. The feel of Drake's scruffy chin on his balls was nothing compared to the tongue that caressed his penis.
Drake, almost immediately, could not breathe as the fat organ that grew to stretch his jaw, also plugged his throat. Johnny held Drake impaled on his cock until he was throbbingly hard and Drake was lightheaded.
"Feck," Johnny pulled Drake's head back until less than half of his shaft remained in the kneeling man's mouth. He allowed Drake to catch his breath through his nose. "This what you want? You want to suck it?"
In answer, as the strong man still held his head, Drake snaked his tongue as far down the Irish bone's cum tube as he could.
"Oh, you queer bit o'talent. I'm gonna fuck that pretty face!" Johnny held Drake head firmly as he took a wider stance over him and began to thrust into his mouth.
Drake held his man's muscular denim clad thighs as the Irishman force fed him his dick.
"That's it. Look up at me while I fuck yer pretty face," Johnny encouraged as he plowed his lover's mouth. "You look so good suckin me fat cock!" he pulled Drake down until he was balls deep and held him there a moment while his leaking, throbbing bone flexed in Drake's throat. "Ugh!" Johnny let his head fall back as he enjoyed the feeling of his cock buried in his lover's face.
Drake loved when his lover used him like this. While he suffocated on the thick cock that blocked his airway, he opened his own jeans to free his achingly hard and drooling cock.
"Oh, that's it. Take out yer pipe. I wanna see ya stroke it," Johnny encouraged as he pulled his hips back and began to thrust into Drake's mouth again. "Feck yeah!" he picked up the pace as he drove his cock balls deep into Drake.
Drake could taste his Irishman's seepage on his tongue as his Irish brute pounded the fat organ into his skull, hard and deep. It made Drake's eyes water and turned him on no end. He masturbated to the same pace that his lover fucked his mouth and was very soon afraid that he might come first. His Irishman had stamina and could fuck for an hour if he had a mind to, but Drake knew how to curl the man's toes and get what he wanted. He set his tongue in motion on length of Johnny's sensitive cum tube as the big bolt drove into his mouth.
"Hoh, you talented little knob jockey! You want this nut juice, dontcha?" Johnny continued to thrust his bone into his lover's mouth. "I know you like me Irish cream. An yer about to get it!" he gritted his teeth and drove himself into Drake's face even harder. "Oh, yeah! Fuck!" Johnny's legs began to quiver as he drew close to orgasm.
Drake was on the edge as well and wanted to hold off, but refused to slow the speed of his hand as he wanked himself. Knowing that Johnny was close to losing it in his mouth only turned him on the more.
"Hoh, Jaysus!" Johnny's entire body began to tremble as his muscles tightened. "Fuck! Fuck! Take it!" he buried his bone in Drake's face as he crashed over the edge. "Ungh!" Johnny held Drake's head fast to his crotch as his weapon erupted.
Drake was choked by the forceful blast of juice directly into his throat. He couldn't breathe anyway with the fat Irish bone lodged in his throat, but the flood of semen only made it worse. If Drake could have moaned, he would have as he lost it himself.
"Ungh!" Johnny held Drake's head firmly in place on his pulsing, blasting organ as he convulsed and fought to stay on his widely planted feet. He didn't see the ropes of cum that shot from his lover's cock onto the floor beneath him. "Fecking shite!" Johnny panted as his fat cock pulsed and spurt after spurt of thick cream into his lover's throat. As his orgasm waned, Johnny finally relaxed his grip on Drake's head and allowed the man to pull back.
Drake coughed for a moment and fought to catch his breath. He looked up at his still panting, shirtless lover and was struck anew at what a stud his man was. "You are one fucking magnificent stallion, Johnny O'Brennan."
"That how I got such a beauty as this?" Johnny ran an appreciative thumb across Drake's cheek.
Drake smiled and wrapped his hand around the still very hard Irish penis. He gave Johnny a stroke and watched the thick white glob of semen ooze out of Johnny's hole. Just as it grew heavy enough to fall, Drake wrapped his lips around Johnny's head.
"Hoh, yeah," Johnny put a hand on the back of Drake's head and slowly pulled him all the way onto his cock again. "Fuuuck," he closed his eyes and let his head drop back as Drake's tongue massaged the length of his sensitive cum tube.
Drake was content to do this for a long moment. He then pulled Johnny's hand away so that he could pull back enough to gently suck on the thick Irish bone. Johnny made no protest as his lover nursed on his still very hard cock.
Outside and down on the pitch, Lars Jakobsen had been ejected from the match. A team could not be deprived of a Keeper and Lukasz had been sent in to take the net. Arsène Wenger was then forced to select another player to be removed for the duration of the match. Eduardo Cortez was called off the pitch. Swansea was then given a free kick. As the foul had occurred within the penalty zone, Lukasz had the virtually impossible task of defending the net alone. Swansea's second goal came from this free kick.
Greg, Dylan, Rick, Ashok, Dré and Vince all looked up when Johnny and Drake rejoined them out on the gallery.
"What'd we miss?" Johnny asked as he sat down heavily in his seat.
There was no mistaking the winded flush on the man's skin and Drake's messed up hair. Or the way Drake cleared his throat and took a gulp of his beer.
"Jaysus fuck, do I need a fag!" Johnny exclaimed as he ran a hand over his nearly shaved head. He didn't even notice that no one answered his question.
Arsenal lost the match 2 to 1. With Lukasz in the net and able defenders in front of him, Swansea didn't score again. The highlight of the game for Arsenal fans was when Jacinto Araujo scored their only goal. Whether from talent or chemistry, the striking team of Mykelti, Angus and Jacinto worked well together.
The Potters sat to a quiet dinner in the Berkeley Arms and had asked Argus Filch to join them. The hotel accommodated Ginny's request for something quiet by sectioning off the sitting room off the lobby and moving a table and chairs in from the dining room. The Potter men had shed their neckties, but otherwise were still in their suits. Filch had left his cat at home and it was the first time they had seen him without it.
Young Nigel had been assigned to see to them and when he brought the bottle of claret that the Countess had ordered, he held the bottle in one hand and the corkscrew in the other and just stared at them both.
"Do you know how to do that?" H asked.
"I don't, m'Lord," Nigel confessed with big eyes.
"Let me," Argus reached for the bottle.
"I'll do it," H stood up. "Would you like to learn?" he asked Nigel. "First, cut the foil like so. Then hold the bottle like this and twist the screw into the cork," H demonstrated. "Brace this piece against the neck like so. Hold it like this and pull. And there you are," he pulled the cork out of the bottle and twisted it off the screw. "If the Countess enjoys this, we might well want another bottle and you shall have to open it."
"I will, m'Lord!" Nigel nodded vigorously.
"I'll pour. Go and fetch the kids' oranginas," H directed.
"Yes, m'Lord," Nigel dashed to obey.
H placed the cork beside Ginny's glass in case she wanted to smell it. It would normally have gone to him, but he was pouring. H didn't bother to pour anyone a taste. He wasn't a waiter after all. He poured Ginny a glass first, then Argus, and then himself.
Ginny took a sip as her husband sat back down. "Mm," she nodded. "Quite good. Surprisingly good, actually. We very probably shall want another bottle."
"Poor Nigel," Argus shook his head.
"It was kind of you to teach him," Ginny smiled at H.
"It was kind of them to set up this private room for us," H gestured.
"They ought do," Argus affirmed. "You own it."
"I do?" H furrowed his brow. He was pretty familiar with his estate's portfolio and remembered an historic coaching inn, but hadn't realized it was this one.
"The Baker family have been running it since the Eighth Earl had it built," Argus informed.
"Did we give them a credit card when we checked in?" H asked his wife.
"I didn't," Ginny shook her head.
"Neither did I," H considered. It made sense now. But something else didn't. "Why are we staying here anyway? We could have stayed at the castle."
"We have no staff in place at the castle," Ginny pointed out.
"We have no staff at home," H countered.
"I know my way around our house and kitchen. I wouldn't know where to begin in the castle," Ginny stated.
"Here we are for the young ones," Nigel brought the children's drinks.
"Thank you," James spoke up and took hold of the cold bottle with both hands. He was very thirsty and demonstrated just how much.
"Thank you," Albus echoed his older brother.
"Are you ready to order?" Nigel asked.
"We haven't even looked at the menu yet. Give us a few minutes," H bid.
"Yes, m'Lord," Nigel gave a slight bow and quickly withdrew.
"The castle has been a private residence for over eight hundred years," Argus pointed out. "Are you sure you don't want to just live in it?"
"This castle is a financial black hole at the center of my," H paused to correct himself, "our estate. To live in it and have the household staff that would require, would only make it worse."
"The whole point is to make the castle a self sustaining business," Ginny explained. "And live in it at the same time."
"We live in London," H pointed out.
"We do right now," Ginny almost conceded.
"I have a job," H tried again.
"I know you do, Har, working with my brother," Ginny made the effort to take her husband's hand. "And I know how much Ron loves that and loves you, but you have to admit that you don't need that job. We don't need you to work. In fact, just think what we could accomplish together if you spent all the hours and energy you devote to that job, working on this with me," she expressed with a hopeful smile. Dare she even hope? Might she get her husband back after all?
"You're not wrong," H gave a sigh. He had to admit that she was right. But he loved his job. He loved it for the fact that it got him out of his house every day during the week and provided cover for when he needed time at the secret house.
"What are your plans for the gatehouse?" Argus asked what had weighed on his mind since he learned of their plans.
"You live in the gatehouse," H didn't get it.
"We have no plans for the gatehouse," Ginny shared. "We would like you to go on living there just as you do now. We'd like you to continue to use your offices in the castle as well. We may inconvenience you a bit while we refurbish, but otherwise we want nothing regarding you or the gatehouse to change."
"I don't know what I would have done without you all these years, Mr. Filch," H complimented.
"Just doing my job, Mr. Potter," Argus was clearly uncomfortable with praise.
H just smiled and picked up his menu. "Oh, my. I see pork, pork, pork, pork or fish."
"Gloucester Old Spot. None better in the whole world," Argus appraised. "And your very own."
"Are you telling me I own pigs?!" H couldn't imagine it and didn't at all remember livestock on the books.
"Not the pigs actually. The land. Several of your tenant farmers raise Old Spots," Argus clarified.
"Little piggys, Daddy?" James was paying closer attention to the adults than H would have liked. "Can we pet them too?"
"I don't think so," H denied.
"I wouldn't call them little, young master," Argus informed. "They weigh over forty stone!"
"They're beasts and filthy, I'm sure," H stated. "Not at all like the doggies and horsies we met today."
"M'Lord, m'Lady, did you want to order now?" Nigel stuck his head into the room.
"Oh, yes, please, Nigel," H waved him forward.
"M'Lord?" Nigel had pen and pad ready.
"Take the Countess' order first," H gestured to his wife. He might not be sexually attracted to her, or to any woman for that matter, but he could still be a gentleman.
"M'Lady?" Nigel asked.
"The roast pork wrap, I think," Ginny nodded.
"Yes, m'Lady. M'Lord?" Nigel wrote it down.
"The pork belly," H ordered. "Mr. Filch?"
"The pork belly is an excellent choice. I'll have the same," Argus endorsed.
"And for the little ones?" Nigel scribbled away.
"The fish fingers and the sausages," Ginny ordered.
"I'll give this to mum, I mean, the chef, right away," Nigel made a quick little bow again and dashed.
The Potters ate and talked with their Estate Manager over dinner and made plans to tour some of the farms with him the following morning. They lingered after dinner over more wine while James and Albus, who had a big day of running around with dogs, horses and people, fell asleep on the sofas.
Eventually Argus bid them a good night and headed out to walk the two blocks back to his little lodge. H carried James up to their room while ginny waited with Albus. H returned to carry their younger son as well and all of them retired.
It took some work getting sleeping children out of their clothes and into pajamas, but H and Ginny finally managed and tucked their sons in. They turned out the lights and left both bedroom doors just slightly ajar as they retired to their own room.
H paid his wife no mind at all as he striped down to the vest and boxers he had worn all day under his clothes. He didn't bother to trade his boxers for his sleep pants as it was a warm night.
"Those two went out like lights," H commented as he pulled down their bed.
"Didn't they though?" Ginny agreed.
"We should let them chase the hounds and run around our castle more often," H took his glasses off and set them on the nightstand before he slid into bed.
Ginny changed into her nightgown before she spent the few minutes it took in the bathroom to remove the little makeup she wore. She regarded her husband as he lay in bed waiting with his hands behind his head. Overall, he had been remarkably cooperative today. He shook all the hands and smiled in all the faces. His short little speech had been spot on. The closest he had come to losing it was when the town had presented him with his very own owl. Ginny had to admit, giving someone an owl was pretty out there, but H had recovered quickly. He complimented the huge bird, thanked them for her and shook their hands. He had exceeded her expectations today and Ginny was in the mood to reward him.
"You don't need to wear all that to bed, do you?" Ginny asked casually as she applied lotion to her hands and elbows.
"Oh," H wasn't expecting that. "No. No, I don't," he sat up, pulled his vest off over his head, and dropped it on the floor. He laid back down, lifted his ass off the mattress under the sheet and blanket, and slipped his boxers off as well. H turned his pillows so he could recline while he watched his wife finish getting ready for bed. Her soft, supple body and womanly curves were certainly not preferable to a masculine form. Her vagina would never feel as good to him as another man's ass, which he could pound himself into with abandon. She would never be Rick. But Rick could never be her. Ginny gave him children. H had no desire for her, but sex with her was better than none at all.
Ginny finished applying her lotion and slipped into bed beside her naked husband. She still wore her nightgown. If he wanted her naked as well, he would have to take it off of her.
"Did you get everything you wanted today?" H asked his wife as she settled in beside him.
"Mostly," Ginny gave a noncommittal shrug.
"What else can I do for you then?" H asked without being confrontational.
"You could get this to stand at attention," Ginny pushed the covers down and away from his lap.
H took her hand in his, brought it to his face, and kissed it. He then lowered her hand and covered it with his own on his cock and balls. Ginny willingly fondled her husband's limp, sheathed penis and smiled as she felt it expand. H reached up as he grew in her hand, to pull one end of the silk strings that were tied in a bow at the opening of his wife's nightgown. It fell open and he reached in, to cup and massage a breast as she began to stroke his cock.
"That feels good, Gin," H spoke softly. His foreskin was such that fully erect his head was still half covered. He had to admit that her delicate feminine touch as she moved his skin up and down his pole, did indeed feel good.
Ginny smiled and slid down in the bed to take her husband in her mouth.
H gasped as his wife's mouth closed around his penis. "Oh, Gin!" he whispered harshly.
Ginny hadn't made her husband come like this since before they were married. She didn't like the taste of his semen and wasn't shy about telling him so. H had no aspirations that she would suck him off now, but still he couldn't remember the last time his wife had given him head.
"Fuck, Gin, that feels so good!" H encouraged as his wife's lips moved up and down his cock. He knew she wouldn't do this for long and would probably want to ride him. H was perfectly willing to let her. If he couldn't have Rick, or the Scot kid with the hard and tight little butt whose name he struggled to remember at the moment, at least he would get to come in someone.