Title: It Is Better Not Retrieved

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: Beau Geste

Pairing: Augustus Brandon/Digby Geste

Rating: NC-17

Email address: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Disclaimer: There is no justice in this world! They are not mine! They belong to P.C. Wren, his heirs and assignees, the lucky dogs! And to Paramount who produced this version.

Status: new/complete

Date: 10/01

Series/Sequel: not at this point

Other Web Site: http://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Archive: OK, I surrender. Yes to all the list archives. (I'm so easy!)

Summary: What happened the night the Blue Water was stolen.

Warnings: m/m, spoilers for the movie

Notes: Thanks to the usual suspects: Gail for all her help, and Silk for being there.

'As for retrieving his character, it is better not retrieved. Better left where it is-' Chapter 1-Beau Geste and His Band

I loved Digby Geste. I had always loved him, even when we were children. But I never dared let him see that, even after we became lovers.

****

The Geste boys, Michael, Digby and John, were adopted by my Uncle Hector's wife, Aunt Patricia. Lady Brandon could not have children of her own, so she gathered the orphans of the family to her elegant bosom.

Uncle Hector blamed her for the fact that they were childless.

I always thought it was impossible to create children when the interested parties weren't.

And *he* definitely *wasn't*. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and their feelings for each other had never gone much past cordial disdain on Lady Brandon's part, and total indifference on my uncle's.

During the years of our childhood, we seldom saw him.

Sir Hector only came home, which was Brandon Abbas, when he was on a repairing lease, when he had no more money to spend on his high flyers or his more serious vice: gambling.

He liked to gamble, did my uncle, and he would bet on anything, from the nags to mills to which raindrop would reach a windowsill first. And this fact was reflected in the condition of his properties. His constant drain on them depleted their resources. The children on his estates died of diphtheria, and the elderly from the chill of winter, which seeped into their poorly repaired houses.

The only thing left of any worth was the Blue Water, a sapphire of such purity and depth of color that there was no match for it anywhere in the world. I had once heard Uncle Hector proudly proclaim he had been offered thirty thousand pounds for it!

It was the one thing that he truly loved, and he swore he never would part with it.

****

Michael Geste, also known as Beau, came tearing down the stairs from the second floor of Brandon Abbas. He skidded to a halt in front of the suit of armor that stood guard at the foot of the staircase, tossed it a salute and seized the pike that was held in its gauntleted hands.

He grinned at me, that jaunty, devil-may-care smile that caused everyone to love him.

Well, everyone except me. To my everlasting misfortune, I loved his brother.

Adjusting my spectacles, I curled my lip at Beau. My neat mustache twitched with disdain and I turned away.

He ran back up to the second floor, the tails of his formal dinner jacket waving behind him, shouting, "Stand fast, Lieutenant Geste! Reinforcements are on the way!"

****

As children, Beau had been the Captain and Digby had been Lieutenant.

I, of course, as the heir to Brandon Abbas, should have been the Admiral, with the fancy triangular hat that was covered with gold braid, to denote my exalted rank. But they insisted I was only worthy of being a lowly seaman. None of the brothers would have followed my orders anyway.

So I became as obnoxious as I knew how in revenge.

John, the youngest Geste, had taken a ball in his leg, and Beau had performed 'naval surgery without anesthesia' and removed it. I crossed my arms and glared at them, threatening to tattle to Aunt Pat.

Isobel, another of her orphans, exhibited her displeasure by kicking me in the shins.

They paid me no heed, as usual, instead preparing one of *my* boats for a Viking funeral. They placed a lead soldier on a box of matches on the deck, found a tiny ceramic dog of our aunt's to lay at its feet, and set it afire.

Digby raised his bugle to his lips and played the Last Post. He did it so earnestly. And I tumbled helplessly, hopelessly in love with him.

****

But it wasn't until my seventeenth birthday that I made lo...*had* Digby Geste the first time.

I had a young groom under me, in an unoccupied box stall, when Dig came poking his head in.

"What's all the noise, Ghastly? What are you up to ...? Oh, my God! *Augustus*!"

I froze, my prick deep in the young groom's ass, my hand firmly around his own weeping erection.

My master at Eton had taught me well, and I was a generous lover. "Please, Master Gustus! Please don't stop!" the boy begged.

I was breathless, fast approaching the brink of orgasm, and I stared at the burgeoning arousal in Digby's trousers. "Of course I won't stop, Jemmy, pet," I assured my playmate hoarsely.

Dig's eyes were enormous, fastened on the empurpled head of my cock, which I had withdrawn from the heated passage that gloved it like velvet. My shaft glistened with the lubricant I had used. I rammed it back into the young groom, and he whimpered in satisfaction as I stroked across his sweet spot.

Digby couldn't tear his fascinated gaze from the sight Jemmy and I made. "Care to join us, Dig?"

The Gestes were always so honorable, so noble, so pure of heart. And I...I was Ghastly Gussie: dishonorable, ignoble, impure. I could see Digby was torn. He wanted to bolt from the stable. But more than that, I could see he wanted a prick in his ass. His face had grown flushed, and he was trembling. His hand was in his trousers, and he was rubbing himself furiously.

"Ahhh!" The young groom came, filling my hands with semen. Two more hard, swift strokes, and I climaxed as well.

Never looking away from the middle Geste, I brought my hand to my mouth and licked my palm.

Digby moaned and stumbled from the stable. I hoped he got his hand out of his trousers before anyone saw him.

Later that same evening, just before the tea tray was brought in, he came looking for me in the billiards room.

"Ghastly."

I glanced up from where I was half-lying on the green felt of the table ready to make my shot, but I refused to say anything.

He shuffled uncomfortably, and I couldn't help noticing the bulge in his trousers. Finally, I took pity on him. I lowered my spectacles on my nose and watched him from over them.

"You want me to fuck you, Digby?"

He nodded. "Just this once, Ghastly. But you have to promise me no one will ever find out! If Beau ever learned of this..."

"He'd kill me, Digby. Do you think I don't know that?" I crowded the slightly younger man against the wall and rocked my hips against his. "I'm going to make this so good for you that once won't be enough. And no one will ever learn from me that you want to be in my bed. I have a condition of my own though, Dig. Stop calling me Ghastly!"

He moistened his lips, and I was sorely tempted to drop to my knees, unbutton his trousers and free his cock. I wanted to know what he tasted like.

"Very well," he agreed. "Augustus."

We skipped tea that night.

True to my word, I made it *very* good for him, so good that night after night he would sneak into my room, spread himself on my bed, and let me fuck him until we were both too exhausted to do more than fall asleep sprawled all over each other.

And true to *his* word, he stopped calling me Ghastly.

But only when we were alone together. Whenever his brothers were around, or Aunt Patricia, or even Burton, the butler, he still called me by that hated nickname.

****

"Did you have fun?" I drawled as the brothers came down the broad steps.

"There was a mouse behind the couch in Beau's room," Digby said absently. "We needed to kill it."

"Well? Where's the puir, wee, furry body?"

"Couldn't do it. It was too cute," Michael mused.

"Come to think of it, he kind of reminded me of you, Ghastly," Digby taunted. He nudged his older brother in the ribs. "Think of *him* behind that couch!"

"Same kind of rodent!" Beau agreed happily, and he waved the pike at my head.

I stepped back quickly, concealing my hurt. "The Gestes are such witty fellows! To themselves," I huffed, silently daring him to come closer, but Beau was already turning away and replacing the pike.

"Ah, Ghastly, if I could just..." Digby's words were playful, but his hands reached for my neck as if he would strangle me. I took a step toward him, tipping my head back as if offering him my throat. His eyes widened and he came to a halt, swallowing uneasily. I had never told anyone about us, never even hinted of it, not in all the years since he had discovered that he couldn't stop himself from coming to my bed. But he always expected me to reveal what was to him a shameful secret.

"Come on, you two. Aunt Pat is holding up tea for us!"

I followed the brothers into the rose sitting room and threw myself into an overstuffed chair. John, the youngest of the Geste brothers, hovered over the piano, turning the music for Isobel, who had grown into quite a lovely young woman, if your tastes ran that way. Obviously, John's did. He watched her with big, puppy dog eyes. It was an open secret in the household that they were madly in love with each other, and as soon as John had a paying position, they were to be wed.

Burton, the butler who had come to Brandon Abbas with Aunt Patricia, hurried in, bearing a slim, white envelope. "A telegram, your Ladyship."

We hadn't received a wire in five years. "I wonder if anything has happened to Sir Hector?" I pondered thoughtfully.

"Please, Gussie, don't start reciting the contents of the will again!" Beau teased. That night I couldn't even be bothered to glare at him.

'The contents of the will,' that was a laugh. I would get Brandon Abbas and everything that was entailed, which included farms so badly in need of repair, and no money with which to effect that repair. And the Blue Water would be mine. I wasn't as enamored of that jewel as Uncle Hector. When I inherited, I would sell it and restore the estate to what it had once been.

She opened the telegram and began reading it. Her lips tightened, and the fine lines that framed her mouth became more pronounced.

"What's wrong, Aunt Pat?"

"This is from Sir Hector. He's going to be paying us a visit."

"Why?" I sat up abruptly. "He never comes to Brandon Abbas!"

She turned to face us with a smile, but the expression in her eyes was bleak. "It seems he is finally at point non plus, and is going to sell the Blue Water."

"There won't be anything left!" I said softly.

"No," she agreed, her voice even softer than mine. "Nothing, Augustus!" She rose to her feet, about to leave the room, the telegram lying forgotten on her seat. A visit from her husband was an event that none of us relished.

"Aunt Pat," Beau called as she neared the door. "Perhaps you'll let us see the Blue Water one last time?"

She looked defeated, and I wondered about that. It wasn't until years later that I learned the reason. "Of course, Beau. Burton, will you come to the Priest's Refuge with me? And bring a candle?"

The stately old man bowed from the waist and followed her obediently to the hidden room that had been built in Cromwell's time, and had been used to store the family's treasures.

Since Sir Hector came into the title, the treasures had become fewer and fewer, until now it seemed that even that stone which was the Brandon talisman would be gone.

A short time later, Aunt Patricia returned with the chest that held the precious jewel. She laid it on a console table. When she opened the lid, we all sucked in a breath. The Blue Water looked like a slice of sky that had fallen to earth, capturing the sun on its way down.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and I stiffened. I had never been fond of the dark.

"Perhaps we've blown a fuse," came Beau's casual remark.

I felt my way to the wall, groped for the light switch and pressed it.

The lights came back on. "Another Geste jest?" I snapped in irritation as I turned to face them. They were all staring in dismay at the chest.

At the *empty* chest! The Blue Water was gone!

****

Of course everyone denied having taken the Blue Water. And Aunt Pat was livid. Or gave the impression of being livid. Once again, her eyes belied her words.

"I am extremely disappointed in whomever did this! The chest will be left on this table until tomorrow morning. If the stone is returned, nothing more will be said of this unfortunate incident! Come, Isobel!" The door closed behind the two women.

"Ghastly." Digby was in the chair I had vacated earlier. "I hate to do this...but it's necessary!" He bounded out of the chair and launched himself at me.

I made no effort to protect myself. We tumbled to the carpeted floor and Dig straddled my hips, his hands going all over my body. I knew he felt my arousal nudging his crotch.

"Don't forget his mouth, Dig!" Beau offered, and his younger brother's eyes went hot as he recalled the night earlier in the week, when he had *not* forgotten my mouth. I had taken his cock between my lips and suckled him to completion.

He got off me and smoothed his hair back off his forehead. "Tonight!" he mouthed, remembering as clearly as I.

I rolled to my hands and knees and paused there a moment, suddenly so weary I could have wept. Eight years. We'd been doing this for eight years.

I climbed to my feet. "I'd wager if I searched you lot, I'd find the Blue Water on one of you! And if one of you is to blame, then all of you are. Because you always stick together!"

They leaned against each other, Beau and Digby and John, and grinned smugly at me. And then Dig slid a glance at his older brother, and I felt my heart crack. The unreserved love in his eyes! Never had he looked at me in that manner.

I turned and walked out of the room.

In spite of the fact that he promised to come to me, I chewed on my nails nervously, waiting for the expected tap at my door.

I was determined to tell him I couldn't do this any longer, but time dragged past, and in spite of my best efforts, I fell asleep.

Warm, cognac-scented breath whispered over my lips, waking me. "Augustus!" my lover sighed, his tongue seeking entrance.

"Digby, you're drunk!"

"Does that mean you're not going to fuck me?" he pouted. Never before had I seen him even a little bit on the go.

"Oh, I am going to fuck you, Digby Geste. God help me, but I am!" I stripped off my nightshirt and pulled him into my arms. Somewhere along the way he had lost his formal jacket and vest. His dress shirt hung open, and those small, tight nipples of his stabbed into my chest, burning where they touched.

I fitted my hand past his waistband and brushed the backs of my fingers against the turgid length of his cock.

"Yes, Augustus! *Yes*!"

"Get your trousers off now, Dig!" He scrambled out of them and flung himself backwards on my bed.

"Suck me, Gussie! You have such a wicked mouth!"

I gave him a brief lick, but I had no intention of letting him come that way. I flipped him over and shoved him onto his hands and knees. In the nightstand beside my bed was a jar that contained the cream that eased my way into my lover's body. I scooped some up and massaged it around his anus, dipping a fingertip past the tight ring of muscle.

Digby whined with need. "More, Ghastly, more!"

Instead, I removed my finger and began to pet his flanks, smoothing the soft skin. I nestled my groin against the curves of his buttocks and encircled his chest, scraping my nails over his nipples, pressing fevered kisses along his spine.

His prick was oozing precome, and his hips thrust blindly into the air, seeking something to rub against to satisfy his maddening desire.

I covered my cock with the cream and fitted it against Digby's hole, slowly forcing it to accept me. He gasped at the steady intrusion, while I shuddered at the hot, silken ripple of muscles that tightly clasped my hard flesh.

Digby cried out as my inward thrusts hit his sweet spot. I drove in harder, deeper, faster and faster, while Dig begged and pleaded for me never to stop.

I took his erection in my hand and jerked him in time to my strokes, and soon he was spurting all over his chest.

I didn't want it to end. I wanted to fuck Digby until the end of time, but of course that was impossible. My balls tightened and drew up, and with a deep groan I began to spill myself into his channel.

He collapsed on the bed, and for long minutes I lay on him. Once I would have been drowsily contemplating our future together. I had no choice but to face the truth. Digby Geste wanted me, but when he wasn't in my bed, he didn't much like me.

And he respected me even less. I had to end this.

I knew I'd never end this.

"You thought I took the Blue Water, Dig!" He hadn't been using that rough and tumble on the floor as an opportunity to set up an assignation with me. I couldn't believe how much that hurt.

"Had to, Gussie. If it wasn't you, then it had to be one of my brothers. And it couldn't be them! They would never steal from Aunt Pat, never do anything that evil!" He rolled out from under me and staggered to his feet. Taking a corner of my sheets, he wiped himself off on them. "Got to get back to my room, Ghastly. 'Night."

But it wasn't goodnight.

The next morning, all three Gestes were gone.

It was good-bye.

~END~