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New Cover for August and Anderson

 Quite a few years later...
Home Again, Home Again
August threw the door open, threw both arms over his head, hips cocked to the side, tie loose around his neck, carryon bag hanging over one shoulder. "Beloved family! I'm home!"
Of course, it was the middle of the day. His mom would be at work. His father would be in DC, so the time of day didn't really matter, and his angelic little brother would be in school.  The servants were going to stay away from him, if they could. He dropped his bag and gave it a kick towards the stairs. 
He wasn't supposed to be home. He was supposed to be at Harvard, doing summer school, to make up for classes that he hadn't paid enough attention to in the winter semester. Humming, he strode to his father's study, opened the double french doors and happily took possession of his daddy's home office. He went directly to the wet bar and mixed himself a sour apple martini. College really wasn't his thing. Maybe his parents would get that this time. 
Elbows on the bar behind him, he watched his martini swirl over expensive crystal. He had to come up with the answer to the question that they were going to ask. 
What am I going to do? 
He knew what he'd done. He'd cut class and gone to Paris, where he'd gotten his hair bleached and then bent the pretty stylist over his chair and fucked him until they both shouted happy things in French. Then he'd run like hell from the guy's mother who had shouted things in French that he didn't think were going to come up in any French class. 
He'd insulted the US security agent and gotten himself strip searched, but not arrested. Getting strip searched shouldn't have been that much fun. He hoped with a very great deal of energy that his dad didn't get all the details of that encounter. 
At nineteen, he was told he should have been doing a great deal of good with his life. He was a senator's son. He was the son of a renowned physician and god save him he was the older brother of a boy genius who would probably finish college before his older brother did. 
Was Playgirl Bunny? Playgirl Wolf? Was that even a job description?
He took another sip of his martini, pressed his hand against his crotch, glanced guiltily towards the double doors he'd left open. Pleasure purred in his hardening cock though and he licked, bit at his full lower lip. Red head.  He'd never done a red head. Long red hair, freckles, broad shoulders, narrow hips, a runner maybe, yeah....  He set the martini down on the bar, ran a hand through his long blond hair, raking it back from his face and rocked his hand over his cock through dark black school pants. 
The red head in his imagination ran his hand down August's sides, over his hips, around to grip his ass. "I want to fuck you," the imaginary red head purred. "You want that, don't you, you naughty boy. Get me some lube so I can fuck you hard."
"Oh man," August groaned. He glared at the open doors, his jaw shifted to the side as he considered, debated. His belly twitched in time with his cock and balls. There's little point in being half bad and the question was what did he want to do.... 
Buttered Rum!
He grabbed up his martini, downed it in a gulp, then rolled around the bar to sink down by the mini fridge. Inside there was a little bit of buttered rum flavor left. He scooped up a bit, hoping it was more butter than sugar.  Jacking off with sugar was like getting a really shitty bad microdermabrasion on one's cock. Hidden by the bar, he went back to thinking about this red head, his now slick hand slowly slid up his cock.  
Around him, the bar settled back to forest. Such a complete fantasy, moss and trickling creek, sunlight warming trees and the leather he wore, but the sun didn't warm him as much as the slender red head in his lap. The hand around his cock became more slender, stroking sweetly as playful kisses tugged at his lips. "I love you, my King," the red head said. It was always the same voice, the voice of a singer, sweet and loving.
"Mount me," August whispered, eyes clenched against the rude unforested nature of his dad's study. 
"Of course," the red head purred, knees tight around Auggie's hips for a moment before he straightened to push soft leather pants down over lean hips. 
Auggie circled the head of his cock with his thumb, pretending that was the red head's tight body sliding down over him in perfect fantasy. It wasn't far from there, the white sweet peak that he hoped would somehow never end, was maybe some sweet kiss of heaven, probably as close as he'd ever get. 
The red head was gone when he opened his eyes, leaving him with a deeper sense of lose, as if somehow the red head had been real, once. White creamy splashes were also left up his dark tie, pooling in his belly button. Grinning he felt utterly daring, wicked, unstoppable, as if he'd taken over the world by owning his daddy's office for a few minutes. 
Then the espresso machine hissed steam into milk. 
August's grin ran after the red head and took all the color in his face. If his cum had just hit his face, it'd be as invisible as he wished he was. One eye squinting, he tried to zip himself up as silently as angelically possible.
"There's some paper towels in the cabinet back there. Really, Auggie, after what happened in the nurse's office, I would have thought you'd have better impulse control," his father said, neutral, calm. 
August swallowed really hard, opened the cabinet door as quietly as possible. Wiping up, he chewed his lip and regretted everything. He'd die if they sent him to military school. Thinking about pretty asses in uniforms, he probably would die because he would offend someone and they'd probably bet him to death. The funeral would be quiet. 
He shoved the paper towels into the waste can. On his hands and knees he peered around to locate his father. 
Senator Bon Richards sat behind his desk, sipping a very well made latte. "Seriously. You didn't think homeland security would fail to tell me what you said, did you?"
"I was kind of hoping," August said, getting up to his feet. 
"I expect. Don't drink my booze, Auggie. You're not 21 and it's not there for you."
August laced his fingers behind his head, stared at the ceiling. "Are you going to send me to military school?"
"No."
"I'm not going back."
"I know. We've arranged for you to go to the state school.  I'd like you to stay home and not put my career at risk until school starts." Bon looked up from the file he was reviewing, took a very slow breath and pinioned at his oldest son with a very stern glare.
"What am I going to do, Dad? I don't give a shit about most of this stuff? I'm not good at anything. Maybe I could be a stand up comedian?"
"Give school one more try. I think you'll meet someone, like I met your mother. I was just like you until I met your mother."
"State school won't make me straight."
Bon laughed, nearly snorting his latte. "There's nothing on Earth that will make you straight and that's fine. But I'd seriously like you to care about something more than just pissing people off, Auggie. The only thing I can expect to redeem you is love. We'll just keep trusting you and supporting you until it works. You're a good person. When you find your path, you're going to be magnificent."
August shoved his hands into his pockets. "Can I have another martini?"
"No. Go change before your mother gets home."

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