Date: Sat, 1 Apr 2017 18:10:31 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 11

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

"So, I told you that I would bring a new one to the table today. And I just
decided what it would be. I want you to close your eyes and think about how
Barry's fingers felt on your earlobes, taint and ass." I could tell by a
sudden surge of dogwater erupting from his piss-slit that he had the image
firmly in front of him. "Now think what it would feel like for the same
thing to be done by... a man's tongue." Beaux's eyes flew open and he
sucked in a shuddering gasp so deep I thought he'd burst. In a strangled
voice, Beaux asked to be excused and literally ran to his room. I just sat
and laughed at the image, hoping I'd left him enough Jax Wax to avoid an
embarrassing visit to Rob's office.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 11: How Shocking!

By Bear Pup

M/T; sexuality; plot (no on-screen sex)

Thursday dawned with a strange, greenish light that heralded a day of
storms. There was no way I was going to get out on a day like that. I
called and left a message for Louise and told her I would be working from
the house today.

For breakfast, I made my own version of French Toast, knowing how much
Beaux enjoyed the Pain Perdu at The Old Coffeepot. Mine was, frankly,
halfway to bread pudding. A thick, 'Texas toast' slice of bread soaked long
and slow in a mixture of egg, cream, salt and nutmeg. A heavily-buttered
sheet pan in the oven was the only cooking vessel. I heated it in a very
hot oven so that the toast began to brown as soon as the sopping bread hit
the metal. Back into a slow oven and flipped them halfway through. I ended
up with a puffed-thick and tender slab of wonderfully eggy bread.

I usually ate two slices, so I made six (about half a loaf of bread and a
dozen eggs). Beaux's stomach was still growling when he sopped the last
buttery-syrup from his plate. And he was *still skinny as a rail* and I,
after only a week, was getting flabby! The universe is a seriously cruel
place.

"Oncle, I'm getting a bit stir-crazy. Can I go out on the pond and fish
some?"

I looked at the lowering sky. "Beaux, it's going to storm and might get
pretty bad. I want you off that water and away from the dock if there is so
much as a single clap of thunder or flash of lightning. No matter how far
away it looks. You hear me, Beaux?"

Eye-roll with teen sigh. "Yes, Oncle." Beaux sgot up from the table and I
watched his lithe and beautiful body twist and his flawless ass flex and
move... and sighed deeply. What was I going to do with this man-child?

He paused and turned, "Oncle, do I have to have clothes on the pond?"

Outside of parties (and not all of those), I'd never worn a stitch swimming
or fishing on my little lake. The thought of Beaux out there naked and
vulnerable made me shiver, though. I opened my mouth then caught his look
of calculation. It was clear he had seen that whole monologue play out in
my head.

"Um, well, you don't *have* to, but I'd feel better if you, um, did."

"Do you wear clothes when you fish?" His tone was flat.

"No, Beaux, I don't. But I worry a lot more about you than I worry about
me. At least for today, how about just a pair of those loose shorts? And
some shoes? Please? It's almost like being nude, but I'd feel a lot better
about it."

He smiled. "That's fine, Oncle. To be true, that reason makes the
difference. I thought maybe you were back to being uncomfortable with me
running around in nothing. And I'm getting to really enjoy the naked feel,
me!"

"Beaux, trust me, I am not *back* to uncomfortable. I never left!" He
laughed at that and I watched his lean flanks prowl down the stairs and out
of my line of sight.

After cleaning up, I took an hour on the gym equipment to try and undo some
of the damage of my own cooking. A quick shower and I went to my office and
looked down. I could clearly see Beaux had found the paddles and the tackle
I kept in the boat shed. He was in the canoe, doing well for someone more
used to the flat bateau. He also wore a fishing hat I kept there with a
wide, canvas brim. Over the delectable boy flesh it looked
delightfully-absurd. The sky loomed angrier than ever, but nothing had
broken yet. There was still hope that it would wait until it moved more to
our south before it unleashed the fury it had built across the Great
Plains.

I saw a flash well off to the North and looked down. Beaux's head was up
and alert and I watched as he turned to paddle back toward the dock. I went
back to work as the wind started to whip the trees a bit. Beaux was already
out of the canoe next time I looked and was wiping down the hull, something
I knew I was supposed to do and rarely thought of. Perhaps five minutes
later I was shocked to immobility by a blinding flash and a peal of thunder
loud enough to penetrate even my inner sanctum. I leapt up and saw a long,
lithe form lying on second-tier deck below me.

I teleported out there. I must have run through the office, down the
stairs, through the door and down to the deck, but have no memory to this
day between the window and Beaux's supine form. I scooped him up and ran
back to the house just as the giant raindrops, a signature of KC storms,
began to fall like God's water balloons.

We were inside before I knew it and I realised that Beaux was struggling
with me. Shouting at me in French. I asked him if he was okay and he just
stared at me. Beaux shook his head hard several times and asked the same
thing in increasing volume, obviously becoming panicked. I put my finger to
his lips and held my hand in a fist to my ear and pointed to him. I
repeated this until comprehension dawned.

I went to lift him and was startled at his weight. He was lean and lithe,
yes, but also solid muscle. I had no idea how I'd gotten him in from the
deck. I stood him up and held him steady as he staggered on wobbly knees
beside me to his bedroom where I dragged a shirt over his head and sat him
in an armchair. I sprinted to my own rom and dressed in a complete panic. I
called Rob's office and in seconds Eloise shouted me down and told me to
head straight to St Luke's and her husband would meet us there.

I got a very-shaken Beaux into the Celica and roared off. Beaux kept
shaking his head like a dog with wet ears. I was frankly shocked that I
didn't have two dozen cop cars chasing me by the time I'd made it the five
short miles to the ER. Did you know that lights timed for 45 miles per hour
also stay green if you're red-lining a Celica in 4th gear?

I got Beaux into the Emergency room frantically filled out paperwork, Beaux
sitting and staring around himself, muttering in French. Rob came in, still
in his doctor's coat and called out to the nurse who was on duty and knelt
in front of Beaux. He pulled up his eyelids then snapped his fingers next
to each ear. Rob helped Beaux to his feet and walked both of us back into
one of the side rooms. In passing, he called out some quick notes to the
duty nurse. The room had something I'd read about but not personally used:
a smooth, white panel with a special marker dangling from a string.

'BEAUX CAN YOU READ THIS?' Rob wrote. Beaux sighed deeply then nodded.

'YOU WILL BE FINE. NEED TO TALK TO KEVIN.'

"Okay, so as Eloise was literally pushing me out the door of the office,
she said something about lightning. I need you to answer carefully on two
very different questions: What do you think happened? What did you actually
see?"

My voice was shaking so hard I'm surprised that Rob could make heads or
tails of it. "I think Beaux was struck by lightning. I found him..."

"No, Stop. Take it from earlier. Walk me through it, please."

"Beaux was fishing on the lake and I told him that the first hint of
thunder or lightning, no matter how far away, he had to come into the
house. I was in my office. I saw a flash way up north and looked down and
Beaux was paddling back to shore, um, dock. I looked down a minute later
and he had the canoe out of the water and leaned up against the dock, I
mean boat shed thing. Maybe another minute or so and the biggest bolt I
ever saw struck. It was like the world went white, Rob! It was so loud it
echoed inside my OFFICE!"

Rob knew what that meant: LOUD!

"I saw Beaux lying there on the second level of the deck." Rob had been to
the house many times, so he knew that was well away from the water. "I got
him inside the house..."

"Did he walk or say anything?"

"Oh, God, Rob. I don't KNOW! I carried him, but he could stand when I let
him go, but was really wobbly. He couldn't hear and kept talking and then
shouting in French until I got him to understand about the hearing. I
called you and got him here." I was out of breath by this point. Rob
grabbed my shoulders and forcefully pushed me into a chair.

"Breathe, Kevin. Beaux will be fine. I don't think he was struck by
lightning, but it struck close enough to do some damage. You just clam down
and I'll let you know as I find out what we have going."

'GOING TO EXAMINE U. YOU'LL BE FINE BEAUX.'

Rob pulled off Beaux's shirt and listened all over his chest, back and neck
intently. "Heart and blood-flow are fine." He tapped Beaux's knees with his
knuckle and both legs jerked. "Looks good." He spent a couple minutes
looking in Beaux's eyes and having him track his fingers, using mime to
make sure Beaux did what was needed. Out came the ear-looking-inside-thing
and Rob mumbled a few times. He got Beaux into a hospital gown, then went
to the board and erased everything.

'U R OK, BEAUX. NO REAL DAMAGE WE CAN SEE. RIGHT EAR HURT BUT WILL BE
BETTER IN WEEKS. YOU SHOULD START TO HEAR ON LEFT TODAY. UNDERSTAND?" Beaux
nodded and relaxed back. Rob turned to me.

"Okay, so the lightning struck nearby. Beaux absolutely was not struck
himself. Thinking about your house, I'm guessing it struck the boat shed. I
think I recall a lightning rod up there? Beaux got hit with the concussion
wave. I see no signs *at all* that he even got some splash from the
electric charge or other effects.

"His right eardrum is ruptured, but it looks very minor. We'll know more in
the morning. His left ear is fine, it's just more or less in shock, like
when a gun goes off too close. He'll start to hear some in the next couple
of hours, and it will ring for at least a day.

"Now, there are a lot of things that a concussion wave can do that I can't
see and that there aren't tests for. Him being 'wobbly' is not abnormal,
but I could also mean that his spinal cord or peripheral nervous system was
impacted, either by the concussion wave or splash that I can't see. What
was he wearing?"

I told him and he bent and removed Beaux's shoes, much to the boy's
bemusement.

"Even if he got some splash, the thick rubber soles of the shoes probably
made the impact negligible. I have no reason to think there are any
problems, but it would be irresponsible not to monitor him. I'm going to
admit him and put him on some simple monitors overnight. You can stay with
him up until the evening meal."

My shaking had not abated. I looked over to Beaux and saw him tensely
watching my expressions. I worked up a smile and even Beaux could tell it
was fake. He turned to Rob and spoke Ver-Y-Slow-Ly-And-Dis-Tinct-Ly.

"So you can hear me? I can't tell if I'm talking, me."

Rob and I both nodded and Rob got a genuine smile and a deep sigh from
Beaux.

"What happened?"

Rob erased the board and wrote, 'LIGHTNING STRUCK NEARBY. NOISE HURT YOUR
EARS. U WERE KNOCKED DOWN. U WILL STAY OVERNIGHT HERE SO W..."

"NO! I'm not staying here, me! Oncle, you tell him no, you do!"

I moved over and hugged Beaux close. He was shaking as much as I was. I
looked into his eyes and nodded and smiled. I spoke over my shoulder to
Rob. "Can you write as I talk?" Not losing eye contact with Beaux, I said,
"You may be hurt where we can't see." Beaux's eyes flicked back and forth
for me to the board. "I will stay until supper."

"Non! Non..." followed by French. I caught the words for 'leaving' and
'doctor' and several that I was pretty sure were not normally found in
dictionaries, largely related to the presumed parentage of said doctors.

"Yes. This will happen." The scowl on Beaux's face said clearly that he did
not agree. Right then, there was a knock and Rob stepped out. I held Beaux
and tried to comfort him for many minutes. Beaux kept pushing at me,
clearly intent on getting the hell out of this strange and sterile place.

Rob knocked and came back in, accompanied by... a fucking Norse God
{head-shake} a very large, very male nurse pushing a wheelchair emblazoned
with the St Luke's logo. Beaux went instantly silent, eyes wide. Rob turned
and erased the board again, the smudges making things harder and harder to
read.

'THIS IS HANS. HE WILL TAKE U TO ROOM. _BE_NICE_!'

Beaux actually barked a short laugh as the last words got underlined, then
gave a long and frankly-appraising look at Hans. I made a conscious effort
to re-hinge my own jaw.

Hans smiled brilliantly, showing more teeth than a human should have,
surrounded by that Nordic skin tone that seemed as much gold as cream. He
was tall and had immensely-broad shoulders and powerful arms, red-gold hair
leaking past the collar and cuffs of his uniform. He moved forward and
lifted Beaux effortlessly into the chair, shocking both of us. Beaux had
his face screwed around so he could look back and up at the man who pulled
the wheelchair into the hall and I started to follow.

Rob's hand grabbed my arm and pulled me around. "I thought that might
work. Hans is very... popular. And a damn good nurse to boot. Now, I want
Beaux to rest, complete bed rest. I don't know how far you've gotten in the
'big brother' lessons, but I saw the way he looked at Hans. All I want to
have happen in that bed IS REST. You understand me, right, Kevin?" I
blushed full-force and recalled all the reasons I wanted to kill him when
this was over. I was working up for a sharp retort when he swept out. "Have
to get back. Beaux is in 417. Elevator over there."

I got to 417 just as Hans was (literally) tucking Beaux in, apparently
after taking his blood pressure, temp and pulse. Beaux was a healthy late
teen in the prime of life in the presence of the masculine masterpiece that
had just been squeezing and poking him. The nurse could not possibly miss
the fact that at least one part of Beaux was very, very happy to be
staying. The young man was boned so hard that the hospital sheet was tented
even through his shorts and gown.

Hans reached down and grabbed a preschool-style slate with dangling chalk
and wrote, 'Comfortable?' Beaux nodded. 'Good. Rest. Ring button if U need
me.' Hans pointed to the call button on the wall behind the bed, then
turned to me.

"Mr Faolan, please make yourself comfortable. I'm not normally on this
ward, but Dr Martin asked and I'm happy to help out. I'll be at the desk
until the 4:00 shift change. I'll check in occasionally, but make sure that
Mr Thibodaux stays in that bed. If he needs to use the facilities, you call
me, okay?"

All I could do was nod up at the towering man. Both my eyes and Beaux's
were glued to him as he left. We turned and grinned stupidly at each
other. I pulled up the tablet and wrote 'I'll get book 4 U. Anything else?'

Beaux looked at me and smiled. "Yes, Oncle. Can you get me a Hans to take
home, please?"

I laughed so hard I thought I'd hurt myself. Not only was it funny, the
fact that Beaux was both making a joke and obviously into the hunky nurse
was a fantastic relief. I was still chuckling as I wove my way through the
hospital maze to the gift shop. The book section was woefully sad, but I
found a copy of Umberto Eco's 'The Name of the Rose'. I'd read it the
previous year. It was dense, but fascinating, and with Beaux's reading
tastes seemed like a good fit.

I also got an obligatory plant. The horrid sterility of a hospital was
always bad; to a kid who lived outside more than inside much of his life,
it would be hell on Earth.

I got back just in time to see Beaux untucking himself and preparing to get
up. I stuck my head out and called softly to the nurse's station, "Hans, I
think Beaux needs a little help?"

I went to the bed and held Beaux in place, "Oncle, I need to use the
restroom. Like, NOW, Oncle."

I grabbed the tablet and wrote, 'Hans has to help you.'

Voice pitched a bit low, Beaux got a wicked smile, "Now that I'll wait for,
me!" I laughed with him as Hans came in.

He took the tablet and wrote, 'Bathroom?'

Beaux grinned and nodded. Hans helped Beaux up and steadied him as they
walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. I settled the plant
on the rolling table and put the book next to it, then realised I didn't
have a book of my own. I decided to wait a bit and see how Beaux was
doing. Hans emerged a few minutes later and closed the door again on a
furiously-blushing Beaux. I popped an eyebrow at the hunky Hans.

"Mr Thibodaux, um, needs to relax a bit before he can, er, get some
relief." Hans smiled at me as he leaned back against the door. I blushed
harder than Beaux, then shared a wide-toothy grin with the gorgeous man a
few minutes later as the tell-tale 'uhn-uhn-UHN' leaked through the
door. Hans gave it a minute, knocked softly and slipped quickly inside. It
was perhaps five minutes when they both emerged.

'Better?' I wrote.

Beaux nodded, not meeting my eye. Hans tucked him back into the bed and
patted his shoulder, giving the young man a blistering smile before going
back to the nurse's station.

I moved the table into Beaux's line of sight and he smiled at the plant and
beamed at the book. I waited a while, just watching my young charge as he
sunk into the intricate prose of Eco's work. When he was well engaged, I
excused myself and made my way back to the gift shop, snagging a couple of
writing tablets and a news magazine. The cover showed a
disgustingly-cheerful Cheryl Tiegs and the Sears company's attempt to move
with the times. Sitting next to Beaux perhaps an hour later, I was sleepily
reading about the newly-named African nation of Burkina Faso when I coughed
and Beaux jumped, eyes wide.

"Oncle, I think I heard you!" I spun to him and pressed the call button.

I clapped my hands and he smiled widely. I tried talking and his face
crumpled, but I wrote on the tablet, 'GIVE IT TIME!'

Hans came in again, utterly distracting both of us in a wonderful way and I
explained. Hans awarded Beaux's recovery with a blazing smile that made the
young man literally wriggle as he blushed. Hans wrote 'Let's test!'

'Hold up hand when U hear. Look at Mr Faolan.' Beaux nodded. Hans moved out
of his line of sight and snapped his fingers perhaps a foot behind
Beaux. The boy's hand shot up and he beamed. Hans made sure there was no
rhythm as he moved around at various distances. I'm not sure if Beaux was
happier with the result or the hug Hans gave him, but his eyes were
sparkling in a deep-ocean blue by the time Hans finished making notes.

It was only a few minutes later when Hans returned with a tray. A
primordial growl echoed through the room as Beaux sensed the approach of
food. When Hans pulled the silver lid off, though, Beaux looked to me with
a clear expression of, 'This had damned well better be a joke!'

I smiled ruefully. Beaux had cooked for himself and his 'family' for nearly
a decade with the rich and complex flavours of Cajun country. Since I
brought him out of the bayou (with the exception of two fast-food
drive-thrus), he'd either eaten at some of my favourite restaurants or
things that I cooked, and I was a really good home chef. In front of him
now was a tray full of, well, sadness.

A boiled and tragically-overcooked chicken breast sat next to a small bowl
filled with what at one time had been green beans but now was an Army-green
sludge. Another small bowl held unadorned parboiled rice and a third held a
cube of red Jell-O. I realised that, like Kool-Aid, 'red' was the name of
the actual flavour, not just the colour. Completely absent from the tray
were any hint of fat, salt, flavour or interest. The food lasted about
seven seconds.

Beaux looked me, a vision of anguish and despair. 'Only 1 Night, Beaux!'

A murmured string of French words and phrases (most of them expletives, I
assumed) were all the response I got, but he looked up since he could
actually hear my laugh, which made him smile again.

Hans came in one more time to take vitals and Beaux smiled charmingly. As
the massive hunk put his stuff away, Beaux muttered something in a quiet
voice that I couldn't catch, but it was clearly in his highly-accented
French. Hans blushed, perfect circles of bright red appearing on his
cheeks. He picked up the tablet.

'Merci pour le compliment! Mais parle lentement jeune cadien.'

Beaux just gaped at him. Even I could pick up that! 'Thanks for the
compliment but speak {I guess slowly or softly or clearly or some-such}
young Cajun.'

"Have a nice afternoon, both of you." Hans was smiling, still blushing but
delighted to catch Beaux so off guard, as he left the room, looking over
his shoulder once as if to make certain that Beaux was still watching him.

I grabbed the tablet. 'WHAT DID YOU SAY?'

Beaux hemmed and hawed and finally, bright red, told me, "That he was
gorgeous and, um, well, had a, um, a great ass, Oncle."

We looked at each other and both broke up laughing. But I was flushed with
more that humour. Beaux was definitely going to be fine which was a relief,
but I worried that I was letting a sexual monster loose on the unsuspecting
men of Kansas City.

<eof>

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