Michaud Vineyards and Winery

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

It was amazing how fast weather rolled in and ruined your plans. One minute, the sun was shining, you were planning picnics and days strolling through the nearby hamlet; then next, a growl of thunder preceded a lightning strike that flashed brightly for ten full seconds and leaving behind a charred tree too close to the manor for comfort.

“Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t…”

Damien was currently rummaging through cabinets for matches, lighters, candles, and flashlights, praying the power wouldn’t quit before he found something useful. Here he was, plotting a romantic weekend with his boyfriend, and the rainstorm of the century just had to show up and make a mess of things. Damien was beginning to believe he was cursed. Between Mother Nature and his own mother, the women in Damien’s life had a vendetta against his relationship with Toddy.

The thing was, Damien usually didn’t mind storms. When he was little, he’d been terrified of them. He wasn’t proud to admit that during thunderstorms, he’d crawled into his parents’ bed beyond what most would consider a reasonable age. When he turned seven, there’d been an awful storm rolling through between London and Salisbury, keeping Lucian securely at a hotel and leaving Damien and Natalie to hold down the fort at home. He’d promptly turned up in the master bedroom, blankets and extra pillows in tow. But Natalie deemed him a “big boy” and took him outside to her garden in the tempest, showing him how “beautiful” the rainstorm could be. How “useful” the rain was. Maybe if you were a flower. But Damien was just a pissed off bloke. His romantic weekend was being ruined.

Damien wished he was in a hotel room, nice and dry. He wished he and Toddy could order room service: champagne, breakfast in bed, the works. Instead, they would be making do with Damien’s cooking, which was a less-stellar imitation of the British homecooking his mum, Mrs. Mildred, and Bill were all masters of. Damien wasn’t ordering room service. He was the room service.

Maybe that was the secret to surviving a hellacious storm, bunkering down and making it feel like the change in plans could be just as wonderful as what you originally wanted. But as another crack of thunder shook the house, all Damien could think was Yeah, right. Maybe he was still scared of storms a little bit.

He’d ruined Toddy’s weekend. He’d win all the worst boyfriend awards ever. After this, Toddy would demand to never see him again and the car ride home would be agonizingly long, painful, and—

Damien took a deep breath and grabbed the lighter out of the cabinet. It was wedged between some old vases. And then, slowly—belatedly—an idea started to churn inside of Damien’s head. He pulled the vases down and set them on the counter. There was no reason he couldn’t provide room service. Toddy was still upstairs, unpacking as far as Damien knew. Or maybe packing to leave. He couldn’t be sure Toddy hadn’t called a cab to rescue him. But if he had Damien would just have to work quickly. He went to the refrigerator and scrounged around to many bottles of wine until he landed on a 1979 vintage champagne. Unopened. It wasn’t like anyone was going to use it. The wine was older than Damien. He wondered if that meant it was still good. Wine was supposed to get better with age. He plucked two glasses from the bar area and scooped all three things up to bring into the main parlor. He set them down on a coffee table that was certainly older than the wine. And then he took off to grab the lighter. He set to work stroking a fire to life in the gaping maw of a fireplace. And then he realized something was missing. There were no flowers in the vases and none in the house. So, Damien set down the lighter and went to the front door. He stepped into a pair of rainboots that belonged to either Lucian or Pierre and shrugged on a coat that looked like a visitor had left it before trudging outside into the tempest. His mum’s forgotten rose garden was somewhere outside. Damien would find it and set up the most beautiful, most romantic makeshift resort room ever.

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

Well, it was absolutely fruitless packing his sleep machine. The outside blunder was like a surround sound of noise with all the booming, crackling, and other things that reminded Toddy St. James of what life would be like as Gaga. Which was why, Bad Romance was blaring through his IPhone, only adding to the effect that he felt like he was at the VMA's, and of course, Toddy was the new Gaga. What would his name be? Sir Jaja? He would work out the details later, but for now, this whole, imaging thing was really helping him unpack, because who liked unpacking? Especially since Toddy St. James had seemed to pack his entire closet. There was an outfit for each special moment, and there would be plenty of special moments this weekend.

Toddy was so relieved it was storming. For one, it kept this honey inside doors and there to be an excuse. Secondly, how dangerously sexy. Locked up in a faraway vacation home, a storm keeping Toddy and Damien holding one another, tightening their grip on each little crack and pop. Toddy St. James could 'def.' get into it. He had always enjoyed storm. He loathed the outdoors, so something bad inflicted upon it was marvelous. Plus, storms made everything darker and everyone looked prettier in the dark. Case closed.

Now, where was his blue-eyed baby?

With all the power that was heaven and Whitney, Toddy St. James slammed his Versace suitcase closed, sliding it under the bed, and finished the packing. Now it was time to play with his man. Grinning, Toddy climbed downstairs, tensing his muscles when the outside spoke. Just because he didn’t mind them did not mean he was immune to the hot mess of noise.

“Damien?” Toddy sang out, leaning his head against the wall as he came downstairs. It was empty… and this particular house when empty was a freaky place. Suddenly a little goose bumped, Toddy swallowed the lump in his throat, and moved onward along the first floor. “Damien.” He said, a little more stern in his voice like he was calling a puppy or something, when really, he was the lost puppy. Most likely, a well pampered poodle. Seriously though, was there like an information kiosk he could go to for a map of this castle? If it was not storming out and if he could find his boyfriend- then maybe Toddy St. James would play Princess Diaries. For now? He would continue to feel like he was the damsel in distress in this horror flick. Which, how saucy was that Psycho movie with the naked honey screaming in the shower? Talk about sexy psycho movies.

Toddy's features twisted into a less than sexy psycho look when he saw the lighter on the floor next to the fireplace. He gasped out loud, because what good was a gasp if it was inaudible- and he plucked it up with two fingers away from him as if it were going to bite him. Damien was trying to start a fire? But... there was no flame! He couldn't even start his fire! Something happened. Someone came into this place. Someone had Damien Michaud, and now they were going to come after Toddy St. James, and they would never be able to enjoy this romantic weekend together because this was the final day of his life! This is what Oprah had to feel like on her last episode of her talk show!

Dropping the lighter, Toddy stumbled backward and spun around to meet the window. His eyes rounded when he saw this hideous outfit- with abnormally large boots and a coat that covered- Well, alright, so the focus would have been that there was a person outside! That was the killer! That was the demon! Toddy St. James let out a high-pitched scream, flapping his hands out at his sides. Where was Damien? Maybe he had gotten away? What if he was locked up somewhere inside this place?! A thousand things were running through Toddy's mind, but all he could think of to do was not to let that person inside of this house. He would not allow someone to accomplish the most infamous hate crime of all. Seriously, think of all the press he could get for killing to gays in a cabin. He was not allowed to be more famous than Toddy!

Sprinting and flailing around the house, Toddy began locking every door he could find, closing all the blinds to the windows, and locking himself up tight. He went to the fireplace and got one of those- well, what were they used for? Whatever, it was sharp and pointy and that was all- Toddy St. James' body lurched over to the side when he grabbed it. It was heavy too.

He jumped on the couch and held it out shakily to the front door.

WHERE WAS DAMIEN?!

"DAMIEN!"

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien was certain the rose garden was overgrown and untended these days. It had been his mother’s itty-bitty corner on the large estate. The manor house was thoroughly Michaud property. It was filled with old-money charm. And while Natalie’s family, too was old-money, they were English old-money. Not continental. And there was the split. She’d cultivated a garden for reasons Damien hadn’t understood as a child, but as an adult, couldn’t help but wonder if it was a desperate attempt at something familiar or a rebellious middle finger to Lucian and his relatives. Whatever, the case, Damien remembered fondly trotting after his mother with a too-full watering can, sloshing water everywhere, and seeing the brilliant array of color. There was nothing prettier, more romantic, than a dozen roses. And the only flowers Damien had ever given Toddy before were irises. If the garden was still there, that would have to change.

He passed by the large windows of the parlor, jaw set and drenched by rain. Damien counted windows. It was five arched ones until he would reach the garden. But if Damien looked behind him, he would have noticed all the blinds and drapes shutting with forceful speed. He, of course, did not look back. Damien was a man on a mission. And after this, his mission would be to take a nice, hot shower.

He reached the brambly rosebushes, which seemed like something out of a nightmarish fairytale. They towered over Damien, growing against the building and scaling the walls as though protecting the fortress in case of attack. Damien couldn’t help but to think that if the house had survived for four centuries (or longer, come to think of it), that the rosebushes were not nearly as effective as whatever else had kept the Michaud Chateau from crumbling since medieval times. Still, there were blooms. A sudden blurb of college biology flashed through Damien’s head about mutations: flowers left to breed on their own adapt for survival. Which possibly explained why the petals were streaked with splashes of color. What had once been white and red roses were now white blooms with red patterns like spilled paint mushrooming over them. The thorns would be a pain. Damien reached into the jacket and realized it must have been Pierre’s because thick, groundskeeper gloves and tissues lined the pockets. He put the gloves off and started to snap the flowers from the plant. One, two, three… He wouldn’t stop until he got twelve. And once the rosebushes were sufficiently bare, Damien cradled his spoils underneath his jacket and made mad dash for the front door. The rain was coming down harder and he wanted to set up before Toddy came downstairs.

And yet, when Damien reached the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell?”

He fished in the pockets for keys, but realized his luck was not that good. It was okay. He stalked off to the barns. There was an old servant’s passage from when the chateau had been cared for by a staff of two-hundred peasants. It had been used to hide Jews during World War II when the Germans took Paris. These days, it was dank, dark, and something of a relic, but it would lead into the kitchen. Of course, it’d be dark as hell. But, honestly, Damien had spent so much of his childhood mucking about in passages because there was nothing else to do, really, while at Chateau Michaud when you were an only child and WiFi hadn’t been invented yet.

Damien carefully picked through the tunnel, his free hand along the wall, feeling his way through. The tunnel dead-ended, as it was meant to and Damien put a hand in front of him and pushed. At first, the wall didn’t budge. He pushed and pushed some more; the roses bit into his other hand. And finally, the wall gave way and Damien was blinded by light.

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

This was what outright hysteria felt like. Toddy St. James stood; clenching the fireplace pole that he guessed was about the right weaponry Joan Rivers used for her Botox. He was presently bearing every emotion in the spectrum of emotions. He felt terrified because there was killer outside, which in his mind, it couldn’t be anyone but. He felt agonized that he had no clue where Damien was, which only sent his thoughts leaping into a whirlwind of, he’s either dead or the man of his dreams went into hiding without him. That last thought made him feel lonely and exceptionally unloved- which made him feel like he needed a carton of Ben and Jerry’s. Then, he realized that he would probably never much on another bite of anything ever again (which made him feel skinny), since, let’s be honest, there was no way Toddy St. James could go up against a serial killer. Pretty people didn’t have time to train for a situation like this. End all be all of Toddy’s hot mess thought process: he was going to die.

Sweat trickled from Toddy’s temples, holding up the rod with both hands, and darting his eyes around the entire place. Besides the thunder and crackling of light, it all felt so still. Toddy’s lip trembled, his muscles tensing so he could barely move even if he had wanted to. There was no way that the person could get in, he knew that, but common sense was really not figuring in at this moment. Any move or sound Toddy made and it would be over.

“D…” Toddy gulped, blinking back the beady drops that trickled to his sockets. “Damie…”

“AH!”

From the kitchen came a loud blow, sending Toddy St. James to lose his balance on the couch and send him falling onto the floor. He looked over his shoulder through his vision that was blurred by the chaos in his mind and body, seeing the large figure he had locked outside, who had somehow broke into the kitchen! The serial killer was inside of the home! Toddy St. James could not make a sound, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t think- but his responses were was that he needed to fight for Toddy’s life and save or continue to keep Damien safe. It was flight or fight, and Toddy had always thought he was that bird, but now when his life was facing jeopardy, he came more impulsive with heroism than he conceived.

With everything Toddy had in him, he scrambled to stand onto his feet. In an instant, Toddy sucked in his potential last breath, and shooting into the kitchen with his head down- he flailed the rod in the air heading straight for the figure that was now a blurry blob in his tearful eyes. Ripping out a scream, Toddy St. James whipped the rod sideways until he came up to the serial killer, and that’s when Toddy let out a loud gasp, sending the rod to clunk and roll away on the kitchen floor.

“Damien?!”

The serial killer was his boyfriend. The boyfriend he was about to kill with Joan River’s Botox rod.

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

It was so chilly in the kitchen, possibly because Damien was drenched. He shivered and looked around. He had those vases somewhere, right? After he put the flowers in some water (as if they needed to get any wetter), he’d towel himself off and make that fire. But first, he had to close up the passage. Damien set to work looking for the wall sconce that would close the door. A sudden crashing sound made him twirl around and come face to face with a would-be attacker, baring his teeth and brandishing a fire poker at him.

“Holy f*ck!” Damien covered crossed his arms in an “X” over his face. A few of the flowers fell from his grasp and hit the ground, shattering into a pile of petals and stems. He was going to die. He was going to be brutally stabbed to death by a fire poker. There were few deaths Damien could think of less dignified and less brutal. He just hoped his parents would remember him well, Toddy would carry on, and Bill would delete his browser history. And then, there was a metallic clang as the fire poker hit the ground. Damien squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end.

“Damien?!”

The sound of his boyfriend’s voice made Damien’s eyes shoot open. He peered at Toddy from behind his arms before lowering them.

“Toddy! What the…? I mean…! Were you trying to kill me with a fire poker?!”

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

“Toddy! What the…? I mean…! Were you trying to kill me with a fire poker?!"

Toddy St. James stared at his freaking out boyfriend, with round eyes that were filling with tears. He could not stop his heart from pounding, and he had never been more relieved to see his baby ever. Toddy had just been through a freaking nightmare. He put a hand to his chest, rubbing as he crouched over a little to breathe.

"Damien! Oh my-" Toddy heaved a breath, not being able to take it anymore and throwing his arms around Damien as tight as he could manage. He didn't even care that he was getting his clothes soaking wet. He let his weight fall slightly on him, tucking his head into his neck to smell him.

"I thought you were a killer." He breathed, kissing Damien's neck, and shutting his eyes to rest against him, not letting him go. "But now I know you were just wearing a horrible outfit."

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

As terrified as Damien was, he couldn’t help but notice that Toddy looked just as scared. Maybe even more scared, actually. After all, it was Toddy who had nearly bludgeoned his boyfriend to death. Sure, Damien would have been the victim of a violent crime, but at least if he was a dead body, he didn’t have to worry about the burial or jail time. And there was no way Toddy would survive in prison. He was far too pretty for a place filled with hardened criminals who knew how to make shanks out of toothbrushes.

Toddy clutched his chest and panted for a minute. As both men caught their breaths, Damien looked down. He could see the ruined flowers and suddenly, all thoughts of his own impending demise seemed less awful than the fact that one third of the flowers he’d painstakingly picked—flowers he’d picked in the middle of the storm of the century—were ruined.

"Damien! Oh my-"

Toddy launched himself into Damien’s arms. Damien held him there, thankful for the warmth. He pressed his cheek to Toddy’s and wondered when it would stop being “too soon” to laugh about this at parties.

"I thought you were a killer," Toddy murmured. His lips pressed to Damien’s neck and under them, Damien could feel his own pulse quicken. God, Toddy felt good in his arms. Damien was surprised at the way he could feel the seconds tick by at a maddening pace. ‘But now I know you were just wearing a horrible outfit."

Damien laughed and cupped Toddy’s chin in his free hand.

“Well then,” he said. “Maybe I should go slip out of these, then.”

He pulled Toddy in for a kiss. Where Damien’s lips were cold, Toddy’s were soft and warm and delicious and Damien’s eyes slid shut. His grip on the remaining flowers slackened. They fell to the floor with a soft “thwack” and disintegrated into a pile of foliage and petals as Damien deepened the kiss and pulled off his thick, gardener’s gloves. They also hit the ground somewhere behind Toddy. Damien snaked his fingers into Toddy’s thick, dark curls. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, ugly jackets, a dozen red roses, and a thunderstorm didn’t matter. Damien pulled from the kiss, breathless. He yanked his own, wet jacket off and tossed it behind him before slowly, pulling Toddy’s blazer off. As each article of clothing fell to the wayside, the room’s temperature seemed to increase.

“C’mon, love,” Damien murmured, diving in to kiss Toddy’s neck. “Give me a hand, will you?”

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

As much as a relief it was, something about this was oddly turning on worthy. The thunderstorm, the near death experience, and the flowers with the fire poker were all an interesting set up for something that hit Toddy as soon as he nuzzled up close to Damien's neck. Maybe he was dressed like the poor unfortunate honey on the cover for the salt with the raincoat and pale legs, but his baby smelled delicious. Toddy St. James would milk this fright for all it was worth if it were an excuse for kissing his neck and holding him tight.

“Well then,” Damien murmured, his hand cupping up to Toddy's face so their eyes were looking. “Maybe I should go slip out of these, then.”


Their lips collided, ice and fire melding to make their own sweet degree. Toddy's shoulders leaned into him, feeling his muscles melt into mush. He didn't need an excuse like a near death experience to kiss Damien, because Damien was all his to kiss. The passion in his grip made Toddy shiver, his lips quivering against his in pure want. It was so spontaneous and so what Toddy needed and craved. Because, really, how long were they going to keep from having one another? His hands gripped the front of Damien's shirt as he threw off his rain jacket. The firmness of his muscles exciting him when their bodies bumped up against one another. Toddy had had a lot of men in his lifetime, but this was something that he had never felt before. In usual cases, this would have happened like, eons ago. Now, it was the perfect time with the perfect man. It was well worth the wait.

A breathless groan escaped Toddy's parted lips, feeling fingers rake through his hair in a deep sensual massage. He allowed Damien to remove his blazer, apart of him in the back of his mind ever so impressed that he could take off a designer item such as that blazer that was so fitted to his body. Damien Michaud, his boyfriend, was a lot of things. This was a side to him that Toddy St. James had never experiences before. He was taking control. He had expected him to be still freaking out over the fact that his life was almost taken by a fire poker or the fact that his flowers were completely ruined. Instead, his focus had become Toddy, and that was the hottest and loveliest thing.

“C’mon, love,” Damien murmured, diving in to kiss Toddy’s neck. “Give me a hand, will you?”

Toddy hummed a devilish song that vibrated in between his lips, his hands gripping at Damien's hips bringing him to collide backward into the counter. "I'll give you anything you want." He breathlessly offered.

In a fast but passionate handle, he brought his hands up to Damien's chest, sliding off his blazer. Colliding his hips against his, they were completely against one another know, Toddy swallowing the lump of ecstasy that burned to escape his throat. Instead, he brought his hands lower to his pants and slid them underneath the bottom of his shirt to roll up under to feel his toned chest. Gripping the fabric from under neath, Toddy brought the shirt above his head, tossing it to the side. Quickly, he unzipped his sweater and ripped off his own shirt, tossing it to the collective pile of clothes that was once in their way of feeling each other. Now, it was all lessoning by the second.

His fingers sliding down his back, Toddy moaned as their stomachs rubbed against one anothers, bringing his lips against his. Then, he stopped. Fluttering his eyes open, he panted and with a smile, ran a finger down the side of his face, tenderly gazing into those blue eyes that he had fallen in love with. "I love you."