The Road to Everywhere [Plato]

[Samson Krahn]

It was the morning, but not so early that the sun had yet to rise. In fact, the great solar disc was just beginning to peek its way over the horizon as if it were playing a game of hide and seek, and wanted to be sure the moon was not about to come running to try and capture it. This was the time of day when Samson had usually been up for a few hours, let the dogs out to roam and relieve themselves, and was in the process of putting together a protein heavy breakfast. Now, it was true that Samson had been up for a few hours, and the dogs were outside, running back and forth between the house and the mountain man’s beat up truck, but his morning meal had been hastily scrounged together oatmeal, because it only took a few minutes to make and didn’t take much in the way of him keeping his eyes on it. He’d treated it with some maple syrup and butter, which effectively killed any health benefits that might have come from the lean choice. The flaw in that plan was that oatmeal, especially with sticky substances in it, was not particularly portable, and he’d found himself carrying his bowl around, shoveling the contents into his mouth. The end result was a need to clean out his beard and some pretty substantial curse words that might have made his mother blush.

He was a man on a mission though, and he wasn’t about to let a brief distraction stop him. It had been before the sun came up that he rose, and began to load things into his truck. There was a work bench. Toolbox. Then there was a lot of furniture, as much as he could cram into the space. And when Samson built something, he didn’t make it with the standards most furniture retailers went for. For example, when he made a chair, it was solid wood from top to bottom, and the legs were usually strong enough that they could support a wooly mammoth. His chairs were also usually a little bigger than ‘normal’ to accommodate for his height. Of course, that much could be blamed on family tradition, because the Krahn family liked to not only grow them big, but plentiful. Back home in the mountains, it had been common for any piece of furniture to have a need in being built strong enough to withstand not only the weight of three or six homestead farmer’s sons, but also their roughhousing. Of course, there was more in that truck than just chairs. There was also a disassembled bed frame which looked like it might have been made out of actual tree limbs fitted together as if by some miracle of nature.

In truth, it was bigger than king-sized, because Samson needed enough room not only to stretch his feet out, but also so he could occasionally sprawl. And he was a man who took up quite a lot of space when he flopped down, all limbs spread. Not only that, but the support for it was such that a person could have built a small house on it, and it wouldn’t have budged an inch. The music that early was not Samson’s usual choice of country, folk, gospel, or classic rock, but instead the steady rumbled stream of barely coherent complaints about poorly made beds which couldn’t stand up to the vigor of a little active lovin’.

And so it was by the time the sun was rising, he had everything squared away in his truck. Because the cool of autumn was finally beginning to settle in, he’d decided it would be a good idea to actually put on more clothes than just a pair of jeans. Unfortunately, after the misshap with the oatmeal and having sweated through a second layer, he’d decided that he didn’t have the patience for a shirt or sweater and was once again moving through the woods bare of chest, with skin and ink in the air. He loaded into the cab of his truck, and leaned to push the door open so that he could let one of the dogs in with him. Missy had been left in the tender care of the vet, because with her broken leg and the surgery, Samson figured she was better off with someone who knew how to take care of her if something bad happened. Besides. He trusted Plato, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t go to check up on her whenever he wanted (which happened to be pretty frequently). The one who scrambled into the truck was a Border Collie, of only a few years old. He was named Johnny, because when he’d been a pup, Samson had been forever telling him to be good. True to his breed, Johnny was constantly full of energy, but for a man who liked to do everything with his own hands, the dog was a great companion. Especially since he could round up the other pups and seemed to know most of Samson’s tools by sight alone.

Seconds later, he was pulling out of his drive.

[Plato Albany]

Plato had the kind of peace in his life that went along with living honestly and without any sort of apology. Thirty three years on the planet had him accomplishing the basics growing up. A typical childhood witnessed him moving through smoothly into an unmarked adolescence with professionals for parents that held the reins loosely and had all the answers to the dilemmas of childhood events. He was given freedom to explore and the understanding that went along with it for the curious boy he was and the man he would eventually transition into with impending adulthood. The general elementary education available on the archipelago he was raised on meant that some early options were limited to the family in favor of the benefits of the semi isolated serenity it afforded the young couple and their kids.

While Plato’s sisters took full advantage of the connections his parents had developed that conveniently landed them overseas for their college years he opted for another route that proved to be less than popular for his parents and lacked their approval. Plato had the impressive transcripts to get into pretty much anywhere he wanted to go local or abroad. Letters arrived in the mail with invitations to tour and sign up for class in the very same schools that rejected his father decades back. Those were the first grains of salt to enter a family deep wound that would continue to deepen over time and fester to the point it would never appear to be resolved.

Plato Albany’s route of bypassing the formal privileged education that his parents were given no choice but to go without didn’t sit well at all. The choice to travel the world until broke then settle in the states on the east coast only added to the discord between parents and their only son. The few early trips made to try and talk some sense into him had them finding their son working as a sous chef in a restaurant that clearly had more than food on the menu, a volunteer firefighter in San Francisco and a volunteer in a Houston animal shelter while couch surfing.

By his twenty second birthday they packed up the last of the hope they had to reason with him and took a brief trek to the regions of what could be considered as close to outer Mongolia as any human could get. There they found Plato a champion for the cause of saving Yaks from exploitation and less than favorable work conditions. He welcomed them with a soiled and days old stench courtesy of a t-shirt stretched across his chest was nearly hidden beneath the length of beard he had grown. With an entertaining flip of the facial hair the son they prayed for revealed his mission in life and left his parents expressionless. Free the Yaks! Predictably that was the final straw. His parents didn’t bother to open up their travel bags or stay long enough to give the cuisine the fair try he expected of them since they were his guests. They found their way back to the closest thing to an airport and left convinced that perhaps the medication his mother took while pregnant with him finally kicked in with a seriously late set of damaging consequences. Defeated and dismayed they boarded their chartered flight for a trip in the not so friendly skies convinced the man they brought into the world with so much hope and expectation would finish his living days among the locals fixing what ailed the ripe, massive beasts that consumed his attention.

Unbeknownst to them a few years of silence and freedom from expectation did wonders for Plato Albany.He would find his way through college and take on the extra years of formalizing his degree. He completed his studies and walked away with the privilege of being addressed as Dr. Plato Albany. When his father was told Dr. Plato Albany would not qualify to take over his practice that previously mentioned final straw found the proverbial camel’s back and all was fractured. Their promising son settled for specifically treating animals.

Plato was never one to really have regrets or look back. He managed to work long enough in the states that he saved up whatever nest egg was needed to buy his way into the wilderness of Canada. Instead of working under another which meant more expectations, rules and guidelines to follow, he chose to go the unconventional but much needed route. He went into his own practice accommodating the animals in most need and those that cared for them. Farmers, low income families, community shelters and even those that were wild and roaming free. He handled each case with a focus on compromise, dignity and compassion. He wasn’t in it for the money and sometimes his bank account revealed that.

People caught onto his mission statement in action and soon he had his door banged on at all hours and his land crawling with offspring from his original first patients. Sometimes the litter needing to be delivered required extra hands and it came down to the family putting food on the table for themselves and the animal in question being left to let nature take it’s course. Dr. Albany earned the name Dr. Do-A-Lot for giving the beasts a chance. Being single meant he only had to look out for himself, which had no complaints from him. His sisters kept him updated on his aging parents and visited with their own families whenever they could find the spare time to do so he wasn’t exactly lacking for basic companionship most humans had even if he preferred animals to people.

All of that was part of the history that went with the man currently sitting in a rustic chair in the back of his property. Once it was known so much more about the earth loving, outdoors thriving male with a cup in his hand made absolute sense. A slow stretch took place of long john covered legs anchored by a set of hiking boots fitted with the thick type of tread that would keep most fastened to the side of a wall. In hand was a oversized mug with the aroma of coffee steaming in the space below his nose. The air was cool and moist over his freshly showered bare skin. The long laces slithered then settled over the dirt beneath his feet as he positioned his face to receive some of the early morning rays. This was what it was all about as far as he was concerned. Until recently it would have been as good as it could get. Then he was reminded with the appearance of Missy sinking next to him as to why it could be even better.

A gentle massage of his thick, calloused fingertips into the fur on the top of her head had him look out to the distance of the neighboring property. Activity was in play as the dog’s ears perked up and the head disappeared from beneath his hand. Plato’s body mirrored her movements to a more alert and interested position. He scooted forward to the edge of his seat and took full notice of a vehicle and what likely was Samson going back and forth. Given the distance without the aid of binoculars only a giant could be so easy to recognize. What the giant in question was doing was all the inspiration needed for the resident vet to lean over and pick up those binoculars he was told he would no longer have a need for.

“Well, now Mr. Krahn you do have me more than curious.”

The statement was aired as he slowly rose from his seat and set his cup down where his *** had been planted. The binoculars never left his face as he managed to keep the traveling vehicle in his sights as he stepped through the natural path around his house and eventually arriving to the front. His attention singled out the vehicle carrying the man who was still subtly present in the early morning fall breeze traveling through his own long his hair. It brought awareness to the masculine natural scent that managed to somehow combine with his own and was left effectively lingering on his skin. The vet had read somewhere that if two people, or creatures, spent enough time skin to skin that it could happen. A new, unique natural scent would eventually evolve. Whether it be real and outwardly noticeable to others or just a powerful presence in the individuals own mind. Either way it could and did happen. Thanks to Samson Krahn. There was no way he could simply wash the mountain man out of his hair even if he wanted to. His current actions were proving it.

In full view in front of his home Dr. Albany stood bare, save for the boots and the long johns that failed to have his arms slipped into the sleeves and were left to dangle down from his hips. Shameless he held the binoculars in place with the gradual adjustment of a stretched finger. The bed of the truck was packed down considerably with items that gave him even more reason to be curious.

Had he missed something? A memo? A mention of moving or an unplanned trip?

Plato didn’t move from the spot he stood in despite the possibilities. He was still, feeling the anticipation rise over what answer would certainly come to him. If he stood there long enough with binoculars that he was told he wouldn’t need in each of his hands and straddling the bridge of his nose he would find out. A short sound of question came from Missy as her soft weight settled into a lean against his leg.

“Girl, Is he by chance into flea markets?” He asked the canine companion in his care as if she could provide any clues as to what her Master may be up to. “That sure is a lot of…” Plato’s words dropped into silence when he observed the truck doing something he didn’t quite expect.

[Samson Krahn]

The truck had been one of the first and only things Samson had purchased in his life. It had been after he moved away from home, off of the mountains, and into a little town surrounded by miles and miles of forest. His mother and father hadn’t understood, of course. To them, leaving the homestead seemed like a drastic move, and from a boy who had never shown even an ounce of youthful rebellion. They had questioned him exactly once about it, when he brought it up the first time. And when he had told them that he felt called, they had accepted. He hadn’t known, back then, exactly what was pulling at the core of his being, or where it was leading him, but he had happily followed. The first few weeks had been the hardest part, because he had not left home with cash, but instead only had the clothes on his back and what few possessions he could fit into into a bag little bigger than a bindle. Shelter had been his big concern, but fortune had smiled on him, because there had been a local bed and breakfast in need of someone who could perform regular maintenance on an antique home.

Rather than take money, he’d requested room and board, and picked up other little odd jobs after he was done re-shingling the roof and repaired a badly damaged wrap around porch. Having grown up on a healthy diet of work, and being young and able of body, he had used his energy to do make sure every single day was spent doing something for someone else. He picked up quite a lot of cash that way, though he turned it down in favor of things like homemade pie whenever possible. Of course, being the town’s local handyman, gardener, and sheep whisperer wasn’t really his vocation; it wasn’t what he had been ‘called’ away from home to do. He bought the truck on a whim really, even if it did serve many a practical purpose. There was this old couple who had a home built seemingly right onto the lone road which ran through one horse Cloverton, and Samson had made it a habit to regularly do things for them, such as get their groceries and make sure they were regularly visited. Eventually, old Mr. Craft had passed away in his sleep, leaving Mrs. Craft in the hands of her children - who seemed intent on shipping her towards Virginia to enjoy her twilight years surrounded by those like her. Of course, there were numerous assets to be handled, but Mrs. Craft had been firm in saying that Samson got first pick of the three vehicles she and her husband had accumulated over the years.

There had been a faded yellow bug (which had been lovingly called Mrs. Crafter’s ‘gettin’-around-town’ car), as well as a beat up Pontiac and the truck. He hadn’t been charged very much for it, but he’d been happy to give a few of his hard earned wages for it and the memories he was certain were buried inside. It hadn’t been much longer after that, he’d made his first trip abroad on a charity mission to help save people who were trying to survive after a massive natural disaster. He’d left his truck in that little town, and every time he’d returned to the America’s, he’d used it to get him from point A to point B, because the bed was big enough to fit most of what he owned. Of course, since moving to Harper Rock, he had accumulated many new things, almost all of them made by his own two hands. And it was several of those items that were carefully secured in the back, tied off in some cases with rope so they didn’t scratch or run into each other as he backed his way into Plato’s drive. He didn’t stop until he was nearly at the front door, and then the driver’s side swung open. His booted feet hit the ground, and he whistled for Johnny to follow after him.

The Border Collie lept out after Samson and circled around him probably three times before darting to find Missy, only to treat her to the exact same behavior. Of course, he noticed that she didn’t seem to chase after him as she normally would have, and he only just barely managed to contain his mountainous energy by sitting down when when the Paladin called out for him to heel. But Johnny’s tail was going a mile a minute and would have made for a good broom with as much dust as it was kicking up. Now at that point, Samson was fully ready to throw down the tailgate on his truck and begin pulling things down, but what he greeted by was what appeared to be his golden retriever and Dr. Albany. He stopped mid-stride, which was pretty noticeable for a man as tall as Sam and he stared for a moment at the way the other man stood there in boots, filling those long johns pleasantly, with a bare chest that begged to have more rays of sunlight dance across it for the mountain man’s viewing pleasure. His heavy brows furrowed, and he glanced from his truck to Plato, as if trying to decide something. If he went over there to check and see if those were the kind of long underwear with a flap in the back...was he going to get distracted, and therefore fail at moving his furniture? Samson was of two minds about that. He never put a task off if he couldn’t, and he didn’t believe in setting out to do something, and then not get it done. What’s more, he took a lot of pride in his work. The other mind basically just said But Plato. Which should not have been a convincing argument. But it was.

So he strode towards the vet purposefully, and when he was standing right in front of the other man, his fingers moved so that calloused hands could curl against the back of a neck. His thumb dragged against a spine, and he pulled Plato in nice and close. The touch was familiar and demanding at the same time. "Mornin’.” He said before he sank his teeth into Dr. Albany’s fleshy lower lip. It wasn’t a cruel affection, because he followed it up with a kiss over that spot, and resisted the urge to let his digits wander south to investigate the pressing issue that was the structure of the thermal long underwear. Instead, he pulled back. Best not to open that can of worms. “I smell coffee. You got any for me?” He asked, as his tongue dragged flat across his own lower lip. And then he fully dragged himself away from the temptation of the other man’s body so he could make his way back towards the truck. The tailgate came down with a crash. Thankfully, the bed of the truck was enormous. He reached for a chair first and pulled it out, only to place it down just outside. Mainly so he could carefully reach for one of the solid pieces of the bed.

“You got a place you want these chairs to go?” He glanced over his shoulder. “And get your perfect *** over here, I can unload myself, but it’ll go quicker with the two of us!” His smile was immediate.

[Plato Albany]

Plato stood there a bit stunned with the binoculars still in his hand. Instead of feeling compelled to offer up some explanation as to why he was using them he watched Samson head back to his truck. The towering solid frame of his neighbor’s body, the taste left behind while Plato watched the contour of his sculpted muscles work to pull at the back of the truck summoned a natural curiosity that left him speechless at the mountain of wood and furniture in the vehicle his lover brought over. Due to the metal creak and give of the tailgate Dr. Albany was shaken from the brief assessment. He looked down to the distance visual aid in his hand then up to where he was being called to help out. There was no question where he was heading next. With a light twist of his wrist he casually gave the binoculars a toss over the railing framing the front of the farmhouse to land in the bushes surrounding the porch.

A few steps had him taking in the cool air kiss to his bare *** thanks to the back flap of fabric hanging down. The two buttons meant to hold it up and cover him were torn off on last years less than stellar snowmobile ride over the frozen river and to the Johnson’s pasture that he didn’t quite get to. Clotheslined by the Old Oak’s recent downed limb had his Carhartt's and his trusty old long john’s nearly ripped from his body. The resulting dislocated shoulder and the bruised back could have been much worse. Two buttons lost on the closest layer to his body said he did well considering how bad it could have been at seventy five heading towards eighty. As for the offering of chairs.

“I can make room.”

Plato briefly wondered where he had mentioned a need for chairs before settling for the most likely reason that Samson was gifting some of his beautiful wood work to him. The furniture he currently had was snapping like a fresh bowl of Rice Krispies when they made use of it. Which was a hell of a lot more often and to a degree that they probably never anticipated needing to create a manufacturer's warning label for. Of course he would make room. For all of that he would clear out half the farmhouse if needed.

“This here is a papa bear chair.” Plato nodded as he stepped down off the porch and took hold of the chair that was placed beside the truck. “Certainly wasn’t made for any Goldilocks.”

With his own strength rolling and rising in show a visible dance of each well toned muscle that moguled over their original resting spots beneath his skin. He flexed without having to. A network of healthy slithering veins popped up all over the higher he lifted the furniture. It was the finest chair he ever put hands on. Heavy and strong. It was evident even to someone not as familiar with the wilderness as Samson was that decades of history was carried in the framework which also held the scent of the man who crafted it fresh from a routine harvest of their neighboring woods. He didn’t need to press his face into the cushion to know who was responsible for its origin or it’s frequent use. Though he was not above doing so to rule out any traces of other recent or frequent visitors that could have hidden deep into the foam beneath. There was absolutely no shame to be had when the man not far from reach was His. Which Samson was. His. Even if the mountain man didn’t quite know just how serious about it Plato really was. He was still... His. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the truck seemed to be piled high with all of Samson’s known furniture. Or did he?

The resident vet took notice of the piece of furniture in the back of the truck that Samson was about to remove. Plato stepped in closer and gave it a closer look. It appeared to be the man’s titanic size bed that quite possibly required half of the timber the older woods had to offer to build. Obviously Plato’s was in serious need of replacing with half of the credit going to the breathtaking giant’s exceptional and no holds barred bedroom antics. The chair in his hold slid over his shoulder and he walked it in as if he was in risk of losing possession of it because it could be too good to be true. Really it was just getting placed where it belonged to begin with. A few steps and he was back out and lending the hands that Samson had asked for.

“Looks like we will be having a bonfire tonight, Mr. Krahn.” He leaned in and used his strength to move the piece both men had their hands on. Slowly it did. Once Samson joined in with what he had to bring to the task it would be quickly in their bedroom. “I can cancel that shipment of duct tape I had coming from Amazon to hold things together until after the holidays.” Well, half the shipment was for furniture quick fix repairs. The other half he had alternative ideas for and when he was reminded of them his eyes set on Samson Krahn.

[Samson Krahn]

Now, when Plato mentioned that he would be making some room for the furniture, Samson glanced up from the work he had given his hand to and he gazed into the other man’s eyes. He had learned in the past that he was no liar. In fact, it seemed whenever he opened his mouth to spill out deception, what came from within was unfiltered truth. This had made him no easy friend to make as a youth, with a pack of brothers and the mountainous mischief they could find themselves getting into. Their mother knew exactly which of her boys to go to when things were not quite right. As such, Samson had learned years before that there were times when a man needed to keep his peace and let silence speak for him. Because it was a hell of a lot better than saying something like ‘How about we just go gather up that meager excuse for pressed cardboard you’ve been sitting on and light a match? From now on, that beautiful *** only rests on the finest made things.’ Which was to say...the things that Samson had made. Yes. He was that confident in his work. He was no stranger to humility, but he had been making things with his own two hands since he’d been old enough to hold sanding paper, and his father had tossed the latest project onto his lap, and told him not to stop until there was no danger of splinters.

“You can call me that any damn day of the week.” He said bluntly. Papa bear indeed.

Which was right around the time he watched muscle strain under the effort to lift the chair. And Samson had to pause once more in the progress of getting the bed frame out of the truck because all the air flooded right out of his lungs. It was impossible not to drop his gaze to where those long johns framed...well. Samson wasn’t about to recount the story in polite company. But that didn’t stop his eyes from being glued right there. And Plato was moving, going to take the chair into the house, which meant that Sam was treated to a view of those muscles in motion. Honestly, what man would have been able to keep his mind clear and stay focused on the task at hand when presented with that view of his partner? He could tell the Vet was going to do to his concentration abilities what a fox did to a hen in a chicken coop. But such was life, and there were certainly worse problems to have than an attractive mate to call his own. Admittedly, that was part of why Sam was moving his things over. He’d decided when the two of them had hit it off, that he was going to make good on the promises his mouth and the rest of his stone-like frame had made.

Indeed. There were any number of people who engaged in frivolous acts of the flesh, but Sam was not one of them. Every move he’d made had been calculated. And now Plato belonged to him. It was a sensibility that was dying in the modern age, with climbing divorce rates and things like marriage itself falling out of fashion. But the Krahn men had been taught many things, and one of them was a lesson learned watching their parents together for close forty years. When a commitment was made, it was made. A man was only as good as his word, so Samson was making good. When he’d laid with Plato, that was as good as a contract, and one the Paladin was pleased to have put his name upon. The other side of the coin was that Sam wanted to see his things mingled with the Vet’s. He wanted to see his furniture, coated in his scent in that home. Possessive? You better believe it.

And then Plato was turning to come back, so Samson had to pretend he’d been working the entire time rather than watching the way that body moved away from him. This entailed averting his gaze for a moment and hauling the part of the bed frame he’d been working on right out of the truck. “Took the words right out of my mouth.” He said in regards to the bonfire. “Y’know, if you got any requests, I am happy to set up a little wood shop over…” He gestured to an open part of the field. “...there. Would make it awful easy for me to make sure our house here is nice and cozy with everything you need. Like a steppin’ stool when I fix the height on those cabinets in your kitchen.” He said it as if they had already agreed that Samson was going to be moving in. As if it hadn’t been this unspoken thing between them. But that was Sam’s way. He believed in doing rather than saying.

He felt a buzzing against his *** and his gaze narrowed. What the hell was that? It went on for a moment, and then died away and he shrugged. Either way, his arms were full as he hauled the tree’s worth of wood out into the open. The frame for the bed was just as solid as everything else he made, and with equal proportions. Which meant that when Plato laid in the middle of it, he was probably going to look like a man floating in the middle of a vast sea.

“By the time the holidays roll around, I wanna be moved in so we can decorate.” He said. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but where I come from, Christmas (and no I don’t mean xmas or ‘the holidays’), is a big deal. Mistletoe over every door, garland, trees, chubby Santa everywhere.” He once again gestured with his arm a little grandly. “I got some ideas.” That was what he left it as as the pair of them made their way inside with part of the frame. When they got to the bedroom, he carefully set it down and glanced around as if suddenly unsure if the bed would actually fit in the room. He pulled his tape measure (which he always had on hand), so he could see. There was a look of relief a moment later. “I’ll get the next one. You work on strippin down this bed and clearin it off so we can get rid of it?” He asked, giving the broken bed a bit of a dirty look before he began to back through the door.

[Plato Albany]

Plato watched the stretch of the tape measure take up the space between Samson’s skilled hands. His fingers reached behind his head and gave a gentle rub with the firm tips as if the massage to his scalp would help him process a little faster all the proposed changes in his living space. He really never lived with anyone except his two sisters and his parents. He could have easily skipped the latter and settled for being raised by the two women who knew him better than anyone. But that had changed with a knock at his door and a rather impressive wolf at heart came walking into his life. Now it seemed virtually no one really knew him at all. Except for Samson Krahn.

There was no gradual pace in their getting acquainted. He might as well been in the center of Las Ventas bullring waving a portion of red silk while Samson came charging, steam billowing from his nostrils and the tips of his impressive horns sparkling beneath their shared sun. It was fire and chaos. Poetry and destruction. Gentleness was never a factor. Plato was sure, calculated in his moves. He was more than ready to take on the challenge of the one who stepped in his living room… minus the Traje de Luces of course. So was the magnificent primal beast of a man who could run his silk waving *** over to make things happen any damn time he wanted. Like now. Right there he stood and watched it happening while the core of him cheered on for more.  So it would be that the wild maned veterinarian was connected to everything about him. A case of kismet perhaps? Fate? There was no question it happened fast and there was no denying it was right. Now Samson Krahn belonged everywhere within their shared walls.

Dr. Albany looked to the bed in question he recently bought. Within the last year he finally settled down when he figured it was about as good as it was going to get living arrangement wise. His practice grew quickly and was sufficient to compensate for the investment in the property deed he signed his name to. He was content and happily sharing the extra room with numerous wild beady eyes, scales and fur, cold and warm blood alike. So the bed was chosen for him and those random critters that would be cohabiting with him.

In short history it survived the premature litter of pups arriving while he was out of town. It weathered each of the sisters and their family moving in temporarily during a cross country move. It was rumored to be the spot his niece was conceived- which he worked hard to forget being told. It was routinely the keeper of hidden bones, defeated field mice and his shredded socks. In spite of all that and so much more it failed to survive the three page paper detailed limited warranty. Which he definitely had for the reference. It was neatly folded in its wax paper envelope with the gold seal intact on the back. He wasted little time tearing it open the other night and reading it beginning to end. Nowhere was it found in the fine print that the money it required for purchase would be reimbursed if it collapsed under epic sex that involved two rough riders. Parts of him throbbed thinking about it’s demise. Mere seconds passed before that became even more incentive for his hands to reach down and get to work at pulling the sheets off. The bed surely wouldn’t strip itself.

While he went about completing the expected task he came up with a few of his own ideas for the upcoming holidays that the mountain of a man mentioned. If the big guy was expecting boughs of holly and pointy ears singing fa-la-la-la-la-la then he had some fast research and shopping to do. Samson was into the holidays far more than the Albany gang was raised to be. He wondered if there would be any issues with that now that Samson’s expectations were voiced. How would Samson do with a guy whose only consistent family tradition, outside roasting the other members when they were not around, was swapping the decade and a half old original fruitcake via regifting. The surprise was not in the fruitcake itself but the new gift tag that would always be something vibrant and festive.

“Real or …”

Plato paused his words because he already knew the answer to the question. A fresh tree or one that smelled like the box it was always stored in a majority of the year it wasn’t assembled in the biggest room in the house. Fresh. It would have to be. Samson likely was one to appreciate the idea of decorating one outdoors, leaving it thriving in its natural placement, roots intact and visiting it at night, twinkling beneath the winter blanket of stars. The topic of festive tress could wait till later.

“I think we can bring in your bed.”

Plato grunted as he managed to tug at the frame and watch it crumble to the floor. It was topped by the mattress that had more stains than he was aware of until the sheets were finally off forming a cotton cloud on the floor near his boots.  Definitely not cool. The french doors that served as an exit to the small unfinished bedroom patio were opened. A few steps back and Plato was quickly hauling the mattress that didn't seem much larger than him over his bare shoulders. As soon as he was outside he sent the posture perfect item into the air and sliding down the minor hill closeby. A fast return had the frame and side rails gathered up and deposited in the same fashion outside. It was simple as that. Now it was time for the upgrade.

“Let me give you a hand with that.” Plato discovered Samson making his way back inside with more wood. It was a solid sight. Mr. Krahn and all that hand carved lumber. So much promise and so much temptation. Which, of course, would have it’s place and time. For the moment it was about getting his mate moved in and settled. “I knew putting in those double doors was a good idea. All is clear to get this beast set up.” He picked up what seemed to be the last parts to the most important piece of furniture that their four walls would surround. “I have a tool box somewhere if you need it?” Plato was hardly the skilled carpenter Samson was but he did have the essentials in a portable heavy duty box. He just needed to remember where he had it stored.

[Samson Krahn]

“Our.” He said. That one word was said with unshakable depth and conviction. He didn’t have to say it loudly or bark it out like an order, because Samson was the sort of man that was used to speaking so infrequently that when he did open his mouth, he expected people to listen. And listen closely. There was something to be said about the arrogance of that sentiment. But Sam had been raised in a culture where men worked hard, and were the masters of their own homes. It was a slight correction to what Plato had said. Though there was obviously an argument to be made that the bed retained the evidence of his having slept in it. The mattress and bedding carried with it a lone scent, and that was the Paladin’s. These arguments, had they been brought to the mountain man’s attention, would have been met only with a half smile - nearly a smirk and then a knowing look that said there would be more than sufficient evidence of Plato on that bed in very short order.

Of course, on his trip out to the truck to gather up more of the lumber, the half question had tumbled around inside of his head. Growing up, his home had not been a large one. The homestead itself had been built by his great grandfather’s hands and consisted of little more than kitchen, a family area, a place to store food, and a couple of bedrooms. To the Krahn tribe, a house was just a place that people went for shelter and to sleep for the night. The great outdoors were where everything from laundry to hunting to leisure were enjoyed. The ceilings themselves were just barely high enough up to clear the tallest amongst the men, much less a tree that would suit the size of their holiday spirit. Thus, there was one particular tree, which they tended to year-round, which they decorated every single November, just after Thanksgiving. Other trees had been planted around it to act as wind breakers, and painted rocks framed the thing in. Dead leaves were religiously cleaned away, and it was easily one of the best kept parts of their little plot of heaven. The question of real or fake would never have even occurred to Sam.

By the time he was returning, he noticed that the space had been cleared out. It already looked better if you asked him, and would only improve once the frame was in place. The mattress itself. Well. They did not make mattresses to fit someone of Samson’s height, so he had been forced to make his own, mostly using several layers of down which had been meticulously sewn in such a way that the feathers themselves could not be easily dispersed, but mostly retained their shape. Under that were layers of memory foam, which he’d had to buy, and then a denser foam for structure. He didn’t actually have a set of box springs, which was for the best, because the total thickness of the mattress was close to three feet, and a person could sink so far into it, they might have thought they were going to hit the floor at some point.

And of course, Plato was quick to help him drag the pieces. When Samson got the frame itself down, he paused in his work so that he could press a kiss against the other man’s fuzzy cheek as a brief thank you. But Sam had been raised in a home where affection was shared between mother and father all of the time. He couldn’t even come close to recalling the number of times he’d walk into the kitchen to find his mother tending to the wood stove, frying something in a skillet or getting something ready to eat - and he’d spy his father sneak up behind her to wrap arms around her body, pull he close. Lay kisses on her shoulder and neck. So for Samson, that was just the way of things. Partnership had been modeled for him at a young age, and so that was what he expected. To show frequently how appreciative he was for the man he called his own.

When all of the pieces of the frame were in place, he dropped to one knee so he could begin fitting them together. “Nah, I got all I need down here.” He said. And it was true enough. He had a toolbelt on, and from it he withdrew his socket wrench. That was when his gaze drifted. He was just above eye level with the other man’s hip, and his dark, bushy brows slowly rose. “Everything I need.” He repeated, suddenly very distracted by the hint of what he saw. How the hell was he ever going to get anything done with the other man around? That was one of those situations where it seemed like the right kind of problem to have though. So he decided not to comment to that effect. Some things were better left unsaid. Instead, he quickly four bolts into place before moving along to the next stand - which he decided...was the one that Plato had his back to.

His reasoning was very strong for this. Though it was best not to press him too hard to explain it.

The bed was of the variety that Samson could have jumped on it, when it was fully put together, and it would have barely moved an inch. “Got any special requests for what I make next?” He asked, trying his best to keep his attention on the task at hand. “I was thinkin’ a proper dinin’ table. The one I’ve been usin’ only seats me and maybe three others. I can make it so it extends and collapses. I’m thinkin’ we want it at least able to seat fourteen in case the family comes to visit.” From what Samson had gathered in the other man’s brief description of the Albany clan, the family itself was not close, and for a moment, Sam felt a little bad. Like he was rubbing in how close the Krahns were. “And of course, you can invite your sisters and whoever you like if that does happen.” He amended, managing not to look too sheepish.

And then, when he was finally done with putting the bolts in place and securing them, he stood, dusting his hands to admire his work. He still had to lay down some thick, flat board, and then get the mattress. But for the most part, the outline of their bed was ready to go. And there was that damned buzzing again. Was there a fly in the room?

No time to waste though. He immediately launched himself towards the truck once more. He was itching to see Plato drop onto that bed for the first time, and that made him a man on a mission.

[Plato Albany]

The warmth of the man's mouth on his own beard was lingering despite the brief annoyance of the distance it had presented between him, the kiss and it’s bearer. All that was needed came to mind as well as the look in Samson’s eyes. Both haunted him once the gentle giant left the room. The man might as well have read the vet’s thoughts. Plato thought he had it all. Obviously that was not the case. Not with the way he felt standing there overwhelmed in all the best ways possible with the scent of real wood and the presence of one who he had a hard time imagining not being a part of his present picture. Or his future. A dark brow arched at the awareness.

The bed was massive. Each of his open hands went to what had framed the room. Once a grip was set he peeked over his shoulder to make sure there was no witness. A couple pulls and pushes of intended exertion had the bed staying still. He gave the wood a pat of approval and a single stroke as if making a wish for things to come. Which they were. He caught the sounds of Samson on the move and figured he might as well offer a hand or two.

It was a short trip around the new addition to the master bedroom.There was enough room to walk around it on each side and step a foot of two towards the barrier of a wall. Other than than that there were two choices left with the limited space left. One could choose to leave or take the option of climbing into it. Which was something that Plato would do just as soon as that mattress showed up.  And he didn’t plan on entering it alone. His fingertips brushed over the locally grown wood as he navigated his way to the door. It would be treated well, appreciated and tended to often. Which is exactly what he had in mind for it’s blessed creator.

“How about I give you a hand with that?”

He suggested once he located the mattress in transit as well as Samson. This was a partnership so that meant all the work into making it happen was to be a joint effort. That included the initial setting up and adjustments needing to be made to accommodate the two that would be living within the increasingly snug walls. Plato wanted to do more than stand around with his *** hanging out. So with that for initiative he took hold of what was within reach and offered assistance where it would be needed.

“So fourteen for your holiday list?”

Plato mentioned the head count projected for their dining room and the seating that would be needed. Those that would come that far to have a meal would certainly need somewhere to sleep as well. His eyes went upward towards the ceiling as he shifted the weight of what was balancing in his hands. The mattress and its composition invaded his current track of thought and bumped it to the side when he squeezed for a firm hold. Must be a lot of foam and countless plumules that were no longer under the feathers of the previous owners. Samson’s handiwork was front and center in his face and the detailing left him speechless for a few moments. The stitching was by hand. Small, tight enforcing rows of heavy binding was intricately lining the mattress inches from his investigating eyes. It wasn’t a complete surprise to him but it certainly impressed him. There was no denying that it represented a man whose work said much about him. Time and attention went into the commitment of foraging and creating what would serve for the comfort beneath his body when it rested.

Far more thought and effort than it took Dr. Albany to pull out a credit card and enter a few lines of payment information online to order the bed from Pottery Barn. The same one that didn't hold up to previous expectations and now was sitting outside and temporary scavenging for the creatures moving about. Granted far more time was consumed in the pulling together of the natural materials currently in the bedding than it required of Plato’s day to spend with the delivery people needing direction as to where to set it up once it arrived. His chosen mate had embraced the woods around them and from it's organic offerings created what would be the centerpiece of their nights and slumber.

“You appear to be the master of many skills, Samson.” His voice started with the sound of one who was genuinely impressed, which he was. “Fourteen mattress’ of this quality may be a bit of a feat to accomplish. I will make it easier on you when the time comes and we shall make the room where we have it to have every one of your family come to stay.” He added with promise in his tone.

There was nothing wrong with ordering bunk bed mattress’ for such an occasion. Or was there? If the Krahn clan was anything like the one who was gracing the halls that he walked through to reach their room then Plato was convinced he needed to meet them. As for his own family it would be far more simple to prepare for. The Harper Rock hotel and shuttle would suffice for those who brought him into the world thirty three and then some years ago. Sisters and crew were always welcome. His parents not so much. Just as they reached the doorway into where the mattress was destined to go he heard the repeated sound of a dull buzzing likely from some pocketed vibration. A drop of his eyes reminded him it wouldn't be coming from his body since he had no pockets to be carrying such a device in.

“You may be getting a call?” Plato suggested as he moved around the bed frame still maneuvering the massive mattress. Now that he mentioned it the veterinarian that was known to be on call 24/7 tried to recall where his own cell phone could be hiding. “We can set this down and you can find out while I fit it in place.” A quick grin said he was good on the offer of completing the task he just mentioned.

[Samson Krahn]

The mattress required a steady, strong hand, and a careful touch. However, minutes later, it was in the home that Samson had already begun to think of as less Plato’s property and more theirs. Moments later, with the help of the good doctor, the thing was hefted and put into place. The bed took up more of the room than perhaps most people would have been comfortable with, but Sam was fine with it, because he really only saw the bedroom itself as a place to sleep, possibly to change clothes, and a place of intimacy for he and his chosen partner. But life - that which made the act of living both a task and blessing - happened outside of those four walls. And it was at the mention of fourteen such mattresses that Samson had to consider a moment. Most of his five brothers were married, which meant ten of the seats could be accommodated by five beds. While the mountain man did not necessarily yearn to know more about the things his siblings did with their spouses, he wasn’t about to demand that they not indulge in the comfort of lying beside the ones they loved under his roof. His mother and father paired the eleventh and twelfth seat down to a single bed as well. Which meant six beds aside from the one in the master bedroom would suffice.

Except there was an issue of space. While the idea of having mattresses lying all over the house did seem a little funny, he wagered it would make moving around uncomfortable. And then there were the nieces and nephews. Just thinking about trying to house the sea of small blue eyed monsters (delights as his mother might have said), gave him an immediate headache right between his own murky orbs. No. He was happy to host dinner for the holidays, but short of renting a hotel, there wasn’t a chance he’d be able to board everyone. That was just the pragmatic side of things coming into play. “I may need to buy the nearby Econolodge.” He conceded with a chuckle.

And then it was brought up that he might have been getting a call. Which made sense really. Samson was just terrible at using his phone. In fact, most of the time he forgot he had one. And he was one of those people who would often pull it out when he needed to use it and stare at the screen in confusion for a few moments, as if trying to recall how the whole thing worked. He grunted. “I’ll call em back.” He insisted. If the matter was urgent, then he would handle it accordingly, but a few moments more spent with Plato wasn’t going to stop him from saving the world. He had learned that one whilst helping the refugee victims of a genocide some years before. He had been working at the camp, putting together temporary shelter, digging a latrine, and then getting some electricity up and running when he had taken note of it. The people who were running from certain death, they always took care of each other. They knew that, at any moment, the darker burden of humanity might sunder them from each other. And that meant it was okay to revel in those bonds they shared while they could.

Maybe he viewed the world through rose tinted lenses, but he believed that when a person loved someone else - it was of vital importance to enjoy that love. It was an obligation as real as the call to serve and to protect.

That being said, he helped Plato to get the mattress in place and then summarily flung the other man onto the softness so that the vet could sink into the softness, only to find the giant that was Sam crawling in after him. He decided not to feed the beast inside of him that urged him to get closer, to kiss over those lips once more. For one, there were no sheets in place. For another, he knew that once that particular appetite had been whetted, it wasn’t likely to calm for some time. So instead he flopped onto his back beside the other man so he could glance up to the ceiling. Except the ceiling wasn’t nearly as interesting as Plato, so his head turned so he could peer over to the other man. “What d’you think?” he asked. As it was, his feet were draped over the edge because he didn’t want to get his boots on the mattress and muss it up. However, there was more than enough room for the pair of them. If he had his way, they wouldn’t use nearly even close to all of the bed.

“Can you see this bein’ your bed for the rest of your life?” Was what he really meant, so he said that, because he was not the sort of man to mince his words.

And then that buzzing happened again and he made a sound of displeasure before finally fishing the phone out of his pocket. It was a text (or several rather) from one of the people belonging to the Order of Steel. He had yet to tell Plato about having joined the group of paladins. Nor had he revealed their mission to reveal the evil of vampires. On one level; it was because he did not want for his partner to come to harm, and he was almost certain this was one of those situations where the more you knew, the more likely you were to find yourself in trouble.

“Fuckin’...” He sat up. Then he twisted so he could press his lips against his lover’s once more. The kiss was briefer, more of a promise to return than anything else. “Emergency. Gotta run a bit. Will be back to finish movin’ things over here in a few.” Or at least that was the plan. The texts, it seemed, were a call to action. A vampire had been spotted following after someone. And frankly, Sam didn’t know the protocol for these things. Did he call in help? Did he answer on his own? It was his first experience of the sort.

So he was up and sprinting out of the house, grabbing an axe along the way, in case things went south.

And then he was in his truck, pulling out of the drive.

The events of this thread are continued here and will timeskip to Samson’s stay in the hospital after the fight described in the linked thread.