A D/s story featuring Gordon Trapp and Nathaniel Andrews
Fabian Black
Copyright © 2011 Fabian Black
Smashwords Edition
Chastise Books
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All characters and situations in this book are purely fictional.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Table of Contents:
Out of Tune
A pair of desert boots heralds a Christmas to remember
“Thanks, mate,” Nat spoke the words automatically without looking up as the coin dropped into his battered tin. The shoes of the giver remained static on the pavement in front of him. Usually, after the minimal pause to drop a coin, they passed on fairly quickly that’s if they paused at all. He stopped playing his guitar, cocking his head on one side to examine the shoes more thoroughly. Boots he suddenly thought, not shoes, not in the proper sense, desert boots, yeah, that was the name for them, because of their colour he supposed, which would blend in with sand. Though quite why that was desirable was beyond him. If you were trekking through the desert surely your only concerns would be comfort and water. Colour coordinating with the sand would be the last thing on any list of priorities. He’d seen boots like this before, he was sure of it, only less scuffed than this pair. This pair had obviously been well worn. There was a dark stain on the left front toecap and he resisted an urge to lick his finger and attempt to rub it off.
“So,” said a smooth rich voice. “This is what you do instead of keeping your appointments with John?”
Nat stared harder at the boots. Even in the gathering dusk of a winter afternoon they bore a faintly disapproving look. He allowed his eyes to travel up the smart jeans to the brown cord jacket, and on to a very familiar and most definitely disapproving face. His stomach twisted sharply, a movement reflected by his mouth. “Well, well,” his lip peaked into an alpine sneer. “If it isn’t a wise man returned from the East. Did you find your Messiah then?”
Gordon Trapp gave the pavement dweller a measured look, but otherwise paid the comment no heed, pointing at the guitar that Nat had balanced on his knees instead. “I thought we’d made a contract that this kind of activity belonged to your old way of life?”
“Well, as you know, contracts are fragile things and so easily broken it’s almost like they’re made of glass.” Nat casually picked at the strings of his guitar, playing a melody that was deliberately out of tune, “and I’ve got to earn the rent money somehow, doc.”
Folding his arms, Gordon sent a censorious look down the full length of his imposing nose. “Yes, I heard you’d left your job, and your college course too I believe. How long have you been sitting there? You look absolutely frozen.”
Nat shrugged. “An hour, two hours, a while, does it matter?” He felt suddenly tearful, bending his head in order to hide the evidence. He’d actually been there since ten that morning, aside from a short break at lunchtime when he’d sojourned to the pub in order to spend his morning earnings. His rent money was already three weeks in arrears and he figured another week wouldn’t make that much difference. Once seated on the pavement again, he found he lacked the energy to move, as well as the motivation to perform. He’d spent the best part of the afternoon staring mindlessly into space interspersed with playing the odd tune, if only to stop his fingers from freezing solid.
Gordon silently took in Nat’s soiled clothing, his greasy unkempt hair and general air of neglect and the fact that he’d lost a fair amount of weight since last he saw him. Several emotions vied for supremacy. Setting aside shock, disappointment and anger, he chose concern. “You could at least have worn a jacket, that top is practically threadbare and no protection against weather like this. Come on. You can’t sit out here all evening. It’s already getting frosty. I’ll give you a lift home, my car’s not far away.”
Nathaniel tilted back his head, “don’t tell me,” he gave a mocking grin, “your contribution to care in the community is offering a taxi service to the lunatic fringe. What next, a stint in the down and out soup kitchens? Oh of course, you already do that, Saint Trapp, counsellor to the dispossessed, inept and socially hopeless.”
Gordon squatted down. “What on earth are you playing at, man? You haven’t kept an outpatient appointment in almost six weeks. You’re obviously not looking after yourself, just look at you. You’re filthy and you smell, Nat, you actually smell and not of roses. Do you want to end up being readmitted to the ward, do you? John...”
“John can go to hell!” Nat’s temper surged and he lurched to his feet almost losing his balance as his legs, cold and stiff from sitting on the freezing pavement for so long, refused to support him. He roughly shook away Gordon’s hand as it reached to steady him. “You’re not my therapist, so it’s none of your damn business anyway.”
Gordon’s lips pressed themselves into twin lines of disapproval as he detected alcohol on Nat’s breath. It wasn’t only stiff legs and bad temper making him stagger then. “It’s very much my business, Nathaniel.” He gripped the younger man firmly by the elbow, “John was kind enough to act as my locum while I was away, but you’re still officially my patient.”
Nat found himself being firmly steered towards the car parked by the side of the cinema. A myriad of conflicting emotions surged through him. Recognising resentment he quickly seized it, dragging it on like a familiar overcoat. “I’m quite capable of deciding whether or not I want to sit on the pavement, for how long and with or without a jacket.” He pulled away from his captor, then gave a gasp, his eyes opening wide in shocked surprise as a hand descended on the seat of his trousers delivering a sharp blow. He felt its power even though his backside was slightly numb from sitting on the cold pavement.
Bending his head, Gordon placed his mouth close to Nathaniel’s ear. “Get in the car or I’ll bend you over the bonnet and I’ll tan your stubborn backside with all these good people as witnesses.”
Nat allowed his eyes to flicker over the line of people patiently waiting for the cinema to open. There was already a ripple of interest as the under active busker who had failed to entertain them was hustled away, and not by the police for once. “You wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me, not in public.”
“Would you care to put that theory to the test?” Gordon met the hostile glare without flinching.
Nat stared into the calm face for a second or two and then got into the car, too nonplussed to do anything else. The handprint smarted on his bottom drawing his thoughts away from all other considerations. He raised himself slightly in order to rub a tentative hand across the warm spot, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was there. “That hurt,” he said lamely, as Gordon got in the car.
The big man seemed undisturbed by this fact. He fastened his seat belt and started the car. “Are you taking your medication properly, Nathaniel?”
“Seeing as you transferred my care to John before waltzing off to nirvana that’s actually none of your business.” Nat glared out of the window.
“Why haven’t you kept your appointments?”
“That’s also none of your business.”
“When did you last wash and shave properly, or change your clothes for that matter?”
“Why should that concern you?”
“I called you yesterday evening, several times, and again this morning. Where were you?”
“Well I wasn’t in India, that’s for fucking sure,” muttered Nat.
“You can’t stay angry with me forever.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re not being fair to either one of us.”
“I never claimed to be Solomon, so fuck fairness!”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“So?”
“Alcohol is a depressant, especially when used as a substitute for food and prescribed medication.”
“Where did you lift that gem from, the bumper book of psychiatric platitudes?”
“Are you misusing anything else in addition to alcohol?”
“I’m telling you nothing, Gordon, not a thing, not ever again.” There was bitterness in his tone. “Anyway,” he snapped, veering sharply away from the subject, “where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home. Where do you think we’re going, on a picnic?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny, pull over while I split my sides.”
The remainder of the journey was made in silence, each man busy with his own thoughts.
“I’ll pick you up on Monday,” said Gordon, as he drew up outside the council maisonettes where Nat resided.
“What for?” Nat undid his seat belt.
“For your appointment with John.”
“What appointment?”
“The appointment I’m going to make for you. I’m seeing John later today at the hospital. I’m sure he’ll accommodate you. I’ll telephone you to tell you what time I’ll be picking you up.”
“So,” Nat used every inch of willpower he possessed to keep his voice from trembling, “you’re not going to take me on as your patient again, even though you’re back on home turf?”
“You know very well that I can’t take you back on as my patient.”
Nat fumbled in his pocket, withdrawing the coin that Gordon had dropped into his collecting tin. Slapping it onto the dashboard with a furious clatter he snarled, “a tip for the taxi man. Thanks for the ride home. I’d invite you in for coffee, only I don’t want to.” He got out of the car and slammed the door shut.
Gordon pocketed the coin and wound the window down, “I’ll see you Monday, Nathaniel. We’ll talk then. Have a good weekend and try to tidy yourself up a bit.” He drove off his lips tightening, as his rear view mirror was adulterated by an extravagant two-fingered salute and not one intended to express victory.
Storming into his flat Nat hurled the front door closed behind him. Setting his guitar aside he groped for the light switch and pressed it down, jumping with fright as the light bulb fizzed and popped leaving him standing in the dark. “Fuck!” He cursed out loud. He had no spare bulbs and knowing his luck the entire electrics had probably short-circuited.
“Did you manage to speak to him then?” John closed the office door with the heel of his shoe, shutting out the sounds of seasonal jollity and holding out a glass of watery looking red wine. “Best stuff has gone I’m afraid, we’re down to the cheap plonk.”
“There seems to be something wrong with his phone.” Gordon put the receiver down and took the glass, “thanks. Though knowing Nat he’s probably deliberately unplugged it. Either that or he’s not paid the bill and been cut off. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
John sat on the edge of the desk, “when are you going to tell him about your plans?”
Leaning back in the chair Gordon stretched out long legs, sipping his wine, shuddering at its sour taste. “He didn’t seem overjoyed to see me today. Maybe the moment has passed.”
John snorted, “don’t be daft, man. The moment hasn’t even arrived yet. It’s about time you hastened it along.”
Gordon grinned. “The only thing I wanted to hasten along today was my hand towards his backside. The trouble with Nat is that not only does he look about seventeen he also acts it upon occasion. Talk about a brattish attitude.”
“I must say Nat has that effect on me too at times.” John smiled, then said seriously, “I’m afraid it isn’t going to be easy for you, Gordon, there’s already rumours circulating.”
Gordon shrugged, “I don’t give a damn about rumours. I’ve been the subject of them for years. Certain people have never forgiven me for being the youngest consultant psychiatrist ever appointed by this authority, and a queer to boot. They can’t wait to find something to damn me with. The plain fact is that nothing improper happened between myself and Nat, and it won’t while he’s yet my patient.”
“I know that and you know that, but the majority of people willingly embrace fiction in preference to fact, especially if it carries even a hint of scandal. Scandal is the jam on the bread and butter of dull lives.”
“It won’t really matter, not once my resignation becomes official on Monday. After that it’s my business, and Nat’s. That's if he ever stops punishing me for going away to India. You might have noticed that he’s something of a prodigious sulker when the mood takes him?”
John smiled, a twinkle lighting his grey eyes. “Well, having some idea of the strength of feeling you have for him, I didn’t like to make negative observations, but yes I had noticed his consummate skill for sulking and grudge holding. The first few weeks after you left were particularly trying. He let me know just how much he blamed me for your going away and at the same time point blank refused to discuss it with me rationally.”
“He knows perfectly well that the decision to go was mine alone. He just refuses to acknowledge it. He prefers to lay blame so he doesn’t have to take responsibility for himself and his actions. Don’t worry. I’ll be setting him right on quite a few things come the glorious day.” He raised his glass, “here’s to happy Monday.”
John solemnly clinked his glass against Gordon’s. “Won’t you miss the cut and thrust of National Health psychiatric practice just a little bit?” He gave a sly wink, “or at least the cut that seems to be this Government’s main obsession. Cut this service, slash that, close this hospital, cut the number of beds for mental health patients and cut the social centres. After all what are park benches for?”
Gordon gave a wry laugh, “ah yes the wonders of care in the community. What it realistically means for too many is a cardboard box in a shop doorway or under a bridge.” He took another sip of wine. “I’ll miss the ward work and some of the patients, but other than that, no. I realised while I was away that I’d probably have left this post anyway, not quite this soon, but eventually. It’s not what I hoped it would be and not what I think it can be. I don’t agree with conveyor belt psychiatry. How can you really help people when you’re told your main objective is getting them out of the system as quickly as possible and at a minimum cost? You’re not allowed to get too closely involved or treat them like individuals. Dope them up and send them on their way. There are days when I feel like I’m nothing more than a pimp for the drug companies.”
He stood up, wandering over to the window, looking out over the hospital grounds. “I’m supposed to sit behind a desk like some automaton wringing out text book theories, applying clinical formulas and if the patient doesn’t respond to the psychological A-Z of treatments currently available, you’re supposed to discard them. I have no quarrel with accepted, conventional methods or with drugs per se. They’ve proved their worth in any number of cases, but some people need more, and some people simply need to be accepted and loved the way they are because that helps them move forward and make the best of themselves. The trip to India was a revelation.”
John smiled, “I knew that you’d find it an interesting experience. Raul and his wife are extraordinary people.”
“Yes they are. It was certainly interesting, not that I could accept everything they taught at the centre. I have reservations about some aspects of the regression therapy they practice, but on the whole, yes, it was fascinating. It fitted in with some of the theories I’ve formulated for myself over the years. I’ve written a detailed report on my findings and suggested ways of implementing some of the practices here, though I doubt it will ever see the light of day. If I’m lucky it might get published in some obscure psychiatric journal.”
“You could go back. Raul speaks very highly of you. He was impressed with the way you threw yourself into the life of the centre. I’m sure he’d find you a place on his staff.”
Gordon shook his head. “I want to stay here where I can do some good if only for a very few of those who’ve been abandoned by the system. That and I want Nathaniel more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I enjoyed my time at the centre, but there wasn’t a single day when I didn’t miss him. In a way I’m glad that outside communications were so limited otherwise I’d have spent my time trying to speak to him on the phone or writing to him instead of making the most of the situation I was in.”
“He’s certainly missed you, only he’s turned it into resentment because he finds that easier to cope with. The sooner you two get together on a proper basis the better. He needs you. I’m telling you, Gordon, that young man is in self-destruct mode, push button to go. I’m looking forward to seeing him on Monday actually. I’ve got a few choice words for him. He was damned rude to me last time I telephoned to see why he’d missed yet another appointment.” He got up off the desk. “Come on. You can’t hide in here all night. This will be your last official Christmas staff party, at least put in something of an appearance. You can regale everyone with tales of your visit to India. Most of them will pour contempt and scorn on Raul’s amateur, ‘crackpot’ paternalistic theories and methods, but at least I can enjoy listening to you argue his corner.”
Gordon smiled, “Raul is more than able to argue his own corner. He’s the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. Besides, I doubt that anyone will mind if I just slip quietly away. It’ll give them an opportunity to talk about me behind my back. I think I’m calm enough now to have another go at talking with Nat. Hopefully he’ll be calm enough to listen to me.”
John interrupted, “get out there and socialise. Just remember that the residential venture you have in mind will need to be supported by the money you earn from private practice now, so you’ll need to maintain as many contacts as possible. There’s a potential source of referrals and donations out there. A couple of our erstwhile colleagues will happily sign cheques if it means keeping you out of the arena.” He jabbed a stern finger at Gordon and then at the door, “shift yourself. You can call on sulky Simon later, on your way home.”
Nathaniel heard a knocking on the front door, but made no move to answer it. The letterbox rattled and something dropped lightly onto the doormat, but he made no effort to investigate. He sat in the dark drinking beer until the silence became too loud and he got up and put an album on the record player, softly singing along to a refrain from 'River Man' one of his favourite Nick Drake songs: “going to see the river man…” he trailed off, the haunting tune suddenly bringing a mist of tears to his eyes. Gordon would disapprove of both the beer and the record choice. He would call it deliberate self-sabotage, using alcohol and emotive music to drive a low mood even lower. Well stuff Gordon, Nat took another defiant swig of beer, he wasn’t around to remonstrate. Finishing the beer, he curled up on the couch and drifted into an unhappy sleep, lulled by alcohol and Drake’s achingly sad vocals.
Gordon stared out of the window as the taxi taking him home pulled away from outside Nathaniel’s flat. He’d been disappointed to find the place in darkness, almost as disappointed as he’d been when Nat had failed to meet him at the airport on his return home. He wondered where he was, finding it hard to believe that he’d gone to bed at barely nine o clock at night.
On impulse he asked the taxi driver to go past the cinema where he’d unexpectedly spotted Nat earlier that afternoon. His heart leapt as he spotted a figure with a guitar, then sank as he very quickly realised it wasn’t who he hoped. Obviously the cinema was a popular and potentially lucrative spot for buskers, especially if the out coming crowds had enjoyed the film and were in a happy and giving mood.
After paying the taxi driver, Gordon got out of the cab, walking through the town, calling in at a few of the small pubs that Nat had been known to frequent from time to time, if only to give himself the illusion of being in company. Loneliness was something that haunted many sufferers of mental illness. It shadowed them. You could see it in their eyes, like a dark spectre. In Nathaniel’s case it was so powerful, so tangible that it almost stood outside the boy himself, as if his light frame could not contain the burden of it any longer, as indeed his breakdown had proven. There was no sign of him round and about and Gordon abandoned the quest and headed for home.
Once home he tried the phone again, only to get the same dead tone. “If you’ve deliberately unplugged your telephone,” he growled into the receiver, “I’m going to be very put out with you, Nathaniel Andrews. You’re pushing your luck too far.” He put the phone down feeling slightly better for the one sided conversation. Making himself a mug of tea he settled down to read.
A half hour later the page remained unturned and he gave up all pretence, closing the book and setting it aside. What he really needed was practical distraction. He busied himself with packing more of his belongings into cardboard boxes ready for the move to the house that he’d signed the contract for prior to leaving for India. He’d only gone to view it, but instinct told him it was exactly what he wanted and he immediately put in an offer that was accepted by its absent owner. It had all happened much quicker than he had originally intended, but in a way he was glad of that. He was eager to make a start on a new phase of his life.
Next morning to the propitious accompaniment of Sunday church bells, Gordon walked up a short flight of stone steps and inserted a key into the lock on the front door of the property he now owned. A ripple of excitement flowed through him as he turned the key and stepped inside. The excitement increased as he gazed down the broad hallway with its multiple doors. An ideal family home the estate agent had gushed as she showed him around the uninhabited house. Such big old houses were unfashionable these days, difficult to sell, hence the reasonable price. If only people realised the investment potential of them. A lot of what she’d said had been meaningless sales blurb, but that small phrase had rung true for him. This was a family home. You could feel it in the atmosphere, sense it in the fabric of the house. It had been a family home for generations past and it was meant to be a family home again.
Gordon permitted himself a smile. The ‘family’ he had in mind wouldn’t quite fit the rules of convention, but then families took many forms. A family was simply a community that had love, respect and care at its centre. As a gay man, having a family wasn’t supposed to matter to him. Many people assumed that being gay meant giving up such domestic notions, in fact most people insisted on it. Well he had no intention of giving them up, not for himself and not for the others who might benefit from the support of a family environment.
Propping the door open with a couple of hefty psychology textbooks he began carrying in boxes and bags. The big move would take place in between Christmas and New Year. In the meantime he could at least start bringing the smaller stuff in, the dribs and drabs, the books and pots and pans that meant as much to a home as the bigger fixtures and fittings.
It was late afternoon when hunger decreed that he lock up and head home for sustenance. In typical December fashion the light had long since given way to darkness and there was more than a suspicion of snow in the air as he walked to his car. He took the same route he’d taken the day before, driving past the cinema. The Salvation Army Band had cottoned onto the lucrative nature of playing for cinema queues and was belting out Christmas Carols with customary zeal. Their old fashioned black and red trimmed uniforms made them appear like figures from a Victorian style Christmas card. They made a pleasing addition to the urban winter landscape.
Drawing to a halt by the curb, he wound his window down a touch in order to listen to the music. He had a lot of respect for the Salvationists and the work they did with the most vulnerable and often the most unattractive in society. There was a high incidence of psychiatric disorders among the homeless, which often went undiagnosed and untreated due to their nomadic habits. He was therefore pleased to offer service as an unpaid consultant once a month, heading informal clinics at various Salvation Army hostels. It was work he enjoyed. It enabled him to practice both his medical and psychiatric skills, helping people who had little access to standard services.
He noted with approval that the box being shaken by one of the Sally Soldiers was receiving gratifying attention from the line of people waiting to view E.T. the film currently in vogue. He suddenly frowned, winding his window down further as the collection box was politely shaken under the nose of a figure sitting glumly on the edge of the pavement. The figure in question stuck up two fingers in a decidedly uncharitable manner, giving the impression that perhaps it was unwilling to contribute to this particular worthy cause.
Getting out of his car Gordon hurried across the road to where the figure was following up sign language with savage, full frontal verbal abuse. Depositing a handful of coins into the charity box of the shocked Salvationist, Gordon wished him a cordial Happy Christmas, and asked him to pass on his respects to the band members for their fine efforts.
Nat found himself being whisked across the road to the robust tune of Good King Wenceslas. “Page and Monarch forth they went, forth they went together,” he warbled with a touch of breathless defiance, adding, “I bet you see yourself as the Monarch don’t you, Gordon? Where does that leave me then, page or yonder peasant? Yonder peasant I bet. Where is yonder do you think? Is it near the Urals or maybe even the Gorbals? Oh I know it’s near St Agnes fountain. I believe the place is teeming with peasants. Apparently they hang around all day waiting for monarchs to come hither with flesh, wine and pine logs. I can’t help but notice you’re a bit lacking in that department, Gord. I might have to report you to the Saints and Monarchs Committee for failure to divvy up the seasonal goodies.”
“Shut up.” Gordon put a large hand on top of Nat’s head, thrusting him down onto the front passenger seat before placing his guitar onto the back seat. “I’m taking you home.” He briskly closed the door.
“I don’t want to go home,” Nat pouted as Gordon got into the car. “Why don’t we go for a drink somewhere? After all it is the season to be jolly, fa’la’la’ and all that shit.”
“You’ve had more than enough to drink and far too little to eat by the look of you and it appears to have made you anything but jolly. Ill mannered and obnoxious are the terms that spring most readily to mind. There was no excuse for the disgusting abuse you gave that poor man. You, of all people, owe them some respect. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re going home and that’s all there is to it.”
“You’re a spoilsport, Gord, has anyone ever told you?”
“The name is Gordon, and yes I’ve had that accusation thrown at me a time or two. Frankly it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”
Nat gazed at him sourly, “that’s because you’re tall. Tall people are better at being spoilsports than people of more average height. Tall people see it as their god given right to be oppressive spoilsports.”
“Shut up, Nathaniel.”
“See, there you go again, oppressing the little person for simply expressing an opinion. By the way, your precious Sally Army buds hate homosexuals. They want us to recant.”
“I said be quiet and if I have to say it again there’ll be trouble. You, my man, have had over and above your quota of my seasonal goodwill!” Gordon shot a sideways look at Nat that even in the dark interior of the car had an impact. Silence ensued with Nat concentrating on fingering the string of red-brown wooden beads that were a permanent part of his apparel. He used them almost like a rosary moving from bead to bead as if in supplication. It was, Gordon knew, a comfort mechanism.
On arrival at Nat’s place of abode Gordon parked the car and got out, moving round to the passenger side and opening the door.
Nat staggered out, trying to shake off the helping hand at his elbow. It refused to be shaken, insisting on guiding him firmly up the short path to his front door. “Okay, Gord,” he fumbled for his key. “I can manage from here.” He made a stab for the lock, and missed. “Stay still you cunning fucker,” he muttered, stabbing again, then again.
“Give it here.” Gordon deftly removed the key from Nat’s hand, quickly unlocking the door and stepping over the threshold. He reached out a hand and yanked Nathaniel indoors, closing the door smartly behind them. “Where’s the light switch?”
“On the wall to your right.”
Gordon located and pressed the switch. Nothing happened. He tried again.
“It’s broken.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“I thought you knew everything, Gord, like God, so I didn’t bother,” there was a touch of gleeful mockery in Nat’s voice. “The kitchen light works okay, just follow me. I hope all your shots are up to date.” He crunched his way down the dark passageway.
Gordon followed, wondering what he was crushing underfoot. It didn’t sound good. Staring around the tiny kitchen he felt his vexation edge up the scale. The piled debris of weeks cluttered the sink and every available surface. The note he'd posted through the door the evening before was scattered in torn remnants across the floor. He didn’t attempt to pick it up. Judging from the way his feet were sticking to the surface it would be a virtually impossible task. It had become an indelible part of the filthy collage that constituted Nat’s kitchen floor. “Don’t you ever wash up or clean in here?”
“Nah, it only gets mucky again, so why bother.” Nat lurched for the fridge, “anyway, the germs reach a certain level and then they start eating each other. Before you know it they’ve cleaned themselves up. It’s a perfectly balanced ecological system. I should be nominated for a Greenpeace award really.”
Gordon was unimpressed with Nat’s environmental theory. “So, your diary, the one you fill in outlining the tasks you complete on a day to day basis has been a total fabrication?”
“Yep,” Nat’s head was thrust inside the fridge as he foraged for something in its unhygienic depths, but there was a cheeky grin in his voice. “I just tell you and dear John what you want to hear. It keeps you happy, a job well done, a soul saved, a nutter rehabilitated and all that shit.”
Scanning the kitchen Gordon located two brown bottles of pills. Checking the dates and tipping the contents of first one and then the other into his hand his quick calculations confirmed his suspicion that Nathaniel had not been taking his medication properly for some time. Little wonder his mood was out of kilter. He slipped the bottles into his pocket just as Nat emerged from the fridge holding a beer bottle in his hand. “I told you that you’d had enough to drink.” He plucked the bottle from his hand ignoring the yelp of indignation. “This place is disgusting,” he deposited the bottle in the smelly, overflowing waste bin. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gone down with something. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that fact already.” Nat’s sarcastic retort turned into another yelp, his eyes widening with shock, as for the second time that weekend a granite hand exploded onto his rear. “Fuck, I wish you’d stop doing that!”
“Get some things together,” said Gordon sternly, “pyjamas, a change of clothes. You’re not fit to be left alone. You’re coming back with me where I can keep an eye on you. I'll make sure you keep your appointment with John. You need a review of your medication if nothing else. You haven’t been taking it properly.”
“I don’t f...”
Gordon raised a warning finger. “If the rest of that word emerges I’ll be seriously put out, Nathaniel. I mean it. I've had enough of your behaviour. To call it reckless would be an understatement.”
Nat erupted. “Who do you think you are, Mr Squeaky Clean, swanning back from India like some Maharaja, then coming in here and laying down the law about what I drink and what I say? This is my dump. If I want to fucking swear and drink in it I fucking will. And if you don’t like it you can fuck off, because it’s none of your business!” He plunged a hand into the bin and retrieved the bottle of brown ale before savagely booting the bin onto its side, spilling still more rubbish onto the floor. He then began scrabbling among the dirty crockery in search of the bottle opener.
Gordon went over to the sink, quickly rinsing the sour dishcloth under the tap. Pulling out one of the grubby kitchen chairs he wiped it down and then dried it.
The floor was dirty, very dirty. Nat hadn’t really noticed just how filthy it was until his nose hovered inches above its germ-encrusted surface. He was slightly puzzled as to why he was seeing it from this strange angle. He hadn’t popped anything but prescription drugs for a good while, and not too many of those. An almighty wallop landed on the seat of his worn jeans, causing him to emit a gasp. If he was on a trip, it looked like it was going to be an unpleasant one. “Hey,” he spluttered, quickly sobering as another stinging slap landed on his backside. “What are you doing?”
“For heavens sake, Nathaniel, work it out,” said Gordon crisply. “What do you think I’m doing, whistling Dixie? I’m giving you a wake up call. If you insist on behaving like a foul mouthed, bad mannered adolescent, then I’m going to treat you like one. In my philosophy such behaviour deserves a good spanking. You’ve goaded me since the moment you clapped eyes on me and I’m sick of it.”
Gripping Nat firmly around the waist Gordon began slapping his backside hard and fast, until his palm began to sting. Spotting a solid looking plastic spatula lying among the clutter on the Formica table he picked it up. It still had egg and grease traces on it, but that hardly mattered. Nat’s jeans were encrusted with dirt. A few more stains wouldn’t make much difference.
Nathaniel bellowed as the spatula lashed his bottom. Even through his jeans its sting brought water to his eyes. He couldn’t reach back to protect his rear with his hands because of the way he was held over Gordon's lap, but he made good use of his vocal chords and his lower limbs, hollering loudly with one and kicking out wildly with the other. “You can’t do this, you can’t,” he shouted. “It isn’t right.”
“I am doing it and doing it rather well if that isn’t too immodest of me.” Gordon zealously applied the spatula to the jean-clad bottom. “The only thing that isn’t right is your attitude, which I aim to correct.”
Nat’s prayers were seemingly answered when the bulb in the kitchen blew, plunging them into darkness. The spanking ceased.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare light bulb?” Gordon hoisted Nat into a vertical position once more.
“You suppose right,” snapped Nat, furiously rubbing at the heat radiating through the denim fabric of his jeans. “Fucking place eats light bulbs.”
“In that case we’d better sojourn to another room in order to complete this conversation.”
“You’re so cocksure of yourself, aren’t you?” Nathaniel used sarcasm to offset the desire to cry. It was bad enough getting a spanking at his age. He’d be damned if he’d cry over it as well.
“Yes I am and if you’re expecting me to apologise for it then you’ll be very disappointed. You should know me better than that by now.” He searched for Nat’s hand in the dark, grasping it securely. “What exactly am I crunching underfoot,” he demanded to know, as he pulled him towards the living room.
“Glass, if you must know.”
“Glass, where from?”
“The living room door.”
“What is it doing on the hall floor?”
“What do you think it’s doing, Gordon, a fucking impression of a Roman Mosaic? Door glass with delusions of grandeur perhaps, arranging itself into intricate floor designs. Maybe it needs psychiatric assessment?”
“I’m going to wash your mouth out if you use the F word once more today. You’ve got a perfectly adequate vocabulary without resorting to that every five minutes.” Gordon abruptly halted in the dark passage causing Nat to bump into him. His voice took on the qualities of a shard of glass. “I asked you a reasonable and civil question. Why is the glass from the door all over the floor?”
“It’s there because I put it there,” shouted Nat. “Okay. I put it there. I didn’t like the way it looked in the door and I thought it would look better spread across the floor, kind of modern art...ouch!” The dark didn’t prevent Gordon’s hand, which still held the spatula, from locating his backside.
“Give me a civil answer, young man. How did glass come to be lying all over this floor?”
“I bloody hate it when you call me young man. I know you’re older than I am, but not that much older, are you?”
“My age in relationship to yours is immaterial. Now stop prevaricating and answer my question or I’ll be forced to take action.”
“It happened yesterday,” admitted Nat sulkily. “The light in the passage popped. I knew I didn’t have another bulb and I thought it had probably blown the whole circuit, it usually does, and...” he trailed off.
“And what?”
“The glass fell out of the door,” Nat cleared his throat, thankful for the dark which concealed his blushes. “I think it was loose.”
“In other words you kicked out the glass panel in one of your shameful displays of reckless bad temper,” said Gordon calmly. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Not really, just a small cut on my ankle. I’ll live.”
“Had the whole circuit blown?”
“No.” Nat blinked as Gordon located the light switch in the living room. There were a few seconds of heavy silence during which the warmth in Nat’s backside seemed to expand and spread over his entire body and face.
“It’s a pity you didn’t check out your pessimistic theory before going on a temper fuelled rampage. Was one humble little light bulb really worth all this destruction?” Gordon gazed grimly around the devastated room. “This is too bad of you. I really thought you’d put such uncontrolled outbursts behind you.”
“It’s not my fault,” muttered Nat.
“Oh, and whose fault is it then?”
Nat gave a petulant little shrug, “manic rage. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Absolute tosh!”
The mystery of the non-ringing telephone was solved as Gordon spotted it on top of an overturned armchair, its wires wrenched out. “A mammoth tantrum,” he said quietly. “That’s what this is. One long, disgraceful fit of pique that has nothing to do with light bulbs or anything else. You know it and I know it.” He tossed the spatula onto the couch.
“I prefer to see it as an artistic expression of emotional turmoil. I could probably get a grant from the Arts Council in order to mount an exhibition. I could end up becoming famous.”
“You're not clever, Nathaniel." Gordon shook his head sadly, “look me in the eyes and tell me that you seriously believe there's anything amusing or acceptable about acts of vandalism. People worked hard to get you set up in this flat when you left the hospital. I personally wrote recommendations. You promised to look after it as well as look after yourself.”
“Go home," Nat thrust his hands into his pockets. "You've done your good deed for the day and preached your little sermon, so fuck off and leave me alone to enjoy my squalor in peace."
“I haven't quite done sermonising yet.”
Nat gave a cry of fright as Gordon suddenly grabbed the waistband of his jeans, “what the hell are you doing?” He pulled his hands out of his pockets, but not fast enough to prevent his jeans from being unfastened and yanked down.
Gordon raised an eyebrow as he noted that Nat wore no underwear. “Saves me some effort I suppose.” He sat down on the rumpled couch, easily manhandling Nat into position across his knees.
“Stop it,” shouted Nat trying desperately to lever himself up. “You can't do this.”
“Watch me," Gordon snatched up the spatula. Holding it aloft he said softly, “I declare this marathon sulking session officially closed.”
Nat yelled as plastic collided with flesh. The sting had been notable enough over his jeans, but on his unprotected buttocks it was fearsome.
“You’ve behaved disgracefully while I’ve been away.” Gordon vigorously spanked every inch of Nat’s bare bottom. “Not attending your appointments, not taking your tablets, throwing in your college course, your job, not looking after yourself or your home. You’ve deliberately sabotaged all your hard won achievements. You've let down all the people who have cared for you and about you, and most of all you’ve let yourself down. I want an explanation.”
Nat’s throat ached with the effort of holding back the tears he’d been fighting since setting eyes on Gordon outside the cinema. “You dumped me,” he croaked. “You passed me onto John like I didn’t matter. Then you went off to bloody India for three months, like some latter day hippie. You rejected me!”
Gordon walloped the makeshift paddle down harder still, deepening the colour of Nat’s buttocks by several shades of red. “I did no such thing. There isn’t even a modicum of truth in those words. You knew that ethically speaking I could not continue to have direct care of you, not once I knew for certain that the attraction I felt for you was mutual. As for the India trip, it had been planned for the best part of eighteen months. Even before we admitted our feelings for each other you knew I’d be going away and that you’d have to see someone else for a while. You told me you were fine with that.”
“You didn’t have to go!” Nat screeched, as the spatula began to pay meticulous attention to the tender under curves of his backside making them burn. “You should have cancelled it.”
“True, I didn’t have to go. I could have just let down the people who had helped me arrange it and who were looking forward to my input. I could have thrown away the money it had cost, lost the opportunities it offered, but the fact is I wanted to go. I needed to go. Do my needs not matter to you, Nathaniel? I told you how important the trip was to me and you told me that you understood. Are you now saying that wasn’t true, and that your needs were more important than mine?”
The pain in Nat’s backside reached unbearable levels and his tears refused to be held back for a second longer, spurting from his eyes. “I didn’t want you to go,” he wept. “I was afraid that once you got out there you’d have time to think about what had happened between us. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come back, not for a loser like me anyway. And I was right wasn’t I. I was right.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Gordon stopped smacking the scarlet bottom.
“You promised faithfully that you were coming back, but you lied,” sobbed Nat, finally managing to get a hand back to clutch his tortured backside. “I found out your home address and I went to your house a few weeks after you left. I thought seeing where you lived would make you feel closer, but when I got there it had a For Sale sign up.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“It means you’re going back out there permanently. It means that you lied to me, you rotten sod.”
“Does it indeed.” Gordon rearranged Nat over his knee, securing him more firmly. “Tell me, did you receive the letter I sent?”
“Let me up, you big bastard!”
“No. Answer the question. Did you get my letter?”
“Yes.”
“So how come you’ve reached the conclusion that selling my house, which incidentally has been on the market for over six months, meant I planned to return to India on a permanent basis?”
Nat’s attempts to maintain a dignified silence lasted only as long as it took Gordon to bring the hateful spatula back into play. It hurt so damn much and he shrieked afresh as it contacted his buttocks.
“You didn’t read it.” Gordon flung aside the spatula and reverted to using his hand, feeling a need to express his disappointment and disapproval more intimately, flesh to flesh. “You didn’t read it, you bad, bad boy,” his hand smacked down hard on the hot bottom. “You didn’t read it did you?”
“No,” howled Nat. “I thought it was a Dear John letter. I couldn’t bear to read it.” The painful onslaught on his backside suddenly ceased and he was hauled upright.
“Pull up your trousers,” ordered Gordon, “and then get me the letter if you can locate it in this stinking hell hole, bring it to me.”
Nat quickly fastened his jeans and then rubbed a trembling hand across his flushed, tear soaked face. “Who do you think you are, hitting me like that and ordering me around?”
“I know who I am. I’m someone who cares for you very deeply. And I didn’t hit you. I disciplined you. That spanking was well deserved and long overdue. If you don’t do as you’re told and get that letter, you’ll be getting another one.”
“I can’t get it. I destroyed it. It came a few days after I saw that your house was for sale. I was upset. I thought you were writing to say you’d made a mistake and....” he trailed off, shivering under the intense coldness of Gordon’s eyes.
“Do you think I was lying when I told you that I returned your feelings wholeheartedly? Did my words lack sincerity? Even if your suppositions were true, do you really think I’m so fickle, so cowardly that I’d send you a letter rather than speak to you personally?”
Nat began to weep harder. “You didn’t exactly dash around to see me when you got back from India, did you? You obviously broke your neck to see John though. How else would you know about my missing appointments and everything?”
Gordon ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m not prepared to discuss the matter any further, not here. Get some things together.”
“I haven’t got any things to get together.” Nat felt a flush of shame suddenly overcome him. “Not clean things anyway. I’m a bit behind with the washing and such like. Do you think I’d go around with no undies on in the middle of winter if I didn’t have to?”
Gordon shook his head, “I’m saddened by your behaviour, Nathaniel. I really am, and disgusted too. You’re capable of so much more than this. Get your laundry together then. You can do it at my place.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.” Nat didn’t hesitate.
Gordon’s patience handed in its resignation with immediate effect. Swiftly whisking Nat around he walloped a hand across his bottom several times and then whisked him back again, wagging a finger under his nose. “Then stop game playing. Go and get your things together and do it quickly or I’ll turn you back over my knee in order to demonstrate what a real grown up spanking feels like.”
Gordon pulled the door of the flat closed and checked it was locked properly. “You’ll clean that place from top to bottom tomorrow and arrange to put right all the damage, it’s second on the list of priorities after your appointment at the hospital. Make no mistake,” he looked squarely at Nat. “If you ever behave like that again I will paddle your bare backside until sitting is something that others do while you can only look on in envy. Is that very clear?”
Nat nodded, his stomach playing host to a confusion of butterflies. The threat scared, annoyed and excited him all at the same time, sprinkling his skin with goosebumps, but then Gordon had always had that effect on him, right from day one. It suddenly occurred to him that he barely knew him, not as a man separate from his work persona. Their relationship had crossed the professional boundary, but was still on the threshold of real intimacy. They had a lot to learn about each other.
As they climbed into the car the first snowflakes began to fall, thickening by the second. Neither of them spoke and their silence seemed accentuated by the snow, as it spiralled and danced in the car headlights. Gordon kept his eyes on the road and his expression in neutral, but Nat, glancing at him from beneath lowered lashes, sensed that there was a lot going on beneath the calm surface. He replayed the scene that had just taken place inside the flat. He hadn’t liked the spanking, it had been painful, but he'd deserved it. Gordon knew exactly why he’d behaved the way he had. It wasn't from inability, or incompetence or illness, but because he’d wanted to get back at him for going away. He’d known instinctively that the best way to hurt Gordon was to hurt himself. Nat kept his head down, fighting a fresh wave of tears. He wanted to say sorry, but somehow the word seemed inadequate and shallow. He stayed quiet, staring out at the falling snow, watching it mark the air with frenetic patterns.
Gordon inserted his key into the lock of his front door, opening it with fluid ease. Stepping inside he switched the hall light on and then gave a small smile, motioning Nat forward as he hesitated. “Come in. Let’s get the door closed against this weather. Go upstairs and take a hot shower. There are plenty of towels in the bathroom airing cupboard. Leave those dirty clothes out on the landing. They can go in with your other stuff. I'll make a guest bed up for you later. There are two spare rooms. Choose one. ”
“You’re very dictatorial, aren’t you, out of the consulting room as well as in it?”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned it before,” said Gordon cheerfully. “It’s one of my attractions. Besides you need someone to dictate to you.” He pointed towards the stairs. “Off you go, mush-mush.”
Standing under the stream of warm water in the shower Nat gently kneaded his bottom cheeks, which were still sore. He’d always imagined that being spanked by another man would be an erotic experience. He’d actually fantasised a time or two about Gordon doing that very thing, probably because his confident, domineering manner hinted at ability in that direction and Nat had latched onto it. However, the reality had not met the fantasy. The spanking had been carried out with startling efficiency and it had felt like punishment and not titillation. Pain and pleasure were related, but just where one sensation gave way to another was unclear. Perhaps it was rooted in atmosphere, mood and intention? Gordon’s intentions had certainly not leaned towards giving pleasure that much was crystal clear.
After showering he sat miserably on the edge of the unmade bed in his chosen guestroom, wondering whether he could go down and face the man who had just spanked him to tears. The man he’d longed to see for so many weeks. The man whose voice he’d ached to hear, whose face he pictured night after night, and who, he realised, he’d let down very badly. Tears threatened again and Nat lay back on the bed staring up at the ceiling with blurred vision. He’d messed everything up as usual. Gordon would probably review his plans to stay in England after this. He would lose him before he’d even properly gained him.
An appetising smell drifted up the stairs and Nat’s deprived stomach growled a demand. He sat up, reaching for the shirt that had been left out for him to wear in lieu of clean clothing of his own. It was no use hiding. Knowing Gordon, he’d only come up and get him anyway. This thought actually lent Nathaniel courage. It was true. Gordon would come up and get him. He might have disciplined him, but there had been no hint of contempt in the action. It was over and done with. There was no need to hide. He smiled as he buttoned the shirt up, his cock twitching pleasure at the knowledge that Gordon himself had worn it. He headed for the kitchen, following the smell like a Bisto Kid.
Gordon looked up as Nat put in an appearance, standing shyly in the kitchen doorway. He stared. Never had that pale blue heavy cotton shirt looked as devastatingly sexy on him as it now looked on Nathaniel with the sleeves folded back and the hem poised just above his knees. He was a beautiful boy with his dark almost black hair and dusk blue eyes fringed with heavy lashes. He’d thought so from the moment they’d met on a gloomy hospital ward two years earlier. Back then it had been a detached observation, but not anymore. Personal feelings had gradually edged aside professional detachment and he had to face the fact that he’d fallen in love with a patient.
“Smells good.” Nat ventured further into the brightly lit kitchen.
“Just canned soup and sandwiches. I’m not much of a culinary master…ouch!” He dropped the knife with a clatter as it sliced through the end of his thumb instead of the tomato he’d been slicing when Nat walked into the kitchen. Blood spurted.
“Let me see.” Taking hold of Gordon’s left hand Nat inspected the damage. “It doesn’t look too bad. Have you got any tape?”
“There's a first aid box in there,” Gordon nodded towards a cupboard below the sink. He put the damaged thumb in his mouth to suck away the blood, watching Nat journey across the kitchen to get the box. It had been a while since he’d had a lover and his cock hardened reminding him of the deficit.
Nat gently stuck the edges of the Elastoplast down. “That should hold it.”
“Thank you.” Gordon smiled and his arm, which seemed to have found its way around Nat’s waist, tightened. He drew him close to his body feeling the intense rhythm of his own heart echoed by that of Nathaniel’s as it pounded in his chest. “You look barely legal dressed up in that shirt.” He gently brushed a lock of hair away from Nat’s eyes.
“I am though,” whispered Nat huskily, tilting his head at an inviting angle.
Gordon was on the verge of accepting the invitation when a sudden angry hissing startled them both and they drew quickly apart.
“Dam!” Gordon made a lunge for the cooker, “the soup has boiled over.” He removed the pan from the ring and then turned his attentions back to Nat. “Sit down,” he ordered, pulling out a chair out for him. “You look a bit shaky.”
Nat sat down carefully at the table, still conscious of some tenderness in his hindquarters. He was also conscious of how ravenously hungry he was, waiting with barely concealed impatience as Gordon shared the vegetable soup between two bowls, finally setting one before him. He picked up his spoon and began to wolf it down. A few minutes later he was heaving chunks of carrot, potatoes and peas into the sink.
“When did you actually last eat something?” Gordon wiped Nat’s sweating face with a handful of damp paper kitchen towels.
Nat picked up a tone in Gordon’s voice that told of reawakened displeasure. He gave a cautious shrug.
“How long?” The displeasure became still more evident.
“Promise you won’t be cross with me again?”
“No, and if I have to repeat the question again I’ll be more than cross.”
Nat began shaking like the last leaf on a tree in an autumn gale. “I’ve been too miserable to eat much. I’ve missed you.” Tears began to slide rapidly down his pale cheeks. “I thought you were never coming home and then when I finally saw you yesterday I thought I was hallucinating.”
“How long, Nathaniel?” The voice was quiet, gentle, but held a note of authority that could not be ignored.
“Two maybe three days.”
With his nose perched a few inches above its surface, Nat conceded that Gordon’s kitchen floor was indeed much cleaner than his own. His admiration of its pristine state was cut short as the hem of the shirt was flipped up and a hand descended on his bare bottom. He gave a howl of anguish, but that didn’t stop the hand rising and descending a good dozen or more times leaving his buttocks hot and stinging all over again. The floor then disappeared from view and he suddenly found himself sitting on the lap he’d just been bent over. The transition from front to rump hurt, but he didn’t dare say so, not with a pair of ice blue eyes fiercely glaring at him.
“I love you.” Gordon wiped Nat’s tears with more efficiency than gentleness. “I adore you, but if you ever neglect to feed and care for yourself, either physically or emotionally, again, I will flay skin from your bottom, especially if you do it as a means of revenge on me. Do you understand?”
Nat nodded his understanding with alacrity.
Gordon took a deep breath, caressing Nat’s face with his fingers. “Don’t you think I missed you too? If you’d bothered to actually read the contents of the letter instead of surmising them, you’d have known exactly when I was due home, and you’d have been at the airport to meet me the day before yesterday.” The vivid eyes flickered, “I walked miles in the heat to mail that wretched letter. The journey home to England was bearable only because I thought I’d see you at the end of it. How did you think I felt when you weren’t there? I felt deeply hurt, just as I felt hurt when I saw how you’d conducted yourself while I was away. That was your objective though, wasn’t it, darling, to hurt me. You wanted to get back at me for going ahead with the trip, and also because you feared that my declaration wasn’t as real as yours, isn’t that true?”
Nat reached his arms around Gordon’s neck. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry about the letter, about not being there to meet you, about everything. You’re right. I was scared you said you had feelings for me only out of pity, and that once you were away from me you’d regret saying you wanted a relationship. It seemed better to be angry than frightened, a kind of self-defence against inevitable abandonment.” He gave a derogatory little laugh, “I mean why would you want a relationship with me? I’m a useless idiot.”
“You’re not perfect, neither am I, but you are neither useless nor an idiot. I don’t want to hear you use those terms in relation to yourself again. You have to trust me, Nat, trust me completely. Just because something doesn’t go the way you’d prefer it to go at any given time doesn’t amount to a rejection.” Wrapping his arms more tightly around Nat’s waist, he said seriously. “I think what you need more than anything in your life is structure, stability, a lot of love and a measure of discipline. I can provide all that, if you allow it.”
Gordon wasn’t sure who made the first move. He only knew that when their lips met he thought he’d pass out with excitement. It was the most passionate kiss he’d ever experienced, and he’d had his share of kisses. “Stay with me, Nathaniel,” he finally caught his breath enough to speak, “stay with me always.”
“I love you.” Nat’s heart was working overtime and his light-headedness was due in no part to hunger, “but what about your work? Even if I discharge myself from the system it will still be difficult for you. Having a homosexual affair is considered bad enough in most people’s books, but having one with someone who was a patient will cause a real scandal for you. The health authority might dismiss you for professional misconduct. I couldn’t bear to be responsible for putting you through that.”
Gordon laid a finger against Nat’s lips, “they can’t. I’ve resigned. I served out my notice in India. That’s another thing you would have learned had you read that letter. I’m happy to have done so. Therefore no misplaced guilt is required or desired on your part. Incidentally, let’s get one thing clear. You are not yet ready to be fully discharged. You need clinical support and you need it from someone who is able to detach themselves from you in a way I can never do again.”
A hint of sulkiness crept into Nat’s voice. “So I’m stuck with old sober sides John?”
“No,” Gordon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s stuck with you. You owe him several apologies for wasting his precious time and for using him as a scapegoat for your disgruntlement with life. You’re keeping that appointment tomorrow. You’re going to be charm itself and if you’re not, you’ll have me to deal with. John’s a good friend as well as a colleague. He would have helped and supported you during our separation if you’d given him half a chance.”
Nat’s stomach cut short the lecture by suddenly giving an enormous growl. Gordon grinned, “you sound like the present I brought you back.”
“A present? It has to be a tiger if it growls and it’s from India.”
Gordon pulled a face, “it might be an elephant with stomach ache. Anyway, I’m not telling and you’re not getting it until you’ve had something to eat, after which you’re going straight to bed. You look exhausted, you’ve got dark shadows under your eyes.”
Nat scowled, “does extreme bossiness come naturally to you, or is it something you’ve worked hard to achieve?”
“A natural gift I believe and you like it, so don’t pretend otherwise.”
Nat ran seductive fingers through Gordon’s thick fair hair, “you can’t send me to bed oh dominant one, because you haven't made one up for me yet.”
Gordon lightly kissed Nat’s throat, “as we’ve just become betrothed I think it perfectly appropriate that you consider my bed to be our bed from now on.”
“Betrothed!” Nat laughed delightedly. “I like it. Do you promise not to molest me?”
“Yes,” sighed Gordon. “I promise. However,” he twirled the ends of an imaginary villainous moustache, “the promise is only good until a second after midnight. After that I am no longer in the employ of anyone but myself. You will no longer be my patient and I am therefore free to ravish you completely and without mercy.”
“I can’t wait. I’ve fantasised about it ever since that first stolen little kiss in your office the week before you went away.” Nat rested his head against Gordon’s shoulder, “where are you going to live when you sell your house. Are you planning on moving into my place?”
“I wouldn’t move a rat into your place, not after the state you’ve let it get in. Don’t worry I’ve got plans, which you’d...”
“…have known about had I read your letter instead of tearing it into confetti. Are you ever going to let me forget that letter?”
“No.” Gordon tried to look serious, but failed. “Eventually perhaps, once the six mile round trip in the sweltering heat on foot has faded from my memory. Jump up now, sweetheart, before you get me too excited to walk let alone keep my promise not to molest you. I want to heat you some more soup. We’ll take it more slowly this time.”
“It’s got your colour eyes.” Nat squeezed the plush Bengal Tiger, grinning as a roar reverberated around the bedroom. “It growls like you too.” Kneeling up on the bed he hooked an arm around Gordon’s neck and kissed him, “thank you. It’s beautiful. I love it and I’ll treasure it always.” He lay back down on the bed, suddenly tired. “Don’t leave me up here on my own. I want you near me. I’ve waited long enough.”
“I’ve got some paperwork that needs to be completed and taken to the hospital tomorrow. I can just as easily do it up here. I’ll finish off downstairs first. Keep the bed warm for me.”
Nat was sound asleep, the toy tiger clutched to his chest when Gordon re-entered the bedroom less that half an hour later. Slipping into bed beside him he was conscious of a deep sense of peace and happiness. This beautiful man was his soul mate. Nat seemed to sense he was there, instinctively moving closer.
“So this is it.” Nat gazed up at the big Victorian house with interest. “Needs a lot of work.”
“How do you know,” teased Gordon. “You haven’t been inside yet?”
“I can sense it.” Nat slipped an arm through Gordon’s and leaned against him. “The house is talking to me. It wants us to move in and make it live again. Look at its friendly expression. If ever a house was capable of smiling, this is it.”
“I know what you mean,” Gordon gazed at the house. “I liked it the moment I saw it. I felt a connection, irrational though that sounds.” He rummaged in his coat pocket for the door keys. “Let’s get inside before we freeze. The central heating is a bit archaic, but it functions well enough for the time being.”
“Home!” Nat stepped over the threshold, halting abruptly in the hallway turning lustrous eyes on his partner. “I really feel that I’m home.”
Gordon caught him in his arms. “We’re both home,” he said, kissing Nat’s lips. “Come on, my bonny man. I’ll show you upstairs first.”
Nat gave a sigh of deep contentment. “I suppose this ought to be our bedroom seeing as we’ve just made love in it.”
Gordon pulled him closer against his side. “We’ve had sex of one kind and another in three of the bedrooms so far.”
“I know, but I feel we really peaked in here.”
“This is definitely our room then.” Gordon gave his watch a glance. “I suppose we ought to do some shopping. Our love might keep us warm, but it will do nothing to fill our stomachs. We need foodstuff for over the holiday.”
“You can shop. I’ve done enough today. I had John bending my ear for an hour, and then you made me clean the flat from top to bottom and didn’t raise a finger to help.”
“I wasn’t going to ruin my best suit by doing housework in it, besides I wasn’t responsible for the mess it was in.”
“I could argue that point.”
“And I could spank you and stand you in a corner for half an hour or so in order to mull over the nature of responsibility.”
“I’ll shut up then.”
“Very wise,” Gordon grinned. “Let’s have five more minutes then we’ll have to move.” They cuddled together in pleasurable silence enjoying the intimacy of skin against skin.
“HOPE!” Nat suddenly sat up straight and said the single word in Archimedean fashion.
“Hope what?” A puzzled Gordon sought clarification.
“The name for the house, we’ve got to have a name.” Nathaniel lay back down on the pile of blankets they’d improvised as a bed. “Do you remember when I tried to tell you how I felt when I had my breakdown? How all the things I’d crammed and hidden away inside my mind suddenly came tumbling out, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I felt like I’d opened Pandora’s box and unleashed all manner of bad things that I could never defeat.” He stopped speaking, fighting a sudden surge of emotion as old pain re-visited.
Gordon took hold of his hands and held them, “it’s all right,” he said gently. “Take your time. I’m listening.”
“You said that then as well. I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” Nat smiled shakily as he got himself under control. “You knelt down in front of me and you took my hands and you asked me if I knew what the last thing was to flitter from Pandora’s box. Do you remember what it was, Gordon?”
“Of course I do. Hope was the last thing out of the box. The one thing that could help the world bear all the unhappiness unleashed by poor Pandora. Hope House. Yes,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I like that very much. Hope House it is.”
Nat smiled, kissed Gordon on the lips and then said somewhat regretfully, “I suppose we really should be making a move to get dressed and go into town. I haven’t got you a Christmas present yet and I’d love to get a Christmas tree, our first in this house, and some baubles and tinsel, and of course a turkey and trimmings and some mince pies. I like mince pies, especially with cream, we need chocolate too, ooh and wine and…what are you grinning at?”
“You and your ever expanding shopping list, you’ll bankrupt us at this rate. The shops will be open for another hour or so. We’ll probably get some bargains. As for a present for me, there’s no need, none at all.” Gordon caressed Nat’s face, “you’ve just named our house. Along with you that’s more than gift enough for me. You can wrap and seal it with a kiss or two.” He drew the blankets up around them both.
Gordon and Nat’s discipline relationship is tested when a conflict of interest arises between them and Gordon exercises his Alpha status
Nat stopped playing, his heart quickening as a pair of familiar shoes halted on the pavement in front of him. It wasn’t so much the shoes that caused his heart to pick up pace, as the feet contained within them or more accurately the person attached to those feet. Keeping his eyes fixed on the shoes he said, “you didn’t mention that you were coming into town. I thought you had a client booked in for this afternoon?”
“Something came up and she phoned to rearrange the appointment. I thought I’d just nip out to get your prescription filled. The prescription you left on the kitchen dresser, the one you were supposed to get on your way home, after…” the shoes put heavy emphasis on the next words…“completing your research in the library.” There was a loaded pause and then. “I didn’t realise the library had gone open air, and not a book in sight. Most interesting.”
Nat scowled at the shoes. “I did go to the library, but it was full of noisy school kids. I couldn’t concentrate, so I left.”
The shoes expressed scepticism at Nat’s claim. “I suppose you just happened to have your guitar and a collecting tin with you on the off chance that the library would be full of noisy school kids?” Nat didn’t reply. Gordon stooped and picked up the collection tin, peering inside. It contained a fair array of coins. The fast approaching season prompted people to generosity on a larger than usual scale, especially if cajoled by a tune to match the sentiments of the season, and even more so if the busker was as boyishly attractive as Nat was in his shabby jeans and oversized shirt. Tipping the coins into his hand he then slipped them into his coat pocket. Glancing quickly around he spotted what he wanted and walked over, depositing the tin into a convenient litterbin.
Nat watched from beneath lowered lashes as the shoes made their way back to him. So far he had not raised his eyes above their level. “I liked that tin,” he addressed them resentfully. “It was my lucky tin. We’ve been together for ages.”
“You’d been together since yesterday evening when you polished off the mint humbugs it contained. Apart from that, inanimate objects of any description do not possess the power to change fortunes either for the good or for the bad. Besides,” there was a hint of crispness in the voice, “it doesn’t seem to have proven lucky today, certainly not in one respect. Get up. We’re going home.”
“What about my money? I earned that.”
“Earned isn’t perhaps the word I’d choose and while I fully acknowledge your claim on it, I haven’t yet decided whether that claim deserves to be honoured in view of the circumstances. It’s something I’m going to have to give serious thought to. Now get up. I won’t tell you again.”
Nathaniel rose to his feet, picking up the jacket he’d been using as a cushion and slipping it on before silently following Gordon across the road to the car parked by the cinema. He put his guitar on the back seat along with the thick strand of sparkling silver tinsel he’d been wearing in place of a scarf. People liked a little bit of window dressing at Christmastime. He climbed in the front of the car. The journey home was quietly tense with both driver and passenger keeping their eyes fixed straight ahead.
As soon as they got indoors Gordon helped Nat out of his jacket with customary courtesy plus a hint of crossness as he observed, “you’re stone cold.”
“No doubt you’re looking forward to rectifying that, at least for one part of my anatomy.”
“Don’t push me, Nathaniel, not in the circumstances.”
“I’m sorry.” Nat looked Gordon in the face properly for the first time since being discovered outside the cinema.
Gordon nodded a stiff acceptance of the apology, “go and shower.” He touched his fingers lightly to Nat’s face, his demeanour softening. “Go on, darling. It’ll help warm you through. I’ll make a start on dinner and then we’ll discuss things. Okay?”
“Okay.” Nat made an effort to smile, but didn’t quite succeed. He headed upstairs, cursing himself for having forgotten to pick up his prescription before leaving the house earlier.
“I’m not really hungry,” Nat put his fork down, “do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Gordon gave a ghost of a smile. “I admit that it isn’t one of my better culinary efforts. I can’t get to grips with rice, it always ends up sticky.”
“It’s not that. Your cooking is definitely getting better. I just don’t have much appetite. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. Nothing’s wasted. I’ve got a therapy group at St Gile’s tomorrow afternoon. I’ll take the leftovers.”
Nat nodded, then chewed miserably at his lower lip. He wanted things over with. When it came to punishment he preferred it to be instant. A swift execution dealt and accepted without ritualised delay for ‘discussion.’
Gordon understood and put down his own fork, getting to business. “Have you anything you want to tell me, anything you want to say about this afternoon?”
Nat shook his head and Gordon frowned. “So, lying aside, you broke our agreement for no particular reason?”
“I didn’t lie, not exactly. I didn’t think we had an agreement actually.” Nat spoke slowly, as if he were thinking carefully about each word before saying it. “Not as such. You voiced your concerns. I said that it was probably a one off incident and I was fine with it, and it most likely wouldn’t...”
Gordon interrupted. “I’m not concerned with ‘probably’ and ‘likely.’ I’m concerned with facts and the fact remains that it wasn’t a one off incident. The man poses a genuine threat. He’s hassled you on several occasions and last time it was more than just verbal hassle. In my opinion he has an aggressive fixation with you and such fixations tend to become increasingly unstable. He knows you’re regularly out there on the streets and he’s watching for you. Next time you might not be able to deflect the punches he throws at you and there might not be other people around to intervene on your behalf. I thought we decided...”
It was Nat’s turn to interrupt. “You said that you’d prefer me not to busk anymore, but you didn’t directly forbid me, not in so many words. And I made no promises as I recall.”
Gordon’s face darkened. “All right. If that’s the way you want to play it. I thought we’d discussed it and come to an agreement, but obviously not. Though to my mind the fact that you felt you had to be deceitful about your activities this afternoon indicates otherwise. I’ll accept that perhaps I failed to make my position clear enough. I apologise. Let me see if I can rectify that mistake. I forbid you to go busking again. Play your guitar in the house for personal pleasure by all means, but no more busking outside. Is that plain enough, Nathaniel? I totally forbid you to engage in this activity ever, ever again.”
“On what grounds?”
“I don’t need to give you grounds. The fact that I say so should be enough. You do not question my authority, that’s the first rule of our relationship.”
Nat experienced a gut twist of mixed emotion as Gordon plainly stated his dominance. In theory he fully accepted his partner’s rank and the overall structure of their lifestyle together. However, theory was one thing and practice was quite another, especially in circumstances involving a direct conflict of interest. The truth of the matter was simple. His partner’s dominance wasn’t convenient at this point in time. It wasn’t wanted. He belligerently stuck his chin out, “is that your way of saying you have no specific reason other than a need to flex your authoritarian muscles and put me in my humble place?”
Gordon’s eyes chilled down further and he bestowed upon Nat a look more dangerous than icicles on a schoolhouse roof. “If a stated reason is what you need then I’ll give you one. My primary reason is your safety, something you frequently have scant personal regard for. However, that said, I have never been happy with you busking. I think it keeps you tied to another time and another place and as such it prevents you from fully moving on in an emotional sense. You persuaded me that wasn’t the case. I believe I was wrong to accept your argument and had I stuck to my guns this situation would not have arisen in the first place. It’s not as if you really need to earn money by busking, not now that you have the job at The Reindeer to supplement your grant. The matter ends here. You will not do it again, and for deliberately misleading me about this afternoon I’m grounding you for two weeks.”
“Two weeks! You can’t be bloody serious?” Nat’s stomach contracted sharply, this time with an uncomplicated single emotion-anger. “I’d rather receive corporal punishment than be grounded for that length of time.”
“If you speak to me in that disrespectful tone again I’ll certainly oblige you as far as a spanking goes, but it will be in addition to grounding you and not instead of. Is that what you want?”
Nathaniel shook his head, recognising that the ground beneath his feet was in danger of turning to quick sand.
“Have you finished eating, do you want anything else?”
Nat again shook his head.
“Then I suggest you go to bed and by suggest I mean do it.”
Nat flung his chair back with such violence that it overturned. Storming out of the kitchen he slammed the door behind him. Gordon hastened after him, catching him before he reached midway up the stairs. Taking his arm he briskly escorted him back to the kitchen. Picking up the abused chair he manoeuvred him back down onto it. “You’ll leave this room in a befitting manner and not like a spoilt, hormonally overloaded teenager.”
Nat thumped a temper-laden fist down onto the table, “so some nutter has hassled me a few times, so he threw a punch last time. Big fucking deal. He lost his temper when I gave him some verbal back. It doesn’t mean he’ll do it again. I’m not a baby. I can look out for myself. I survived living on the streets for Christ’s sake!”
“The subject is closed. Is that CLEAR?”
Gordon raising his voice, a rare occurrence, was enough to sober Nat. He nodded and then sat silently glaring at the tabletop, fighting a powerful urge to swipe everything from it. He knew from sad experience that the satisfactory moment of temper indulgence would not be worth the consequences that would inevitably follow.
He made a concerted effort to calm himself, going through the management routine, unclenching his jaw and hands, relaxing his muscles, taking deep, slow breaths from the stomach and not the chest. Once he’d composed himself he got up pushing the chair back under the table, walking sedately across the kitchen and up the hall and then the stairs. He longed to thump a protest onto every step with his feet, but didn’t, because Gordon would make him go back to the bottom and walk up them again, and again, until he did it in an approved manner. He’d gone through that battle of wills more than once and he never won.
Sitting on his side of the bed he picked up the tiger toy that had been a gift from Gordon. He stared into its immovable bright blue eyes for a few moments and then buried his face in its soft pile, giving way to a bout of frustrated tears.
Downstairs, Gordon began to clear away the debris of the evening meal, scraping the contents of one plate on top of another. He then scraped the lot into a plastic bin outside the back door. The pigs at St. Giles’s psychiatric hospital farm always had an increase in their diet when it was his turn to cook. At least Sandy, a member of the therapy group, would be happy. Gordon permitted himself a small smile as he thought of the shy man who preferred animals to humans. Sandy’s porcine friends were among the few, possibly the only fans of his culinary efforts. Though it had to be said, he gave himself credit where credit was due, he did a pretty mean French toast and no one could open and heat a tin of soup with the same panache as he could.
After filling the sink with hot water in preparation for washing up, he focussed his thoughts on the man upstairs. Had he over reacted to the situation? Was he being dictatorial just for the sake of it? No. The answer came back at once, unequivocal. He washed the plates, putting them onto the drainer. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Nathaniel had indeed gone to the library, as he said he had. He also didn’t doubt he had then turned right round and gone to do what he had intended to do all along. He had deliberately manipulated the situation and he deserved to be disciplined for that alone. As for the ban, he pressed his lips together. The ban was necessary to ensure Nat’s safety. He wasn’t being dictatorial just for the sake of it. He was fulfilling his agreed role as caretaker, which by its nature incorporated the role of disciplinarian as and when necessary.
Putting the last cup on the draining board, Gordon dried his hands and then went across the hall to his study. He gazed around with appreciation. Nat had done a fine job with the décor. Its warm and restful shades created a pleasant environment to work in. He was working wonders with the house in general. It was amazing just how much difference a bit of paint and paper could make to a room. Hope House was gradually becoming a real home.
As the evening wore on, his glance kept wandering from the case notes on his desk to the empty leather armchair in the corner of the room. Feeling suddenly cold he got up drawing the curtains across the tall windows before turning the gas fire on. Its flickering warmth soon took the chilly edge from the room, but it still lacked something and that something was upstairs and no doubt sulking. More often than not Nat kept him company as he worked, curling up quietly in the chair, reading and studying for the sociology and psychology degree that he’d undertaken in September. The subdued hiss of the fire provided a comfortable background noise that seemed to bind them together. It was one of the best bits of winter evenings, that shared, cosy companionship.
After completing the last of his client notes Gordon filed them away, and then stretched, feeling a twinge of stiffness in his neck and shoulders. Turning off the fire and the lights and making sure everything was locked up safely, he then went into the kitchen to collect Nat’s evening medication. He took it upstairs, opening the bedroom door, expecting to find him reading as was permitted when a particularly early night had been imposed. The room was empty and the bed pristine. He sat down on it, taking a few calming breaths. It seemed that Nat had declared a battle of wills.
Getting up he strode down the landing to the bedroom where Nat had taken up residence. The room was in darkness and the figure in the bed was quite still, but he knew that it wasn’t asleep. He addressed it crisply. “If I thought for a moment that this action was a genuine need for space on your part then you’d have my blessing. It isn’t though, it’s more to do with rubbing my nose in it and I’m not putting up with it. I’m going to have a shower, Nathaniel. I expect to find you back in our bedroom when I’ve done so. Your medication is on your bedside cabinet along with a glass of water. Make sure you take it.”
Nat continued the pretence of sleep. He turned to face the door only when he knew that Gordon was no longer standing there. He remained where he was, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom. Scowling into the darkness he embraced bad feelings. Gordon was being unreasonable. In fact he was being a bloody big pain in the arse. The grounding was bad enough, but the ban on busking was even worse. He needed the extra money it brought him and when all was said and done it was his life and it was up to him to calculate any risks involved. In the same vein it was up to him to decide where he slept. The shower turned off and Nat hurriedly flung back the covers.
Gordon relaxed as he heard Nat’s footsteps pad along the landing, followed by the sound of their bedroom door opening and closing. Stepping out of the shower he reached for a towel and dried himself before heading for the bedroom. In the event, his relaxation proved premature.
Pulling open a drawer, he selected a pair of clean pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, pulling them on. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he glared at the figure huddled under a blanket on the floor by the side of the bed. “Stop acting the brat and get up, otherwise I’ll have to contact the Students Union and have your status as a ‘mature’ student revoked.”
“You said I had to come back to our bedroom.” Nat popped his head above the parapet of the blanket. “You didn’t say anything about our bed. Really, Gordon, you’re going to have to brush up on your communication skills, especially if you insist on issuing orders every five seconds. I believe The Open University offers a course on communication skills for household dictators. It’s called how to ride roughshod without misunderstandings.”
“Get up, Nathaniel, at once.”
“Fuck off, Gord,” to his horror the words that Nat had meant to keep internalised traitorously popped off the end of his tongue. He made it even worse, parodying Gordon’s instruction still further, “at your own pace of course.”
Gordon didn’t waste any more words. Picking up a pillow he arranged it over the end of the pine bedstead before reaching down and effortlessly hauling Nat to his feet. In one economic movement he stripped down his pyjama bottoms and bent him over the pillow, using his hand to communicate his displeasure far more effectively than speech.
Nat began to squirm, emitting little gasps of discomfort as Gordon’s hand relentlessly slapped the cheeks of his bottom, first one and then the other in hard repetition. Clutching at the bedclothes in front of him he began drumming his feet on the floor as the painful heat reached levels that demanded greater expression than gasps. “I’m sorry,” he finally submitted, shouting, “Gordon, please, please stop. I’m sorry for being rude.”
It took a few seconds for Nat to register that the only sound in the room was the sound of his own tears. It would take a longer space of time for his backside to register that the spanking was over. His pyjamas were pulled up and the covers pulled back and he was effectively put to bed. The light snapped off and the bedsprings creaked, as Gordon got in beside him.
The space between the two of them was but inches, but to Nat, curled on his side with a fiercely blazing bottom it felt like miles. To Gordon, lying on his back, it felt like obdurate sulking. He knew his man. “Negative attention seeking,” his calm voice cleaved the darkness, “will get you negative attention, every time.”
“Negative,” snapped Nat, “try telling my backside that the attention it just got was negative! It’s still hurting.”
“You have only yourself to blame.” Gordon was unrepentant. “I won’t put up with defiant brattish behaviour from you. I thought you would have realised that by now. Do you intend to keep your back turned to me all night?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, goodnight. I love you.”
“No you don’t. If you loved me you wouldn’t bully me the way you do.”
“I totally refute the accusation of bullying. You know exactly what standards and principles our relationship is based on. You were complicit in the making of the rules, they’re not hidden and you know what to expect when you break them. You, my boy, are the one that tries to bully me from time to time using emotional manipulation. Are you coming over for a cuddle? You know you want one.”
“I don’t actually, which shows how much you know. What I want is to choose what activities I engage in, like busking.”
“No,” said Gordon firmly. “The subject is closed. I’ll punish you if you mention it again.”
The darkness grew heavier pressing about them almost tangibly. There was a creak and sudden movement. “Two weeks!” Nat rolled over, draping himself across Gordon, “two weeks for pities sake?”
Gordon wrapped his arms around him, stroking his hair, “that’s what I said, two weeks, no remission.”
“What if I refuse?” Nat’s voice was barely audible.
“You don’t have that option.”
“What would you do though, if I did? Would you...”
Gordon interrupted, “reject you, cast you out into the falling snow and abandon you? No. We love each other and we’d work through it. Life would be horribly tense for us both and,” he gently patted Nat’s rump, “horribly uncomfortable for you. This conversation is serving no purpose. I’ve made my decision and you’ll abide with it. That’s how it works. Now go to sleep.”
The tone of voice left no further room for argument or manipulation. Nat considered pulling away from Gordon and turning his back again. However the arms around him were warm and comforting. Time enough tomorrow to fight things out, and he was determined to fight them out. Slipping a hand up inside Gordon’s t-shirt he settled to sleep.
“Put the lid back on that jar. You’ve had two cups of coffee this morning already. You’re not having anymore.”
Nat banged the jar down on the counter top and glared resentfully at the domineering newspaper from behind whence the order had issued. “It must be bloody marvellous to have x-ray vision.”
Gordon folded the paper, laying it on the table. “I don’t want you drinking coffee while you’re at poly today, stick to water, fruit juice or herbal tea. Just remember that the reason you have to limit your caffeine intake is because it undermines the effectiveness of your medication by inhibiting its absorption, and not just because I fancy imposing my will upon you.”
“You’ll have to get yourself a stomach pump, Gord, then you can check my stomach contents each evening to see what I’ve been consuming behind your back.” Nat crossly flopped down onto a chair.
“I don’t need a stomach pump to know that you’re full of sour grapes this morning.” Gordon buttered himself another slice of toast, ignoring Nat’s scowl. He was used to it. Nat had been scowling fiercely at regular intervals since the day they met. Fortunately his smile, when it came, more than made up for it. He calmly took a bite of toast waiting for the scowl to be followed up by some verbal affirmation of the scowler’s disgruntlement with him.
“What’s it like being perfect, Gord? It must be hard to live up to yourself? Doesn’t it frighten you sometimes, being in competition with God and the Pope on the infallibility and perfection front? They might get together and plan to assassinate you out of jealousy.”
“Not being a Catholic I can’t speak for the Pope, but I’m sure God would never plot against me.” Gordon gave a little wink, “after all, we’re blood brothers if not actual twins. Just take the ‘r’ and the ‘on’ out of my name and see what you’re left with.”
“I bet you really believe that as well,” Nat gave him an irreligious look before changing the subject to more secular matters. “Where’s my guitar?”
“In the study where it’s staying.”
“What about my money?”
“What about it?”
“Am I allowed my own money back, or were you planning on giving me sixpence on Saturday for the pictures and some sweets, dependent on whether or not I’m a good boy of course?”
Gordon smiled pleasantly. “Ah those were the days. Saturday morning cinema, cowboys, Indians, and a quarter of Dolly Mixtures and all for under a sixpence.” The smile vanished and he pointed a finger as Nat opened his mouth to retaliate. “Pretend you’re a politician under threat of exposure, Nathaniel, and make no comment because my patience is beginning to wane. Your money is on the mantelpiece in the living room. Collect it when you’re ready, though I’m beginning to regret making the decision to let you keep it instead of putting it in the charity box.”
Nat stood up, saying haughtily, “I’ll get the bus this morning. If that’s alright with you of course, me making an independent decision I mean?”
“Fine. The walk to the bus stop in the fresh air will do you good.” Gordon reached for the teapot, and refreshed his cup. “Straight home this afternoon.”
“I was going to go to The Star. It’s last day of term, and we’re all meeting in there for a drink.”
“That’s very nice I’m sure. Be certain to wish everyone a happy Christmas immediately after your last lecture, because you’re coming home after it. Carousing in The Star is not an option for you.”
“So, you’re really going ahead with grounding me?”
Gordon set his cup down on the table. “Have I ever made empty threats? Of course I’m going ahead, why on earth would you think I’d do any other?”
“I thought perhaps you might have metamorphosed into a human being overnight. Obviously I was fucking wrong there. You were a bastard last night and you’re still a fucking bastard this morning.” Marching into the hall, Nat snatched up his bag and flung the front door open. It closed before he could pass through it.
“Incidentally,” Gordon’s eyes shone as hard and cold as Ceylon sapphires. “When you get home today, at the expected time, you will go straight to bed. Confinement might help you remember your manners and also encourage you to curb your foul mouth.”
Nat met the chill gaze challengingly. “Why don’t you go the whole hog and buy me a bitch’s collar and leash, you could teach me to roll over and die for the queen.” He tried to pull away, reaching for the door handle again, but it became clear that on this occasion the credit in his stubborn resistance metre had run out. He was in the penalty to pay zone.
“Try to have a good day.” Gordon courteously opened the door, holding out Nat’s bag, “I’ll see you later.”
‘Not if I see you first.’ Wisely keeping the sour rejoinder internalised Nat took the bag and walked out of the house with as much dignity as he could muster.
It took all the willpower he possessed to get to the end of the street and turn the corner before giving into the urge to rub the seat of his jeans where Gordon’s right hand had printed several lavish images of itself. He had gotten off lightly in the circumstances. The spanks he’d received had been more a reminder of authority than a full exercise of it. He got on the bus and spent the journey brooding, almost missing his stop.
To Nat’s surprise, and annoyance, Gordon was home when he got back from the polytechnic that afternoon. He was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee while reading through a patient’s case notes. He glared at him. “I thought you were heading a group at St Giles this afternoon?”
“I think it’s customary to greet the partner you haven’t seen all day with an appropriate salutation, perhaps a smile and a kiss, even just a nod if the former seem too arduous.”
“Hello,” snapped Nathaniel ungraciously, “and why aren’t you at St Giles?”
Gordon stood up and kissed his cheek, “thank you for coming straight home as I asked. Have you had a good day?”
“Is that why you’re not at St Giles,” Nat flung his jacket over the back of a chair. It slipped off, puddling in a heap on the floor. “Did you stay home to check up on my trustability?”
Gordon’s brows expressed disapproval, “pick that jacket up. The coat stand in the hall will be more that willing to accommodate it.” Arms folded he waited until Nat had done his bidding before answering the question that was so obviously a burning issue for him. “I’m not at St Giles because the session has been re-scheduled to this evening. They have a fundraising Christmas craft fair taking place this afternoon. It would have clashed with the group. Have you had lunch, do you want a sandwich?”
“I’m fine.”
“Seeing as it’s the last day of term I doubt you have any pressing assignments, so if you don’t want lunch then there’s no reason for you linger down here.
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Nat hunched his shoulders and fixed his eyes on a coffee stain on the kitchen floor. “Actually I’ve got a shift at The Reindeer this evening.”
Gordon spoke sharply, “you told me that you didn’t have any shifts this week because business is slow.”
“Daisy phoned me yesterday. They’re shorthanded because one of the full timers has gone off sick. She offered me the shift. I just forgot to mention it with one thing and another.”
Gordon sat down. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he gave a gentle smile. “If I telephoned Daisy and asked her to confirm your shift, what would she say?”
Nat’s shoulders hunched higher and the coffee stain remained a point of fascination for his eyes, but his tongue remained silent…until Gordon suddenly shot out a hand and yanked him down and over his lap causing him to give a squawk of protest, a protest that was ignored. “Answer me, Nat, what would she say?” The command was accompanied by a sharp swat to his behind.
“Okay,” Nat spat the words, “so I don’t have a shift. Happy now?” He pushed his hands hard against the floor, trying to lever himself up.
“No,” Gordon pinned Nat firmly across his knees. “I’m very far from that state of joyful being and I’m afraid I intend to make sure you join me there.”
Nat sucked in his breath as a series of stinging smacks landed on his bottom. His tone moderated itself in accordance with his circumstances. He didn’t want to receive a fully-fledged discipline spanking. “I’m sorry, Gordon. Let me up and I’ll do as you asked and go to bed.”
“You sound like you’re doing me a favour.” Gordon helped Nat from his lap and gazed at him sternly. “While I appreciate that currently you’re thoroughly out of tune with me that doesn’t mean I’ll accept you lying in order to get out of punishments you’ve earned. I’m tired of the rude and rebellious attitude that you’ve displayed towards me today and I’m not tolerating anymore of it.” He reached for the button on Nat’s jeans, “when we’re done here you’ll go upstairs without further ado.”
“You’re freezing cold.” Gordon slid into bed reaching an arm around Nathaniel, an action that was usually a favourite moment of his day and in this instance one he had given up a cup of tea and some time in front of the television for.
“Sorry.”
Nat’s voice was as brittle as the ice his feet appeared to be encased in. He made no attempt to turn and cuddle against Gordon’s side.
Gordon pressed on regardless. “It was an observation, love, not a criticism. I have to say I’m glad the session at St. Giles’s is over. Sandy wasn’t having a good day. He spent most of the session in tears. This time of year unsettles and depresses him. He didn’t want me to leave tonight. As if Christmas isn’t bad enough he’s having issues with the new ward Sister. He hasn’t taken to her at all. I hope the powers that be pass our residency application soon. I think we can offer Sandy some meaningful help as a boarder here. He isn’t quite ready for the outside world, but I think he is ready to move on from hospital, what do you think?”
The Snow Prince showed no sign of interest or of thawing towards him. Inwardly sighing Gordon changed the subject. “I rather expected you to be asleep by now.”
“I’m not an automaton. I don’t have an on/off switch. I can’t sleep to order.”
“You obviously need practice then,” returned Gordon smoothly. “How about we make your bedtime seven p.m. for the duration of your grounding?”
“Fine,” Nat crossed his arms tightly against his chest, as if trying to muffle the loud thump of the heart beating within. “Whatever you say, isn’t that the way it works?”
“In some things, as we’ve discussed, yes most certainly. The sooner you stop fighting that the better for both of us. I really don’t care for this persistent sulking, Nat, and you won’t care for the consequences if it continues into another day.”
“Goodnight, Gordon, don’t let me keep you talking. You have a long day of exhaustive perfection and knowing best ahead of you tomorrow. You need your sleep.”
“Last warning. You can dislike my decision by all means it’s understandable that you dislike it, but you’ll still accept it and with good grace. I won’t stomach resentful sullenness from you. It’s a manipulative tool used either to try and get your own way, or to punish me when you don’t. On this ship,” said Gordon crisply, “I’m the Captain and as such the only punishing will be done by me. You know that you end up far more upset than I ever do when these moods get out of hand. So put the brakes on it yourself, you have the ability, or I’ll put the brakes on for you. Goodnight.” He kissed the unresponsive shoulder and turned over to settle to sleep.
Nat drew his knees up tighter against his body, vainly trying to get warm. He was cold to the very bone, but he would rather remain that way than let Gordon believe he was resigned to his fate by cuddling against him. He suppressed a shiver. Sitting on an icy pavement outside The Reindeer for a couple of hours had dragged his body temperature down to that resembling a morgue occupant. On the plus side it had also earned him a nice collection of coins for the cause currently close to his heart. It had been an inspired idea to busk outside of the pub he worked in. Or rather had worked in until recently. A lot of the customers knew him and were pleased to see him. He’d earned more by singing a few festive songs outside the premises than he ever had by working several long shifts inside the pub itself.
However, he’d almost become unstuck when he stayed out longer than he meant to, only just making it back home before Gordon returned from St. Giles’s. He’d closed the front door and was in process of reaching for the light switch in the hall when the sound of a familiar car drawing up outside had set his heart racing. Hurtling up the stairs he had shoved his guitar under the bed, dragged off his clothes and leapt under the covers just as Gordon’s key scraped the lock.
As soon as Gordon’s breathing indicated he’d entered a deeper phase of sleep, Nat slid from bed and retrieved his guitar, stealthily creeping downstairs to return it to the study he’d taken it from as soon as Gordon had left to make the journey to St. Giles that afternoon. A wave of miserable guilt suddenly swept over him. He hated being deceitful. He headed for the kitchen.
“Sadistic swine,” he murmured, some of his guilt dissipating as he eyed the jar of loathsome dandelion coffee substitute that had replaced his favourite Gold Blend. A search of the cupboards proffered no joy and he poured boiling water onto a teabag instead, stirring it to hasten brewing before splashing in milk and a large spoonful of sugar. Wrapping his hands around the mug, he stared sightlessly out of the kitchen window, oblivious to the snowflakes falling from the night sky.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. He repeated this comforting statement to himself several times, agreeing with it completely after every utterance. The end justified the means, on this occasion it really did. He wasn’t disobeying his Dominant for the sake of it. His reasons were good and sound. In fact they were more than sound. They were noble and he only needed to be noble another couple of times and everything would come together like the ending of a Disney film.
Rinsing the mug he set it on the drainer, noting with surprise the snow building on the outside window ledge. Predictions of a white Christmas looked to be coming to fruition. He headed back to bed where he revenged himself for the dandelion coffee by placing his frozen extremities on top of Gordon’s warm ones, nudging him out of sleep.
“You’re a wicked boy,” murmured Gordon. “I ought to spank you.”
“As long as you spank me nice and then sex me up I won’t complain,” whispered Nat, suppressing a fresh surge of guilt by initiating sex. “It’ll help warm me through properly.” He slipped a hand inside Gordon’s pyjama bottoms, caressing his cock and coaxing it to hardness.
It was a bitterly cold day. Nat wished he’d opted to put a coat on instead of a sleeveless denim jacket with no buttons. His fingers were almost too numb to strum the strings of his guitar. He stopped playing, cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing on them in a vain effort to warm them. All in all it had been a slow afternoon. He was back in his old place by the side of the cinema after the landlord of The Reindeer, his ex-boss, Norman, had threatened him with the police, amongst other things, if he didn’t move on and stop pestering his customers with his scrounging carolling. Homophobic bastard.
Nat scowled savagely into the gathering gloom, as he recalled the incident weeks earlier that had got him the sack from the pub. It had been almost worth it to see the look on Norman’s face after he’d sent him sprawling across the bar to the cheers of most of the regular customers. His long-suffering wife Daisy had cheered louder than most, but she hadn’t been able to save Nat from being sacked on the spot. If anything good had come from the sorry episode it was that she had finally found the courage to tell her obnoxious husband to go to hell. Rumour had it that the brewery was considering transferring the licence to her alone, which was only fair. She did all the practical running of the place anyway, while he concentrated on drinking the profits and belittling her in front of their customers.
Nat cheered up a little. He would get his job back if Daisy got the licence. Gordon need never know that he’d been dismissed on account of thumping his employer after he’d made one too many hateful comments about his sexuality. It was the third job he’d lost as a result of not being able to keep his temper. Gordon would not be best pleased, and that was putting it mildly. Nat’s temper and his willingness to lose it was a persistent bone of contention between domestic Dom and sub.
His fingers remained stubbornly numbed and he grudgingly decided the day was a dead loss, rising stiffly to his feet. Not many people were cinema going at two o clock on the day before Christmas Eve. It was time to go home anyway. Gordon had been unexpectedly called to St. Giles to try and calm Sandy who was in a state and there was no real way of knowing how long he’d be out. Nat had grabbed the opportunity and his guitar, as soon as Gordon drove off, suppressing any guilt he felt by plastering self-justifying anger over it. Gordon was to blame for him being forced to act furtively. If he hadn’t banned him from busking and grounded him he wouldn’t have to be so sneaky.
He bent down to pick up the polystyrene cup that held the tragically few coins he’d made that afternoon. Not that he was ungrateful, every little helped and he reckoned that he had now scraped enough to achieve his goal. Before he could fully straighten up again a familiar voice sounded cordially on the icy air, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.
“Merry Christmas, Mr Music Man!”
Nat remained in a stooped position for a second and then slowly straightened up. He didn’t bother returning the seasonal salutation, doubting it was genuinely meant. The cup he thought he had a tight grip on slipped from his numbed fingers and the coins it contained tumbled out, leaving pockmarks on the snow-covered pavement. The pseudo well wisher gathered them up, crushed the cup beneath a booted foot, spat on it and then walked away.
Nat stared down at the fractured receptacle in wide-eyed surprise. He was sure it had been a white cup, just a plain white cup, but even as he looked its battered remains turned red and melted into the surrounding snow. He felt like a passenger on a Timothy Leary trip as reality whirled away in psychedelic shades of glistening crimson and shimmering white.
Taking a deep breath Gordon reached for the carrier bag he’d stuffed behind the laundry basket over a week earlier on his return from the hospital. His stomach clenched as he upended it and the items it contained flopped out onto the floor. He picked up the white collarless shirt. It was beyond redemption, the fabric warped and stiff with dried brown blood. The point at which the knife had sliced through into Nat’s body was all too horribly apparent. It sickened him and he cast it back down. Any ideas he had of salvaging Nat’s shabby, but beloved jeans, also vanished as he viewed the stains that lavishly streaked them. He would buy him new ones and spend a day washing and re-washing them in order to get them to the approved colour and texture. The jacket had escaped relatively unscathed, with just a few bloodstains marking it, but Gordon dismissed keeping it. Even if the stains washed out it would always be a reminder of what had befallen its owner while wearing it.
He took the soiled clothing into the living room where a bright fire burned. Savagely poking the shirt into the hot embers he let it burn for a while before adding the jacket. As he began rolling the jeans into a ball ready to follow it, something rustled in the pockets.
Once the flames had consumed the jeans, Gordon turned his attentions to the docket that he had found in the pocket. It bore the name of a jeweller and showed that for some time Nat had been making payments on an expensive item that was listed only by a reference number. There was one final payment to be made on it, whatever it was. Gordon’s curiosity expressed a strong desire to be satisfied. Perhaps here lay the key to Nat’s recent behaviour? He would go into town and investigate first thing in the morning.
Sitting by the fire he felt the flames warm his body, but inside he still felt as chilled as the moment a policeman had told him that Nat had been stabbed and left for dead on a snow covered pavement. Only the intervention of passers by, a married couple, had stopped him from bleeding to death. As luck would have it the man was a trained St John Ambulance volunteer with knowledge of first aid. He had applied pressure to the wound while his wife sought out a phone box to ring for an ambulance. Gordon would be forever grateful to them. Nat’s assailant had been quickly arrested and was in custody. It came as no surprise to learn that he was a paranoid schizophrenic with a history of vagrancy and violence. Poor man, he was a victim in his own way. It was to be hoped that he would now receive the treatment and consistent support he needed in order for him to manage his condition and keep himself and other people safe.
The signet ring was a plain tasteful oval of eighteen-carat gold engraved with Gordon’s initials. The inscription engraved around the inner band brought a tender smile to his mouth. ‘You are forever in my heart…Nat.’
The ring was a touch too large for his left pinkie, but it slipped snugly onto the adjacent finger and though not the traditional place for a signet ring it felt eminently appropriate that it should be there. Gordon took a deep breath, getting his emotions under control. He shook his head when the jeweller asked if he’d like to keep it on. Slipping it from his finger he handed it over to be boxed and bagged. There were things to be said and done before he would wear the ring that could very well have cost Nathaniel his life. The first priority of all though was to get Nat home from hospital and well again. Everything else could wait.
Lucky, that’s what the surgeon had told him when he was in hospital. He was a very lucky young man. The knife had scraped his ribs but somehow missed all vital organs and while the wound was nasty, it would heal well with no long-term implications. Yes indeed, he was most fortunate. The gods had obviously been smiling on him that afternoon, positively grinning in fact.
Sitting on a hard chair in the middle of the study, Nat didn’t feel very lucky or fortunate. In fact he felt about as unlucky as one man could get. There was no god smiling on him either, not today. There was only a tall, formidable figure with folded arms. The figure, formally dressed in suit trousers, shirt, tie and waistcoat was intent on ‘discussing’ things.
Nat just wished he could rely on the arms remaining folded, that way they couldn’t go on to pick up the heavy leather paddle that was lying brazenly on the desk next to a jewellers leatherette ring box.
In one sense he was glad that the moment to discuss things had finally arrived. It had been hovering like a cloud on the horizon for much too long. On the other hand, he glanced again at the paddle. A part of him wanted the horizon and its cloud to move even further away. He experienced a sudden flood of resentment. Everything he’d done had been for a very good reason. It wasn’t fair to be called to account over nebulous notions of right and wrong, obedience and trust.
Adopting an air of accusatory defence he said, “if you don’t like my anniversary gift, you just have to say so. I won’t be offended or upset, even though the jeweller said there are no refunds on engraved items.”
Gordon gazed at him, “the gift is beautiful and I appreciate with all my heart the sentiments behind it. In due course I’ll wear it with love and pride and treasure it always. The issue here is not whether I like your gift. The issue is not your desire to give the gift. The only issue is the disobedience that could have cost you your life.”
“It didn’t though, did it? Here I sit hale and hearty.”
“Be quiet please, Nathaniel. I’ll let you know if and when I require any vocal participation from you. Your role in this saga is now over and done with. Clinging stubbornly to notions of control that you feel you must have will serve no purpose. The only person in control, the only person who needs to be in control of this situation is me. Is that clear or do we need to introduce some corner time in order for you to think it through?”
Nat humbly shook his head, but couldn’t resist trying to justify himself. “I just wanted to give you something special to mark our first year together.”
“I know, love,” Gordon’s arms briskly unfolded. Moving the short distance to where Nathaniel was seated he put his hands on his shoulders, massaging them. “It is special, but not as special as you are. No piece of jewellery, no matter what beautiful sentiments inspired its purchase could ever compensate for not having you by my side.” He stooped and kissed the top of Nat’s head, then straightened up again. “The simple fact of the matter is this, no means no, every time. You have to learn to accept that and not just in your head and not just when it suits you. I said no busking. I meant NO busking. There were no option boxes and no get out clauses.”
Nat’s eyes clouded, “it’s not always easy this lifestyle of ours. I do try. But sometimes it just feels that what I want is more important than anything else, including our rules.”
Gordon touched a gentle hand to Nat’s face. “I know you try and I understand that the conflict of interest is often very difficult. That’s when you need to come to me, to tell me how you’re feeling so we can talk about it. Do you think I make decisions just to annoy and upset you or just to prove my alpha status?”
Nat shook his head at once, “of course not.”
“My decision was founded on no other consideration than your safety. The reasons why you disobeyed don’t matter. You can’t justify them. You could easily have died that afternoon. I don’t want keepsake memories of you, Nat. I want you safe and well, always. I make decisions because nine times out of ten when it comes to your personal well being my decisions are sounder than yours. We both know this to be true. It’s one of the reasons we have this kind of relationship. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes.” Nat tearfully moistened his lips. It was so he knew that. Moreover he didn’t want it any other way, even when it was not convenient to his immediate desires, even when it upset and angered him, even when the prospect of not sitting comfortably loomed on a fast approaching horizon.
Gordon got to business, “stand up please. Take off your jeans and underwear and then bend over placing your hands flat on the chair seat. You’ll remain in position for the duration of your punishment. If you move your hands or try to stand up, I’ll begin again.”
Nat’s bottom gripped the chair seat more firmly and he began a desperate stalling attempt. “What about Sandy, won’t he hear, won’t he wonder what’s going on? He might get scared. He’s still nervous about being here. Can’t you just set me lines or something?”
“Sandy is happily occupied sorting out the shed at the end of the garden. He won’t hear a thing. Do as you’re told, Nathaniel, remove your jeans and underwear and bend over.”
Nat did as he was bidden, experiencing a stomach turning surge of nervousness as Gordon reached for the paddle. Once wielded it would bring closure to recent events and mistakes, and bring balance and peace back to their relationship. He bent over feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable, more so as he felt smooth leather touch his bare buttocks. Obviously there was to be no warm up hand spanking. The paddle always stung twice as much when applied cold. The adrenalin induced erection that had been in evidence as he began to strip off his jeans was fast diminishing and would vanish altogether once the paddle began its painful business. It rested heavily against his quivering backside while its arbitrator quietly stated its case.
“I’m going to punish you as a result of choices you consciously made. You knew that they were wrong, but you shut that out as an inconvenience, something to be shelved while you got on with doing what you wanted to do. Not telling me you had lost your job was the worst choice you made by far. The rules are clear. Your duty is to keep me informed about everything that might have an affect on your actions, and consequently your personal well being. Withholding that information was an act of wilful disobedience, which then escalated until you ended up in a potentially life threatening situation. I will never condone that kind of disobedience, are we clear on that?”
“Yes,” whispered Nat.
“If I say no to something I do so because I have good reason. I’m your partner and your Dominant. It’s your place to accept my ruling, are we also clear on that?”
“Yes,” whispered Nat again. He drew in his breath as the summing up ceased and the paddle was lifted from his backside. It arrived back all too soon striking his flesh with a resounding smack. He tightly closed his eyes determined not to make a sound during the punishment, not as an act of defiance, but one of acceptance. The paddle landed again and then again, passing stern judgment on his bottom. The seventh smack of the paddle was particularly hard, leaving a painful scalding impression on his skin. Abandoning his vow of silence he let out a yell and kept on yelling until sentence was complete and punisher turned comforter, taking him into his arms and holding him as he sobbed.
Once Nat had calmed down and stopped crying, Gordon gently wiped his face and then kissed him. “Get dressed, darling, then go upstairs and have a lie down, a nap will do you good.”
Nat obeyed, wincing as he pulled his briefs back up over his very sore bottom. Sitting comfortably would be off the menu for a day or two, even so he felt better than he had for a long while. He was at peace with himself. After putting on his jeans he reached his arms around Gordon and silently hugged him before heading upstairs to bed.
Nat slept soundly, waking several hours later. He opened his eyes to find the room bathed in warm candlelight. He heard footsteps on the stairs and then the bedroom door opened and Gordon came in carrying a tray. On it were set two tall glasses, a bottle of champagne and a plate of dainty smoked salmon sandwiches.
Nat quickly sat up, giving a small ouch as his bottom reminded him of the spanking it had endured. “What’s all this?”
“This is the champagne we should have shared together on Christmas Day. I had it all planned out. Instead you were in a hospital bed and I was here alone.” Gordon set the tray down on the chest of drawers. He poured a glass of the chilled sparkling liquid and handed it to Nat with a smile. “I thought we both needed a treat.”
“What about Sandy,” Nat took the glass and sipped appreciatively at the dry wine, he set the glass down on his bedside table, “won’t he wonder where we are? I don’t want to upset him.”
“He’s fine. Stop worrying. You’ll get used to having him around just as he’ll get used to us.” Gordon loosened his tie and pulled it free of his collar. “He enjoyed his afternoon in the garden and is looking forward to paying the pigs at St. Gile’s a visit tomorrow.” He draped the tie over the end of the bed and undid his collar button. “I told him you were tired and needed to rest and that I had notes to write up. He’s eaten and is now watching television. We’ve got a couple of hours.”
Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a certain ring box and then he slipped off his shoes and got on the bed beside Nat, offering the box. “I’m ready now, if you’d like to do the honours.”
Nat took the ring out of the box. “I had to guess the size. I tried wrapping string around your finger when you were sleeping, but you kept moving your hand. I was worried you’d wake up. You do like it, don’t you?”
“I love it,” Gordon held out his hand and playfully wiggled his finger, smiling as the heavy gold ring was slid reverently into place, “is that us married then?”
“I reckon so, at least until society stops persecuting us and hands us the same rights as everyone else. Then you can marry me properly.”
“You one of those homo-suffragettes?”
“Yep, got any objections?”
“None whatsoever, I’m right behind you.”
“Careful or you’ll get us arrested.”
Gordon laughed, gathering Nat into his arms. After kissing him thoroughly he reached for his glass of champagne, holding it aloft, “to us and to Hope House.”
“Seconded.” Nat picked up his glass and returned the toast. He felt utterly content, knowing with certainty that he was loved and held within Gordon’s heart just as deeply as Gordon was held within his.
Sandy was Hope House’s first resident, but he was by no means its last. Over the coming years many people were to pass through its doors and find care, acceptance, refuge and support. Some were to stay but briefly while others were destined to become more permanent members of the Hope House family with Gordon and Nathaniel at its head.
Out of Tune is actually a prequel. When I first began writing about Gordon and Nat it was at a much later stage in their lives. I wanted to give a fuller picture of things hinted at in the original stories and fill in their history. I hope to eventually bring back to print the stories that inspired this prequel. In the later stories Gordon and Nat run an establishment called Hope House, a kind of refuge for social misfits.
Cover art by Reese Dante
Author’s website:
http://www.fabianblackromance.com/