Out Of Tune

by Black, Fabian

  “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.

  Three

  ~~~

  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.”

  Four

  ~~~

  “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 de
presses 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.

  Five

  ~~~

  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.

  Six

  ~~~

  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.