Out Of Tune

by Black, Fabian

  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.

  Seven

  ~~~

  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.

  Postscript

  ~~~

  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.

  Author's Note

  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/

  Back to top