By Cat.
Chapter 11: A Little Matter Of Control.
Chris, quailing under Gordon’s cold scrutiny, was offered a slight reprieve as the other figure in the uncomfortable kitchen tableau uttered a soft sigh and moved, light returning to his eyes. Gordon’s attentions turned at once to him, “welcome back young man,” he spoke quietly, “that was a long absence, and a deep one,” taking hold of Caleb’s wrist, he checked his pulse, frowning slightly, “how are you feeling?”
“I am fine,” the orange eyes blinked slowly, “truly, the journey home has tired me a little, that’s all.”
Chris stared, as Caleb, rather unsteadily, rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Gordon, holding him tightly. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hug that formidable figure, not without someone holding a gun to his head, and even then he would have to give it deep thought.
“It’s been a long day for you my child,” Gordon gently rubbed Caleb’s lean back, “take your medication, go to bed, rest well.”
“The hour is yet early.”
“I have no interest in how early the hour is Caleb, you are tired, you need rest. We’ll talk in the morning, come to me if you have need before then.”
“I will,” Caleb smiled, accepting Gordon’s authority without rancour, “and don’t worry about Nathaniel, he is homeward bound, I sense him, the storm has abated.” He kissed Gordon lightly on both cheeks, “goodnight my father.”
Father? Before Chris had time to digest this astounding nugget, Caleb turned his attentions, and his strange eyes, on him, leaning forwards, his long plait falling over his shoulder. Speaking slowly and solemnly, he said, “your angel is aphonic for one reason only, you are its voice, own it, speak its words, see it fall.”
Chris, his heart pattering slightly, watched Caleb walk out of the kitchen before curling his lip and muttering contemptuously, “what a fucking grade one nutter...hey!” He gave a squeak of fright as a hand suddenly reached for him, hauling him free of his chair.
“Congratulations young man,” Gordon smartly manoeuvred Chris towards the kitchen sink, “I don’t think anyone has ever managed to incur my displeasure so completely within two days of arrival. You’ve set something of a record, but not a pleasing one.” He reached for a bar of green kitchen soap, “and I warned you what I’d do if I heard you swear just once more today. I don’t make idle threats Christopher, something you’ll do well to learn and remember in future.”
*
Upstairs, Paul’s stomach twisted with trepidation as footsteps approached his room, but they passed by and he let out a shaky breath, then scowled, unsure as to whether he was relieved or not. Opening the bedroom door he peeped out, watching as the cat man took the spiral steps to the tower room. Re-closing the door with an angry thump, he sat on his bed, feeling tears spring afresh; nothing was fair, nothing was ever fair!
*
Chris had no doubt that Paul had meant what he’d said about reading his case notes, in the same circumstances, and given the opportunity, he’d have done exactly the same. There was power, and almost a kind of perverse safety in such knowledge - knoweth thy enemy, or at least your fellow asylum inmates. However, speared as he now was on a pair of frighteningly sharp eyes, his tongue tasting revoltingly of soap, Chris ardently wished he’d just kept his big mouth shut on the subject. He hadn’t really meant to say what he did anyway, it came from a combination of annoyance at Paul and a desire to have a dig at Gordon as revenge for what had taken place in the study, he’d wanted to ripple the air of calm that exemplified the man. Well, he’d rippled something alright, though exactly what, he was uncertain, and while he might have landed the cocky kid in trouble, he’d undoubtedly landed himself in it too.
“Let me make something very clear, ‘master’ Emett.”
Chris flushed furiously at the put down that put him on a par with Paul, who looked all of fourteen. He tried to look away, but found he couldn’t, the eyes were hard to get away from, they held his attention. He swallowed as the figure leaned a little closer towards him, he hated to admit it, but this man had an air of authority that was hard to resist, but, he lifted his chin defiantly, he’d give it a damned good try. When he spoke, Gordon’s voice was coldly precise, the hint of social privilege that lurked behind the day to day accent becoming more defined.
“I consider the case records of each and every person in this house to be sacrosanct; as such, I do not leave them lying around as a source of casual reading material. They are kept properly and if anyone, apart from myself, John, or Nathaniel, accesses any of the details contained within them, they do so by foul means and not with any kind of approval or sanction from me. Rest assured, if security has been breached, I will get to the bottom of it, and I’ll deal with it most severely. I won’t tolerate such behaviour,” Gordon pointed a stern forefinger, “nor will I tolerate accusations of nepotism which directly impugns my professional and personal integrity.”
Chris managed to drag his eyes away at last. Focussing on the table top, he sullenly muttered, “I was only telling you what he said, no need to take it to heart and make a palaver of it, Jeez, some people have to be the centre of a drama.”
“I know exactly what you were about young man,” Gordon tapped the note pad and pencil on the table, “get on with writing those lines I gave you. You can go into the study to do them, you’re less likely to be disturbed there and it’s more comfortable, put the fire on if you get chilly. When you’ve completed them, you can start them over and complete another set. That should keep you safely occupied until bedtime”
Chris’s jaw dropped, “but that’s four hundred in total,” he scowled, “I’m not writing that fu…flaming many, it’s utterly pointless.”
“You’ll write however many I tell you to write, regardless of whether or not ‘you’ think they’re pointless, the point is I’ve given you an instruction and I expect it to be obeyed. Further argument will simply add to their total, as well as earning you a spanking. So, unless you want to face writing a multitude of lines sitting on a sore backside, I suggest you do as you’re told and go to the study and begin work. Hand over your trainers first please.”
“Why?” Chris looked startled, then his sneer put in an appearance, “they’ll never fit your big feet.”
“Very droll,” Gordon gave a mirthless smile, “take them off, I want to make sure you won’t be tempted to go out for a stroll while I’m otherwise engaged, and I’m warning you Christopher, any glass breaking of any description and you’ll regret it. As you’ve discussed with John, it’s a poor coping strategy and it’s not permitted in this house. If you have any kind of crisis you can’t cope with, you seek me out and I’ll help you find an acceptable alternative. Come on young man, trainers and study, I’ll be in to keep you company as soon as I’m able.”
“Oh, lucky, lucky me,” kicking off his trainers, Chris snatched up the notepad and pencil, stalking out of the kitchen into the hall as fast as his slightly shaky knees allowed him, halting abruptly as he came upon a stationary drenched figure. He looked Nat up and down, “Gestapo get you at the border did they? I think I would have opted for a blindfold and a firing squad instead of being sent back to this dump.”
“Hello Chris,” Nat pushed his dripping hair back from his eyes and gave a weak smile, “still swimming against the tide I see.”
“Swimming? Huh, not likely,” Chris glanced sourly over his shoulder towards the kitchen, “not with HMS Battleaxe patrolling around ready to blast you out of the water.”
“You,” Gordon, trainers in hand, materialised in the hall and pointed at Chris, “keep your cheek to yourself, and get in that study, quickly!”
Chris obeyed, successfully killing an urge to slam the door hard behind him, he didn’t fancy another run in with the Hope House Commandant, not yet anyway, not until his knees stopped shaking at least.
When the study door had closed, Gordon turned to Nat, saying quietly, “as for you, upstairs,” he held out the trainers, “take these with you please. Get out of those wet clothes, I’ll be up presently.” He watched in silence as Nat, leaving a trail of water, wearily began to climb the stairs, holding a running dialogue with the shoes clutched in his hand.
“Hello Nathaniel, welcome home Nathaniel, is it still raining Nathaniel, where have you been Nathaniel, nice to see you Nathaniel, I was ever so worried, come and have a nice cup of tea and tell me all about it Nathaniel…”
He was still muttering as the bedroom door closed. Shaking his head, Gordon returned to the kitchen, permitting himself a small smile as he put a cup of milk into the microwave to warm; Nat had to make pretence of having the last word, of maintaining control, well, the smile disappeared, as they both knew, pretence was all it was. Nathaniel was in need of some revision about a few things. He set the milk on a tray along with a stomach powder mixed into water for James which he delivered en route to have words with his erratically mooded other half. When he entered the bedroom, Nat had peeled off his sodden clothing and was in process of towelling himself dry, but shivering too much to make a decent job of it. Putting the tray with the milk on the dresser, Gordon took the towel from his hands and briskly did the job for him, “silly boy, you’re absolutely frozen, you could at least have grabbed a coat on your way out, or would stopping even for a second have broken the flow of your little tantrum?”
“It wasn’t a tantrum,” Nat’s voice, slightly muffled by the towel that was draped over his head as his hair was busily dried, had a hint of indignation in it.
“What was it then?”
There was a slight pause, then, “an adventure?”
“Hmm,” reaching for a fleecy blanket from the bed, Gordon wrapped it snugly around his partner, before sitting in the armchair and pulling the blanketed figure onto his lap, “if you get a cold because of this ill advised jaunt, I’ll be seriously put out.”
“Colds are a result of viral activity,” Nat gratefully snuggled against his partner’s body, drawing warmth from it, willing his own body to stop shivering, “not a result of getting wet and chilly, you’re a qualified medic, you should know these things, you really must stop believing in old wives tales.”
“Getting wet, cold and miserable lowers your immunity and makes you more vulnerable to the possibility of contracting viral infections, so, you see, there is an element of truth in maternal folklore. Now,” he reached for the milk on the dresser, “stop contradicting me and drink your milk. I’ve put honey in it.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t treat me like a child that needs to be placated with sweet placebos,” Nat waspishly took a sip, grimaced and set it back down, “I am of age you know and I’d much prefer to have whisky or brandy in milk, if milk I must have, frankly, I’d prefer the whisky or brandy without the addition of milk.”
“I’m sure you would, let me see your hand, Anna said you’d scalded it.”
“It’s fine.”
“I didn’t ask for your personal assessment of its condition. I said let me see it.”
Nat recognised the tone, he presented his hand immediately for inspection.
“No blistering, you’ll live,” Gordon checked it thoroughly, then reached for the tube of ointment he’d brought up, carefully rubbing a small amount into the sore patch of skin. “There,” he smiled, “how does that feel?”
“Better, thank you,” Nat tried to make a smile appear on his face, but it got strangled amongst a tangle of other emotions. He asked after Paul and Anna instead, “are the kids okay?”
“No, but not because of you, though they were obviously upset when you stormed out. I’ll give you a basic synopsis and fill you in on the gory details later, Nigel got cross with James, James was sick because of a Paul prank and his own lack of common sense, Anna hates Paul after he said a very hurtful thing to her, Paul hates me and Chris, bless him, hates us all, oh, and after rescuing the pasta and playing peace maker, Caleb had an absence.”
“Not exactly teatime with the Walton’s then?”
Gordon gave a broad smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “no John Boy, I’m afraid not.” He moved abruptly from general to specific, “what happened Nathaniel, what prompted you to depart like that?”
“Caleb doesn’t usually have two episodes so closely together, was he alright?” Nat preferred general to specific, he tried to keep the conversation going along previous safe lines.
“His pulse was a little rapid, that, and his body language suggested to me that he was anxious. He said the journey home had tired him so I insisted he went to bed early. I’ll be keeping my eye on him, and hopefully tomorrow I’ll get the opportunity to spend some time alone with him. Why did you run away like that?”
“How on earth did Paul make poor James sick, is he alright, and what did he say to Anna that was more hurtful than the usual insults he barters with her?”
“We’re not discussing Paul, Anna or James,” said Gordon firmly, “we’re discussing you, why did you leave like that?”
“I just needed a break,” Nat examined the red patch of skin on the back of his hand, stroking a finger across its tender surface, it stung, he pressed a little harder, trying to locate himself in the pain, or disappear into it, “I was fed up with their arguing, it’s like living under constant sniper fire, then the shock of burning my hand made me lose my temper. I suppose missing my lithium has scrambled my emotional controls.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Gordon wrapped a large hand around Nat’s, preventing him from persecuting the scald, “I know the surface details of the situation, I want to know about the mechanics beneath the surface. Dashing out into the pouring rain, wearing slippers and not bothering to take a coat suggests to me that you were experiencing more than a straightforward loss of temper. You could have used the client consulting room, or our bedroom, if a few minutes peace, quiet and cooling down space were all you needed. I want to know what scared you enough to take off like that, what were you running from?”
Nat put on a heavy, and extremely camp American accent, “you mean, what was my motivation?”
Gordon wasn’t even slightly amused, “would you like a change of position on my lap, from sitting to bending?”
Nat blushed, ashamed of his unkind flippancy in the face of caring concern, he shook his head.
“Then answer my question, what made you bolt, what emotions were you experiencing?”
“For heavens sake,” Nat’s temper yanked at its choke chain, “must you analyse the bloody arse and balls off everything? I told you, I was pissed off, that’s all, I reacted.” He tried to rise from Gordon’s lap, but was held firmly in place.
“Drop the attitude and drop it fast, along with that bad language.” Gordon tightened his arms insistently around his partner’s waist, “what is the anger a cover for Nat, think?”
“Nothing,” Nat’s voice rose slightly, “I was just sick of their quarrelling, I felt like banging their heads together. The scald was the last straw, I lost my temper and stormed off, it was childish of me I admit, I’m sorry, I…” he didn’t finish as the tears that he’d been battling suddenly breached the barricades and poured down his face.
Gordon silently comforted him, stroking his hair, smelling the scent of damp October that still lingered about Nat’s person.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, and taking a deep breath, Nat made a feeble attempt to joke, “sorry love, can’t seem to get control of my emotions, do you think it could be the male menopause or something?”
Gordon didn’t smile, he didn’t speak either, not for a while, instead, he continued thoughtfully teasing long fingers through Nat’s damp hair.
“I’m really sorry Gordon,” Nat was suddenly made anxious by the silence, “it was selfish of me, going off like that, I didn’t mean to worry you, or the kids, I…” He was gently interrupted.
“Shush, it’s alright, I’m just mulling over a few thoughts, come on, relax sweetheart, you’re awfully tense,” Gordon brushed his lips against Nat’s, “I love you and I’m concerned about you, not angry, just concerned, as is my right.” He stopped speaking, concentrating on kissing instead.
Reaching his arms around Gordon’s neck, Nat returned the kiss eagerly, more than eagerly, urgently, this was a place where he could both lose and find himself and if it meant the end of questions he had no wish to answer, all the better. He gave a tiny moan of pleasure as Gordon’s tongue sensuously penetrated his mouth. He closed his eyes, concentrating on sensation, the faint stubble on Gordon’s chin, still imbued with a lingering hint of morning after shave, rasping against his, the colognes slightly bitter taste mingling with the faintly sweet tang of the pasta herbs on his breath. The pleasure intensified as a hand slipped under the blanket and began an equally sensuous and expert exploration of his body, it knew all his most touch sensitive areas, his nipples, the scar on his belly, the soft skin of his inner thighs, the tiny mole in the crease of his groin. His tension mounted, but in a much more positive direction, he willingly allowed himself to be carried to the bed.
“That was rather nice,” murmured Nat some pleasurable time later, “unexpected, but nice.”
“Good,” Gordon’s hand caressed the bare, warm skin of Nathaniel’s thigh, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You certainly seem less tense.”
“Yes,” Nat sighed blissfully, “a lot less tense thanks.”
“Mission accomplished then.” A weighted pause, then, “tell me Nat, did you feel safe just now?”
“That’s an odd choice of word,” Nat moved his head to look at Gordon’s face, a tiny hint of tension creeping back into his body, “safe, how do you mean, safe?”
Reaching for tissues from the bedside cabinet, Gordon carefully cleansed Nat before draping the blanket back around his bared lower half, saying softly, “you know, safe, taken care of, cared for, unthreatened?”
“Why on earth would I feel threatened, of course I felt sa…Oh, I get it,” Nat gave a small laugh, trying, unsuccessfully to free himself of the blanket and sit up, “nice point you made there Gord, yep, nice point. Let me up, I want to get dressed!”
“No,” Gordon’s arms held Nat as easily as if he were a child, “elaborate on this point you think I was making.”
Nat’s eyes, their colour deepened with a slight wash of resentment, gazed steadily into Gordon’s, “the ‘I’m in control,’ point, that’s what that was all about, wasn’t it?”
Gordon gazed steadily back, “to a degree, yes, I make no apology for it, it was a gentle reminder that in our relationship, I’m the one in charge and that it’s safe for me to be so.”
“Well, if you’re quite finished playing power politics with my body, I’d like to shower and get dressed,” Nat tried again to pull away from Gordon, only to find himself held tighter still.
“Stop it Nathaniel, stop it right now, I’ve had enough!”
“Enough of what?”
“You fighting me, you’ve been fighting me since you got back from that conference. All day long it’s been contradiction and conflict, from that nonsense over the coffee this morning to you turning your nose up at milk with honey. I’m tired of it, it’s time to let go of whatever you’re trying desperately not to let go of, you won’t feel better until you do.”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Tell me Nathaniel, the situation a moment ago, who do you think was in control?”
“Haven’t we just covered this, you were, isn’t that the point you were making?”
“As I said, to a degree, but the fact is Nathaniel, you empowered me to be in control, you trusted me enough to let me make a decision about what you needed to make you feel better at that moment in time, that’s how our relationship works, it’s how you like it to work, how I like it to work. And, as I’ve just demonstrated, when I’m in control, when you let me fulfil my role, a role you agreed was mine, you’re less tense, less anxious and you feel safe because, contradictory though it may sound, you’re actually more in control, of yourself, your emotions and your well being. You’re not in control of yourself now, you might think you are, you’re certainly trying to be, but you’re not, you’ve lost control, and you’re frightened.” Gordon suddenly released his hold on Nat, permitting him to get off the bed, “you’re holding out on me Nathaniel. That’s what all this angry, contradictory behaviour is about, it’s a barrier, a means of keeping me out, and it’s a sign of guilt too, because, as you know all too well, that’s not how we operate.”
Nat wrapped the blanket closely around himself, the nakedness that moments ago had felt so right and natural now made him feel somehow vulnerable and exposed, and not physically. He avoided eye contact, asking a question he already knew the answer to, but was stubbornly rejecting, “what exactly are you getting at?”
Gordon got to his feet, briefly clasping both hands behind his neck, pushing his head back against them to ease the stiffness there. It had been a long day, a tiring day and he would have preferred to be sitting in front of a warm fire with Nat curled up by his side watching television, than be standing in a rather chilly bedroom having the conversation they were having, but things needed to be said. He continued, “a few moments ago you allowed me to pleasure you, you trusted me enough to completely hand over control of your body to me, and you enjoyed the result. What I’m getting at is simply this…it doesn’t work in bits and pieces Nat, you don’t choose what areas you trust me with, you don’t choose what bits you ‘let me’ control. I’m in charge, full stop, regardless of whether or not you enjoy the results. In order for me to fulfil my role in our relationship I need you to provide me with any necessary information and you haven’t been doing that. As things stand, you are in very serious breach of the basic principals that we both agreed would underpin our life together, you’ve been lying to me, possibly for weeks and I’m not happy Nat, not happy at all, it stops here.”
The nerves in Nathaniel’s stomach and groin registered shock as Gordon took something from his pocket and grimly held it out, saying, “no more games, I want some answers from you, and that’s not a request.”
Nat took the crumpled conference itinerary and stared at it, but before he could utter a syllable, he was saved, not exactly by the bell, but by a series of shattering screams sounding from the hall below. “Nigel!” Quickly shedding the blanket he reached for the dressing gown that hung on the back of the bedroom door, only to be halted, as Gordon’s voice sounded like a whip crack.
“I’ll attend. You are not to leave this room until I give you my permission!”
He was gone, and Nat sat down on the bed with a heavy thump. He listened as various doors opened and footsteps sounded on stairs as the residents of Hope, alerted by the kafuffle, went to investigate, while he was confined to his room like a misbehaving child. He sat harbouring resentment, listening as the screams died away, and the babble of questioning voices stilled. Footsteps ascended the stairs again as Gordon obviously thinned out who was, and who wasn’t, necessary to the crisis, whatever the crisis was. Nigel and shrieks were a bit like ham and eggs, they went together, but there had been a note of real panic in his voice. Pulling on his dressing gown, Nat stood uncertainly by the bedroom door for some moments, trying to think of a reason that would justify his going to see what had happened. He sighed, returning to sit on the edge of the bed, Gordon had been clear in word and tone, there was no room for wilful misinterpretation, if he left the bedroom he would be in trouble, and he was in enough of that already.
The itinerary lay traitorously on the bed. Blaming it for his inability to go where he willed, Nat snatched it up, crushing it into a ball, thrusting it deep in the pocket of his dressing gown, out of sight, out of mind. His mind anyway. He flinched slightly as outside the house, the wind rose higher still, spitting spiteful pellets of hard rain against the panes in the form of small hailstones, it sounded like someone’s fingers drumming the glass, pleading to be let in. Nat was glad that he had found Keely Knowles a safe place to stay, and he spared a thought, some might call it a prayer, for those who had not found shelter tonight. Another gust of ice laden wind hit the window so hard that Nat feared it might have cracked it, but he didn’t go to look, afraid of what else he might see in the dark canvas of glass, it was as if his eyes were determined to project images from the deepest regions of his mind.
He stared down at his hands, they were shaking, not badly, but with a fine tremor that reminded him of the tremor he used to get when he first started lithium treatment, this was a reverse shake, the result of the salt levels dropping too suddenly. He hadn’t wanted to take lithium, resentful and fearful that somehow the drug was meant to control him, alter him so that he was no longer the same person, it seemed a final confirmation that who he was, was not acceptable or good enough. Gordon had told him that on the contrary, the drug would help control the symptoms that prevented him from being who he was, leaving him more in control of himself, instead of his symptoms being in control. Nat sighed, balling his trembling hands into fists, when had he made the decision to stop the lithium, the morning he went away, the day before, a week before, more? He couldn’t name a time or day, he only knew it had not been the sudden decision he had led Gordon to believe it was. It had been a slow creeping choice to relinquish the sense of stability the drug helped give him, so that his rationality of thought was slightly unbalanced. Why? Because, and here was something else he had not told Gordon, since Jen’s death, there had been scratchings from inside the secret box in his mind and he needed a little irrationality of thought to give him the courage to look inside and find the source of the scratching. He had wanted to look inside himself, without anyone’s help, without John, without Gordon, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He thought he could look and then look away, he thought he had grown enough in understanding of himself to be able to control what came out.
A shadow of movement from the window caught his eye, the curtain wafting as the wind reached insistently through the gaps in the frame, etching sharp memories on the air with its chilly breath. A small boy standing shivering by a window in the dead of winter scanning the night sky, seeking something that would make him different, a magic star to hang his dreams upon, watching as frost patterns formed on the glass, slowly distorting his view of the sky. Nat abruptly blinked the memory away. Getting to his feet he turned the radio on as a distraction, then began busying himself, tidying the room, checking that the container catching weather leakage in the corner of the room wasn’t overflowing, keeping an ear open for the sound of Gordon’s footsteps on the stairs. They came at last, sounding harassed. As soon as the bedroom door opened, Nat launched into a series of questions, “what happened? Why was Nigel screaming? Is he alright? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“There is actually my dear,” closing the door behind him, Gordon held out what remained of a small cardboard box with holes in it, “you can perhaps enlighten me as to why there was a rat residing in the umbrella stand downstairs? Nigel heard it and investigated, it sank its teeth into his thumb and seemed reluctant to let go. Paul, Anna, Caleb, James and Christopher deny all knowledge of the creature.”
Nat gulped back a sudden impulse to laugh, not because he thought Nigel being bitten was funny, and certainly not because the look on his partner’s face was amusing, far from it, far, far from it. The desire to laugh was born more of oncoming hysteria than mirth. It had been a foul day and it didn’t seem to be getting any better. Trust Nigel to stumble upon his rash purchase. He cleared his throat, trying to lend an air of casualness to his reply, “it wasn’t a rat actually, it was a hamster.”
“Hamster?”
Nat nodded, “yes dear, a hamster, a brown and white one.”
“Hamster?” Gordon tried to make the word stretch into a sentence, but failed.
Nat nodded.
“Hamster?” Gordon said the word for the third time, as if repetition might make his understanding of the whole concept of a hamster in the umbrella stand, that little bit clearer.
Nat frowned, but before he could make a pithy reply, Gordon’s finger made itself a warning presence at the end of his nose, “you dare, you just dare make one remark about me repeating myself and I will WEAR you out. I think I’m perfectly entitled to repeat myself in the circumstances. Taking a hold of Nat’s hand, Gordon led him to the armchair, firmly manoeuvring him down onto its seat, while standing in front of him, “explain.”
Tall, confident people have a natural instinct for using their height to advantage, Nat felt as if he was sitting at the bottom of a tower block, he gazed up at its top floor, saying simply, as if it explained everything, “the pet shop didn’t have any goldfish left.”
Gordon ran a disbelieving hand through his hair, “and you thought a hamster could pass as a suitable decoy, is that what you’re telling me?”
Nat shrugged in a non committal sort of way, feeling that sometimes his husband expected answers when there just weren’t any to be had.
“What did you expect it to do Nathaniel, don a gold coloured wetsuit and snorkel around the bowl in imitation of a goldfish, does it have an equity card, is it qualified to take on character roles?”
“I refuse to be subjected to such base sarcasm, I’ve got better things to do.” Nat huffily made an effort to rise to his feet.
“ Sit down,” Gordon hunkered down in front of the chair, putting his hands on either side, effectively caging Nat, “think yourself lucky that sarcasm is all you’re being subjected to at this moment in time, little boy of mine, because right now I have an urge to subject your bare bottom to a hefty dose of the paddle. Unfortunately, I can’t settle things between us as I’d like, not yet. But you can be certain of one thing, we’re going to have a serious talk Nat,” he nodded, “oh yes, a very serious talk, but first, I’ve got younger people that must be attended to.”
Oh, bring my bloody age into it,” snapped Nat peevishly. He gave a shocked intake of breath as he was hauled upright and a hand roughly lifted his dressing gown before depositing a painfully hard slap across the centre of his buttocks.
“We are not playing games here!” Gordon’s eyes flashed forked lightening, “no more obstructive ploys. From this moment on, you will not contradict me, you will not fight me. You will do exactly as you’re told without comment of any kind, is that absolutely clear?
“Yes,” Nat swallowed, fighting an undignified urge to rub the smarting handprint on his backside, “yes indeed, it’s very clear.”
“Good,” Gordon released his hold. “Get dressed, you can help track down that vicious, furry land dwelling goldfish that you brought home, it’s still on the loose downstairs, probably chewing its way through electrical wires, as if we don’t have enough structural problems.”
Nat began to dress quickly and silently, while dwelling on his unwise decision to purchase a hamster in the absence of there being any goldfish. It had been pure impulse, he’d gone into the shop to buy something, it seemed important that he carry the desire through to its logical conclusion, he had bought something. The journey home in the rain had done nothing for the security of the cardboard pet carrier, the hamster had obviously had no bother chewing its way through soggy cardboard and of course, it would be Nigel who heard it scuttling around in the bottom of the umbrella stand. Once dressed, he remained silent, averting his eyes from Gordon, reaching to open the bedroom door; the edict had been plain and to the point, obedience without comment, so be it.
Gordon stopped his partner from turning the door handle, saying quietly “you’re still fighting me, and I’m not having it, you won’t win, I won’t let you.” Holding open the door, he gestured with his hand, saying courteously, “after you.”
Without a word Nat stepped onto the landing, but was prevented from moving forwards by a restraining hand on his arm. He stared at it for a few moments, then, moistening his lips, raised his eyes to meet the resolute gaze of his partner, “thank you,” he politely made the expected response to the courteous gesture. As soon as Gordon nodded acceptance and let go of his arm, he walked stiffly towards the stairs. He was almost there, when he hesitated, turning around to look at the grim faced figure still standing by the bedroom door.
Closing his eyes, Gordon let out a long breath as Nathaniel’s arms came around him and his head pressed hard against his chest. He returned the soundless embrace, resting his cheek against the dark hair, “I’ve got you,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”