“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 Ki
d.
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.
Out Of Tune Page 3
