16 June 2011

1: Oops!


Copyright © Cat 2011

Cat/Fabian Black asserts the moral right to be recognised as creator and owner of The Jack And Danny Chronicles.


No part of this work may be copied, reproduced or passed on by any means without the written permission of the author

The Jack And Danny Chronicles

1: Oops! 
“Fuck!”  Panic powered through me as smoke began pouring from the computer.

“Fuck and thrice fuck!”  I began wildly pulling at my hair, shrieking aloud like a foul-mouthed soothsayer.

“Fuckity-fucking-fuck! Fuck with an absolutely huge capital F.” 

Why couldn’t I think of anything else to say but fuck?  Then, as if smoke wasn’t bad enough, sparks began to spray prettily from the wretched machine.

My panic went into hyper drive. Who the hell was the patron saint of idiots who had just emptied a large mug of overly sweet coffee into the gubbings of their beloved’s new computer?  None sprang immediately to mind so I decided to bypass lesser saints and appeal directly to the Heavenly Mafia. “Jesus, oh God, oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this is bad, this is really bad. God, please, give me a break.”  And reprieve was there none.

“Fuck!” I returned to my linguistic starting blocks, but stopped pulling my hair out concentrating on chewing my nails down to my elbows instead, as the smoke thickened, billowing into the room like a malevolent pantomime genie, only it had no intention of granting me three wishes.  

“Bastard, bollocks, buggeration and shit!”  I began hopping from one foot to the other as flames began to shoot from the upended metal tower. Why, why did these disasters always happen to me? I’m basically a nice person, kind to children, animals and Jehovah’s Witnesses. I was close to tears when the idea hit me.

A public safety film flashed before my eyes. Jack had made me watch it after setting fire to the kitchen for the third time in a month (honestly, it wasn’t my fault) I galloped into the bathroom. Seizing a towel I flung it dramatically into the bath and turned the tap on. It worked for chip pan fires, why not computer fires?

Once the explosion was over, it occurred to me that perhaps chucking a sopping wet towel onto a live electrical gadget hadn’t been the wisest of moves. Perhaps I should have turned off the electricity first?

The fire brigade certainly thought so.

“Fuck!” That wretched word was haunting me. I gazed around the wreck of what had once been Jack’s study and wondered how I was going to get out of this one. Jack would surely kill me. I might as well just go and dig a hole in the garden and bury myself, save him the trouble.

His final words before leaving for work came back to torment me: ‘Clean the kitchen, don’t touch my new computer, don’t lounge around drinking coffee all day, don’t touch my new computer, make sure you finish those assignments you’re late with. I mean it, Danny,’ his brown eyes had surveyed me keenly. ‘You’ll fail your exams if you don’t buckle down to some work.’ He pulled on his jacket and kissed me goodbye, “by the way,” he said as he opened the front door, ‘don’t touch my new computer.’

I’d done it again, interfered where I had no business interfering. If this situation were a piece of green grocery, it would be in the class one, top of the range, bursting with freshness, I bet you’ve never felt plums like those before, madam, category. Jack would be cross with me. I hated him being cross with me. I looked at my watch. It was four p.m. He would be home by half past five, six at the latest. Nowhere near enough time to renovate the room and replace the computer so he wouldn’t notice.

Taking a deep, steadying breath and screwing up all my courage, I picked up the telephone and did the only mature thing I could do in the circumstances. I ordered a taxi and buggered off to my sisters to lay low for a while, say ten years or so, until Jack cooled off.

Ally was, as ever, pleased to see me. “What have you done to push Jack’s button this time,” she asked, kissing me fondly. 

“Nothing,” I followed her through to the sitting room. “I just wanted to see you. I miss you.”

“You saw me on Saturday, Danny, I’m hardly elusive. You’ve got that, I’m terrified because I’ve done something I shouldn’t, look about you.” She grinned. “The same look you used to get when Den was after your blood.”

I scowled. She can be a right bitch my sister.

“Uncle Danny! Uncle Danny!”

Two human missiles, in the shape of my two and four year old niece and nephew, launched themselves at me. I gave myself up to the joys of unconditional adoration, obligingly hurling myself to the floor so they could use me as a trampoline.  

“Where is Dennis by the way?” I emerged momentarily from a heap of toddlers.

“Don’t worry, he’s working,” she smiled. “Come on,” she whacked a Disney into the video, which immediately drew the ankle biters attention. “Come into the kitchen and tell big sis all about it.” She reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet, “I could do with a laugh.”

“Jack doesn’t like me drinking this early in the day,” I said virtuously as she handed me a large glass of wine.

“Den isn’t overly keen, but as the bossy ones are not here to voice their disapproval, we’ll go ahead anyway.” She raised her glass, “this is doctor Alison Crane, and I’m listening.” 

“It’s not funny, Al.” I looked at her reproachfully as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Sorry, Danny. How the hell did you manage to spill coffee inside a computer for God’s sake? That’s something else, even for you.” 

“I dunno,” I said sheepishly, “it just sort of happened. The bloody CD wouldn’t work so I put the computer on the floor, by the side of the desk, and tipped it forward to make sure the speakers were plugged in properly. Next thing I know my cup of coffee has done a kamikaze dive off the edge of the desk and all hell let loose when liquid leaked inside.”

“Why didn’t you unplug it straightaway?”

I shrugged. “You know me. I did a Corporal Jones, all but running up and down the room screaming, don’t panic, don’t panic, while doing exactly that.” I put my wine down and leaned my head against my hand. “Jack says I act first and think sometime in the future. He’ll probably disown me over this.”

“Never.” She gave me a hug, “He loves you, Danny, God help him he really does love you. You’ll weather this,” she grinned and winked, “but I wouldn’t plan on sitting comfortably anytime in the near future.”

As I said, she can be a right bitch my sister.  I glared at her sourly, “I’m sure you only ply me with drink so I reveal all my deep dark secrets to you.”

“Yep,” she giggled. “Jack’s good for you, just like Denny was.”

I blew a raspberry at her, “sometimes I think my arse must have a target painted on it. Why else do people feel compelled to whack it? Are you sure Jack will forgive me?”

“Positive,” she drained her glass and poured us both another. “You were meant for each other. I knew it as soon as I saw the look on his face when Den first introduced you to him, well, once he’d gotten over the shock of being drenched in the contents of that can of Fanta you were opening. You’re a natural pairing. Jack/Daniel, like whisky and soda, get it?” She smirked.

“Very fucking droll I’m sure, you’re a real comedienne, only don’t give up the day job.”

“Tsk, tsk, my boy,” she pointed a stern finger at me. “You know how Jack dislikes you using an excess of profanities.”

The phone rang in the hall and she staggered off to answer it. Drinking wine did nothing to improve Alison’s precarious balance. I resisted the urge to offer to answer the phone for her; knowing from experience that she’d only glare at me and yell, ‘I’m disabled, not incapable.’
She was soon back. I looked at her enquiringly, “Jack?” 

She nodded, “he wanted to know if you were here. He’s on his way. Don’t worry, he sounded more irritated than mad.”

It seemed no time at all before the doorbell sounded with a death like knell. I gulped and remained where I was in the kitchen, as Al went to answer it. I heard squeals of, ‘Uncle Jack,’ as the infants did their Cruise missile impression on him and their delighted giggles as he did what he always did, tucking each of them under a strong arm and swinging them round. Those strong arms would be put to a very different use later on if I knew Jack. My bottom cheeks clenched, sensing that they were soon to be toast.

Jack’s brown eyes were like pools of frozen mud as he came into the kitchen and glowered at me. Obviously my disguise as a tea stain on the table hadn’t quite come off. He pointed a loaded finger at me, “the car’s on the drive. Get in it.”

I opened my mouth.

“Just do as you’re told for once, Danny,” he cut me off. 

I closed my mouth and my buttocks clenched harder still.

“Don’t be too cross, Jack, remember you love him.” Alison attempted to pour oil, “he doesn’t mean to be...”

“I know what he means, or doesn’t mean, thank you, Alison,” said Jack crisply. “And you shouldn’t be plying him, or yourself with wine at this hour of the day. Dennis wouldn’t like it.”

“Stuff Dennis, he hasn’t been asked to... ouch,” she yelped as he snatched up a tea towel and playfully whacked her jean clad bum with it. “Hey, that hurt.”

I grinned, then gave a yelp of my own as he tea-towelled me and said ominously. “Just wait until I get you home.”

“Target practice night is it, Jack my love?” Alison, despite her problem and the wine, danced nimbly out of his way. 

“You’re incorrigible, Alison. I’ll be giving Dennis a few pointers on how to deal with you.”

“Believe me, Jack, he doesn’t need any,” she pulled a face at him and he grinned and kissed her telling her to take care.

I risked a glance at Jack as we drove home. Considering the havoc I’d wreaked, he didn’t look nearly as mad as I thought he’d be. My buttocks relaxed slightly, perhaps this wasn’t going to be too bad after all. I risked an apology. “Sorry, Jack, I really am sorry.”  It’s a shame it was dark and he couldn’t see the tears of contrition in my eyes. 

“I should think so,” he said, removing a hand from the steering wheel in order to pat my thigh. “How many times have I told you about going out without letting me know where I can reach you if I need to, or at least taking your mobile with you. You know what a worrier I am. I phoned home to remind you Tris is coming over this evening, and to make sure the place was tidy and to get something out of the freezer. Only you weren’t there, and now we’ll be rushed. I hate being rushed.”

Alarm bells began to ring softly in my head. I slid further down in my seat, as my buttocks attempted to leave my body and jump from the car.

“So, you haven’t actually been home yet?”

“No, of course not,” he said, somewhat irascibly. “I phoned Alison after I phoned home and came to get you straight from the office. No point wasting more time by going home if you weren’t there.” 


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My stories focus on M/M relationships, the main slant of which is on consensual discipline between loving male partners. It’s quite difficult to define this kind of fiction. It doesn't quite fit into the category of straightforward M/M erotic romance and nor can it be regarded as BDSM fiction in a classic sense.

Domestic Discipline Romance might be a fair description with still more sub categories under that umbrella with keywords such as: original character slash, domestic discipline, discipline partnership fiction, romantic fic, hurt/comfort fiction etc.

To be honest I don’t really think it’s necessary or even advisable to attempt to classify and define it too closely, because to do so is to risk confining both writers and readers by binding them with rules and regulations about what’s right and what’s wrong in a story that features any kind of power exchange.

I don’t personally think there’s a right or wrong way to write this kind of fiction, it all depends on personal taste, need and interpretation of interest, one size definitely doesn’t fit all and that’s how it should be, we’re all individuals and variety is a good thing.

Some of my stories are written from a tongue in cheek perspective and have elements of madcap humour and parody while others take a more serious look at the role consensual discipline might play in adult relationships.

Cat/Fabian Black


all material copyright Cat/Fabian Black unless otherwise stated.

Please note: I'm British so my stories are written using U.K. English and grammar. Please check the default setting on your reader devices.

None of the stories on these pages are public domain works. They are the intellectual property of the indie writer known variously as Cat, Fabian Black, Tarn Swan, Ester Phillips. They are not to be copied, passed on or reproduced in any way without the prior written consent of the owner and copyright owner