17 June 2011

5: Day of Rest

The Jack And Danny Chronicles

5: Day of Rest

“Come on, lazy bones.” Jack, freshly showered and dressed, whipped back the duvet and playfully patted my naked rump. “You can’t lie there all day.”

  “Why not?” I stretched luxuriously. Making love twice in one morning had left me pleasantly relaxed. “It’s Sunday. I’m obeying the Sabbath sex law: and after ye Shaggath ye shall rest.”

  “Never mind Sabbath law. Obey mine and get your pretty little backside out of that bed. You’ve got things to do.”

  “What things?” I sat up, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Apologising to Mrs Greenfield for a start. I won’t have you fingering the neighbours willy-nilly.”

  “Aw, Jack. She’s old. She’s probably senile. She won’t even remember that I fingered her willy-nilly. Hell, even I don’t remember fingering it.” I threw myself out of bed just in time to avoid the downward flight of Jack’s hand. It whacked the mattress instead. “Anyway,” I dodged past him to get to the bathroom, “you apologised for me.”

  “It’s a matter of respect,” he called after me. “Towards yourself as well as her. It’s about owning your actions, facing up to your misdeeds.”

Oh God, I turned the shower on. He was still in philosophical mode.
  “Are you listening to me, Daniel?”

I ignored him, climbing under the stream of water.


  “Yes, oh Master Jedi,” I shouted facetiously. “I hear you. Our mind bond is strong. That and you’ve got a voice like a foghorn.” I reached for the shampoo, and then screamed as the water turned suddenly icy. Bastard! He’d turned the hot tap on downstairs. I stood no chance against bloody Edwardian plumbing and sadistic lovers.

“Jack?” After my shower I wandered into the kitchen, where the object of my desires was sitting at the kitchen table fighting a silent, but deadly battle with the cat for possession of the Sunday Times. From the smug look on Mistoffelees’ face as he sprawled lazily across the paper, it was easy to see who was winning. He knew instinctively what part of the paper Jack was attempting to read, placing his paw, or tail, strategically over the print in question. I lost my original train of thought, quoting, “well I never, was there ever, a cat so clever as magical...”

  “Very literary I’m sure,” Jack cut me off mid-quotation. “What were you going to say before T.S. Eliot took possession of you?” He crossly conceded defeat to the cat and looked at me, his expression softening, “come here,” he took the towel from my hands and pulled me down on to his lap, briskly drying my hair. “Comb,” he held out his hand.

I handed it over and allowed him to comb my damp hair. The task done to his satisfaction, I lay back against his chest as he wrapped his arms securely around my waist.

  “Jack, what do you think is wrong with Alison?”

  “Heck Danny,” he broke off from gently nuzzling my ear lobe. “It would take a whole army of psychiatrists to determine that. She’s your sister, doesn’t that say it all? She’s temperamental, irresponsible, impetuous and just as crazy as you are. I sometimes find it hard to believe that she’s ten years older than you. You’re more like twins.”

“You do like her though, don’t you?” 

  “Course I do, she infuriates me at times, but I’m fond of her.” He kissed my cheek, “she’s got an air of vulnerability, just like you. I’m a pushover for things that need looking after.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that, she’ll take your kneecaps off.”

Jack chuckled, “Dennis ought to spank her more often.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. “You mean he’s tried it...and survived?”

  “Danny, come on, you know what manner of man Den is, surely you’ve guessed by now that he’s her Dom, as well as her husband. For heaven’s sake, why do you think he approves of our lifestyle? If she hadn’t met him, I doubt she’d still be breathing. She was a self destructive time bomb.”

I tried to quell a spark of jealousy over the fact that Jack seemed to know more about my sister’s life than I did. “Tell me how they met. They don’t talk about it to me. Ally hates talking about her past, she says there’s no point, because it’s over and done with.”

  “Dennis was her probation officer for two years when she was a young teenager.” He patted my leg, “and that’s as much as I’m going to tell you. It’s their business and therefore not my place to talk to you about it. I’ve already said too much. I apologise. I shouldn’t have whetted your appetite. It was indiscreet of me. Alison is the only one who owns her past, if she wants to give you a window into it, she will.”
Her probation officer! My eyes widened at that little nugget. Of course I knew what Dennis did for a living, but I had no idea my sister had been one of his cases.  “Ally was on probation, what for?”

Jack shook his head, refusing to discuss the matter with me any further. He was adamant. If I wanted details I would have to approach Alison or Dennis directly.
No one told me anything. I didn’t even know I had a sister until just days before my mother died. I brought this fact up with Jack again, hoping it would prompt him to share more nuggets with me. It didn’t.

He hugged me sympathetically. “A lot of wrongs were done to both you and Alison. Now, stop worrying, she’s like you, she makes mountain ranges out of molehills. She’s probably back to what passes as normal in your bloodline. Go finish getting dressed, then you can pop next door and make your apologies to Mrs Greenfield.”
I grumbled and groused. Old people made me uncomfortable. I mean, I know Jack’s fairly old, Dennis too, but Mrs Greenfield was ancient. Jack was insistent. He pushed me out of the front door, watching as I walked slowly down the path with all the enthusiasm of a man going to his own execution. I turned to look over my shoulder gazing a plea at him, but he flung out his left arm in the direction of the elderly one’s house, looking like an over zealous nazi. The look on his face made it clear that nonsense would not be brooked. Then, as I reached the garden gate, he dropped a bombshell.

  “Don’t take all day over it, Danny. I’ve arranged for us to take Tristan for Sunday Lunch. It’s his birthday today and an ideal opportunity for you to get to know him better.”

I whirled furiously round, only to find myself staring at a blank door. The crafty, rotten sod, he must have phoned Tristan while I was in the shower. I hastened to our neighbours house anxious to get the apology out of the way so I could return to Jack and argue against Sunday lunch with the ghastly Tristan.

Mrs Greenfield opened her front door and I couldn’t help but stare. She was clad in purple leggings, orange trainers and an electric blue leotard. The sight left me momentarily speechless.

  “Come in, ducks,” she held the door wide, “I’m in the middle of me Jane Fonda’s, don’t want to seize up.”

I stepped reluctantly inside, closed the door and trotted down the hall after her sprightly and brightly attired figure.

She eyed me speculatively as I stood in the centre of her sitting room nervously twisting my hands. “Sit down, pet. I don’t bite and old age isn’t catching. It comes naturally to those of us who survive the idiocies of our youth. Tell us what you’re after.” She lay on her exercise mat and began doing sit ups with astounding dexterity.

I was rather taken aback by this unexpected approach. Perching myself on the edge of the settee I managed to find my voice, explaining that I wanted to apologise for making a rude gesture at her on Friday evening.

She paused in her sits ups to give me a huge grin. “You mean giving me the finger. Don’t worry about it, ducks. I’d probably have done the same thing in your position. By hell, I had a good laugh watching you having a paddy and chucking stuff after that tall bloke. Got free drinks all night, telling that one down the club on Saturday evening.”

I was conscious of my jaw dropping open. I wondered if Jack had seen this side to Mrs Greenfield. Her next words left me slightly faint.

 “Bet your boyfriend made you come and apologise, didn’t he? He’s very conscientious and polite. There’s not many like him around these days, good old fashioned manners he’s got, and good old fashioned methods of dealing with naughty boys, judging from what I’ve heard through these walls.”

She threw back her head and snorted with laughter, as I blushed redder than my hair.

“Don’t look so stricken, lad, and don’t worry. I didn’t mention that down the club. Some things are deserving of privacy. A young lad like you needs a man with a strong hand and I’m guessing that you and yours live what’s called a consensual lifestyle, am I right?”

I nodded and she smiled. “I thought so. I might be Green by name, but I’m not green by nature. My late cousin Philip was gay and I learned a few things from him.”

  “So, it doesn’t it bother you, me and Jack, you know? “ I blushed further.

Her age washed blue eyes gazed at me seriously for a minute, “there’s only a few things that have the power to bother me, wanton cruelty and spiteful intolerance being among them. Two people living and loving together, regardless of gender, well, that’s nowt to be shocked or shamed by.” She turned the video off, “there’s some would say my behaviour is disgraceful. I’m eighty years old. I’m supposed to sit mumbling in corners, while dribbling from both ends. Well, I refuse to comply.” She held a wrinkled hand out. “I’ll not judge you, if you don’t judge me –deal?”

I shook the hand, which had surprising strength in it. She winked at me and I couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sorry anyway, it was rude. I let my temper run away with me sometimes.”

  “Aye well, red hair and hot temper go together. I had red hair once, believe it or not. I regularly erupted like a volcano.”

She went across to the sideboard, “I’ll accept your apology if you’ll have a little drink with me. What’s your poison, gin, vodka, whiskey, brandy?” She turned to look at me, “I hope you’re not a sherry drinker, one thing I haven’t got is sherry, can’t stand the stuff. I’ve got beer if you prefer, mebbee even some of that chemical muck they call lager if you want.”

Jack didn’t like me drinking spirits, he claimed they seriously impaired my judgement and it was impaired enough without them. I immediately opted for a vodka and orange, to spite him for arranging Sunday lunch with the enemy.
Mrs Greenfield, or Lily as she insisted I call her, drained her neat brandy in one gulp, asked me to pour another and went off to get changed. I gazed around her sitting room with interest. It was an eclectic blend of traditional and modern styles, though I couldn’t quite work out how the large straw donkey fitted in to the overall design. It stood next to the television and had an incredibly lecherous expression on its face. I was still gazing at it when Lily came back down, dressed in more conservatively coloured trousers and sweater.

  “I see you’ve met Pedro,” she nodded towards the donkey. “He’s an ugly bugger, but he has happy associations, first holiday to Spain 1965. He was a gift from a Spanish waiter I met. By heck,” a dreamy expression flitted across her face, “them Latin’s are great lovers, and the donkey proved useful for smuggling booze back into dear old Blighty.”

  “Lily,” I shook my finger at her. “I think you’re going to be a corruptive influence on me.”

She raised her glass, saying mischievously, “here’s hoping.”

I laughed and before I knew it we were gossiping away and I was confiding in her about the lunch with Tristan.

  “Well, my love,” she settled back comfortably in her chair. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept that your boyfriend has loyalties to people other than you. Friendship ties are important. Show Jack and this Tristan how mature you can be. Grit your teeth and be polite. Don’t allow his jibes to unsettle you and make you look bad in Jack’s eyes.” She took a large swallow of brandy, “and if all else fails, punch the bastard when Jack isn’t looking.”

Our laughter was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I knew from the tone of the ring, that it would be Jack wondering where the hell I’d got to. I said so. Lily was unfazed, “finish your drink, love, I’ll get the door.”

I listened as she opened the door and Jack’s voice politely enquired whether I was still there.  “Oh dear,” Lily’s voice became at once frail and quivery. “Have I kept him too long with my chatter? He’s so polite; he obviously didn’t like to say he had to go. Daniel dear,” she called. “Your friend is here for you.”

I ventured into the hall, giving Jack a tentative look. He gave me a stony one in return.

“Thank you,” Lily patted my arm, “for listening to an old lady’s dull prattle with such kind attention.”  She turned back to Jack, a small tear in her eye. “I’m sorry to have detained him, I hope you’re not cross? I don’t get many visitors these days,” she laid a wrinkled old hand on his sleeve and his face softened.

  “Not at all Mrs Greenfield.” He gently patted the hand, “I’m pleased that you’ve enjoyed his company.”

 Lily turned away, bestowed the ghost of a wink in my direction and tottered off up the hall. I closed the front door on my way out.   

“You’re always telling me to respect my elders,” I said self-righteously, as we made our way home. “It would have been rude to shut her up, might have given her a fatal stroke or something.” I danced nimbly out of the way of the swat he aimed at my behind.

  “Behave this afternoon, Danny.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I mean it.” Jack’s voice was suddenly sharp, “I want you to try and be nice to Tristan, or at the very least, polite.”

  “I don’t see why we have to have lunch with him at all. Can’t I just phone my apology, or send an email?”

  “Look, Daniel, have some charity. Tristan only moved up here a few weeks ago. He doesn’t have that wide a social circle yet. He’s an old friend, he’s been good to me in the past, very good. He supported me when relations with my father were difficult. The least I can do is try and make him feel at home here and offer him some company, especially on his birthday.”

I refrained from mentioning that the Samaritans offered a good listening service for lonely people. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. In the event bad didn’t figure at all, but horrendous certainly did.

We picked Tristan up, and Jack made ME sit in the back of the car, like the family dog. His reason was that Tristan’s longer legs needed the space the front passenger seat could offer. Great, not only was I shoved in the back of the car, I was also cruelly reminded of my lack of height.

By the time we reached the little pub restaurant where we were to have lunch, I was, I confess, sulking. Jack gave my arm a little warning shake, and my bottom a discreet tap, as we headed inside following in the footsteps of the high and mighty Tristan who had decided to take the lead. Arrogant pillock.

Once we were seated, I gritted my teeth, and with as much sincerity as I could muster, which wasn’t much, I apologised for the lamb episode. Tristan sipped his wine with a genteel air, his eyes never leaving my face. My skin glowed pink under his cool scrutiny.  Finally he deigned to reply. “I accept your apology, dear boy, you were overwrought. It’s water under the bridge. I’m sure we can all be friends.”
A member of the bar staff came across with some menus. Tristan gave her a sweet smile, glanced across at me, and asked if they did a children’s menu. I flushed to the roots of my hair as she, somewhat uncertainly, handed me a brightly coloured clown menu.

Only Jack’s hand on my arm prevented me from leaping up and punching Tristan’s mocking face.

  “Behave.” Jack’s eyes sent warning messages to back up his words as I took the menu and angrily lobbed it at Tristan who deftly caught it.

  “Just my little joke, Daniel, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He turned his attentions to his own menu. “Hmm,” he looked at Jack, “better not order the rack of lamb. Don’t want to alarm the other diners should our young friend’s passions be ignited at the sight of it and he attempt to launch it into orbit.”

  “And you can behave as well, Tris, stop teasing Danny. It isn’t fair, he hasn’t got the measure of you yet.” Jack gave his friend a severe look, but I wasn’t fooled. I could hear the amusement in his voice. I was hurt. 

They made their choices and gave their order to the waitress. She looked at me expectantly, pencil poised over pad. I shook my head, “nothing for me thank you. I’m not hungry.” I heard Jack draw a sharp breath. Tristan made a small tutting sound with his tongue, murmuring something about sulky children. The cheek of it, me, childish! I wanted to swing my leg under the table and kick his shin. I wanted to stamp on his toes and pull faces at him and stick out my tongue. I wanted to bounce the condiments off his skull.

The waitress turned to go, but Jack halted her. I watched her knees turn to jelly as he bestowed one of his nicest smiles on her and apologised for messing her about. “He’ll have the fillet of salmon please.”

  “I don’t want anything!” I glared at him hotly, “especially not fish.”

  “The lemon roast chicken then.” Jack ignored me and gave the order to the waitress who hurried away, suddenly aware of the atmosphere at our table.

I was absolutely furious. If looks could kill, both Jack and Tristan would have been shrivelled blobs on the floor. He might have bloody well ordered for me, but he couldn’t force me to eat it. I drained my glass of wine, steam just about coming out of my ears, and reached for the bottle to refresh it. To my mortification Jack moved it out of my reach. “You’ve had enough on an empty stomach, sweetheart, you’ll end up with one of your migraines. Have another one when your meal arrives.”

I was trembling with the effort of keeping my temper in control. My face felt as if it were on fire. How could Jack treat me like this in front of Tristan?  It was humiliating. He had let his nasty friend bait me non-stop and to add insult to injury had been amused by it. He had taken away my dignified attempts at protest by ordering lunch against my wishes, and now he was refusing to let me have a drink. He was treating me like a fractious child. It was just too bloody much! I rose to my feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the toilet,” I snarled, “is that permissible, or should I just sit here and piss into my empty wine glass?”

Brown eyes should not be able to convey looks of such glacial proportions, “fine, don’t take all day about it,” his words dropped like ice cubes from his lips.
Locking myself in a toilet cubicle I gave way to a muttered bout of frenzied swearing, followed by a few tears of self-pity. I stayed long enough to let Jack know I was angry and defying him, but not long enough to risk him coming to get me. Splashing my eyes with cold water, I composed myself as best I could and headed back to the table. The sound of Tristan’s oily voice sent my blood pressure edging up the scale again. I stood frozen to the spot; neither of them had heard me approach the little alcove where they were sitting.

  “Jack, my dear fellow, don’t take my words amiss. I’m not saying he’s without his charms. I’m just remarking that your young padawan has rather an attitude on him, to say the very least.”

  “He’s just unsure of himself and a bit hot tempered, Tris. He’ll manage it better as he matures. He’s really very, very sweet when you get to know him. He’s kind hearted too, and amusing.”

  “I admire your fortitude, Jack. Personally speaking, if he were mine, I’d think seriously about investing in a good solid hairbrush, or a sturdy paddle. Young men like him need to know who’s in charge.”

It was un-fucking-believable!  Was there a soul in the universe who DIDN’T have a desire to smack my arse? I spotted our waitress making her way over carrying two plates. I approached her, smiling.

“Are they for our table?”

She nodded and I relieved her of them.  “I’ll take them for you, save your legs.”  She smiled her appreciation.

Both Jack and Tristan looked surprised as I advanced on the table carrying two plates, but not as surprised as they looked when I ‘accidentally’ tripped, depositing a plateful of goulash into Tristan’s immaculate napkin draped lap. He leapt to his feet with a screech of fright and horror, dripping gravy everywhere. The waitress came hurrying over to attend to him.

I was still riding high on a malicious tide of pleasure when we dropped Tristan back home, though I made a show of once again apologising to him for my ‘clumsiness’ as he got out of the car. He didn’t so much as spare me a glance. Jack compensated by freezing me with a glare as he got out to follow Tristan.  I took the opportunity to take my rightful place in the front of the car.

When Jack returned he was carrying a long cardboard box. I wondered what it could be, but didn’t dare ask. The atmosphere in the car on the drive home was heavy, to say the least. I tried once to speak, but was told to be quiet in a way that didn’t encourage argument. My buttocks developed the equivalent of a posterior form of St Vitus dance, twitching and clenching nervously as we neared home and the reality of what I’d done began to sink in.

As soon as the car pulled up on the drive I reached for the door. “I think I’ll just pop in and see how Lily is. It’s cold today, she might be hypothermic or something,” my voice sounded like it belonged to a boy chorister, so high had it risen.

  “Stay right where you are, Daniel Macintyre. We’ve got things to discuss.” Getting out of the car Jack walked briskly around to my side and sternly held open the door.  I gulped and made to climb out, my foot knocking against the box that Jack had been given by Tristan. Seeking to distract him, I snatched it up, “this looks interesting, what is it?”   

This time my clumsiness was for real. I dropped the box and it fell from my hands clattering onto the drive.  My eyes grew big and round and my heart hammered, as they took in the object that spilled out. It was the largest wooden hairbrush I had ever seen in my life.

Jack bent and retrieved the hairbrush, slowly straightening up with it in his hand. We stood silently staring at each other. For a moment it was like a scene from the film High Noon.  Only, unlike Gary Cooper, aka Marshall Will Kane, this boy wasn’t too proud to run. I’m sure as hell that had Kane been faced with a menacing Lee Van Cleef wielding a hairbrush, he’d have buggered off pretty sharpish too. I shot to Jack’s left, crossing the lawn like an Olympic sprinter on steroids, hurdle jumping the fence and making off down the street.


I kept running, imagining I could hear his footsteps behind me. My arse would be done for if he caught me. A car drew up on the opposite side of the road. The driver attracted my attention with a piercing wolf whistle. I hurled myself across the road. Ally already had the front passenger door open. I barely had time to slam the door closed before she thrust the car into gear and took off.

  “Looks like I arrived in the nick of time, Danny my boy.” She grinned, giving a jaunty wave to a furious faced Jack as we drove wildly by.

I took a deep breath, hastily fastening my seatbelt as she took a corner on two wheels. “Where the heck did you spring from?”

  “Heaven by the look on your face when you saw me. I was on my way to your house actually. What have you done to upset Jack?  He looked livid.” She suddenly blasted the car horn like a woman possessed.  “Gerrof the frigging road!”

I had a brief glimpse of two terrified male faces, as they hurled themselves to safety.

  “Bloody idiots, standing in the middle of the road like that!”

  “Ally,” I wailed, “they were on a pedestrian crossing for God’s sake, and it was on green.”

Suddenly Jack and his huge hairbrush seemed like a soft option. I gripped the seat with one hand and the door handle with the other, offering silent, but impassioned prayers to St. Christopher. I didn’t care whether he was no longer on the ‘A’ list of Saints. He was the only one I knew that catered for travellers so he’d do for me.”

“Danny,” she crunched the gears in a way that would have brought tears to the eyes of a kwik fit fitter. “You and I are going to have a little bit of fun without our anally retentive partners putting the mockers on things. The night is young, you’re even younger and I’m severely challenged in the maturity stakes. We are going to ROCK!”

She gave me one of her mad smiles and suddenly I was laughing, the tension of the afternoon giving way to a heady mixture of relief and teenage rebellion. I relegated Jack, his large implement and the impending doom of my backside to the back burner of memory, willingly allowing my sister’s euphoria to carry me along.

Copyright Cat/Fabian Black 2011

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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