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    Out of Tune
    Out of Tune
    Out of Tune
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    Out of Tune

    By Fabian Black

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    About this ebook

    Domestic discipline stories featuring Gordon Trapp and Nathaniel Andrews.

    Psychiatrist Gordon Trapp does the unthinkable and falls in love with a patient, bad enough in itself, but made worse because the patient in question is another man, Nathaniel Andrews

    Gordon makes the decision to leave his NHS post and set up in private practice to be with Nat.

    Before their relationship is able to get properly underway, he has to go abroad for a while

    He returns from his trip just before Christmas, but Nat seems less than pleased to see him.

    Has his romance with Nat died in the bud? Not if Gordon has anything to do with it. He decides it's time to take the recalcitrant Nathaniel Andrews firmly in hand.
    ‘Out of Tune’ contains two delightful stories about Nat and Gordon, both set at consecutive Christmases.

    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

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFabian Black
    Release dateNov 24, 2009
    ISBN9781452382722
    Out of Tune
    Author

    Fabian Black

    M/M Romance FictionFabian Black writes gay romance fiction featuring mild elements of consensual discipline and light BDSM themes.The stories are humorous, intelligent, affectionate, thoughtful, sometimes tender, and slightly kinkyVisit her website for more information, insights and for free stories to read.~~~~~~In a previous incarnation, Fabian Black was known by the pseudonym 'Cat' her most notable work under that name being 'The Jack and Danny Chronicles.'The Danny and Jack stories fall into a category of M/M domestic discipline literature, often known as ‘Bratfic.’ Such stories usually, though not exclusively, involve an older man (the Top or Dominant) partnering a younger man (the brat or submissive) It can be a rather stylised form of fiction with inherent rules and regulations about the forms discipline takes. The Jack and Danny Chronicles are both an affirmation of the Bratfic genre and an affectionate parody of it.Fabian Black also writes 'The Stardust Stories' as Tarn Swan -Tarn's partner Jonathan Lane, aka Stardust Twinkles, is a man of many talents, with an endless capacity for drama, and glamour.

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      Book preview

      Out of Tune - Fabian Black

      Out of Tune

      Fabian Black

      Copyright © 2011 Fabian Black

      Original story 2011- this edition 2024

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank You

      A D/s Novella

      All characters and situations in this book are purely fictional.

      Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

      Contents

      December 1981

      December 1982

      Out of Tune

      December 1981

      A pair of desert boots heralds a Christmas to remember

      Thanks, mate, Nat spoke the words automatically, without looking up as the coin dropped into his battered tin. The shoes of the giver remained static on the pavement in front of him. Usually, after the minimal pause to drop a coin, they passed on fairly quickly, that’s if they paused at all. He stopped playing his guitar, cocking his head on one side to examine the shoes more thoroughly. Boots, he suddenly thought, not shoes, not in the proper sense, desert boots, yeah, that was the name for them, because of their colour he supposed, which would blend in with sand. Though quite why that was desirable was beyond him. If you were trekking through the desert surely your only concerns would be comfort and water. Colour coordinating with the sand would be the last thing on any list of priorities. He’d seen boots like this before, he was sure of it, only less scuffed than this pair. This pair had obviously been well worn. There was a dark stain on the left front toecap and he resisted an urge to lick his finger and attempt to rub it off.

      So, said a smooth rich voice. This is what you do, instead of keeping your appointments with John?

      Nat stared harder at the boots. Even in the gathering dusk of a winter afternoon they bore a faintly disapproving look. He allowed his eyes to travel up the smart jeans to the brown cord jacket, and on to a very familiar and most definitely disapproving face. His stomach twisted sharply, a movement reflected by his mouth.

      Well, well, his lip peaked into an alpine sneer. If it isn’t a wise man returned from the East. Did you find your Messiah then?

      Gordon Trapp gave the pavement dweller a measured look, but otherwise paid the comment no heed, pointing at the guitar that Nat had balanced on his knees instead. I thought we’d made a contract that this kind of activity belonged to your old way of life?

      Well, as you know, contracts are fragile things and so easily broken it’s almost like they’re made of glass. Nat casually picked at the strings of his guitar, playing a melody that was deliberately out of tune. "And I’ve got to earn the rent money somehow, Doc."

      Folding his arms, Gordon sent a censorious look down the full length of his imposing nose. Yes, I heard you’d left your job, and your college course too I believe. How long have you been sitting there? You look absolutely frozen.

      Nat shrugged. An hour, two hours, a while, does it matter? He felt suddenly tearful, bending his head to hide the evidence. He’d actually been there since ten that morning, aside from a short break at lunchtime when he’d sojourned to the pub to spend his morning earnings. His rent money was already three weeks in arrears and he figured another week wouldn’t make that much difference. Once seated on the pavement again, he found he lacked the energy to move, as well as the motivation to perform. He’d spent the best part of the afternoon staring mindlessly into space, interspersed with playing the odd tune, if only to stop his fingers from freezing solid.

      Gordon silently took in Nat’s soiled clothing, his greasy unkempt hair and general air of neglect and the fact he’d lost a fair amount of weight since last he saw him. Several emotions vied for supremacy. Setting aside shock, disappointment and anger, he chose concern.

      You could at least have worn a jacket, Nathaniel, that top is practically threadbare and no protection against weather like this. Come on. You can’t sit out here all evening. It’s already getting frosty. I’ll give you a lift home, my car’s not far away.

      Nat tilted back his head. Don’t tell me, he gave a mocking grin, your contribution to care in the community is offering a taxi service to the lunatic fringe. What next, a stint in the down and out soup kitchens? Oh, of course, you already do that. Saint Trapp, counsellor to the dispossessed, inept and socially hopeless.

      Gordon squatted down. What on earth are you playing at, man? You haven’t kept an outpatient appointment in almost six weeks. You’re obviously not looking after yourself, just look at you. You’re filthy and you smell, Nat, you actually smell, and not of roses. Do you want to end up being readmitted to the ward, do you? John...

      John can go to hell! Nat’s temper surged and he lurched to his feet almost losing his balance as his legs, cold and stiff from sitting on the freezing pavement for so long, refused to support him. He roughly shook away Gordon’s hand, as it reached to steady him. You’re not my therapist, so it’s none of your damn business anyway.

      Gordon’s lips pressed themselves into twin lines of disapproval, as he detected alcohol on Nat’s breath. It wasn’t only stiff legs and bad temper making him stagger then. It’s very much my business, Nathaniel. He gripped the younger man firmly by the elbow, John was kind enough to act as my locum while I was away, but you’re still officially my patient.

      Nat found himself being firmly steered towards the car parked by the side of the cinema. A myriad of conflicting emotions surged through him. Recognising resentment, he quickly seized it, dragging it on like a familiar overcoat.

      I’m quite capable of deciding whether or not I want to sit on the pavement, for how long and with or without a jacket.

      He pulled away from his captor, then gave a gasp, his eyes opening wide in shocked surprise as a hand

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