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M/M Romance fiction with a mild D/s theme
A visit to a Sunday morning car boot sale has unhappy repercussions for Andrew. He comes face to face with an object from his past, something he never thought he’d see again. Bad memories begin to resurface with a vengeance.
Driven by guilt and self-loathing he leaves his authoritarian partner Thomas and takes flight in order to avoid confronting his fears.
Thomas isn't the kind of man to just quietly accept his young lover’s disappearance. He sets out to find Andrew and make him face up to his demons.
A poignant story of a young man's struggle to come to terms with the past.
The Dolls House
The dreams returned the night following the visit to the car boot sale.
I awoke with a start, my sweat dampened t-shirt clinging to my body, chilling me. I could still hear the voice from my dream, a whisper that seemed to rush from my mind and reverberate around the room. I lay still for a moment fighting back a sense of panic and then got up and headed downstairs, much to Bob’s delight. He didn’t often get company at this inauspicious hour. Rising arthritically from his basket he tottered towards me to be petted. Leaning down I scratched him gently behind the ear and was rewarded with a rusty purr of appreciation.
Scooping him up I rubbed my cheek against his craggy face for a moment. “How about you and I have a little nightcap together, Bob, huh, how does that sound?” His cloudy orange eyes gazed at me approvingly and I gave a small laugh and set him back down on the floor.
Going to the fridge I got out the milk and poured some into a bowl, reasoning that at his age he was entitled to have a treat once in a while, and for that matter so was I. He greedily fell on the forbidden fruit while I just as greedily helped myself to a large measure of cooking brandy, the only available alcohol in the house, downing it in one. It was rough and really better suited to lighting a barbecue than quaffing neat, but still, needs must and all that. Just as I refilled the glass Bob let out a small mew of pleasure, alerting me to the fact our little party had been gate crashed by his favourite human being in the entire world. I didn’t echo the sentiment, especially not when said human smartly removed the glass from my hand and tossed the contents down the sink. I gave a mew of my own, one of indignation and protest.
“Thomas, I hadn’t finished with that!”
“I beg to differ.”
Oh how I hated it when he said that.
Re-corking the bottle with firm efficiency he put it back in the cupboard. “If you’re having trouble sleeping,” he tapped my rump, “the last thing you need is alcohol, it’s a stimulant.”
“Not if you drink enough it isn’t.” I glowered at him resentfully. “What are you doing up anyway, you usually sleep like the dead. Has Halloween come early this year?”
Ignoring both the comments and the dirty look he grasped my upper arm and escorted me out of the kitchen, switching off the light and saying calmly, “if that cat is sick because of the milk you gave him, you’re cleaning it up.”
He slipped a hand under my t-shirt smoothing it over my chest and belly as we lay in bed. “What’s on your mind, love? You were full of the joys of spring this morning, persuading me to go to that wretched car boot thing at the racecourse, and ever since you’ve been snapping and snarling like a dog with a tick in its tail. What’s bothering you?”
I rolled away from him, lying on my side. “Nothing, well,” I glanced back over my shoulder, “apart from the fact I fancied a little drink to help me sleep and you act like an outraged Salvationist.”
He let out a psychoanalytical sigh, “listen, when you get out of bed at two in the morning to drink cooking brandy, then clearly something is bothering you. Either you voluntarily come clean and tell me what it is or I don my Dom’s cap and make it a point of discipline until you do. I might start suggesting you go to bed straight after dinner each evening. How does that sound?”
“Huh,” I gave a contradictory grunt, “you can suggest all you like, but I won’t bloody go.”
He kissed my cheek, “oh, believe me, Andrew my honey, you’ll go, and if I catch you near that brandy bottle again, you’ll regret it. You know perfectly well that alcohol isn’t a problem solver.”
No, I thought sourly, but it’s a bloody good listener and it doesn’t nag. I kept my opinion internalised. Thomas was apt to be crabby if disagreed with on that particular point.