Simon sighed and remembered why it was he never took long vacations. Things got cocked up at the shop when he did. Sydney and Dominic were competent enough, but they didn't look at things the same way he did. He looked at things from the perspective of a shop owner - meaning if money goes out, you need money coming in, preferably in at least equal amounts. Sydney had taken a sick day due to an abscessed tooth, leaving the shop in Dominic's hands. An opportunistic dealer, one Quentin Boswell, had pressured Dominic, acting as Simon's agent in his absence, into agreeing to purchase a rare books lot from an estate sale at a very inflated price. Dominic did not deal with pressure or confrontation very well; he usually made a few noises then disappeared into the loo for a good cry. So he'd caved in without much of a fight. Simon had consulted with his solicitor, and found out there was nothing to be done about it. So he was trying to salvage what he could from the bloody fiasco, and do it without yelling too much at Dominic.
All of this had left him tired and distracted. He was neglecting Russell shamefully, and he realized it. Russell was anxious and winding himself up for a glorious future tantrum. Simon didn't know whether to step in now or to buy his ticket and wait for the show. He watched Russell slam the cupboard doors for the fifth time, put down his empty cup of tea, stood up and went over to his brat. He wrapped his arms around Russell and gave him a squeeze. "I've been a very bad, neglectful Top, haven't I?"
Ah – finally the moment he had been waiting for. Well, about time too!
Russell wiggled out of Simon’s arms and turned his back. He pretended not to hear and proceeded into the narrow hallway that led to their living room. This was a very pleasant room and Russell’s favourite. He loved this room, especially in autumn. Simon had set up a little work area for him next to the bay windows, so he could look out as he pored over his sketches, and watch the golden leaves as they floated softly in the wind.
This morning however, Russell had no inclination to look out the window. His movements were precise and sharp, as he marched quickly instead towards his work space and started to sort through his papers. Where was that damn design he had been working on? He could have sworn he had it there just that morning. Mumbling to himself, he swept a hand across the table in a daring artistic flourish and watched with satisfaction as the papers floated into the air.
Ah – that felt good!
*And here we go* Simon thought to himself. As far as Russell's tantrums went, it was fairly low key. He walked over to where Russell stood, wearing a smug smile. "Yes, you've certainly showed those papers who is boss. Those blasted designs won't be hiding from you again."
Simon took Russell's hand. "I think we need to have a little talk. Come sit with me on the sofa, please." Simon's gentle but insistent pull made it plain he would not be taking no for an answer.
Still unwilling to concede, Russell sat down at his work table instead. He crossed his legs, and folded his hands primly over one knee. “I am terribly busy you know, Simon. I have tons of work to do and not quite enough time. You will make it quick, won’t you darling?”
Simon pulled Russell to his feet and smiled. "Whether or not this is quick depends entirely on YOU, darling. Come along now." Simon sat on the sofa and guided Russell to a spot beside him. He sighed, frowned, and then sighed again. "There really is no way to put this except to say that I have been neglecting you of late, and I apologize. If you wish to report me to Tops International, I will understand." Simon ran his fingers through his Brat’s hair. "I've had to deal with a rather large mess at work and I know that doesn't excuse my actions, anymore than it would excuse yours. And no, you can't spank me." Simon raised his right eyebrow. "But you are allowed to be bloody annoyed with me, up to a certain point."
Russell was mollified – to some extent - at Simon’s words. Apologies from the Top were not to be casually tossed aside and Simon did have a lot to be sorry for. Night after night, Simon had been distant, and had not said anything much. No way could Russell put up with that. Being unresponsive to one’s Brat’s sighs and pouts was almost a cardinal sin.
Strangely though, once the apology had been spoken, it suddenly took a twisted turn and rapidly blossomed. Something had been niggling at the back of Russell’s mind for days and as perverted as it sounded, the apology was exactly the catalyst needed to set Russell off. At the furthest end of his subconscious, Russell had already convinced himself that Simon was hiding bad news and that his behaviour stemmed from a dread of hurting him.
Simon could tell that Russell had enjoyed his apology, but there seemed to be something more. Simon knew he wasn't perfect, and he was willing to admit when he was in the wrong. Not that he hadn't taken notice of Russell's various slammings, stompings and huffings mind you; he had filed them away for later.
"Russell? Despite what you may believe, I can't read minds, so a response would be appreciated."
“Well, in that case, do you have any explanation why you have been so negligent?”
"Exhaustion mostly, I suppose. I was just so bloody drained by the end of the day. You were fretting over your designs and I didn't see the need to burden you with my problems as well. I'm afraid I got an over dose of the British stiff upper lip gene." Simon leaned over and kissed Russell on the cheek. "You see, I'm supposed to be your white knight, charging in to vanquish your enemies and save the day. It's what a Top does, you know."
“I see.” Russell studied his feet carefully, admiring his pedicured toes. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
Simon was flummoxed, absolutely flummoxed. Not for the first time, he wished that Brats came with some sort of manual. "What else could there be?"
Russell wasn’t crowned drama queen in his senior year in high school for nothing. Simon was being evasive, that was obvious. And Russell knew exactly what he was hiding. He, Russell, had given Simon a chance and had bravely put ‘the issue’ out in the open and it cut him to the core that Simon had not been upfront with him. The hint of moisture glistened on the ends of his long eye lashes.
*I would have been much better off studying psychology at University* Simon thought to himself. *I would have been better prepared.*
He didn't miss that Russell was on the verge of tears. "Russell, sweetheart, I'm totally in the dark here."
“I would rather you be totally honest with me, Simon.” Russell’s voice shook. “I am not such a weakling as you think. I can be tough. I can survive without you.”
Simon blinked and raised both eyebrows. "Russell, I'm being totally honest, to the best of my knowledge." Simon gently brushed Russell's hair back from his face. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere. The drama award is yours, now will you please tell me what this is all about?"
Russell blinked his tears away; he was not going to let Simon see how affected he was. “I would rather YOU tell ME!”
"I would love to accommodate you Russell, but I have no bloody idea what has put you into such a dither."
With a shuddering breath, Russell got up and went over to his worktable. From under a thick design catalogue, he withdrew a postcard and swung around to regard his lover.
“What,” Russell demanded, waving the postcard in the air, “do you call this?”
Both eyebrows rose once again, Simon responded in a calm manner. "I think that is a postcard."
Russell scoffed. “That is so perceptive, darling. Yes, it’s a postcard. But don’t tell me you don’t recognize whose postcard it is?”
*Ah* Simon began to understand the crux of the matter. "With you waving it about in that fashion, it's hard to get a good look at it, but I believe it's a postcard from Remy."
“Bloody right it is!” Russell pounced like a cat. “Remy’s secret love note to you! And don’t you try to deny it – I saw this in the post last week?”
"I can't very well deny receiving it since you are holding it in your outraged hand. And no, it’s not a love note, secret or otherwise. Just a postcard, Russell, as you very well know."
Russell scoffed again – this time with a theatrical shrug. “I know nothing of the sort. Why did he need to send you a postcard anyway?”
"Remy sent me a postcard so that I," Simon paused and amended his statement. "So that we would have his and Gene's new address."
“And when were you planning to tell me about this? Or am I not supposed to know?” Russell’s eyes glinted green.
"I suppose I set it aside and forgot about it, having more important matters on my mind."
“I always knew ...” Russell began.
Simon held up a finger. "Stop right there Russell. There was nothing going on between myself and Remy apart from what you conjured up inside your mind. Nothing. Remy has Gene and they are very happy with each other."
“He has always had his eye on you! Right from day one.”
"Well, I am gorgeous." Simon joked, trying to lighten the mood. Russell just upped his glare. "Really Russell, Remy is French, he flirted with every man there."
“You included! I saw it with my own eyes – showing off his ... everything ... and this before you’ve even been properly introduced! Ha! This is the kind of man you fancy? Unscrupulous, devious, scheming ...?”
Simon sighed. This wasn't going at all well. "Remy was already at the pool when we arrived, Russell, and already nude. It's not as if he performed a strip while flicking his tongue at me. He casually walked over and introduced himself. There is nothing unscrupulous or devious about him. Mischievous perhaps. You are being silly."
“What? I am silly?” Russell gasped with dramatic licence. When he saw Simon open his mouth to speak, he covered his ears with both hands, the postcard still trapped between the fingers of one hand. ““NO!” Russell screamed. “I don’t want to hear it!”
Simon was still trying to be patient at this point, but his patience was wearing thin. Paper thin. "I don't suppose you do, since what I'm saying doesn't go along with your jealous paranoia. But it happens to be the truth, so let's give the drama queen a rest, and discuss this in a civilised manner."
With his eyes blazing with anger, Russell tore the postcard into several pieces, threw them at Simon and ran up the stairs.
*Or not* Simon sighed as he gathered up the pieces of the postcard. He'd have Russell put it back together later.
***
Simon walked upstairs and found their bedroom door locked. He counted to twenty and knocked. No response. He knocked once more, and then counted to twenty a second time.
"Russell, if I have to take the door off, I give you my word as a Top that you will not be able to sit for a month." Simon had reached twenty for the third time when the door slowly opened. He stepped inside.
Russell’s eyes were red-rimmed and his face was beautifully tragic. His lashes fluttered nervously as he peered at Simon’s face. Strategically, he moved behind the bed, keeping a safe distance between them.
Simon knew and Russell did as well that when Russell had stormed up the stairs and locked himself in the bedroom, he'd earned himself a bum blistering. Simon opened the drawer on the bedside table and took out a small leather paddle in the shape of a slipper sole. He sat down on the bed and crooked a finger at Russell.
Russell swallowed the lump in his throat, and managed to croak out. “I am not the one who should be spanked! I was not the one who lied or cheated!”
"I have done neither of those things Russell, and you know it. You had your chance to discuss this civilly and declined, throwing a tantrum instead. Well, now it's my turn to talk, and I promise you that you will listen. Come here, please."
Russell remained on the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the dreaded paddle.
"Now! If you make me chase you, you will sorely regret it."
Russell jumped at the sharpness of Simon’s voice. Oh shit, he sounds really mad, Russell thought. It would be wiser to obey the finger even though he could hardly bear the thought of getting paddled when he had been the one WRONGED.
“It’s SO UNFAIR!” Russell protested loudly as he inched closer to Simon.
Simon nodded and made a tsking sound. "Yes, well, you should know by now, Russell, life isn't fair. You knew what would happen the minute you ripped up the postcard, ran upstairs, and locked yourself in the bedroom." Simon reached out and took hold of Russell's arm.
Russell made one last desperate attempt to divert Simon. Tearfully he said, “Why is it when I forget to tell you something it’s called lying and when YOU forget, it’s perfectly all right?”
"Possibly because you often forget things when it's to your advantage, Russell. It's very selective. And what I do or don't do has no bearing on whether or not I take you to count for misbehaviour. This is about you, not me."
Russell stamped his foot and yelped when he was unceremoniously yanked to Simon’s side. Simon put the paddle down on the bed beside him and deftly unfastened Russell's jeans, then pulled him over his thighs. Russell tried to jerk away but Simon had the advantage in terms of strength and a whole lot of practice and dexterity in undressing him. He pulled down Russell's jeans and underclothing without much difficulty despite Russell’s squirming, and adjusted Russell's position for maximum accessibility.
“Omph!” The air rushed out of his lungs as Russell felt himself tilted face down and looking at the floor. At this point, Russell accepted the inevitable and grabbed Simon’s ankles for leverage.
Simon didn't waste time with a hand spanking. He picked up the slipper paddle and began smacking Russell's bum rapidly and with enough force to drive home his point. Russell reacted loudly and strongly, emptying his lungs with the first swat. Simon watched Russell's ass go from its normal creamy white to an angry smarting red. The small leather paddle would leave a stinging smart that would last for a few hours. Then Russell would just be sore. Judging from Russell's increasingly desperate wriggling and hoarse gasps for air, it was having the desired effect.
"It didn't have to end this way, but I will not tolerate tantrums, Russell." Simon adjusted Russell's position, and then moved down to the back of his thighs.
Russell blinked as he felt himself re-positioned. His surprise turned to outrage as the paddle landed on one thigh. He immediately attempted to spring off Simon’s lap, at the same time eliciting a very loud howl. “Bastard!” He cried.
"Perhaps." Simon agreed. "But I don't think you are in any position right now to point out my shortcomings. It wouldn't be very wise."
Russell honestly thought his skin had been peeled right off like a piece of sticky plaster. His whole backside was already sore and added to that the backs of both thighs now stung like hell. He kept kicking and cursing.
Simon kept on smacking. "I can keep this up far longer than you Russell. If you choose to continue to be stubborn then I will continue to blister your bum. It's entirely up to you. And Russell? There will be soap and corner time for the swearing."
Russell was running out of steam by then. He was mentally and physically exhausted and he wanted desperately to reach behind to try to rub away the sting. Movement was however extremely limited; Simon was holding him down so firmly he could hardly move.
“Please ... Simon, no more please ...” he began to beg. How he was going to wear his jeans he had no idea, never mind about sitting; he would likely be eating on his feet for the next couple of days.
Finally, Simon began to sense that they were entering into the home stretch. It was about bloody time, his arm was getting tired. He made a promise to himself not too get so distracted in the future that he neglected Russell.
“Ow! Ow! Stop!”
"l'll stop when you express remorse for your actions and are ready to discuss matters. It seems to me right now that this is the only way I have of reaching you."
“I am sorry! I really am.” Russell sobbed, totally contrite by now. Another spank landed and he jerked involuntarily, and then cried louder.
Simon put the paddle on the bed. "So, tell me why you were punished."
Russell blurted out jerkily, “I am not allowed to lock myself in the room.”
Simon slowly rubbed circles on Russell's upper back. "And what else?"
“I am not allowed to t-throw a ... a paddy ... or ... and ... or run away ... please Simon, I want to get up now.” Russell sniffed pathetically.
"I find it curious that you seem to be in a hurry to stand in the corner with a bar of soap in your mouth. You've left out one thing, though."
“That’s all!” Russell muttered stiffly. “I’ve done nothing else!”
"There is the matter of the postcard you ripped up and will be putting back together."
“But that postcard is the cause of all this trouble! I had every right to destroy it. You don’t need it anyway, so why can’t I throw it away?”
"The postcard is not the cause of all this trouble, your deluded jealousy is the cause of it. You did NOT have the right to destroy it and if you still feel that way, perhaps further discussion is needed." Simon rested a palm on Russell's sore bum, and then gave it a soft pat. "It's up to you."
Bloody Hell! Russell thought mutinously. He hated it when Simon said that. Nothing was further from the truth. Nothing was ever up to him, as far as Russell could remember. If it were up to me, Russell thought, I would be sitting comfortably downstairs eating ice-cream.
But the hand on his bum was sending off warning jibes and Russell gulped down his resentment and said the politically correct words. “Oh all right then! I should not have torn up that blasted postcard.” He made a face at the carpet.
Simon suppressed a smile. That was about as close to an apology as he was going to get and he knew Russell would make a face. He couldn't see it, but he figured it was the squinched up one with the tongue sticking partly out.
“So can I get up now? I feel dizzy!” Russell complained.
Simon raised his right eyebrow. "That wasn't much of an apology, but I suppose you can get up and go stand in the corner now. Come on, then."
What? After that paddling, he now had to stand in the stupid boring corner?
"Don't dawdle Russell, I would like to finish this. You can pull your shorts and jeans back up or not, I don't care. Hands on head please."
There – was that up to him? Of course not! Nothing ever was so why did Simon keep saying that? He was such a liar!
Once Russell was in the corner, Simon left to fetch the bar of nasty tasting soap he kept on hand for Russell's cursing fits. He touched the tip of his tongue to the bar and started spitting immediately. Gods, that was foul. He didn't understand how Russell managed to keep it in his mouth, not that he had a choice in the matter.
Russell waited till his oh-so-strict Top had left the room and then he reached behind to squeeze his bum. It was still throbbing though not as painfully as before. This was manageable but God only knows when he would be able to sit in comfort again.
Russell moved over to the mirror and tried to see the damage on his butt.
Simon cleared his throat as he came back into the bedroom. "I thought you were supposed to be standing in the corner, Russell, not admiring your glowing arse in the mirror." Russell scrambled back into the corner. "This is for the bastard and the other swearing. Open wide please."
Russell glared at Simon. “No!”
"Did you just tell me no, Russell? I'm within easy reach of the hairbrush, you know."
“I mean NO PLEASE!”
"No please, is still no Russell. You know what happens when you swear. Stop being difficult."
“I am not being difficult."
Both of Simon's eyebrows rose. "Yes you are, though I suppose you feel you are being perfectly reasonable. This is not a battle you can win, Russell. Trust me on this."
“But I will throw up if you put that disgusting thing in my mouth. I swear I will, and then you will have to clean it up because I will be too sick to do it and then ... arggg....!”
Simon knew that Russell would continue to stall the inevitable and simply took the opportunity to stick the bar of noxious soap into his mouth. Then he turned Russell back into the corner. Russell was stunned for a moment, and then a tear ran down his cheek. Nope, he hadn’t really been optimistic his pleas would be attended to. The bar of soap suddenly grew and consumed his entire mouth cavity; he gagged as his taste buds threatened to overpower him.
Simon sighed. It was always this way when he took Russell to task for swearing. He probably would get sick as a way of getting his revenge. Maybe he should start dosing him with cod liver oil instead. Leaving Russell to stand in the corner and contemplate the taste of soap, Simon went downstairs to make hot cocoa. When it was ready, he poured it into two mugs, grabbed a package of almond biscotti, put it all on a tray and carried it back upstairs.
Russell made desperate gurgling noises the minute Simon’s footsteps were heard. “Um ngot ta-ing ... ah teh ya ... shick ... ah AM!”
Simon set the tray down on the bed, then went over and took the soap out of Russell's mouth. "Go and rinse. Make sure you do a good job, I don't think soap goes very well with chocolate."
Russell rushed into the bathroom and bent over the sink. Then promptly threw up.
Simon uttered some soft curses of his own. At least Russell had made it to the sink.
“I told you!” Russell spat a few more times, more tears leaking out from the corner of his eyes as he bent over the sink once again. “Yaks .. phooi! Yaks ... phooi!” He groaned for effect.
Simon almost rolled his eyes, but he decided that was too much of a Russell gesture. So he settled for a sigh, then he went into the bathroom and placed a cool rag on the back of Russell's neck.
Making a real effort to swallow, Russell finally got himself under control. He knew he didn’t really need to throw up if he didn’t want to, but he had a point to make. Enough of the stupid soap. He had to make sure once and for all Simon never made use of it again. It was simply too vile for words.
"Are you finished making your point about the horrid taste of the soap?" Simon rubbed soothing circles on Russell's upper back.
“You better give me some cocoa quick before I throw up again. It’s threatening to come up any time now, Simon.” Russell loved it when Simon fussed over him and rubbed his back and he was milking every second of it. “I feel ill.”
"Well, come on into the bedroom and drink your cocoa then. There are almond biscotti for dipping."
Russell’s eyes grew big. Almond biscotti and cocoa were his favourites. Well, two of his favourites. There were so many actually.
Simon handed Russell a cup of cocoa and a biscotti. "I got the biscotti from that new specialty bakery down the road. They're not too shabby."
Russell popped the whole biscotti into his mouth. “Nog ah awl ...”
Simon laughed. "So I see. You're going to choke."
“Yummy!” Russell’s eyes gleamed as he reached for another. “Have one, Simon,” he invited genially, his aching bum forgotten for the moment although he had remained standing.
"So kind of you to ask." Simon dipped his biscotti into his cocoa and nibbled on it. "See, this is the way it's done...dip and nibble. So, if the drama queen has been put back up for now, we can have our talk."
Russell pouted. “I don’t want to talk about it any more, if you don’t mind!”
"We haven't had a talk as such yet, Russell. You made that quite impossible, which is why you were spanked." Simon took another nibble of his biscotti.
Russell rolled his eyes. “Yes! I am sorry about the postcard. How many times do you want me to say it?” A sniff accompanied that remark. “You should be grateful I am the jealous type. It shows how much I care!”
Simon put his mug back on the tray. "You don't have to throw jealous fits to show that, Russell. You need to understand that I'm not going to leave you, not for Remy or anyone else. I love you truly, madly, deeply."
Russell turned to his Top and buried his face in Simon’s chest. Simon could still make him weak in the knees after so long.
To love Russell, one had to understand him. And Simon most definitely did. Simon was up to his every trick and didn’t allow him to destroy himself. He dealt with each of Russell’s episodes with patience and firmness. He spanked him often and he forgave him always, and allowed them to start over. Who else could do that?
Russell knew Simon would never let him down. He knew he could rant and rave and complain, and his Simon would remain steadfast. All his attention-getting tantrums and drama were just that – to get Simon to re-affirm his love.
His arms went around Simon’s neck and he clung on tight as he leaned against him.
Simon nuzzled Russell's neck. "So, everything tidied up now? Tied in neat bows?"
“Yes.”
"Excellent. Then once we've finished our cocoa, you can put the postcard back together."
“Oh!” Russell lifted his face and looked at Simon. “We still on about that?”
Simon chuckled. "Of course. Think of it as a puzzle. You love to put puzzles back together."
Russell grumbled under his breath. “Should have burnt it when I got the chance. Just as well I didn’t tear it into tiny pieces. ” He peeked up at his lover’s face.
Simon nipped Russell on the nose. "Brat."
Russell sighed with contentment. Simon always knew exactly what he needed to get straightened out. He decided he wouldn’t bother with his jeans after all. Clad only in his silk boxers, he followed Simon downstairs, the picture of docility and sweetness.
The doorbell rang just as Simon handed the torn pieces of postcard into Russell’s hand.
"I think there is some tape in the kitchen drawer where we stick miscellaneous items. Go ahead and get started while I answer the door."
Bother it, couldn't be worse timing, in Simon's opinion. "Hell..." he started to say hello, but lost his voice in his astonishment.
There on the doorstep was Max, possibly the last person he expected to see. Max, though not on the top of his list of people he hoped to never see again, was somewhere in the middle of it.
Hell indeed.
End of part one
