Farewell from the Bookshelf!
Please note that GLBT Bookshelf -- the community wiki which was the parent to this fiction blog -- went offline on May 31, 2016, after seven years' service to members.
All Gay Romance will remain online till the end of 2016 in order to give contributors every opportunity to recover materials uploaded here.
Many thanks to all who contributed over the years, and good luck to everyone in your future works!
Christmas 1981: Psychiatrist Gordon Trapp returns from a trip abroad to discover that his young would be lover has conducted himself less than admirably in his absence. He decides that it's time to take Nathaniel Andrews firmly in hand. A year passes, it's December 1982 and Nat and Gordon's unique relationship is tested when a conflict of interest arises between them. Nat seems determined to flout Gordon's authority...but why? D/s Fiction...charming M/M stories with a discipline theme.
Gordon looked up as Nat put in an appearance, standing shyly in the kitchen doorway. He stared, his groin registering lust. Never had that pale blue heavy cotton shirt looked as devastatingly sexy on him as it now looked on Nathaniel with the sleeves folded back and the hem poised just above his knees. God, he was a beautiful boy with his dark almost black hair and dusk blue eyes fringed with heavy lashes. He’d thought so from the moment they’d met on a gloomy hospital ward almost two years earlier. Back then it had been a detached observation, but not anymore. Nat had gradually got under his skin and into his heart.
“Smells good.” Nat ventured further into the brightly lit kitchen.
“Just canned soup and sandwiches. I’m not much of a culinary master…ouch!” He dropped the knife with a clatter as it sliced through the end of his thumb instead of the end of the tomato he’d been slicing when Nat walked into the kitchen. Blood spurted.
“Let me see.” Taking hold of Gordon’s left hand Nat inspected the damage. “Have you got any tape?”
"There's a first aid box in there," Gordon nodded towards a cupboard below the sink. He put the damaged thumb in his mouth to suck away the blood, feeling his cock harden as he watched Nat journey across the kitchen to get the box. It had been a while since he’d had a lover and his body was reminding him of the deficit.
Nat gently stuck the edges of the Elastoplast down. “That should hold it.”
“Thank you.” Gordon smiled and his arm, which seemed to have found its way around Nat’s waist, tightened. He drew him closer to his body feeling the intense rhythm of his own heart echoed by that of Nathaniel’s as it pounded in his chest. “You look barely legal dressed up in that shirt.” Gordon gently brushed a lock of hair away from Nat’s eyes.
“I am though,” whispered Nat huskily, tilting his head at an inviting angle.
Gordon was on the verge of accepting the invitation when a sudden angry hissing startled them both and they drew quickly apart.
“Dam!” Gordon made a lunge for the cooker, “the soup has boiled over.” He removed the pan from the ring and then turned his attentions back to Nat. “Sit down,” he ordered, pulling out a chair out for him. “You look a bit shaky.”
Nat sat down carefully at the table, still conscious of some tenderness in his hindquarters. He was also conscious of how ravenously hungry he was, waiting with barely concealed impatience as Gordon shared the vegetable soup between two bowls, finally setting one before him. He picked up his spoon and began to wolf it down. A few minutes later he was heaving chunks of carrot, potatoes and peas into the sink.
“When did you actually last eat something?” Gordon wiped Nat’s sweating face with a handful of damp paper kitchen towels.
Nat picked up a tone in Gordon’s voice that told of reawakened displeasure. He gave a cautious shrug.
“How long?” The displeasure became still more evident.
“Promise you won’t be cross with me again?”
"No, and if I have to repeat the question again I’ll be more than cross.”
Nat began shaking like the last leaf on a tree in an autumn gale. “I’ve been too miserable to eat much. I’ve missed you.” Tears began to slide rapidly down his pale cheeks. “I thought you were never coming home and then when I finally saw you yesterday I thought I was hallucinating.”
“How long, Nathaniel?” The voice was quiet, gentle, but held a note of authority that could not be ignored.
“Two maybe three days.”
copyright material Fabian Black 2010