Tuesday, October 18, 2011



I can do this. I argued for this.

Got to complete that paperwork tonight.

Should I have shaved? I should have shaved. God. What must she be thinking?

Breathe in.

My shirt is riding up. Oh nooo, she can see my belly. Should've waited until I reached goal weight.

Am I hurting her?

What was that? Oh god oh god, workmen outside. If I can hear them, then they'll hear us…

Is she hating this? She hates this. I should never have said anything.

Am I clean? God, she can see everything.

What is she waiting for?? Say something!



Sunday, October 16, 2011

Not our Fault - Part 3

Not our Fault - Part 3
by Randy Williams 

Dressing quickly, I left the bedroom and made my way down to the kitchen, remembering what Art had said and making just enough noise to let Peter and Alan know I was on my way.

Listening carefully, I heard the sound of Peter rushing back to his corner. I grinned.

Usually I was pretty strict about the corner time, however tonight I was showering and they had been down here about half an hour. Far long enough. I set the paddle on the kitchen counter and made myself a cup of coffee.

As I opened the refrigerator I stopped and looked around the kitchen. It was spotless; the floor gleamed and counters were wiped down. The cupboards were polished? The entire room smelled clean and homey. The clean smell was pleasant; the homey smell was coming from a couple loaves of bread. I had to grin at that. Alan was discovering the joys of baking. Peter was quick to roll his eyes at first however when a supply of cookies and brownies kept appearing, he quickly saw the advantages and was happy to help eat.
I glanced at the clock: 35 minutes. Too long!

Picking up the wooden paddle and my coffee, I walked to Alan. I turned on the table lamp on the other side of the room and set my coffee down on the end table opposite the light. As I bent to set down my cup on the coaster I caught the smell of lemon. I glanced around the room again, and I was greeted by the clean smell of a polished and well- tended home, with the exception of the 23 year old man standing dejectedly facing the corner. His hair was dishevelled and he legs were trembling.

“Go get Peter, Alan”, I said in a firm voice.

Alan turned and saw me, and I saw the tear streaks and the whites of his eyes.

Too long; way too long.

I wanted to kick myself.

“Hey Babe”, I said gently.

Suddenly I had my arms full of a worried young man. Alan was always the first to break, also the one that could plan the most inventive plans. His mostly naked body pressed against me, his arms around my neck. Damn he smelled good. Gently I disengaged him. I wiped his face with my handkerchief, turned him around by his arm and gave his boxer briefs a firm Swat!

“Get Peter please, and if you have to go to the bathroom you best get that out of the way, both of you”,

I said in that firm Top voice, still wanting to kick myself for making this young man I loved so much wait so long.

‘With any luck they both will go to the bathroom’, I thought as I picked up the hot mug with slightly shaking hands. Taking a deep swallow I willed the caffeine to get moving though my jet lagged system.

They had a party. Remember that. A party they knew better than to have.

Then the room was full of two worried, half naked young men.

I sat back in the slipper chair. ‘Silly name’, I thought, ‘Except it is a great chair wide and comfortable but has no arms. Perfect for taking guys over my knee.’

I saw both sets of eyes glance to the wooden paddle on the end table.

“Okay, Peter, tell me what happened please. Why is there a keg floating in the pool?”

“Santa Ana Winds”, replied Peter in a defensive manner.

“Peter! We can start with a spanking and then get an explanation if you wish!”

Peter drew himself up to his full height.

“What does it matter? You are going to paddle us anyway!”

His hand went to the waist band of his briefs and yanked them down; he practically threw himself over my lap.

“Peter! Stop it!” Alan cried.

My arm went around the small of his back and held him there.

“Settle down young man, this happens on my time frame not yours and you can stop trying to protect Alan!”

I barked, as my hand cracked down on his bared butt hard.

“Get up! You are not in charge here young man.”

My arm slipped under his chest and lifted him to his feet.

“Now sit down and behave!”

Peter was in full protection mode. His love for Alan and me was powerful he always wants to throw himself on the grenade.

‘Thank God for brats,’ I thought. Peter's words and actions spoke to me far more than just the surface.

Looking at him still pacing like a young lion, his butt displaying a nice red hand print, Alan standing there looking at the floor, my Top sense snapped into effect.

Here were two bad brats. Yes, the house was clean and spotless. Yes, as Art pointed out, they busted their butts cleaning and making our home beautiful. I didn't check the refrigerator but I would wager my favorite dinner was in there. So yes, they did what they thought they could do to feel better, they did clean and they did shop and bake and all the rest.

However they had a party. The guilt was eating them both alive. We have a way to deal with that.

I stood up, in charge now and in full Top mode. My jet lag was gone. My exhaustion was gone!! Most importantly, my indecision was well and truly gone.

At my movement Peter stopped in mid stride and sank to the floor. Alan let out a small yelp of surprise and sat as well.

I stood, hands on my hips, my eyes raking over these two men I loved. Yes, I could see it still there: guilt, worry and in Alan’s case, beginning panic. It was time to be in control.

I held my hand out to Alan. His face paled and tears started to fall. He stood.

I pulled him to me and I hugged him tightly. Then, sitting down, I pulled him over my knee. I peeled down his boxer briefs, my mind now sure and clear. That fine male ass was not causing me any arousal.

Down came my hand on the bared cheek. I wanted this to make an impression. I continued spanking his butt, holding his body against mine, my one arm keeping him is place as my other hand landed again and again across those bare cheeks now beginning to glow pink.

Alan was not a stoic. His crying increased. I know that it was not because of the pain. Hell he wasn't really sore yet.

This was the emotion, the outflow and inside the crying was a release. His legs kicked and I held him tighter, my hand spanking those cheeks farther down on the lower parts of those cheeks. The hand cracking across his pale to now becoming red butt echoed off the walls.

Peter was cursing a blue streak under his breath. He hated to see Alan get spanking as a punishment. I landed a harder swat causing Alan to gasp and Peter glanced up.

“You both did it, Peter eyes right here”, I said in a firm tone.

His young male face, almost a fully formed man's face, still had the lack of an edge. He eyes were haunted as he watched my hand descend on his lover/ partner/ buddy/ best friend’s bare backside, wincing as each lick landed.

This was my job. I wanted both to know I knew they did it together. When they do get a spanking usually it is together. I have found that Alan draws strength from both of us there. I also know it drives the punishment home more fully to Peter. I swear he would not say a word, but when Alan is in pain he cannot control his eyes or his emotions.

Yet his inner feelings of our agreement and our rules make his presence a good weather vane for me. He is not resentful; he is not hiding any hidden anger. Alan, my lover, my heart, would take a spanking from me if I thought he needed one. He would pull down his pants and his briefs and willingly lay over my knee, whether or not he thought he deserved it.

Peter would rather take a beating from a stranger than let Alan come to harm, so when I have Alan across my knee I am trusting my Top instincts. I trust them fully but it is a great side boost to know where Peter's head is at.

It is also a mercy for Alan to get it over with. I love Alan and I love his sense of humor and fair play. He is inventive but very rarely mean in his ideas. I feel we have come some distance because he is no longer mean to himself. When we were a new three some, and I was just learning my boys and my boys were just learning me, I thought his self-deprecating humour was a shield. It was. It was fear basically. Over the years he has discovered that he is a good man and he doesn't need to do that anymore.

I know, I know, I have a man across my knee. I am whaling on his bare butt. Yet I am talking about loving him and his feelings. I'll share with you a Top secret: we don't like spanking or hurting our lovers. Now don't get me wrong, a night of hot sex with a good side order of erotic butt warming is something else altogether. But I didn't fly a zillion miles today, be gone for three days and two nights, and rush home to hurt the boys I love. Yet as hard as Alan might deny this, it does hurt me more than it hurts him. Yet I am the Top. I am in charge and sometime that means I have to take steps. It can't be all fun and games. Sometimes it is just plain something I know I have to do. Please don't get me wrong. I love Alan's butt and I think it is the sexiest thing in the world when it is wiggling over my knee, all hot and stinging, and he is pleading and begging for me to stop; when his front is hard and erect and we are playing. But having his bare butt over my knee like this hurts me. Yet it is something that we need to do.

I stopped spanking and rested my hand, stinging slightly, on the burning flesh of his bared butt cheeks. He was sobbing and crying. He was hurting. He’s a well spanked young man. I rested my hand on his burning butt and fixed Peter with my best Top look.

“Tell me about the party Peter”, I said in a commanding voice.

He ducked his head and I could see a tear fall to the carpet.

“Look at me!” I snapped.

Out it came. It was a party. He and Alan had met up with some of their friends. It was a warm day and the pool beckoned. It didn't take long to make it happen. They had done good things as well; they kept the good liquor locked up. They had beer and pizza. It didn't even get out of hand, according to Peter’s slow, monotone voice. Alan’s sobs were a counter point to this tale of boys being boys. Alan was calming down a bit, his crying had started to quiet down to sniffs and hiccups. Just a stupid, spur of the moment thing that escalated.

“We have rules. I am as close as my phone. You could have called and asked. You didn't have to try to hide it. All I wanted you to do was show me the respect we have for one another.”

Alan’s tear strained voice muttered that it was done and set up before they even thought about that. Peter added that after the party got started they both met in the kitchen and just wanted it over and done with. The guilt was setting in even before the party ended. They knew! They knew!

God I love them so.

“Then let’s finish this”, I said.

I picked up the wooden paddle and rested it on Alan's hot bare butt.

With a crack I landed it across both cheeks. That paddle is light weight but it packs a sting. Using mostly my wrist I landed ten good solid licks to my boy’s bare backside. His tears started almost at once and he was kicking and begging after the third strike.

Then it was over. I sat the paddle on the table and gathered my boy in my arms, holding him and rocking him as he cried into my shoulder. Alan's butt was glowing red. It wasn't a spanking spanking. It was a good spanking, enough to remind them that I was a part of this. I wanted this to underscore the party. The party itself and most importantly, a party given without permission. I wiped Alan's face with my handkerchief. I stood him up and pointed to a place in front of the chair. Alan knelt, his feet keeping his sore bottom off the floor.

“Peter,” I said.

Peter stood he looked at Alan and his hand touched Alan's shoulder. I sat back down pulling him with me until he was across my knee. Peter hated this part. He was stiff. My arm went around his middle and my other hand rested on his bared butt. I started, my hand landing hard across his bare cheeks. Harder than with Alan. Don't let anyone tell you it is always the same because it isn't Peter is bigger and stronger. He has a mental toughness Alan has not. Peter's head was down and there was just the sound of my hand landing across those hard male butt cheeks. He was reddening nicely. Still Peter was the stoic one. When we played he was all laughter and groans, gasps and giggles. He loved the sex play spankings as much as we all did. They were different, he was vocal. He would wiggle and kick and beg.

One soft curse. His hard young man ass was tense. He was feeling this and I knew it. He knew I knew it and we both knew Alan knew it. I glanced at my other boy, his eyes on Peter, tears running down his cheeks.

I stopped and picked up the paddle. Taking a firmer grip I began to lay that paddle across Peter's butt with hard, crisp cracks. After a few I stopped. Peter's ass was glowing red and the heat was pouring off it. Still not a sound. I knew he was feeling it and it was normal. Peter was always harder to spank. He would clamp down his feelings, bury them.

“Peter! Do you control your punishment? Do you tell me who I am going to spank or not spank?”

I landed the paddle down hard.

“No!” he yelped.

I landed five more good solid licks to remind him. They made the difference. He was gasping now. Dropping the paddle on the carpet I pulled him into a hard embrace. His arms went around me his head against my chest, my chin resting on his head.

“I decide the spanking around here my man”, I said.

I felt his head nod then then dam broke. His gripped me tight his head nodding his voice thick with tears.

“Aww, Russ, I love you.”

I pulled him to his feet standing with him my arms around my lover, my brat. my life. Then Alan threw his arms around Peter and I. We were locked together. We stood there for a minute. My arms around my boys, their arms around me.

I was home.


by Randy Williams 

My nose is stuffed up. My face is stiff. My chest hurts.

I am resting where I belong. My head on his shoulder, pressed into his neck. Breathing in his scent. My ass is on fire and I don't want to look. I am at peace. I snuggle into his neck and whisper , "I love you."

His hand cups my still burning bare butt.

"I love you, too", he replies.

Safe once again, I drift off to sleep.

Saturday, October 8, 2011


Just a drabble jotted as I listen to a fave song. 


"...the children of the earth, they looked like two girls rolled up in one..."
-Origin of Love

"Where are our fairytales? Our Creation stories?"

She rolled atop me; legs fitting around mine so I could feel the warmth of her, curls of hair damp, pressed against my thigh. She always felt safer this way, with her soft, giving belly covered and I liked the heat of her under my hand, fingertips idly tracing her body.

I felt her chin lift from my chest as she looked at me.


I bent my knee, bringing her closer to my mouth and increasing the pressure against her. Kneading her stinging cheeks with a stinging hand, I had my answer.


Sunday, October 2, 2011

'Not Our Fault' Part Two

'Not Our Fault' Part Two
by Randy Williams

I followed Peter to his corner and watched as he stripped down to just his briefs. He gave me a look and his eyes went all smoky with concern.

"Russ we didn't mean too..." Peter started the whine.

I was fading fast and didn't have the time, or right now with all the warm thoughts of what I wanted our welcome home to be, the patience to listen. I took his jeans with me and left him facing his corner.

Down the short hall, Alan was standing near his corner. His eyes filling, his face looking miserable.


"Now, Alan!"

He too stripped down to his boxer briefs.

I gave him a curt nod and he turned to face his corner. I left the room with two pairs of still warm jeans.

I know, I know. Separate corners in separate rooms can seem to be a bit, well, excessive. However these were my brats and they were - if nothing else, besides that is, looking so damn cute and so hot - endlessly inventive. I had the pants and left them in just their briefs because it was what, just last month I caught them TEXTING while in the corners? No pants, no phones. That night a new rule was written in stone along with a warning they stop that nonsense or they would be doing corner time naked!

Grabbing my two- suiter in the other hand, I trudged up the stairs to our master bedroom. Frankly I just wanted to cry. I know. I know I'm a Top we don't cry. We maintain order. We hold crying brats. Hell, we make brats cry; I can, with just a LOOK, not to mention the paddle hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I was muttering as I stripped off my clothes, "I'm a Top. I'm a Top." That lasted until I was in the bathroom and had the shower running. The trouble is I don't feel like a Top right now. I let the hot water sluice over my head and sighed deeply, thinking back to my brat days. I loved my Top and he was good. We were good together. He took this confused kid off the junk heap. Showered me with firm, stern love. Let me rest. Let me become the man I am now.

Right now I was exhausted. I hurt and really, all I wanted to do was curl up in His arms. I didn't want to be the bad ass. Hell, I had thrown a few parties. Hell, I had been right where those two were! Standing on starting-to-ache legs; worried about the condition of their butts. Alan would be sure by now that I would become the ogre and throw him out. Peter would be outwardly stoic but I could mentally see him running his fingers though his dirty blonde hair repeatedly; a sure sign of inward stress. Do they know? Do they have any idea? Can I make them understand?

My life was so empty after Art died. We had been together for years. Then BAM! A damn drunk driver. My life was over.

I did good, I did. With help from a few other Tops and friends of Art I became what I am.

I am a Top. But what is a Top without his brat? Or in my case, as a grin flashed across my face, my brats? I leaned against the shower wall. I wanted just to stay there. But there were two men downstairs.

I turned the water to cold and stood there until I was shivering. Then I was out groping for a towel. I felt one and dried my head.

"Well boy, you have a small problem don't you!"

I dropped the towel to my shoulders and there was Art, standing there with that damn grin on his face. The first time this happened I thought I was going mad.

I resumed drying my chilled body. "Yeah, old man, I do and it's your fault!!" I snapped.

He chuckled. Bastard! He actually chuckled.

"Russell, if I were here and alive I would put the paddle to good use. Dead or alive, you don't talk to me like that. Now keep drying, you are going to catch your death. I have told you and told you, cold showers like that can really mess you up. Keep rubbing. Harder! Get warm, you idiot boy!"

Then he sat on the sink chuckling.

"You feelin' a bit sorry for yourself?"


"Those two butts, hmmm, to spank. Nosiree, I don't feel sorry for you one bit! Rub, boy. Get dry, they are waiting. I hope I taught you better than to keep a brat waiting too long."

"Art", I whined. Yes, I actually whined. God if those two downstairs knew I was whining to the ghost of my old Top...

"Russell, they are good brats, mostly. Hell boy, better than you were. Did you see what they did yet? They busted their asses to get this place clean. Yeah I know, mostly for their behinds but for you, too. Right now Peter is holding Alan who is sobbing in his arms. My boy, you do know how to pick good lookin' young men. Damn if you don't!"

When he said Alan was crying my arm reached for the door. It is automatic: my brat, my lover, was crying.

"You old softy!" he chuckled

"Now get some clothes on, make a cup of joe and settle those two men down! They love you, man. As much as you love them. Damn iffin I didn't raise a good one here."

I wrapped the towel around my waist and started for the bedroom.

"Russell, ain't you forgettin' something?"

Art said grinning at me with pure mischief in his eyes as he nodded toward the paddle hanging on the back of the door.

I reached up and took the paddle in my hand and headed toward the bedroom. I Am A Top.

As I left the bathroom I swore I heard a soft, "I love you, bub."

I turned quickly to see just an empty bathroom.


I Wish You'd...

Look at him, sprawled across the bed; those gloriously tempting dimples in the small of his back just made for my tongue…

"I wish you'd wear pyjamas to bed."

Tim twisted to face me, looking, well, slightly put out.

"Something wrong?" he demanded, before scurrying out the far side – awkward bugger- and wrenching open bottom drawer for those items kept on hand for when parents and siblings stop over.

"Happy now, M'lord?!"


I reached out, hooking thumbs in the waistband and doffing them to his knees in a move I just love.

"Nothing like undressing a naughty boy first thing."

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Back to Normal

by Randy Williams

He bent me over his hard lap; his arm trapped me in that position at all brats love to hate. His deep dark voice rumbled above me about not cleaning the patio and going out with Chris instead. I squirmed as I felt his hands pull down my white briefs. Then felt the cool wooden back of the bath brush......


"So", he purred, one heated hand easily pushing between my thighs and shifting my right leg off his knee and opening a new expanse of unblemished skin, "You were saying?"

Well, not much at that point, more an undignified but wholly meant gasping. Never, never, never again if this was the result, but oh my god- 

"Oh I like this", he murmured, that same hand reaching for me and feeling the weight of me, manipulating me back to hardness. "Very nice, but so very …naughty." 

He raised that hand, bringing it down with a fierce sting on my inner thigh.


by Randy Williams

My mouth kissing and nipping down from her oh so pretty navel.

Lapping at the crisp hairs guarding her pleasure points. Those hairs waving in the breeze of my breath as I lean in to lick and tease. Her right hand spanks down on my bare unprotected backside.

I rear back to see her grin, quickly overlay-ed by her Top LOOK.

Now she purrs in that silky dangerous voice. the one that sends chills up my spine.

"Did you go somewhere without asking your Top?"

Her hand cupping my stinging butt slowly sliding down toward the center and then in between my legs.  Her fingers brushing my mound her voice and the sting of her hand made my clit twitch as a gush of wetness and warmth spread though me.

"Not me,  my Lady"

I giggled hugging her and pushing her back into the bed.

'Not Our Fault'

'Not Our Fault' 
by Randy Williams

I sighed and wondered if maybe more Advil would help. So I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed again.

You see I am a Top. I have the usual aversion to over medication, the usual aversion to lying. I am morally upright and I have the eye brow. I can spot a lie or a shaded truth faster then a speeding bullet. Yet here I am standing here looking at two young men, well my young men, really my brats actually. I do have to admit they do look good. Wait, wait. Stop, rewind Not our fault. Hmmmm. 

You see I have been gone on a business trip for three days. Working and sweating to make a hearth and home for our little family.Well sweating if you call being trapped in conference rooms with stuff shirts work, and believe me it is and it can be a bit sweaty. So here I am jet lagged to hell and back. My back hurts from the lousy seats on the plane. Or any plane unless I get first class. I am suffering from airplane scotch, airplane meals and feel like my body has not showered in about a month. What has been keeping me going for the last leg of the never ending flights is thoughts of coming home. Home to my boys and the wonderful sexy raunchy welcome home sex that should ensue after this far too long absents. 

Now before you grab any phone to report child abuse, I call them my boys but they are of age. Really we all are of age. Believe me I am feeling everyone of my 40 something years. They look, well they look like they should be models. They both have that freshly showered look and well no shirt and those jeans.... Wait wait, rewind, rewind.

"Not our fault!"

Hold on to that, concentrate. Not our fault. Not our fault. Just keep saying that. Stop thinking about Peter's chest, stop looking at Alan's white brief line. Stop it . You're a Top, act like it. 

It is time to let loose the Top sense. I know people have heard of the Force. Well it is something like that or something more like a Spidy Sense if you read comics. 

So Peter has that look; chin out eyes look a bit sleepy body almost relaxed. Still there is something. Alan well his eyes are a give away, he looks guilty trying hard not to look guilty. With that head cock like it does when he is about to tell a whopper.

Taking in a huge breath of air.

"OK then Peter your corner, Alan your corner. NOW!", I snap. "I am going to have a shower then we can all discuss how it is not your fault that there is a beer keg floating in the pool. Now MARCH!"


Bath Drabble

Listening to the fan hum overhead, I shut my eyes, trying to block out the day.

Hearing the slap of bare feet on the lino, I reluctantly opened one eye.

"Come on Tim, you've refilled that bath three times now. We're in a drought.  Time to get out and face it, love."

Rob reached past my wrinkled and water logged toes to remove the bath plug, and I drew my knees to my chest, hugging them whilst contriving a fearful look.

"Don't do that!"

A rare look of anger crossed his face and I felt, well, I felt like a right prick.

Thursday, September 22, 2011


Written for the September 2011 Tea Room Leather Challenge

by Randy Williams

I rubbed the warm soft leather of the jock. It pulled each time I moved. Not to mention the warm scent. I can't spend tomorrow in the rest room. I stretched out on the bed. A grin ghosted across my lips as I heard, "Brat! Where is MY jock?"

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

By Royal Decree

Right, daftness to follow. 


"Pleather? Pleather?!" squawked the Queen, outrage suffusing her face with colour. "I shan't be touched by pleather!"

The ribbon of ethically-pure, finely crafted and utterly rejected item sailed past. The weary courtier bowed low, cursing the vagaries of vegan purchasing officers, Royal Seal or no, thinking once more that the whole cow would not provide what this bethroned pest needed. 

Perhaps homage to all the gifts of the realm? Rattan from the East for canes beyond compare. Polycarbonate from the Great Industrial Estates to the West for the most searing of lexans. One could but dream and duck, he sighed.


by Lou

I love it when she lets me do this, undressing her slowly and letting my hands direct her. Kissing the marks made by her clothes; soft indentations on pliant flesh. Pulling her nipple into my mouth and inhaling the scent of her warmth. Of her.

Her leather belt, supple from use, the memory of which can make me grin foolishly just to see her wearing it, low across her hips, at a dull and deadening party. That spark of amusement as she catches my eye and notes my increasingly frequent forays into my bag to clutch at car keys. 


Sunday, May 15, 2011


Written for the Loving Swats May 2011 Breakfast in Bed Drabble Challenge
Sitting on  the table, Tim cast an appraising eye over Rob's form as he slid eggs from the pan.
Rob gestured for Tim to shift. "Off. You want to take this back to bed?"
"Nope. Just you."
Discarding his plate on the bench, Rob walked over to stand between Tim's knees, claiming a kiss, pushing him backwards as he did so.
Tim leapt up, smacking his head on Rob's chin, as his backside caught the edge of his own plate, tipping its hot contents against his pants.
 Hand pressed to his face, Rob pointed at Tim's jeans. "Off. Bed."

Breakfast in Bed

Written for the Loving Swats May 2011 Breakfast in Bed Drabble Challenge
Perching with one hip on the wide windowsill, Rob twitched the curtains aside to peer out at what looked to be an unpromising day. Tim, having lost the argument, set a tray of breakfast on the bedside table. 
"It's bloody freezing on that kitchen floor!"
His partner grinned and pointed out the window at a huddled figure, arms wrapped around her body; the small dress' pulling properties clearly outweighing its thermal ones. Opening the window, Tim leaned out and yelled, "Oi! Shazza! Good night?" and laughed at the two fingered response and Rob's smack on his leg.
"Good for her."


Drabble: TopHat
No warnings.


"Put on your Top Hat, baby", Tim whispered, nuzzling into Rob's neck and inhaling the scent of a day's work and the faint hint of this morning's soap. Friday and the world could at last fall away.

Rob hesitated for a moment and brought his hands up to steady Tim's face, and searched out the other man's beautiful eyes; the slight blush on his partner's cheeks and quickly dropped gaze gave him his answer.



Rob captured his lips in a firm kiss and ran a hand down Tim's back to pat his backside warningly.

"Bring me your hairbrush."

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


by Lou
Tim rubbed his darkly stubbled cheek over the hair at the junction of Rob's thigh, nosing his way to that softest of skin and breathed in the morning muskiness he knew so well. He felt the man's pulse under his fingers as they ghosted up his inner thigh to his groin. Glancing across at the tall mirror by the wardrobe, Rob eyed the reddened swell of Tim's backside as he shifted to a more comfortable position between his legs. Giving himself up to the warmth of Tim's mouth, Rob smiled, happy that was the only evidence now of yesterday's discord.

Thursday, April 14, 2011


Written for the Writing Lines Spring 2011 Drabble Challenge


"I'm just saying, reality is not her friend."


"A hundred bucks a head? No one will pay that for some crap spumante, limp sandwiches and the honour of meeting an ageing footballer and his bit of stuff; I don't care if it is for charity."

"Yeah. Shame that."

Tim put down the dish he was drying and looked at Rob.

"Do you even have a clue what I just said to you?"

Rob's mouth worked as he struggled to respond.


Twisting the tea towel, Tim flicked him across the back of the leg. "Doesn't work for you, either."


Written for the Writing Lines Spring 2011 Drabble Challenge.

"How much for a windscreen?"



Tim heeled off his sneakers and peeled his t-shirt over his head. "Yeah,  didn't really work for me, either. I think you have to be American."

"I think you have to be fourteen and in a food court, but that is neither here nor there", said Rob, sweeping the discarded shirt off the floor and tossing it across chair. "You really think it wise to tell me to "chillax" or anything approximating that when my palm is already just itching to smack your bum?"

Tim grinned, backing towards the bed. "Chill, old man."

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Starting Out

Author: Lou

*~*     *~*     *~*

Turning his face into Rob's lap, Tim shivered as careful fingers danced over his sore backside.

"Do you remember how we started all this? Hmm?"

"God, shut up."

"No?" mused Rob, "Well thankfully I am not so far down the path to senility. I'd bollocked for something or other and once you stopped pouting –No! It's true!-you pretty much shagged me through the mattress. It is picking up on subtle hints like that really make a man a Top."

Tim grinned.

"I daren't say a cross word to you for a month after for fear I'd be molested mid-rant."

*~*     *~*     *~*

No Fix

Author: Lou
*~*     *~*     *~*
"I don't want you to fix me. I don't NEED fixing. I have good and bad points just like you. You won't make me remember not to panic at my workload by spanking me any more than it'd make you stop snoring."

"So why do you want it?" Rob asked.

Looking away, Tim took a deep breath, his hands braced on his hips. A long moment passed as he thought how best to say those most blush- and heat –inducing words. Clearing his throat he wrapped his arms across his mid-section.

"I want to know you can be bigger than me."
*~*     *~*     *~*

Better Now

Author: Lou

*~*     *~*     *~*

Tim took three small steps, walking his feet in toward the side of the bed as he slowly stood upright with a grace he truly did not know he possessed. Pressing his teeth hard against each other, his breath rushed through his nose as he tried to acclimatise to the heat of his backside. Jesus!

Behind him, Rob unwound the leather belt from around his hand and neatly dropped it onto the laundry pile, kicking a damp towel over it. He'd retrieve it later.

"Better now?" Rob asked.

Tim stared at the far wall for a long moment before he turned to face his partner. Arms hung loosely by his side as he pressed his nails into his palms, face flushed and quite obviously in some pain, he cleared the hair from his eyes with a quick toss of his head and gave Rob the most open, honest look he'd managed all week, though his voice was strained.


Rob let out a breath he had only been half aware of holding and stepped into Tim, his hands coming up to frame this most beloved of faces. Placing a gentle kiss on the trembling lips, Rob wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, holding tight as Tim clung to him in a bruising hug that Rob silently accepted as fair due given the pain he'd just inflicted.

A shiver ran through the man and then Rob felt Tim search for his mouth with his own as he sought to transform the energy that buzzed between them into something more, something different. Glancing over Tim's shoulder, Rob eyed the distance to the bed and carefully tipped him backwards; tumbling them both onto the somewhat rumpled sheets.

The End

*~*     *~*     *~*

A Challenge Story

Author: Lou
Written for the Tea Room March 2010 Challenge 

*~*   *~*    *~*

Tim frowned.

"Does this smell right to you?"

Rob sniffed the proffered carton, his face contorting at the curdled milk.

"Congratulations, you made yoghurt', he said drily, and resigned himself to black coffee. His partner took another deep sniff and Rob shook his head. Tim was trusting in very many things, but dairy was not one of them.

Setting the milk on the counter, Tim braced a tanned arm on fridge and leant down to survey its hidden depths. Rob rocked back on his chair slightly and grinned at the view; Tim's jeans pulled nicely tight as he prodded at some mysterious Tupperware container on the lower shelf.

Facing the evidence of one too many evenings happily distracted by anything but shopping, Tim gave in to the inevitable.

"We need to shop."

The legs of the chair clattered back onto the tile and Rob groaned. "But it's Saturday!"

"Yeah? So?"

"There'll be kids everywhere!"

Tim smiled. "It's okay, honey, they're relatively harmless unless provoked."

"Easy for you to say: you're a teacher."

"And you're my Top; stop whining. Come on", he coaxed, dragging Rob from his seat, "On your feet and into battle. I'm driving."


Tim waggled his bum and laughed as Rob made ready use of the target and landed a playful slap across one cheek and dug his fingers into Tim's ribs, causing the man the screech and pull free, dashing out the door.

Rob shook his head as the cat made use of his warm and newly vacated chair, and
snatched the green bags from the back of the pantry door as he pocketed his
wallet. Scratching the grizzled tabby, he murmured, "You've got the right idea,

Looking over the roof of the car, Tim stuck his lip out in a comical pout at Rob's reluctance to face the Saturday masses, followed by a bark of laughter at the gesture directed his way. Rob tossed the shopping bags through to the back seat and jumped in as Tim put the car into reverse.

A sudden sickening crunch of metal dragging on concrete had Tim hitting the brakes in a panic. Rob pulled on the handbrake as his partner leapt from the driver's seat and rushed to the rear of the car. Rob saw his face pale and realised why as he caught sight of the brightly coloured plastic and metal twisted under the bumper bar, and the dislocated spokes of the small wheel.

Rob dropped to his knees, blood pounding in his head as he anticipated a small broken form. Searching under the car with hands and eyes, he felt a wave of almost sickening relief when it became clear there was no child. Sitting back on one heel, he tried to catch his breath. Jesus. His next thought turned to his partner who was gasping.

"Love, love it's okay. It's okay, just a trike. Some kid's left his fucking trike in the drive."

He stood on all too shaky legs and reached out an arm to reassure Tim that all was well as the man bent at the waist and vomited onto the warm concrete at his feet. Rob encircled him with his arms and steered him away from both the mess and the ruined toy, before pulling him down onto the lawn and into his lap.

"It's okay, it's okay. I've got you. Shh. I've got you."

Tim curled into Rob's body and his voice cracked as he sobbed, "I could have killed someone's kid! Rob? I could have-"

Rob hugged him fiercely and rocked back and forth, not giving a damn for the neighbours who had gathered on verandas and behind twitching curtains as the all too rare drama unfolded in the street. "Shh, you didn't. No one is hurt. Tim, look at me", he said ducking his head and raising Tim's chin so he could look at the pain-filled eyes of the man he loved, "No one is hurt. Breathe for me, honey."

Continuing to cradle to trembling and distraught man, Rob glanced at the trike again. Turning away, Mrs McNeely caught his eye as she leant over the fence, anxiety overcoming a natural reluctance to intrude. "Pet?"

Not wanting to think about anyone but Tim, Rob waved a hand and reassured her as he gathered Tim's long legs and braced himself to heft the man into his arms. Making his way slowly up the lawn with his burden clinging tightly around his neck; Rob left his neighbour tuttering her concern and best wishes.

The End

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Take It!

Title: Take It!
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim
Author's Note: Written for the Tea Room's Three-minute Fiction Challenge: Laughing and Crying


"Piss off!"


The back door slammed, only to be flung open seconds later by Rob. Everything, everything, was going wrong today and he was just so fed up. Dammit!

Slamming his way through the house, Tim stumbled over and kicked at boxes of books listing drunkenly and gathering dust in the passage way, awaiting donation to the op shop and never seeming to make it. Growling and adding this to his seething hate of the day thus far, the man let loose a stream of invective. The more pissed off he became the calmer Rob got until he just wanted to scream. And did, the sound bouncing back at him from the walls of their bedroom. Hearing Rob behind him, Tim rounded on the man.

"I hate-"

"Enough!" Rob barked. "Not another word!"

"Fine!" he yelled, fumbling at his belt and ripping it through the loops. Thrusting it into Rob's hand, he let out a howl of frustration as the other man simply held up his palms refusing to rise to the bait or take the course Tim had laid out and was intent on steering them both along in his fury. "Take it!"


"I said take it! You know you want to! I'm a shit and a disappointment and a crap boyfriend. You're supposed to be in charge, show me you've got some bloody balls and just do it!"


Rob took hold of Tim by the shoulders and firmly steered him out of their bedroom, giving a stronger push and a single hard whack on his bum when the protesting man braced his bare feet against the floor.

"Out and calm down. Right now!"

Tim turned and tried to push back past Rob, who blocked his path with his arm on the door frame and a look that he very rarely found cause to use. Miserable and furious and too wound up to care, Tim tried once more to goad Rob, though whether to fuel the fight or end it, he could not say. He waved the tightly clenched belt close to Rob's face, causing the other man to blink.

"You know you want to!"

Rob held fast, not bothering to hide his own unhappiness, even as he tried to avoid stoking his partner's. He knew he sounded weary and that that would scare Tim, who so often worried about people getting sick of him, but he could not lie to him.

"No. That's not how I win arguments. And it is not bloody fair if you think it gives you licence to say and do anything you please to me, no matter how hurtful, and then I have to forgive you just because you took a hiding. It doesn't work like that. I have a right to be mad, and you will just have to deal."

With that, Rob shut the door, leaving a shocked and suddenly silent Tim standing in the hallway.

Several minutes later he realised Rob was not about to relent. The door was not locked, and the fact that Rob trusted him enough to leave it so felt both hopeful and damning in light of his behaviour. Holding back tears and rushing shame that threatened to overwhelm now that the heady and blinding beauty of adrenalin was leaving, Tim stalked into the kitchen and paced; fretting now that the yelling was done. Finding no answers looming from the view outside, the cool of the fridge or the quiet tick of the timer on the oven, Tim slumped down onto the chair by the table and cried.

"Fuck", he whispered fiercely, "You are such a prick, Tim Delaney."

Exhausted, Tim sniffed deeply, swallowing the thick mucus in his mouth and tried to control his hitching breathing. He wanted Rob.

This time the books were spared though he made a mental note to actually shift them. Hesitating, he stood, head resting against the cool wood of the door and just listened to the sounds his partner made on the other side as he opened and closed drawers, stripped the bed and generally pottered. Doing what he could to keep occupied until he too was ready to let the day's nastiness go, Tim realised with a flush of guilt.

Bringing his hand up, Tim tentatively tapped his knuckle on the wood panel. "Knock knock."

Rob paused in what he was doing and heard the misery in the other man's quiet words. This was an old game, one they'd often used when Tim was learning how to come down after an explosion and do that hardest of things. It was telling that his partner returned to the tactic now.

"Who's there?"


"Sorry who?"

"Sorry Rob."

Sighing, Rob opened the door and pulled Tim inside and into a hug. "C'mere you."

Saturday, January 8, 2011

R. I. C. E.

Title: R. I. C. E. 
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim
Author's Note: Sorry to say, the details of school uniform are accurate, save that I was in an
itchy tartan skirt. Still can't stand maroon all these years later....Just a tentative little story, so here goes.



Dropping my bag by the door, not caring as my class's school work slid out onto the damp tiles, I shouted again, seriously in need of some comforting noises and general fussing. What a shit day. I peeled off my sodden windbreaker, which muffled some of my swearing as it got tangled over my head and arms, before it was flung in the general direction of the coat hooks.

I heard the back door slam and moments later Rob was rushing down the passage way to me. Resisting the urge to draw my injured foot up and look all the more pathetic, I settled on a gentle whimper of dismay. I wasn't that surprised when it was matched by Rob's and was quite happy to abandon the stoic expression I had attempted to pull off whilst hobbling home and gave into his embrace as he helped me to the lounge room and onto the couch, before he dashed into the kitchen.

My fingers were numb and the wet laces were refusing to co-operate and I twisted my mouth in agitation at my stupidity.

Returning armed with supplies, Rob settled on the edge of the coffee table, putting the bandage and ice pack in easy reach. Batting my hands out of the way, he divested me of my shoes and socks, all the while watching my face for signs of pain. Frankly, I would have thought my gasping and twitching would have given the game away. Rob cradled my foot in his lap and began his examination. Carefully manipulating my ankle, he pressed gentle fingers against the swelling and tutted over the emerging bruise colouring my aching foot.

"Well I don't think you've broken anything, but it is going to be sore for a good few days. How'd this happen?"

Yeah, I really would have rathered not elaborate on that and hoped my muttered, "You know" would have sufficed. Rob's pointed look told me the gambit had been wasted.

God, I felt such a twat. Clumsy Tim strikes again. Well, to be fair, Rob never said that. "Slipped on the tram tracks in Robertson Road. It is so wet out there. Have you been in the workshop all day?"

"It happens, never mind. Wait – tram? Where's your car?"

"I lent it to Steve. His wouldn't start and he's too far out for public transport. It's too crap a night to be trying to get home that way."

"That was nice of you. I'll drop you in in the morning, no problem. I'll get you after, too, if needed."

My breath caught in mild shock as he pressed the ice pack to me and I instinctively tried to pull back.

"Shh, you need this. Twenty minutes. R.I.C.E: rest, ice, compression, elevation. You'll have it all, so settle. I'll wrap it after this."

"Price", I murmured distractedly, watching his fingers in their soothing motion up and down my shin.


"Price. At school, in sport, we were taught P.R.I.C.E. Prayer. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. Prayer came before anything."

Rob snorted and shook his head, "Jeez, your school."

I smiled and sank back into the couch, letting my bum scoot forward, flexing my knee and trusting him enough not to watch what he was doing to my foot.

"Yeah well, it was a tiny school. My P.E. teacher was also my math and Bible Studies teacher."

"I would have liked to see you at school, all trussed up in that uniform. "

I laughed, recalling the unappetising sight of me clad in maroon blazer, grey shorts and tartan tie. Oh yeah, dead sexy.

"I looked like a pimply Angus Young", I said. "Only far less skilled on guitar."

Lifting my leg slightly, he stood up and stuffed a cushion under my foot before heading into the kitchen. I could hear him belatedly kick off his work boots – he never wears them in from the workshop out back, but I guess I did kind of yell- and scratch around in the junk drawer by the phone until he came up with what he was after. I was just relaxing, getting used to the throbbing ache and its accompanying burn from the ice pack when Rob prodded me on the shoulder and held a glass in front of my face.

"Tim. Take these", he said. Lazily I opened my mouth and he grinned as he popped two ibuprofen into my waiting mouth.

"I'm going to make some dinner, you rest. I mean it, you move off that couch and your ankle won't be the only thing aching. Got it? And -" he glared, as I sat forward and reached a hand toward my foot, "Leave that ice on!"

Yes, Boss.


He popped his head around the door frame, tea towel in hand. "What?"

"I love you."

He shook his head and smiled. "Dinner'll be ready soon. Rest."

The End


Title: Quibble
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim

Tim stilled his hips and tried to hold a straight face as Rob growled at the sudden change in pace.

"Jesus, Tim-"

Braced on his arms, Tim gave in and grinned as he felt Rob's legs tighten around him, heels digging into his backside as he was urged to don't. bloody. stop.

"About that new surfboard..?"

Rob's eyes quickly focussed and he shot an incredulous look at the man. "You want to talk about surfing? Now??"

Tim's lips twitched and he shrugged as well as able in that position, "I like surfing. It's a really good board."

Panting, Rob reached up and clasped the back of Tim's neck, forcing his partner to lower himself. Locked chest to chest, Tim felt Rob suddenly made quite the compelling argument.

"If you dare stop or mention that damn board in the next 10 minutes, I promise I'll leather your cheeky arse."

Well, who could quibble with that?

Moments later, Rob landed a sharp slap on the brat's bum and his body shook with laughter as he recognised the tune Tim was humming. 

Beach Boys medley. Bloody man. 

Past Due

Title: Past Due
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim
Author's Note: Just a little story again. Apologies, this is rather light on discipline (but I am a coward thataways.)


Tim chewed on a piece of toast, waving hello to Mrs McNeely as he picked his way across the lawn to the letterbox and muttering a litany of reminders under his breath, "Car service, grading, pick up jacket, car service, grading, pick up  jacket." So much for the weekend of idleness he had planned.

It was hot already and it was not even 9am. And, he noted as he flipped up the lid to letterbox, neither of them had remembered to check yesterday and the snails had started to dine on their post. Bloody things. He added snail bait to the list.

Juggling sheaves of junk mail that could go straight in the recycling bin and a half dozen envelopes, quite bedraggled, Tim hooked his thumb under the edge of one and tore it open.

"Fuck", he mumbled. Kicking open the screen door, he called out to Rob as he walked down hallway into the old kitchen. "Mail!"

Rob grunted from his position atop the bar stool as he tried to persuade the light globe into the somewhat warped coupling.

"Get off that bloody stool!" Tim said, grabbing Rob by the hips and helping him down. "You have a step ladder and you never use the damn thing. Leave the light globe and look at this."

Rob grinned. "I never fall, you know?"

Tim shook his head, "Yes, I know, but it is the principle of the thing: you are stepping into my role as resident brat. Try acting like a Top for once, okay? Anyways", he said, handing Rob the letter, "we have other problems: I forgot the credit card minimum."

Rob sat on the stool and read it through, whilst Tim shuffled his feet. He always, always stuffed these things up! It was a wonder Rob let him out without a keeper-


Tim looked away, face hot. The man could always read his thoughts.

"Aren't you going to..?"

Rob looked up and shook his head.

"No. That's what penalty fees are for, mate."

"But I ALWAYS do this! Why can't I get it through my thick head-"

"Hey!" Rob said, cutting Tim off mid-accusation and standing to pull him into a hug. "Go easy. You missed a payment, you didn't kill anyone."

Tim blushed again, as much for his need as for his over-reaction. He willed himself to take a deep breath and calm down, knowing if there was one thing Rob really would come down hard on it would be harsh self-criticism. Be nice to you, be nice to you. God, he'd heard that often enough.

Looking at the time, Rob handed Tim the letter and gave him another quick kiss before releasing him.

"I have to dash and get those materials before the yard gets too busy. Please don't stress yourself over this- we can deal with it, I promise. And", he said, shoving his feet into his work boots, "If your conscience is bothering you, you can always contemplate the affect on your credit. That should be penance enough."

Straightening up, Rob looked at his partner. Tim was twisting the statement in his hands, biting his lip.

Rob brushed his dark hair back from his downturned face.

"Spanking is not a panacea, and you know it. I can't and won't rule your life, and you are still subject to the same cause and effect as the rest of us. Plus", he said, shouldering into a favourite T-shirt, "I forgot the gas bill. You going to bend me over the chair and stripe my arse for me?"

Tim let out a shaky laugh and dashed his hands over his eyes.


Rob grinned, snagging the last piece of toast from their shared plate and pulling Tim in close to clap a hard hand over the bum of his well worn jeans, making Tim yelp. "Yep. But I'm your bastard. We both need to get on top of the bills. We'll go through the payment schedule and budget tonight and get it sorted, okay? "

Tim nodded and with a sigh stuck the offending item to the fridge.

"Tell you what, though, if you are intent on beating yourself up, you can file all the paperwork in the spare room before Monday, okay?"

"It's YOUR paperwork!"

Rob smiled broadly and dodged Tim's swipe as his theatrically irate partner lunged across the kitchen, "Yeah, but I'm the Top!"

The End

Not Going Anywhere

Title: Not Going Anywhere
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim 
Author's Note: Forgive me, this is a bit of a dark one as I am in a dark mood. The song is Curse Stops Here by Aussie band, The Whitlams. 


It had gotten dark as I sat there, the night air coming from the open flyscreen raising goose bumps on my bare legs and I curled them under me, reluctant to move from my spot on the couch even as I shivered. 

I could smell next door’s dinner being cooked and my stomach rumbled. The kitchen seemed too far away so I ignored it; the gnawing empty feeling seemed appropriate somehow as I wallowed in my gloom. My mate, Richard, swore by The Smiths as his go-to band of choice for dark days and shitty moods, but I favoured local boys, The Whitlams, and let the mournful words and Tim Freedman’s voice drag me further down.

"My first days back and I was rolling round the town
Saying stay away from edges, Stay away from ropes if you can
My friends said I was saying it, too many times
Leave the gallows humour for the gallows people that it finds."
Car lights bounced off the far wall as Rob pulled up the drive way, and for a moment I fought a pang of resentment, my solitude broken. Hugging my arms tighter around myself, I prepared for some sort of opposition and insistent cajoling that I was determined to fight. At the same time, part of me wanted nothing more than being rescued. Yes, daft, I know, but there you go. Who said things had to be rational? I’d be gutted if he didn’t try, if he said, “Righto. Your choice, see ya later”, and added manipulative bastard to the list of sins I had to feel guilty about. 

The security light out front came on and I heard the clang of the wire door as it fell shut behind him, followed by the everyday domestic song of his boots being kicked off, the mail shuffled and dumped on the hall table and his off kilter whistle summoning the cat (yes, cat) as he made his way to me. 


Shrugging off his hand I tried to block him and his worried frown from my view, focussing instead on the melancholy music. The final notes of the song finished and I hit repeat on the remote before Rob had the chance to take it from me, only to have him pluck it from my hand as I tried to hide it from his reach and sink into the cushion next to me. 

He tossed it somewhere over the back of the couch and pulled me across into his arms, saying nothing but enveloping me in his calmness until all my world was Rob and the scent of him and the ache in my chest. And then I could not tell what part was me shaking and him rocking as I cried. Christ, two years since my baby brother left us and I was still crying. 

“I miss him.” 

“I know. Me too.” 

“I’m angry at him.” 

“Mhmm. Me too.” 

“I didn’t do dinner.” 

“I don’t care”, he murmured, kissing the side of my face, brushing my damp hair back so as to see me better. I turned my face up to him and he kissed me again. 

“You’re not going to spank me?” 

Rob rested his chin on top of my head and I felt as well as heard him say in his quiet way, “Spanking doesn’t fix everything. But I’m not going anywhere.”
"'Cause I am the last one...
And the curse stops here
The curse stops here"

The End

Just A Little Christmas Story

Title: Just a Little Christmas Story.
Author: Lou
Characters: Rob and Tim
Author's Note: Key to some Australian words down below. 


Summer Sundays were made for this. The backyard was flush with bright growth, brought on by a few weeks' drought-breaking rain and the subsequent sunshine, and they could hear the faint whine of a mower starting up down the street. Cicadas hummed in a drone that would be as constant a background to the season as the seemingly endless cricket commentary. Six days to Christmas and it was already warm enough to kick the covers off on mornings like these. The lawn could wait.

Rolling atop his partner, Rob caught his lip in a kiss, which Tim happily returned. Running a hand down his side, Rob grinned at Tim's reflexive jerk as fingertips ghosted over that spot just inside the man's right hip that always guaranteed a response. Never worked on the left, though Rob had tried often enough.

Shifting slightly, Rob was just getting comfortably distracted when the warbled sound of "Frosty the Snowman" penetrated their room, followed by the oscillating wail of a fire brigade alarm.

Tim bucked strongly and threw Rob off, stumbling as he tried to exit the bed, hit the floor and pull on yesterday's jeans in one move. Hopping as he unravelled his sock from the inverted cuff, Tim looked back at the baffled man still in bed. 

"Come on!"

Rob's head thumped back on the pillow as he waved Tim away, "Go, go, enjoy", but he was talking to himself.


Tim picked his way across the lawn, hissing as a bindii prickle lodged in his bare foot. Brushing it loose, he waved once more at Santa- who this year was actually Errol from the footy club and the volunteer fire brigade's treasurer. A half dozen local kids had chased the fire truck down the street as Errol and his helpers threw lollies to those too shy or young to leave their front yards, but Tim had managed a good handful for himself. Well, one had to uphold and support local traditions, right?

He unwrapped a caramel and popped it in his mouth, enjoying the rush of sticky sweetness. Okay, not the best he'd had, but passable. Rob stood on the verandah in his jeans, hands resting on his belt as he leant his bare back against the warm brickwork. Tim tucked the lolly into his cheek and talked around the overly sweet mouthful.

"Couldn't resist, huh?" Tim teased. "I knew it. I knew you had a heart in there somewhere, Scrooge. Want one?"

Rob raised his eyebrow, noting he'd been offered the less-favoured barley sugar and not one of Tim's favourites. Schooling his features, Rob straightened up and gave his partner a stern look, whilst fingering the buckle on his belt.

"Tsk tsk. Timothy, did you really steal lollies from those poor kids?"

Tim's heart gave a thump, and he looked his partner in the eye, unable to keep the grin from his face at the tone. 

"Yep. What are you going to do about it?"

The End

Bindii = small prickly burr that invades lawns in summer. Early balance and athletic training is provided free to all Aussie kids as they try hop on one foot to remove these buggers.

Footy = Australian Rules Football (AFL).

Lolly = candy, sweeties.