By Kitsa

Rated R

Variations on a Theme

Kenneth Irons walked out of his bedroom, his arm casually draped around the young man’s waist. They stopped and kissed slowly in the doorway before continuing down the hall towards the back entrance of the house, soft laughter drifting back down the hall.

Young Ian Nottingham stood in the shadows outside the door in stunned silence, the darkness shielding the pain in his eyes. How could his father show so much affection for this… this stranger and not for him? He was hurt and confused, unsure about the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him. He had been awakened by strange thoughts, emotions that he did not understand. Slipping out of bed, he had gone searching, first to the library and then to his Father’s room, looking for him, looking for answers to what was going on inside of him.

Making a decision, he slipped into his Father’s bedroom. He scanned the room, dark except for the ever-present fire, taking in the rumpled bed, the two glasses on the table, the fire burning low on the hearth. Slowly he went to the fire and knelt in front of it in the darkness, not entirely sure why he was here other than that he would do anything, risk anything for his father’s love.

Irons returned to his room feeling rather mellow after a pleasant evening spent with a more than pleasant companion. As he entered, he noticed a dark shape kneeling on the floor by the fire. Irritation, confusion, concern, and pride filled him as he recognized his son. He took a moment to contemplate Ian. The boy was doing well. At 14, he was almost six feet tall and just starting to fill out a bit. Ian did well in both his intellectual and physical pursuits, and his pride in the boy was growing, although he would never admit it. But what he was doing here at this hour confused Irons. Ian was no longer allowed in his Father’s rooms unless summoned. Maybe the nightmares had returned? They had been the only reason he had ever come to his Father’s room at night, and he had not done that in years. Had he seen, heard anything tonight? Irons was not necessarily up to explaining things to his son right now, if ever. He walked up behind Ian and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Ian, are you hurt?”

“No, Sir,” he answered quietly, his body tensing in spite of himself at his father’s touch.

“Then why are you here? Have the nightmares returned?” he asked, his voice soothing, trying to understand why his son had broken the rules to such an extent. He reached out and turned Ian’s face toward him, registering the confusion, hurt, and pain in his eyes. He knelt down beside him. “What is wrong, my Son?”

Ian looked at his Father beside him, wondering how to put the turmoil inside him into words without angering him. Finally he reached out a trembling hand and touched Irons’ right hand, brushing the scar that marred it.

Irons was hit with a sudden wave of swirling emotion, confused and primal, intensified by the perspective of a teenaged boy. And over all the thought, over and over, how can you love him and not me? The force of it caused him to shake and start to fall, only to be caught in Ian’s arms.

He helped lift his father back up and into his chair. Tears of fear and shame lit his eyes as he backed away. “I’m sorry, Fa….Sir, I did not mean….” He stumbled over his words, as he had not in years on top of everything, to hurt his father. He thought about fleeing, but could not leave him until he was sure that Irons was all right. Besides, where would he go? So he stood, shifting into proper stance by his father’s chair and waited, hoping the darkness would hide the tears that coursed down his cheeks.

Irons leaned back in his chair trying to sort through what had just happened. He realized he had made a large error in entertaining his companion here at the house while Ian was home, the price too high for a simple evening’s pleasure. Puberty and conditioning combined were clashing with his son’s treatments, leaving Ian’s emotions raw and vulnerable and the link between them wide open. Even as habitually locked down as Irons was, there was no way to completely keep him out right now. And now he had to fix his mistake before it became any worse. He looked up, his own heart aching as he watched the silent tears on Ian’s shadowy cheeks.

“Ian, come here…” he said, trying to keep his weakened voice steady. Ian knelt in front of his father’s chair, still keeping his head lowered.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I did not mean…” he began slowly, trying to regain the emotionless tone he knew was expected of him. He stopped when he felt his father’s hand on his cheek, tipping his face up to look in his eyes.

He saw the offer there, amid the pain, and closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. The boy had no idea what he wanted, much less what he was offering, asking for to fill his need for simple affection. And if he knew the reality, it would only make the situation that much worse.

“No, Ian,” he stopped him. “This error was mine. You are vulnerable right now, confused, feeling things that you have never felt before, jah?” For the first time since he was a small boy, his father reached out for him, pulling his head against his knee. He could feel his tears dampening the soft silk beneath his cheek and he reached out convulsively, holding close to his father as he had when he was younger. Irons gently ran a hand through his already tousled hair. When Ian’s tears had stopped and he had relaxed his grip, Irons reached down for his hand.

“Come, it has been a troubling night for you and you should have been long in bed.” He rose, pulling his son up with him, placing his arm around his shoulders. He is almost as tall as I am, he mused, as he guided him out of the room.

He led Ian back to his room, tucking him into his bed with an indulgent smile as he had done when his son was small. “Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time for explanations… for now, just sleep.” He patted Ian’s head absently and turned to leave.

“Sir…Father?” Ian’s voice stopped him, soft and hesitant. He turned back to face him in the half light. “Will you stay…Please?” The intense loneliness caused Irons to close his eyes and set his jaw against his own tears.

“Very well, just this one more time,” he said, low, more to himself than to his son. He pulled a chair up to Ian’s bedside as he had so often done when he was younger and took his hand. “Now sleep.”