Old Habits
Part 1
Negotiating the narrow streets around Covent Garden at half past eleven on a Tuesday night should have been, Tristan reflected as he braked again, a relatively simple task. He groaned as the traffic light changed back to red without his car having moved more than a foot forward. Pedestrians, Americans most likely, were charging into the street without glancing to the right. A coach hid what lay ahead, but the reflection of flashing lights on the buildings around him did not bode well.
The fact he was tired did nothing to mitigate his growing impatience. He was in the midst of his third week of arriving in the office before seven in the morning and staying until nine or later at night. He had spent the bulk of every weekend for the past month there. Five of his most important clients had campaigns in the works, and there were simply not enough hours in the day to keep track of all of them, anticipate problems and solve them before they became disasters.
Robin had been remarkable — picking up the pieces when he arrived home shattered, cooking palatable meals at unspeakable hours, and urging him to bed when he could not have gone another moment without sleep. Even that afternoon when Tristan had called to let him know that attending Jamie's performance was out of the question, Robin had accepted it with no more than a trace of disappointment.
Slightly ahead of Tristan, a driver started his car and flipped on its headlights. As the traffic eased forward, Tristan held back, allowing the car to join the queue. As soon as the car cleared the spot, Tristan pulled into it. Turning the key with one hand, he straightened his tie and brushed his hair into place with the other before getting out and locking the door.
Backtracking a block, he found the restaurant down a short flight of stairs. The door did little to lessen the sound pouring out. Music played at an ear-splitting level fought for supremacy with dozens of shouting voices. After the quiet of a night-time office and a radio-free car trip, the volume and accompanying exuberance all but knocked him down. He stepped to the side, trying to gather his wits before finding Robin in the swirling crowd.
"Tris!"
He turned at the sound of his name. Jamie stood at his elbow, almost percolating with energy. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, Jamie."
"...right...Robbie said...Geoff..."
Tristan shook his head and pushed Jamie out the door ahead of him. "I couldn't hear a word you said."
Jamie laughed, and the sheer beauty of the man struck Tristan. Brilliant green eyes highlighted a finely wrought face. Dark eyelashes and brows contrasted sharply with blond-streaked hair. Taken individually, his features were striking. Together they were stunning.
"I said it was all right. Robbie explained you were trapped and couldn't get away. And he brought Geoff along.'" He raised one eyebrow. "Quite an acceptable replacement."
"I still feel terrible missing your debut as a soloist."
Jamie leaned in to whisper, "If my sources within the company are to be believed, there are roles of my own in my future, not just as an understudy."
Tristan dropped his voice as well. "They were pleased?"
"Very. Thank God, I danced Mercutio at school. It made replacing Eric a lot easier."
The door of the restaurant opened, and two other dancers congratulated Jamie on his performance before they ran up the stairs to the street and disappeared.
"Can you come next week? I'll organise tickets for Wednesday or Thursday — whichever you can do."
"Let me check my calendar. Perhaps I can talk Robbie into coming again." Tristan opened the door and waved Jamie through. "He's very proud of you."
As they re-entered the mad house, Tristan scanned the room for any possible corner Robbie could have holed up in. Crowds, especially noisy ones, were not something he enjoyed.
"They...back," Jamie shouted.
Tristan nodded and began making his way through the throng of Royal Ballet dancers letting their hair down after a successful performance. He saw Geoff before he found Robin. Leaning against the wall, he was discussing something with an older man with grey hair. Robin stood to one side, obviously listening but not adding to the conversation.
Dressed in a tailored blue suit and neatly patterned tie, his hair subdued into a semblance of order, Robin looked more mature than Tristan had ever seen him. As Tristan moved toward him, he registered one additional detail — the lit cigarette held comfortably in Robin's hand.
In that same moment, he saw Robin focus on him then follow his gaze to the object in his hand. Panic flashed across his face. He glanced around, then deposited the half-smoked cigarette in an empty glass someone had left on the ledge behind him.
"Tristan, you made it!" Geoff said as he joined them.
"Yes, finally." The fact he replied surprised him. It was all he could do not to grab Robin and shake him.
"This is Dr. Lansing from the hospital. He and his wife are patrons of the ballet."
"Good evening," Tristan managed, shaking the hand the man offered.
"How do you do?" the man inquired. "I must say you missed quite a performance tonight. It has been years since they've danced Romeo and Juliet that well."
"I hope to see it next week."
"You must! It is well worth the effort. Oh, my wife has found me so I must return to our table. Saunders, I will see you at the hospital. Good to meet you both," he said, nodding to Tristan and Robin before draining his glass of wine and disappearing into the crowd.
"Well, that should do me well," Geoff said taking another swallow of beer. "Lansing never more than grunted at me, and we've just had a ten-minute chat. The arts are the great leveller, aren't they?"
Tristan turned to Robin. "Why don't you find Jamie and say good night?"
Robin nodded and disappeared into the throng of people.
"Everything all right?" Geoff inquired.
"It has been a long day," Tristan admitted, tracking Robin's progress.
"From what Robin said, it has been a long couple of weeks. Any end in sight?"
"No, more's the pity." He took the pint out of Geoff's hand. "Jamie was very pleased with my replacement for the evening."
"He asked if I might go on to a party with him after this ends."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Is that the way of it, then?"
Geoff replied with an easy grin, "I hope it will be."
Seeing Robin had located his target, Tristan took a swallow of beer and saluted Geoff with the glass before handing it back. "Then I'll say good night."
As Geoff headed off to the bar, Tristan found a path through to where Robin and Jamie stood waiting for him. Robin looked pale and worried, but Jamie was chattering away beside him.
"Ready?" Tristan asked.
Robin nodded. "Night, Jamie."
"I'll call you tomorrow after class." As Robin went out the door, Jamie asked, "Tris, you'll let me know about next week?"
"As soon as I can. Good night, Jamie. Congratulations."
When they reached the top of the stairs, Robin blurted out, "Tris, I know what it looked like, but —"
"I don't want to hear a word from you, young man."
"But what you —"
"Not a word! Do you understand?"
Robin opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. He trailed along after Tristan as he strode to the car, sliding past him when Tristan unlocked the passenger-side door and held it open for him. Managing not to slam it shut, Tristan walked around to his own door which Robin had already opened from the inside.
Fortunately, the traffic snarl had ended, and the streets had emptied. Pulling out of the parking spot, Tristan loosened his grip on the steering wheel. He looked at Robin who was turned away, watching the buildings they passed. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to his clothes and filled the interior of the car. Annoyed, Tristan opened his window.
By the time they reached home, Tristan had composed and discarded several versions of the lecture he planned to deliver. Parking the car, he snatched his briefcase and coat from the boot before following Robin up the stairs and into the building. He would not need either one before morning, but it gave him a moment to calm himself.
Robin was already pacing when he came through the door. His coat had been thrown over the back of the sofa; his tie was loosened and askew.
"Sit down, Robin."
"Tristan, just listen to me —"
"I said, sit down!" Tristan snapped. He waited until Robin was seated on the edge of the sofa. "What could you have been thinking of? What was the first rule we ever agreed on?"
"That I wasn't to smoke any more! But, Tris —"
"That's right. It isn't something I would ever want you to do anyway, but especially now. Do you remember anything the doctor told us? The fact you've had bronchitis three times in the past year is a clear indication that it's becoming chronic. And the only way to reverse that is to stop smoking completely."
"I haven't had a cigarette in weeks!" Robin protested.
Tristan folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I realise things have been a bit lax around here of late, but that isn't an excuse for ignoring the rules."
Robin glared at him. "I know the rules."
"Well, you certainly weren't following them tonight, were you? Just because I'm not standing beside you, it doesn't mean you take the evening off."
"Tris, please give me a chance to explain!"
"There isn't anything to explain, young man, unless it's that the cigarette magically appeared in your hand!"
"You're not letting me talk!"
"There is nothing on earth you can say that will convince me I was mistaken in what I saw!"
"This isn't —"
"Fair?" Tristan finished for him. "Risking your health isn't fair to either of us." He grabbed Robin by the arm and yanked him to his feet. "Take down your trousers and lean over the back of the sofa."
Robin pulled hard but could not free himself. "No, Tris, please!"
Tristan turned him so he faced in the opposite direction, then reached around to unbutton Robin's trousers and push them along with his shorts to the floor. Putting a hand on the back of Robin's head, he bent him over the back of the sofa.
"I told you that you wouldn't sit down for a week if you so much as thought of having another cigarette, and I intend to carry through on that promise."
"No!" Robin tried to protect his bottom with his hands, but Tristan caught them and held them at the small of his back.
A shout of shock and outrage greeted the first impact of his hand. Robin tried twisting out of Tristan's hold, but Tristan simply tightened his grip. Robin jerked at the second stroke, but swallowed the second cry.
And so it went until Tristan was perspiring from the effort of holding Robin in place and spanking him. Judging from the flaming red of his bottom, Robin would indeed have trouble sitting comfortably the next day.
"When I get home tomorrow night, I'll expect five-hundred lines of 'I will not endanger my health by smoking cigarettes' done and waiting for me."
Robin straightened, his hands already investigating the damage. His breathing was ragged, but he had not cried out since the first stroke. Tristan put his arms around him, but Robin's body remained taut. Exasperated by the show of petulance, Tristan loosened his hold and turned Robin toward him, freezing as he saw blood running down Robin's chin from a badly bitten lip.
"My God, what have you done, stubborn boy?" he demanded, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and stanching the flow.
Robin jerked his head free of Tristan's grip, his hand pushing the handkerchief away. "I'll take care of it myself!"
Grabbing the back of his neck, Tristan evaded his hand and put the cloth back against his lip. "Hold still! You're making things worse."
Robin flinched at the pressure, glaring at Tristan. For the first time in their relationship, Tristan saw signs of the temper usually so slow to rise.
Too tired to deal with it, he gave him a push toward the bedroom. "All I smell is smoke. Take a shower and put antiseptic on that lip. I'll bring you a compress."
"I don't want —"
Tristan gave him a solid swat. "Now."
Throwing one more glare back over his shoulder, Robin stomped away. As soon as he heard the shower turn on, Tristan pulled their one tray of ice cubes from the freezer and, with more force than necessary, smashed it against the side of the sink. Scooping a handful of ice into a glass, he poured a slug of whiskey over it. He barely tasted the first sip, ordering himself to breath deeply and calm down before attempting a second.
When the shower turned off, he had achieved a semblance of calm. With a few of the remaining cubes wrapped in a clean tea towel, he switched off the lights and went into the bedroom.
His arrival coincided with Robin's appearance in the bathroom doorway. He had roughly towelled dry his hair, all the careful order of the evening gone. The glower had not lessened, although the swollen lip lessened the effect of the accompanying scowl. Wearing an old t-shirt of Tristan's and shorts, he looked like an over-tired ten-year-old.
"Bed. Now."
"You can't —"
"Yes, I most certainly can. Look, it's late, and quite frankly, I'm too tired to discuss this anymore. Either you get in bed, or we'll spend the next few minutes with you over my knee. Which is it to be?"
Fists clenched into knots, Robin stalked to the bed and climbed in. Feigning a calm he did not feel, Tristan handed him the tea towel.
"Hold this against your lip. It will take down the swelling."
Refusing to look at him, Robin obeyed.
"Good. Keep it there while I get ready for bed."
When he crawled into bed five minutes later, Robin was curled up in a tight ball on the very edge of the mattress. For the first time Tristan could remember, he faced away toward the windows.
"Let me see your lip."
Robin lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at Tristan. His eyes were redder, and his face showed signs of hastily scrubbed-away tears.
"Has it stopped bleeding?"
"Yes."
"Good. Put the compress in the bathroom so it doesn't soak anything tonight."
He set the alarm to 5:30, then waited until Robin returned to the far side of the bed before switching off the light. Settling himself, he slid an arm under Robin and simply rolled his unwilling partner into his usual place.
"It's all right, love," he murmured, rubbing Robin's back. "Everything's fine. Go to sleep now."
The words slurred into a indecipherable hum as Tristan fell asleep.
Part 2
The fact he was tired did nothing to mitigate his growing impatience. He was in the midst of his third week of arriving in the office before seven in the morning and staying until nine or later at night. He had spent the bulk of every weekend for the past month there. Five of his most important clients had campaigns in the works, and there were simply not enough hours in the day to keep track of all of them, anticipate problems and solve them before they became disasters.
Robin had been remarkable — picking up the pieces when he arrived home shattered, cooking palatable meals at unspeakable hours, and urging him to bed when he could not have gone another moment without sleep. Even that afternoon when Tristan had called to let him know that attending Jamie's performance was out of the question, Robin had accepted it with no more than a trace of disappointment.
Slightly ahead of Tristan, a driver started his car and flipped on its headlights. As the traffic eased forward, Tristan held back, allowing the car to join the queue. As soon as the car cleared the spot, Tristan pulled into it. Turning the key with one hand, he straightened his tie and brushed his hair into place with the other before getting out and locking the door.
Backtracking a block, he found the restaurant down a short flight of stairs. The door did little to lessen the sound pouring out. Music played at an ear-splitting level fought for supremacy with dozens of shouting voices. After the quiet of a night-time office and a radio-free car trip, the volume and accompanying exuberance all but knocked him down. He stepped to the side, trying to gather his wits before finding Robin in the swirling crowd.
"Tris!"
He turned at the sound of his name. Jamie stood at his elbow, almost percolating with energy. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, Jamie."
"...right...Robbie said...Geoff..."
Tristan shook his head and pushed Jamie out the door ahead of him. "I couldn't hear a word you said."
Jamie laughed, and the sheer beauty of the man struck Tristan. Brilliant green eyes highlighted a finely wrought face. Dark eyelashes and brows contrasted sharply with blond-streaked hair. Taken individually, his features were striking. Together they were stunning.
"I said it was all right. Robbie explained you were trapped and couldn't get away. And he brought Geoff along.'" He raised one eyebrow. "Quite an acceptable replacement."
"I still feel terrible missing your debut as a soloist."
Jamie leaned in to whisper, "If my sources within the company are to be believed, there are roles of my own in my future, not just as an understudy."
Tristan dropped his voice as well. "They were pleased?"
"Very. Thank God, I danced Mercutio at school. It made replacing Eric a lot easier."
The door of the restaurant opened, and two other dancers congratulated Jamie on his performance before they ran up the stairs to the street and disappeared.
"Can you come next week? I'll organise tickets for Wednesday or Thursday — whichever you can do."
"Let me check my calendar. Perhaps I can talk Robbie into coming again." Tristan opened the door and waved Jamie through. "He's very proud of you."
As they re-entered the mad house, Tristan scanned the room for any possible corner Robbie could have holed up in. Crowds, especially noisy ones, were not something he enjoyed.
"They...back," Jamie shouted.
Tristan nodded and began making his way through the throng of Royal Ballet dancers letting their hair down after a successful performance. He saw Geoff before he found Robin. Leaning against the wall, he was discussing something with an older man with grey hair. Robin stood to one side, obviously listening but not adding to the conversation.
Dressed in a tailored blue suit and neatly patterned tie, his hair subdued into a semblance of order, Robin looked more mature than Tristan had ever seen him. As Tristan moved toward him, he registered one additional detail — the lit cigarette held comfortably in Robin's hand.
In that same moment, he saw Robin focus on him then follow his gaze to the object in his hand. Panic flashed across his face. He glanced around, then deposited the half-smoked cigarette in an empty glass someone had left on the ledge behind him.
"Tristan, you made it!" Geoff said as he joined them.
"Yes, finally." The fact he replied surprised him. It was all he could do not to grab Robin and shake him.
"This is Dr. Lansing from the hospital. He and his wife are patrons of the ballet."
"Good evening," Tristan managed, shaking the hand the man offered.
"How do you do?" the man inquired. "I must say you missed quite a performance tonight. It has been years since they've danced Romeo and Juliet that well."
"I hope to see it next week."
"You must! It is well worth the effort. Oh, my wife has found me so I must return to our table. Saunders, I will see you at the hospital. Good to meet you both," he said, nodding to Tristan and Robin before draining his glass of wine and disappearing into the crowd.
"Well, that should do me well," Geoff said taking another swallow of beer. "Lansing never more than grunted at me, and we've just had a ten-minute chat. The arts are the great leveller, aren't they?"
Tristan turned to Robin. "Why don't you find Jamie and say good night?"
Robin nodded and disappeared into the throng of people.
"Everything all right?" Geoff inquired.
"It has been a long day," Tristan admitted, tracking Robin's progress.
"From what Robin said, it has been a long couple of weeks. Any end in sight?"
"No, more's the pity." He took the pint out of Geoff's hand. "Jamie was very pleased with my replacement for the evening."
"He asked if I might go on to a party with him after this ends."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Is that the way of it, then?"
Geoff replied with an easy grin, "I hope it will be."
Seeing Robin had located his target, Tristan took a swallow of beer and saluted Geoff with the glass before handing it back. "Then I'll say good night."
As Geoff headed off to the bar, Tristan found a path through to where Robin and Jamie stood waiting for him. Robin looked pale and worried, but Jamie was chattering away beside him.
"Ready?" Tristan asked.
Robin nodded. "Night, Jamie."
"I'll call you tomorrow after class." As Robin went out the door, Jamie asked, "Tris, you'll let me know about next week?"
"As soon as I can. Good night, Jamie. Congratulations."
When they reached the top of the stairs, Robin blurted out, "Tris, I know what it looked like, but —"
"I don't want to hear a word from you, young man."
"But what you —"
"Not a word! Do you understand?"
Robin opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. He trailed along after Tristan as he strode to the car, sliding past him when Tristan unlocked the passenger-side door and held it open for him. Managing not to slam it shut, Tristan walked around to his own door which Robin had already opened from the inside.
Fortunately, the traffic snarl had ended, and the streets had emptied. Pulling out of the parking spot, Tristan loosened his grip on the steering wheel. He looked at Robin who was turned away, watching the buildings they passed. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to his clothes and filled the interior of the car. Annoyed, Tristan opened his window.
By the time they reached home, Tristan had composed and discarded several versions of the lecture he planned to deliver. Parking the car, he snatched his briefcase and coat from the boot before following Robin up the stairs and into the building. He would not need either one before morning, but it gave him a moment to calm himself.
Robin was already pacing when he came through the door. His coat had been thrown over the back of the sofa; his tie was loosened and askew.
"Sit down, Robin."
"Tristan, just listen to me —"
"I said, sit down!" Tristan snapped. He waited until Robin was seated on the edge of the sofa. "What could you have been thinking of? What was the first rule we ever agreed on?"
"That I wasn't to smoke any more! But, Tris —"
"That's right. It isn't something I would ever want you to do anyway, but especially now. Do you remember anything the doctor told us? The fact you've had bronchitis three times in the past year is a clear indication that it's becoming chronic. And the only way to reverse that is to stop smoking completely."
"I haven't had a cigarette in weeks!" Robin protested.
Tristan folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I realise things have been a bit lax around here of late, but that isn't an excuse for ignoring the rules."
Robin glared at him. "I know the rules."
"Well, you certainly weren't following them tonight, were you? Just because I'm not standing beside you, it doesn't mean you take the evening off."
"Tris, please give me a chance to explain!"
"There isn't anything to explain, young man, unless it's that the cigarette magically appeared in your hand!"
"You're not letting me talk!"
"There is nothing on earth you can say that will convince me I was mistaken in what I saw!"
"This isn't —"
"Fair?" Tristan finished for him. "Risking your health isn't fair to either of us." He grabbed Robin by the arm and yanked him to his feet. "Take down your trousers and lean over the back of the sofa."
Robin pulled hard but could not free himself. "No, Tris, please!"
Tristan turned him so he faced in the opposite direction, then reached around to unbutton Robin's trousers and push them along with his shorts to the floor. Putting a hand on the back of Robin's head, he bent him over the back of the sofa.
"I told you that you wouldn't sit down for a week if you so much as thought of having another cigarette, and I intend to carry through on that promise."
"No!" Robin tried to protect his bottom with his hands, but Tristan caught them and held them at the small of his back.
A shout of shock and outrage greeted the first impact of his hand. Robin tried twisting out of Tristan's hold, but Tristan simply tightened his grip. Robin jerked at the second stroke, but swallowed the second cry.
And so it went until Tristan was perspiring from the effort of holding Robin in place and spanking him. Judging from the flaming red of his bottom, Robin would indeed have trouble sitting comfortably the next day.
"When I get home tomorrow night, I'll expect five-hundred lines of 'I will not endanger my health by smoking cigarettes' done and waiting for me."
Robin straightened, his hands already investigating the damage. His breathing was ragged, but he had not cried out since the first stroke. Tristan put his arms around him, but Robin's body remained taut. Exasperated by the show of petulance, Tristan loosened his hold and turned Robin toward him, freezing as he saw blood running down Robin's chin from a badly bitten lip.
"My God, what have you done, stubborn boy?" he demanded, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and stanching the flow.
Robin jerked his head free of Tristan's grip, his hand pushing the handkerchief away. "I'll take care of it myself!"
Grabbing the back of his neck, Tristan evaded his hand and put the cloth back against his lip. "Hold still! You're making things worse."
Robin flinched at the pressure, glaring at Tristan. For the first time in their relationship, Tristan saw signs of the temper usually so slow to rise.
Too tired to deal with it, he gave him a push toward the bedroom. "All I smell is smoke. Take a shower and put antiseptic on that lip. I'll bring you a compress."
"I don't want —"
Tristan gave him a solid swat. "Now."
Throwing one more glare back over his shoulder, Robin stomped away. As soon as he heard the shower turn on, Tristan pulled their one tray of ice cubes from the freezer and, with more force than necessary, smashed it against the side of the sink. Scooping a handful of ice into a glass, he poured a slug of whiskey over it. He barely tasted the first sip, ordering himself to breath deeply and calm down before attempting a second.
When the shower turned off, he had achieved a semblance of calm. With a few of the remaining cubes wrapped in a clean tea towel, he switched off the lights and went into the bedroom.
His arrival coincided with Robin's appearance in the bathroom doorway. He had roughly towelled dry his hair, all the careful order of the evening gone. The glower had not lessened, although the swollen lip lessened the effect of the accompanying scowl. Wearing an old t-shirt of Tristan's and shorts, he looked like an over-tired ten-year-old.
"Bed. Now."
"You can't —"
"Yes, I most certainly can. Look, it's late, and quite frankly, I'm too tired to discuss this anymore. Either you get in bed, or we'll spend the next few minutes with you over my knee. Which is it to be?"
Fists clenched into knots, Robin stalked to the bed and climbed in. Feigning a calm he did not feel, Tristan handed him the tea towel.
"Hold this against your lip. It will take down the swelling."
Refusing to look at him, Robin obeyed.
"Good. Keep it there while I get ready for bed."
When he crawled into bed five minutes later, Robin was curled up in a tight ball on the very edge of the mattress. For the first time Tristan could remember, he faced away toward the windows.
"Let me see your lip."
Robin lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at Tristan. His eyes were redder, and his face showed signs of hastily scrubbed-away tears.
"Has it stopped bleeding?"
"Yes."
"Good. Put the compress in the bathroom so it doesn't soak anything tonight."
He set the alarm to 5:30, then waited until Robin returned to the far side of the bed before switching off the light. Settling himself, he slid an arm under Robin and simply rolled his unwilling partner into his usual place.
"It's all right, love," he murmured, rubbing Robin's back. "Everything's fine. Go to sleep now."
The words slurred into a indecipherable hum as Tristan fell asleep.
Part 2