Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk or any of its characters. This is a fanfic. It is for non profit purposes only. Viagra may cause a priapism. Beans may cause gas.

CINDERFELLA

Chapter 9

Hobbies and...Being Temperamental

The next morning, the incident was reported to Brian and Justin.

"Where is Sir Ben now?" asked Justin.

"He - he's in the dungeon, your majesty," said the guard, a little confused. Where else would he be?

"Release him! Immediately!" Justin said authoritatively.

"But Majesty! He - I-..."

"Immediately!" Justin's voice was quiet but firm. "Have him cleaned up and brought here within 30 minutes or less or you...will take his place."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Brian asked.

"Yes. Michael is just acting out of boredom. And it's my fault because I've isolated him with nothing to do. Please Brian, let me handle this?"

"Hey, as far as I'm concerned this is your project. Besides," he leered, "the way you ordered around that guard got me hot!"

"Oh please! You get hot watching me order take out!"

"True."

Fifteen minutes later, Sir Ben was brought before them. The guard was instructed to wait outside. He bowed and scraped his way out.

"Now, Sir Ben, what is your account of all this?" asked Justin.

Ben told him. He finished off with: "Sir, he was distraught. I could not leave him. I could not refuse him. He complained of boredom, of the solitude. When I first got there he was - he was like an animal. Literally. He snarled and heaved and attacked me. He howled like a wolf. He bit me."

"He bit you? Are you hurt?"

"No, no! It was some sort of mating ritual." He showed them. "My point is, I think he was becoming unhinged. I couldn't leave him. I just couldn't. If that means I have to go back to the dungeon, then so be it. But I'm not sorry. I love him."

"I'm glad to hear that Ben. Don't worry; no one is going to any dungeon. You can go home and prepare for next Wednesday. I cannot explain everything to you, but the reason you MUST leave at midnight is because if you have sex on any other day, except the night of the full moon, ESPECIALLY Thursday, it will wreck all I am trying to do. So no other partners for the next 4 months, all right?"

"I assure you, Michael is my one and only. But Sire, what ARE you trying to do?"

"I'd rather not say right now. I'd like you to trust me for now. If what I am trying to make happen does happen, you will know. And both you and Michael's joy will be full."

"All right, King Justin, I'll trust you. But what about Michael? He's still in the same position he was before I got there. And what are you going to do to him? Please don't hurt him."

"Michael's position is my fault. It seems I did not think things through. I will have a think and fix it. He will not be punished."

"Thank you Sire."

"Now go in peace and send the guard back in when you leave."

Ben did so.

"I want you to go and take a companion guard with you and stakeout Michael at his cottage. Do not let him see you. Watch over him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Gauge his moods and actions and bring me a report."

"Yes Sire!" the guard hurried away, anxious to regain Justin's favor.

That night...

"Sire, I have returned."

"Good, what is your report?"

"The prisoner did not seem to be suicidal. He kept an eye on the path up to the path a lot and otherwise just seemed depressed. He sat, and ran around and then sat some more. He ate. He sang at bit..."

Justin winced. Oh dear.

"...it wasn't bad but it mostly ended up with him crying and wallowing in depression again. At sunset he got quiet and watched the sun set. When it got dark, he shut himself up in the house and there was no more to see, so we came back. That's it."

Justin leaned forward. "Did you say, he was singing well?"

"Y-yes majesty. I mean, he was a little off key but otherwise he is quite a good tenor."

So...Michael had found his voice and stopped stepping on cats' tails. Interesting.

"Uh, Sire?"

"You may go." Justin dismissed him.

Justin went to Brian. "It seems I've made a grave error regarding Michael. Also, he's waiting for the boom to fall. I need to go visit him tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

"Do you need me to?"

"Except for company, I believe I can handle it."

"It's your project. I trust you to do just that"

Justin grinned his sunshine smile. "Thanks Brian."

"No problem. Say, c'mere a sec."

"What is it Brian?" Justin went over to the bed.

Brian grabbed him and threw him down on the bed. "I just had a question. Would you like to cum?"

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The next day...

At 9 AM Justin took off in the royal limo for the forest. A contingent of guards followed him. He leaned back and had a drink and relaxed, luxuriating. It was nice to be in a car that he knew would not vanish away. They rode into the forest for 2 hrs and by 11:AM they arrived at the gate.

In reality, Michael was much, much closer to the castle than he thought. True, he was deep in the forest, deep enough for him to get seriously lost if by some miracle he managed to get over the fence. But he wasn't a day away either. He had been blindfolded and just driven around all day and then driven to the house Justin had prepared for him.

Justin quietly unlocked the gate. He and two guards went inside while two more guarded the gate. They went along a little way. About halfway to the turn, Justin heard singing. Justin called a halt. He gave the coronet he was wearing to a guard and commanded: "Wait here until I come back. I want to see and deal with this myself."

Justin crept along the path, went into the forest and looked out between the trees. Michael was sweeping the porch free of non-existent dirt and singing. Indeed, he was singing as a good tenor although a little off key.

I love a knight in bright armor

My bright knight loves me

But his armor is fading,

So I'll never be free

My days are so lonely

At night comes my groom

But my knight, he is fading

So my house is my tomb

If I had one wish, dear

I'd spend all the night through

With you in my arms, Ben

The whole long night through

I never will marry

I'll be no man's groom

These woods are my temple

This house is my tomb

He sang it a second time through before the depressing weight of the song drove him to his knees. He buried his face in his hands and broke down weeping in heartbreak. The broom fell forgotten.

Justin stepped out from the trees and walked softly toward the house. He stopped a little way away from it.

"You've improved a great deal," he said in his gentle voice.

Michael jumped as if he'd been burned and stared as if he were seeing a ghost. Desperately, he tried to compose himself.

"What are you doing here? Where did you come from?" he asked roughly.

Justin ignored him. "Although, the song is all wrong. You will not die here. And you will marry Ben when the time is right."

"Until you decide I've served my purpose. Or if the cure doesn't work. Then you'll leave me here to rot."

"No, Michael. Whether it does or not, I will free you and you can marry Ben for the rest of your days. Although, I'm very sure it will."

"Oh. Well, thank you. So, why are you here? To punish me for not wanting Ben to leave? I only wanted him to stay the night, you know. Well, my answer's still the same...Bring it on!"

Justin stepped closer, one step. Ever so slowly as one might approach a wild bird he didn't want to scare away.

"No Michael. I came here to apologise."

"You what?"

"I came to apologise."

"For what?"

"When I designed this prison, I made a flaw. I included all the creature comforts to keep you alive but nothing to occupy your time, your mind. No wonder, you're so depressed, so bored. I gave you nothing to do but think. And so your imagination's taking off. I'm so sorry."

"You have no idea. I can't even read because all I do is think and wonder about Ben. I miss him every minute. And then you dangle him in front of me for one evening like a meaty bone in front of a dog and expect me to just give him up without a fight? I couldn't do it, Justin, I just couldn't do it!" He broke down again.

Justin made it onto the porch. He enfolded Michael in his arms and they sat on the porch swing. "I'm so sorry, brother. I'm so sorry."

For a while they just swung and Justin thought.

"So what can we do to make this better?" he asked, "What do you like to do for a hobby?"

"I don't know, really. In the days...before...all I liked was singing and comics. God, that sounds pathetic. But I was no good at the singing and I think I was only doing it to make Father happy. As for the comics, well, I still enjoy them but I've been looking through the ones here (thanks by the way) and I never realized how simplistic the storylines are. Hell, I could write a better comic!"

Justin's face lit up. "That's it! Michael, you shall!"

"I shall what?"

"You shall write a better comic. Or stories. Or a book. Or whatever you wish. You shall write."

"Oh Justin, I was just kidding! I can't write."

"Time will tell. You can try."

"Yes, I can do that."

"It'll help you ignore the silence, make the time pass, and occupy your imagination to keep the bad thoughts away. It's perfect. Will you try?"

"Yes, I will try. But who would read my drivel?"

"I will read it. As for whether it's good or bad, time will tell. I'll have a typewriter and paper brought to you tomorrow." Justin stood. "Will you walk me out?"

"All right. Justin, thank you for being so cool about...well about the other night. I'm sorry."

They started slowly through the clearing and along the path.

It's all right Michael. I forgive you. But I cannot impress upon you the importance of sending Ben home on time. If you make love at all on Thursday unless it is the full moon, it will wreck all. I've also impressed upon Ben the same thing. Oh, but I haven't told him that we're trying for a cure. I thought it would make for a good surprise. Besides, I thought it would be better for him to hear it from you. If you decide to tell him."

"I think I'll let him be surprised too," said Michael.

"Good."

"So Justin...what's YOUR hobby?"

Justin stilled. "What?"

"What's your hobby?" he repeated.

"My great love now is pleasing my husband."

Michael squared his shoulders and planted his feet. "Well, how fun for him!"

Justin turned. "Be careful, Michael!"

But Michael was beyond caring. Justin was leaving and he was still a prisoner. "I'm serious! That's not a hobby! That's an amusement park ride! For him! Come on, Justin! I know the pleasure of lovemaking with Ben myself, but that's not my hobby! That's my heart! What do you like to do that makes YOU happy?"

Justin thought about it. "You know, I'm not sure. Growing up, I never was given much opportunity to develop any," he said pointedly.

Michael had nothing to say about that.

By this time they had come within sight of the guards.

"I'd better go from here on my own. Good luck on your new project Michael."

"Thanks. Good bye then."

He watched Justin accept a crown from a guard and they all left. He watched Justin turn a key and lock him in. He recognized the scraping noise from his first night and realized what it was now. And to hear, to watch Justin do it, he felt as if the key was scraping and cutting into his heart as well.

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As promised, the next day a typewriter, three one foot high stacks of paper, a roll of pencils, and a pencil sharpener were delivered by 4 guards. Michael sat on the couch like a statue until they were gone. He told them to put everything on the dining table. They did so.

"King Justin wanted you to know that the typewriter has been enchanted to be self correcting. He said to he will send more supplies with your knight and to give him anything you are finished with."

Michael nodded mutely to show he understood. They left. He listened to their footsteps crunch away. And then there was nothing.

He sat there a while longer looking at nothing, listening to nothing.

Finally, he ran his hands down his face and gave a ragged sigh. Then he got up and went over to the typewriter. He put in a piece of paper. He sharpened a pencil. He took another piece of paper and closed his eyes. He imagined Ben's broad frame and hard muscles. Solid and warm and firm. As they should be. As they would be. They would. They must be...they must. He imagined him hooded. No. Masked. Better. He drew this. He closed his eyes. He imagined him in his favorite hero's costume, as Captain Astro. Then he began to change the colors. Different colors switched and changed. Faster and faster. Then faster still, like cards shuffling.

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Next Wednesday...

This time when Ben knocked on the door, Michael was ready but not desperate. He opened the door and slowly took Ben's large and transparent hands and pulled him inside. He was dressed formally and he had a fire burning in the fireplace. On the dining room table, the blue tablecloth was spread out and there were two serving of linguini with white sauce and two wine glasses and the bottle of wine Ben had brought last time. The typewriter and other writing supplies had been long since moved to the counters near the sink.

"Oh, Michael, this all looks lovely!" Ben exclaimed as he let himself be drawn inside and Michael shut the door.

"Thank you, Ben. It helps when you're not obsessing about sex 24/7."

"The writing's going well then?"

"Yes. I'll give you something to take back later. But first, I thought you might like something to eat. And we could have some of that wine you brought last time. We never did...we never did get to drink anything last time. I'm sorry about..."

But then Ben was behind him and his large arms were tight around his waist and he was kissing his neck, making him crazy.

"Shhhhh. Don't say any more. It started out rough but it was erotic as hell. What is that you're wearing? It's making me hot."

Michael turned in Ben's arms and they kissed deeply. "I found it in the wardrobe. I thought I'd wear it for the dinner."

"Then let's eat. Because I can't wait to take that off you...stitch...by...stitch."

"I like the way you think." They kissed again.

They ate. They drank. They looked into each other's eyes. But they hurried for they knew their time was short and because the looks they were giving each other were making each other hotter and hotter.

Finally, they were done. Tonight, Ben's FADES was a little progressed, making him slightly transparent. Because he couldn't actually tonight, Ben looked deep into Michael's eyes and said, "I just picked you up and threw you over my shoulder."

"And now you're carrying me up to bed," Michael finished.

And as they ran up to the bedroom, Michael thought, "And someday you shall....every night. Justin, you better be right about this."

As promised, Ben undressed Michael inch by tortuous inch, kissing and licking and loving him the whole way down. This time it was one long languorous make out and lovemaking session.

Afterward, Michael clung to him and whispered, "Ben, don't leave me."

"Mikey, you know I can't stay. We both..."

Michael placed a finger over his beautiful lips, shushing him. "I don't mean now. Please...don't leave me...ever."

Ben smiled. "Ohhhh. Now that I'll do. Or not do." And then there was nothing but kissing until the knock on the door.

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The next day...

Justin sat down in a quiet space and pulled Michael's first installment of his creation toward him. He began to read.

Michael had started off with a description of the hero and his villain counterparts. The hero was named Rage. He wore a bandit mask and Michael described him on wearing purple tights with a ripped slash across the chest. Justin continued to read. First panel...second panel...

My God! This was good! Justin could see it. He could see everything in his mind. He read the first panel again. He closed his eyes. He could see...everything. The colors. The skyline. The cityscape Michael was describing.

There was a pad of writing paper on the desk. Justin pulled it toward him. He kept reading. As he did, his right hand found a pencil and without really thinking about it, began to move it across the paper...

Several hours later...

"Sunshine! Where are you, Sunshine!?" Brian called. He hadn't seen Justin all day. It had felt like a year and he'd been wandering over the castle for an hour looking.

Finally, he found him in a small office. He was at a desk, looking out the window, facing away from the door. He was staring out the window, but his right hand was busy. Occasionally, he'd look down but then he stare back up and zone out again, his pencil in his hand, busy...busy...

"Justin, where you been, man? I missed you!"

Justin didn't respond.

"Justin? Sunshine?"

Nothing.

Brian came up behind him. "Justin, what are you doing?" He tapped his shoulder.

Justin jumped about a foot. "What!!? Who's there?? Oh, Brian, it's you! What's up?

"Justin, what are you doing? How long have you been here?"

"I was just reading Michael's stuff and doodling I think. It's only been a few minutes or so...I think..."

"Justin, I haven't seen you all day! It's nearly dinnertime. What have you been...Wow! This is good stuff! Hey! Is this...ME!?"

"Whaa-Did I do all that?"

"You sure did!"

Justin had drawn out two pages of Michael's comic book in stark, penciled detail. Much of it was, angular, rough, but still very good, clear and clean. Rage was of course, Brian, with a fuller chest, bumpier but not overly defined muscles, and an impressive package showing through his tights.

"Sunshine, I didn't know you could draw!"

Justin looked at the comic and back to Brian with wide, wondering eyes. "Neither did I," he said.

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A month or so later: Cottage...

And so, Michael fell into a new routine, one that was much more fulfilling. He's get up, eat, have some exercise and think about new ideas. He'd check out the garden, maybe harvest a few vegetables for a homemade salad. Then, when he ran out of things to do and the silence started to become deafening, he'd pull out the typewriter and continue where he'd left off, retype some edited stuff or just outline new ideas. He loved it when he was typing; especially when he was looking at a blank wall because he could almost see the images and scenes in his head being played out like a movie. When he got hungry, he d put the typewriter on an extra chair and let the tablecloth feed him. He'd clean it up and type some more until he got tired or finished a scene. Take a walk in the woods. Pick berries or flowers or just enjoy. Head home. Sit on the porch, eat the berries, and watch the sunset. After it had, he'd go in, shut the doors against the night and light the lamp or fireplace. Then he'd revise or work on an outline until bed. Sometimes he'd type a little, but he found he didn't like to type too much when he was tired. Then he'd go to bed.

Justin was right. This kept him occupied, and his imagination stimulated and instead of constantly missing Ben he was able to look forward to his visits and prepare for them and come up with new ideas to greet Ben at the door that would make his trousers tent at the sight of him. Once he greeted him in a western theme in jeans and a cowboy hat...no shirt. Once, in the chaps he had worn at the Leather Ball...and nothing else but a smile. (Which he also found in the wardrobe.) He swore that thing was enchanted as well...every time he opened it, there seemed to be something new in it.

Time passed. He wrote. And he lived for those five times a month when there would be a knock on the door.

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Meanwhile, at the castle...

"What is it, Brian?"

"It's a new bathing device. The inventor calls it a rainmaker box."

"Hmm. Weird name."

"That's what I told him. Well, actually what I said is that he should stuff his head...uh, that is, that it was a weird name. So, he had a queen out and flounced out saying we could name it whatever we wanted."

They were in their private bathroom. Against one wall were three glass walls, forming a square glass cylinder. A chrome nozzle pointed out of the wall and downward and below that at chest level was two knobs.

"How does it work?" asked Justin.

"You undress like you were getting bathed and then...just step in." Brian was rubbing up behind him, rubbing his chest, kissing his neck, making him crazy. I thought you might like a crack at naming it. Get in." A thinly veiled command.

"But I'm not undressed. I'm not ready for bathing." Justin protested.

Brian yanked his shirt from behind. All his buttons had been undone. His pants fell down. In a move that would forever remain a mystery to mortal men, Justin found he had been undressed in a single move. He stepped forward completely nude.

"Looks like you're ready now," Brian said smugly.

"How do you DO that?" Justin cried.

"Do what?" Brian asked innocently, "So...go on...Get in."

"Hmmmm...OK." Justin was beginning to smell a rat. But he found the door and stepped in.

"The left knob is for hot water. The right one for cold. Just turn them both on and you'll get a nice mix."

Justin did so. Water sprayed out of the nozzle in thin streams. He adjusted it so that it was warm but not too hot.

"Oh, Brian, this is fantastic! He looked over at Brian in his nice suit and smiled his sunshine grin. "It really is like rain! It feels like a spring shower! Only warm!"

"Hey now! There's a good name!" said Brian, enjoying the view, "We'll just call it a shower!"

"Mmmmmm!" Justin answered. He let the water run over his face, rubbed his eyes for about 5 seconds and looked over again. And Brian was NAKED! How DID he do that?

But before Justin could get a word out, Brian was opening the door, was inside, was kissing him, pulling his tongue, licking, sucking his neck, making him melt, lose control as the water ran down the both of them, making them slick and slippery.

"What do you say...we christen it!" Brian said wolfishly.

Justin found himself spun around and pressed against a glass wall. His chest and cheek were smushed up against the glass.

He gasped. "You planned this!" he managed.

"You're very astute. I love that about you."

And then there was no more talking because Justin was swept up in a torrid wave of conflicting sensations and emotions. The glass in front of him was slick and smooth with falling water. Brian's body behind him was bumpy and contoured with muscles. His cock was silk and steel. There was soap and water. It made lather and lube. Brian pressed forward and entered him gently and slowly. There was a bit of pain. He gasped in air and swallowed water. He lost his balance and slipped but Brian caught him and held him and pressed him back against the glass. The pain vanished and then there was only his fullness. He thrusted harder and faster and Justin pressed back to meet him. Justin lifted his head up and back and Brian moved his forward and down, licking and nuzzling Justin's neck. He was in control. Brian was in control. He was raped. He was cherished.

And then there was only pleasure.

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Sometime into the 2nd month...

Michael was grumpy.

He had writer's block and something was wrong with the tablecloth. He hadn't eaten decently in a week. It had been putting out a decreasing quality of food lately and Michael was getting fed up. Or not getting fed up, if you wanted to look at it that way. Hamburgers. Hotdogs. Baloney sandwiches and an apple. Franks and beans. On and on it was going. And all that was not helping his writer's block.

Dinnertime. Time to try again. He clapped his hands and said: "I'm hungry, give me something to eat!"

The tablecloth flapped a corner twice and did nothing.

Michael repeated the ritual. Again, the corner flapped upward as if to say, "And??"

"Look, you! I am in no mood for this! I'm tired and cranky and I don't think I've eaten a vegetable for 3 days!" He clapped. "I'm hungry! Give me something to eat! NOW!!"

The tablecloth flipped open sharply...One! Two! Three! Four!

"Uh oh!" thought Michael.

A large, stainless steel cylinder of a soup pot appeared. Inside, was a pea/broccoli green, thick soup and a ladle. No bowl. No spoon. No napkins. No nothing. Just the soup drum.

Slowly, Michael raised the ladle to his lips. He tried to take a small taste but as he did, he felt if move on its own, surge into his mouth, over his tongue, and down his throat and he got a whole mouthful of the concoction instead.

OH!! OH, HOLY HELL!!! Oh, that was disgusting! It was like peas and broccoli, and cabbages and stinky cheese and cum and they had all gone rotten. Michael rushed to the sink and pumped water into his mouth gargling and spitting, spitting and gargling, desperately trying to get that taste out of his mouth. It didn't really work. Desperately, Michael scraped at his tongue.

BLORP!!

Oh, God. The thing had made a noise. Slowly he turned.

BLORP!! BLOOP!! The soup made a wet bubbling pop and another and every time it did, the level in the pot grew.

BLOOP!! BLOOP!! BLOOP!! The pot was full to the brim.

"Oh no!!!" Michael breathed in horror. "Oh Stop! Stop, stop, stop!!"

But it didn't stop. Still BLOOP-ing, the soup began a slow popping boil and overflowed the pot, onto the table, over and onto the floor.

Michael made a run for it. He ran for the back door first but just as he got there, SLAM! The door closed and wouldn't budge.

He ran for the front door. SLAM! He was trapped inside!

The pot was now at a merry rolling boil and the gunk was creeping all over the floor.

Panicking, Michael ran upstairs to his room. The door SLAMMED in his face. He was knocked backwards and he rolled down the stairs.

SQUELCH!! He landed full length in the green goo. His face was coated and colored green. He tried to stand but it was impossible to stand. He slipped in the mess and fell full length once more. SPLORT!!

He rose to his knees and looked around. The stuff clung to him and stretched as he pulled away from it like melted cheese...or snot. Oh hell, this was disgusting, intolerable.

Oh no! As it reached the door, the stuff somehow congealed and grew thicker blocking the bottom crack, sealing him in. The pot was merrily bubbling away now and had risen up into a foot high geyser. The bear rug was ruined. It had splashed uncaringly onto his manuscript and typewriter. And the level was rising.

Why was it doing this? What had he done? Or not done?

"Oh stop! Please stop!"

The geyser only rose up to 2 feet. The level in the room was now a few inches high and rising fast.

Michael crawled toward the table but he slipped again. SQUELLCHH!! This time he fell in and splashed. He lifted out with difficulty and some got in his mouth again. He tried not to puke. It was thicker, if that were possible and he pulled up with difficulty. It was in his hair, matting it. The sticky strands that pulled away were gluey.

Michael tried to think. What was causing this? What could he do? He thought back to the instructions. Be sure to say please and thank you once in a while...it could get...temperamental.

Michael tried to remember the last time he had said the magic words to the tablecloth and came up empty.

"Look, I'm sorry! I guess I just got busy! I was writing! I forgot! I'm sorry!"

The geyser shot up several feet. The level rose up even faster.

The goop ran over his knees. Up to his thighs. It got stickier. Oh God, he couldn't move!

Temperamental! The thing was going to kill him!

"He tried again. "Look, I'm sorry, please stop! Please stop!"

It wouldn't stop. It rose to his waist.

"I don't know what you want! Please stop!"

It didn't stop. It rose up to his chest. He couldn't move at all now. He watched sadly as the goop sloshed over the nice couch that Justin had picked out for him to use. He thought of Justin. He thought of Ben. He had failed them both. But most of all, he had failed Ben. It rose to his shoulders.

With difficulty, he raised his hands out of the goop with a loud sucking noise. He clapped twice. This was his last try, his last hope.

"I'm done! Lay all away! Please! Please and thank you!"

It was up to his chin.

He clapped twice. "I'm done! LAY ALL AWAY! Please! Lay all away, please! Please and thank you! Please and thank-blub...blub..."

The goop continued to rise. It rose past his mouth. It closed over his head.

Michael closed his eyes and thought of Ben. His life flashed before his eyes. Since he was only 28 it didn't take...too long. Most of it was watching himself beat up Justin with Ethan in some way. And then there was the Leather Ball. And then there was Ben. And then there was only Ben.

Wait a minute! Those were real flashes! The level was going down!

The green goop was being sucked back into the drum. The level went down and uncovered his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Michael sucked in a huge breath. The goop continued to be sucked back into the soup drum. The entire sea of goop was flashing, green and bright, brighter, and even brighter with each flash. The goop was sucked back and then his arms were free. There was a flash and BOOM!

Michael covered his head and closed his eyes. There was a terrific flash and an enormous BOOOM!! Michael fell onto his face full length on the floor. And then there was only silence.

Wait a minute! He was on the floor! Which meant...

Michael slowly raised his head and then pushed himself to his knees. He looked around in wonder.

It was gone. It was all gone. The floor was clean, he was clean, the couch was spotless and even the bearskin rug was fluffy and clean. The typewriter was just as he'd left it and his manuscript was back on the table in a neat stack. The soup drum had vanished and the tablecloth was folded up as usual.

Michael jumped to his feet and rushed to the door. It opened now. He ran out onto the porch, leaned on the railing and just breathed for a bit. The cool night air felt good on his skin after his stifling, near death experience. He thought of everything he had seen as his life flashed before him. Ordering Justin around. Punching him. Holding him down while Ethan worked him over. His father yelling, always yelling. Everything. Only this time he was seeing it from his point of view and from Justin's. He sank into the porch swing, overcome with remorse. For the first time he was sorry, truly sorry for everything he'd done to Justin. He held his head in his hands. My God, he could have died, here and no one would have known! And he was here for being a total dick! He deserved this! He was lucky that Justin had only sent him here for four months! My God! Looking back on it, he knew if the positions were reversed, he would have sent Justin here for years. He still didn't like being here but he knew now that's what he deserved as well.

Slowly, he swung in the deepening night and cried for a while, real cleansing tears of sorrow and regret, regret of his misdeeds, regret for his family's misdeeds, regret for two childhoods lost.

A while later...

Michael re-entered the cottage. He felt...better. He wished he could say he felt airy, light and free. But he couldn't. He wasn't free. But at least now he knew why he wasn't. And that he shouldn't be. And maybe that he wouldn't be ever again.

The cottage was quiet, serene, everything as usual. Everything was showroom clean, as brand new as when he first arrived.

He went up to the table. "I'm sorry I took you for granted." He clapped. "I ‘m hungry. Give me something to eat, please."

The cloth opened at once and served him a dish of chicken parmigiana on a bed of wild rice, a green salad and chocolate cake with a glass of champagne.

TBC