A Father's Love

The Lab

Hugh didn't know when this little game had truly started; where he would find a new place to bide his time until Father came looking for him. But there were more than enough rooms to keep his employer guessing. He would split his time between the kitchen and his destination, restoring it to some forgotten glory, and he would wait. Sooner or later, Father would make an appearance.

It was never at the same time-- that would be too kind. Hugh did everything to keep his head down and remain present, but every sound beyond the threshold of any doorway sent his pulse skittering. But he had begun to crave it; anything that Father would give him, he felt he had to take. Just to satiate that small part of him that had been anticipating it.

If Father was feeling particularly generous, his hands were on Hugh. It could be as little as grabbing his elbow to redirect his attention, and as much as groping him until he was desperate for balance and air. Hugh still couldn't look at the guest bathroom in the main hall with feeling something in him tighten and heat.

And perhaps he should have been more resistant to that. Maybe he shouldn't allow himself to be toyed with and tormented. But he had come to find that the alternative was much worse.

The days that Father would just watch him were the ones that left him feeling the most helpless. He had only garnered enough courage to ask what it was that he wanted once, and he hadn't gotten an answer. But the weight of Father's stare at his back compressed Hugh's lungs until every breath he could draw for the rest of the day, and well into the night, was painfully short.

It had been a long month. Not an unpleasant one, but there were things that Hugh still could not piece together with such thorough distraction. There were days where he spent so much time expecting Father's intrusions that he could barely get anything outside of his culinary obligations done. Not that he had to, but wasn't that better than standing around, pining after something he clearly wasn't meant to have?

Hugh didn't know what to think anymore. The situation had gotten so far out of hand already. He was in too deep, but going back was seeming less and less appealing.

He wondered what Father thought of it.

On a dreary afternoon, Hugh set his second offering on the polished marble end table, but lingered at Father's door. It had been on his mind to ask for days now. But after having woken up from a particularly vivid dream, he needed to know.

He raised his hand to knock, but couldn't follow through. Every nerve in his body recoiled at the mere thought of being so audacious. Father was being clear enough, wasn't he? He was in control, in every aspect, and he was enjoying it. He had Hugh waiting on him hand and foot and he didn't have to say a word to get exactly what he wanted. With just the crook of his finger, Hugh would come in an instant--

How could Hugh let this happen to him?

He shook his head and pivoted. To say that it was ridiculous was an understatement. He had allowed himself to get so swept up in this nonsense that he was losing sight of everything-- of what he had actually come here to do. He was supposed to be the man he'd always thought himself to be; his own man, in charge of himself! But here he was again, falling into the same patterns.

Not today.

Hugh marched clear to the other side of the mansion, to the farthest reaches of the East Wing. He had yet to make it over the way, but now he had every reason to, didn't he? He liked to clean, and he was going to do it, uninterrupted and for as long as he damn well pleased. He didn't need Father's approval.

It took quite some time for the indignation to fade; he ended up scrubbing and dusting and polishing the entire hallway before he finally stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow and check his watch. Four hours had gone by. The tension in his body felt different now, but at least he wasn't so angry anymore. Now, it was just something else.