Catharsis
Please be gentle with me, this is my first Persuaders fic.
Huge thanks to Fan4Richie for all the assistance and for the title!
Fox hated his father's desk. Hated the smooth green leather writing surface,
etched by the grooves of years of heavy use, the scent of old tobacco that
lingered in the ashtray. And most of all he hated the long slender switch
laid out in front of him.
He hadn't meant to break the porch door glass, he really hadn't. He tried to
behave, to be responsible but he'd just been so angry when he was told he
couldn't go out that he hadn't been able to stop himself from first yelling
for long angry minutes and when that had achieved nothing, slamming the door
with all his strength. His sudden fury had dissipated instantly as the
pictures on the walls shivered at the impact and the gaily-coloured glass
panel splintered with a sound like pond ice cracking. The disapproval and
worse, the sheer disappointment he saw had been so immediate that he might
as well have fallen through brittle ice, his heart leaping in his chest and
fierce trembling replacing the heat of his anger. He wanted so much in that
instant to apologise, to undo the damage and make it right but he knew he'd
gone too far, said too much, and could do nothing but nod numbly when told
to cut himself a switch then go and wait in his father's study.
The process of selecting the instrument of his own punishment was almost
worse than a switching. Almost. Now he waited in the study with the switch
laid in front of his outstretched hands where they gripped the sides of the
desk. He could feel a maddening itch from his sweating palms but knew better
than to move. His shorts and briefs were pushed to his knees and he had to
fight his rising anxiety, as well as a swell of renewed anger to keep his
hands pressed to the surface of the desk, his trembling knees pressed
together and his naked butt pushed out. As the minutes ticked away his anger
grew - it hadn't been his fault, really. Why couldn't he go out? Everyone
had more freedom than he did; he was being treated like a child! He wasn't
even sorry the glass had been broken, it was an accident, nothing more.
Footsteps behind him made him tense even more but didn't silence his growing
internal diatribe. He swallowed harshly, wanting to rail aloud against the
perceived injustice but knowing it was futile. Without preamble a firm cool
hand pressed into the centre of his back, pushing his chest down against the
surface of the desk. Perversely he welcomed the steadying pressure, even as
he felt the switch rest briefly against his ass and shivered, clenching his
hands, his fingers clutching the side of the desk. He heard the first
whisper of air as the switch 'whssshed' through the air before it scored a
line of fire across his butt. He couldn't help gasping at the sudden fiery
pain but before he could do more than suck in his breath it landed again,
lower this time, drawing a line of the fiercest heat across his ass. He
never got used to that sharp pain, never. The worst pain never lasted more
than an instant before subsiding into a dull, scorching throb that lasted
for hours, and he knew that the marks never lasted long, but it still felt
as if each stroke was scoring deeply into his flesh.
He was trying to hold onto his anger and indignation but it was so hard -
the switching was relentless. With barely a second between strokes, the thin
cane methodically painted every inch of his ass with stripe after molten
stripe until he could feel the beat of his pulse in each of the narrow weals
and all he could think about was wanting to make it stop. He couldn't even
wriggle, although the downward pressure on his back was more steadying than
restraint and distantly he felt reassured that he wouldn't appear weak by
trying to pull away.
It was taking away his ability to think - each time he tried to hang onto
his anger and frustration it was snatched away from him, leaving him
reflecting on how foolish he'd been, how easily he would have been able to
avoid this indignity and discomfort if he'd only been able to hold his
temper. He was gasping and spitting out his indignation still but it was
harder to breath past each sharp flare of pain and in between one sputtering
breath and the next he was sobbing helplessly, hot tears spilling from his
eyes as he gasped "Walter, I'm suh, suh...sorry!"
Instantly the switch was flung down and he was gathered up against Walter's
chest, hugged close and supported as he pressed his burning face into his
partner's broad shoulder. He sobbed away the last residue of his anger and
childish rebellion, feeling a hand massaging his tense and trembling back
while the other softly caressed his burning buttocks, soothing even as it
massaged new heat into his acutely sensitised flesh. "I wish you hadn't
wanted me to do it like that, Fox," Walter murmured into his hair. "You know
better than to lose your temper like that, you could have gone out later."
He shook his head sadly, eyeing the discarded switch with distaste. "I felt
like I was just hurting you, not punishing; it felt wrong not to talk about
it first."
Mulder sucked in a shuddering breath and hugged Walter close, feeling safe
and secure. "I wanted it the same," he whispered as Walter kissed away the
tears from his cheek.
"And was it the same?" Walter asked.
"No," Mulder said, his breathing easing with the last of his tears. "You
punish me but you forgive me and still love me, even when I do something
stupid and he never did that." And he felt a loosening in his chest as
something old and ugly in his memory splintered and broke apart.