Comeuppance
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner and the
show "The X-Files" belong to 1013 Productions and Fox. They are used
here without consent from either company. I receive no material gains
from this story, so please don't sue.
Archive: Only at the Persuaders archive, thank you.
Rating: R for discipline scenes
Pairing: Skinner/Mulder
Summary: Mulder gets it wrong. Again. Skinner tries to persuade him
to get it right next time.
Author's Notes: First and foremost, i have to offer sacrificial
worship to the altars of Samantha and Gaby. They are the reason this
story ever got finished and not just deleted around six months ago,
when i hit the first bump in the road! Since then, they have offered
endless encouragement, nagging and wonderful betas. Thank you, guys,
The second note is that I KNOW "Come-uppance" is a word, but I can't
find it in the dictionary! So if it's spelt wrong please tell me how
to spell it! Thanks :)
and now on with the story....
The roar made him jump, and made all the heads in the room turn his
way.
"Mulder! Get over here!"
Mulder winced. He knew that voice. He hated that voice. It made him
squirm. Figuratively of course, but judging from the tone, in a while
it would be very literal indeed. The worst of it was, this being his
first day back at work after a hospital stay following their latest
case, he had a fairly good idea what Skinner wanted him for. This was
NOT fair. Couldn't he have even one day of relative peace and
quiet, before being fed to the lions?
Lower lip protruding in a sulky pout, he heaved a theatrical sigh and
raised his eyebrows apologetically at Scully, jerking his head in the
direction of The Voice.
"Sorry to skip out on you, Scully...."
She smiled at him warmly, looking slightly worried. "Don't worry
about it, Mulder. I'd get going if I were you; he definitely
sounds.... put out."
Mulder snorted. "'put out?' More like 'royally pissed off', to
me!"
Scully shrugged eloquently. "You're the expert," she
grinned.
The look of hurt he feigned was so over done, she had to stifle her
giggles. Relishing this small victory over his normally solemn
partner, he got to his feet. He sighed again, this time with
resignation, and started towards the door, trying to ignore the
stares he was receiving from the others in the bull pen. Trying to
appear undaunted by the seething mass of pure fire that glaringly
waited for him in the doorway.
Stopping warily just out of reach, he tried for civility: "You wanted
to see me, Sir?"
The answering growl made his stomach do swan dives and his knees go
weak as a massive arm clamped down on his shoulder and he was frog-
marched out the door and along the corridor. Blushing bright red at
the other agents' obvious delight at his being manhandled, Mulder
tried to twist out of the vice-like grip, feebly voicing his
protests, "I can walk by myself, you know!"
He could have sworn Skinner snarled at him as the grip on his
shoulder tightened and he was propelled into the A.D.'s office.
Finally he was released as Skinner shoved him through the door and
turned to slam it shut - and lock it.
Mulder swallowed convulsively. This was NOT going to be good. Not
even Scully would be able to kick the door down before Skinner had
strangled him with his bare hands.
He stood fidgeting nervously as his one-time boss swung round to
glare at him. Under the force of that glare, Mulder looked at the
floor, at the ceiling, at the desk, out the window - anywhere but at
Skinner, who looked as though he was about to explode like a volcano
under pressure. Skinner continued to glare at him, the heavy silence
stretching between them as Mulder became more and more nervous, until
finally his shoulders had hunched up, his hands were plucking
nervously at his trousers, and his eyes were firmly fixed on his own
shoes. This calm before the storm was killing him.
Unseen, Skinner smiled in grim satisfaction. For someone with a
degree in psychology, it was sometimes ridiculously easy to out-psych
Mulder.
And then Mulder's head came up. "I-" he cleared his
throat and tried again. "I'm sorry." It came out as a squeak.
"For what," was the low growl.
Mulder's mouth opened, but no sound came out as he finally looked at
Skinner, confusion and trepidation showing in every line of his body.
"I asked you, `for what'." Skinner seemed to loom
even bigger over the hapless agent.
Mulder mutely shook his head and resumed his fascinating study of his
shoes. Maybe opening his mouth hadn't been such a great idea. He
started to feel sick again.
And Skinner exploded.
"How can you not even know what for?! You had Scully worried sick,
half of your superiors are calling for you to be sacked, Kersh is
backing them up all the way, and you are THIS close to being tossed
out on your ear. And I'M the only one who has any investment in
saving your goddamned ass, AGAIN!!!"
Mulder swallowed convulsively, while the cheeks of said ass clenched
in fear. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he tried
one last ditch attempt at pacifying the older man; "I really am
sorry."
The words were like a red rag to a bull. "SORRY?!" he boomed. "You
cause as much trouble as you did, act with total irresponsibility,
even for YOU, nearly get damned well DROWNED, have to be rescued by
Scully AGAIN, complete with overnight stay in hospital AGAIN, and all
you can say is `sorry'?! And not only could you not tell me
what for, but it didn't even sound sincere!" He paused for breath.
Mulder cringed. Skinner was almost foaming at the mouth, and his
words seemed to reverberate off the walls. He was sure everyone in
the building could hear the dressing down he was being given, heck,
probably everyone in the darned city could hear him. He prayed that
the inevitable sentence would be said softly; he was in big trouble
if THAT was overheard and misinterpreted around the Hoover!
"My apartment. Tonight. Eight o'clock. Don't. Be. Late." The last
three words had been ground out through clenched teeth, but Mulder
heaved a sigh of relief anyway. Yes his ass was toast, but Skinner
had spoken quietly; no one could possibly have overheard.
"Yes, Sir."
"Get out."
Mulder paused. That was rather obviously his dismissal, but Skinner's
pacing had finished with him standing by the door. Mulder would have
to walk past him in order to escape, and he wasn't sure if it was a
good idea to get within reach of Skinner when he was this mad. Even
with the promise of punishing him this evening, strangling was
probably still somewhere high on the AD's list of `things he'd like
to do to Mulder'. Hesitantly he stepped diagonally towards the door,
angling as far away as he could from Skinner and still be subtle
about it. It didn't work. Before he could touch the doorknob, the
iron grip was back, this time around the wrist of his outstretched
hand. He looked up fearfully. Skinner was staring at him intently,
all traces of anger gone.
"You're that scared of me?"
Mulder ducked his head and scuffed his feet against the carpet,
certain that if he opened his mouth Skinner would only blow up again.
He nearly had a heart attack when he was suddenly engulfed in that
strong, warm hug he loved so much. Now he was totally confused!
Skinner didn't usually hug him when he was mad. He ranted and raved
until he wasn't so angry anymore, then he whaled away at his ass
until he thought the lesson had been driven home, and only THEN would
he give Mulder the gift of one of his glorious hugs. And Mulder had
never seen Skinner as angry as he had been a moment ago. This was all
wrong. But still, it felt good. Mulder swallowed the sudden lump in
his throat and buried his face in Skinner's shoulder, holding on as
tightly as he could. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, the rest of
the world would go away.
Finally Skinner gently stepped back and set the younger man on his
own feet, noticing that all the tension seemed to have drained out of
both of them. He chuckled and gently caressed the side of Mulder's
face, allowing his voice to mirror his actions. "Go on, then. I'll
see you at eight."
Mulder nodded briefly, wordlessly, before opening the door and
walking out on only slightly unsteady feet.
Coward.
The word danced in his head even as he accelerated away from the
scene of the crime.
Well, there was no way he could have gone back into the bullpen after
THAT, and there's only so much time one can pace around the men's
room, Mulder argued with himself. He just prayed Skinner wouldn't
think to check that he'd gone back to work, as he'd obviously been
supposed to.
Damn, it was an age until eight o'clock, and he wasn't going to do
anything but stew over it until then. He couldn't even distract
himself with anything from work, since he'd left everything behind
when he'd fled.
Damn. Well then, he'd just keep driving.
When he next took note of his surroundings he found himself outside
Skinner's apartment block. As much as he longed to go up and make
himself at home, he didn't think he'd be able to stand being at the
place of his impending doom for the next - he checked - five
hours.
Besides which, his key was in his desk. Along with his cell phone. Oh
God! If Skinner tried to call him, he was doubly dead. Walter's
obsession with his cell phone's location and condition - fully
charged and on the agent's person was his preference - was well known
to him, after repeated lessons acted out on his bottom. Mulder was
quite certain he did NOT need a reminder of that particular lesson
tonight, especially not on top of what he was already due!
That thought decided him. Locking his car, he made his way to the
security office, just off the lobby. He knocked on the glass.
"Hey, Jeff."
"Mr. Mulder!" he smiled back. "Nice to see you again. What can I do
for you?"
Mulder pulled his most chagrined and apologetic face. "I'm afraid I
left my keys. Would you mind...?"
Jeff's smile broadened. "Again? Sure, I don't mind letting you in,
but you know, one of these days I'm not going to be here, and then
you'll be in trouble!"
Mulder reflected to himself how much trouble he was already in and
winced. "Yeah, I know. Listen, I'll try to do better, but for now,
can we go please?"
"Sure, Mr. Mulder."
As soon as Mulder entered Skinner's apartment, had thanked Jeff and
shut the door, he made his way across to the phone. Dialing the
number from memory, he hesitated before pressing the last button, and
then stood tensely, noting with wry amusement his moist palms and
accelerated breathing. Damn, he was only calling the man, for
chrissake! How much damage could Skinner do over the phone?
He soon found out. "Skinner." God, he still sounded pissed off.
"Um, hi." The words suddenly left him in a rush; "Listen, I'm sorry,
I know I'm supposed to be back at my desk but I couldn't so I left
and then I found myself driving up the street outside your apartment
and then I realized you didn't know where I was and I thought I
should call you so I asked Jeff to let me in and I know you're mad at
me and I'm sorry but I thought I might - I might -" His brain ground
to a halt.
The pause was killing him.
Skinner finally spoke, choosing his words carefully. Trying to let
his concern show through as much as his annoyance. "Mulder, I know
you're scared. Frankly I don't blame you, I don't think I've ever
been that mad at you before-" a small whimper escaped from Mulder, "-
but don't worry about it. Kersh phoned me and said he was happy that
you'd been given a dressing down that probably had more impact on you
than his did-" that got a muffled snort of laughter from his
listener, "-and I think I can excuse you this time for not having
your cell or being at your desk."
Mulder let out his breath explosively. "Thank you, Walter. And I know
it probably doesn't mean much to you at the moment, you're probably
still too mad at me, but I want you to know, I AM sorry for what I
did. I think pursuing them like that might have been the wrong thing
to do."
Skinner's delighted chuckle was like music to his ears. Maybe he
wasn't so mad after all. "Thank God! If you're finally beginning to
see where you went wrong, then maybe all this hasn't been in
vain!"
Mulder quickly decided not to correct him - he'd meant he thought
he'd scared Them off and now They'd be more difficult to find, not
that he thought he was wrong. If Skinner wanted to think that, that
was fine by him! His attention was quickly brought back to the
phone. "Mulder," Skinner was all serious again, "since you have so
much time on your hands, when I get home around six thirty this
evening, I want certain things to be done, okay?"
He quickly agreed; anything to keep this from getting worse. But as
he listened to Skinner's instructions, he realized with a sinking
heart that there wasn't much worse that this could get. Oh, this was
just too cruel. Finally the line was silent again as Skinner
paused. "Mulder - I know you hate this. That's why it's a punishment.
But once it's over, it's over. You know that. That's why we agreed to
this; once it's paid for, it's finished. Right?"
"Yes." It came out as a whisper.
"Okay then. Get busy, and I'll see you soon."
"Walter?"
"Yes?"
Mulder dragged his heart out of his shoes and gave it voice, "I love you."
The smile could clearly be heard down the line, "I know, love. I'll
see you soon."
Putting the phone down, Mulder grimly got to work, determined not to
think but just be robotic about it. Put the belt and hairbrush on the
dresser. Check. Put a glass of water and wet washcloth next to them.
Check. Arrange the pillows in the middle of the bed. Check. Lower his
jeans and shorts to his knees and spend the rest of the afternoon
like that as a reminder.
Mulder's hands hesitated at his belt buckle. Skinner wouldn't be home
for hours, and he still had to make dinner, do the laundry, and scrub
the bathroom. No way was he going to do all that with his jeans at
his knees! He knew exactly why Skinner told him to. The exposure
would embarrass him, even though there was no one else around to see,
and would also serve to remind him that he had punishment coming
tonight. But that didn't make it any easier to go through and DO it!
He quickly decided. He'd just pull them down later when he went to
stand in the corner. Skinner would never know. Mulder smiled to
himself. Score one for him, he thought.
An hour later, Mulder wasn't so sure. He hated laundry!
Especially since Skinner had specifically instructed him to wash all the towels
and sheets. And then iron them. They were so awkward and unwieldy!
Sighing at the injustice of life, he quickly ran the iron over
another sheet. Damn, but he was never able to get all the wrinkles
out of them, and this time was no different. Well then, it would just
have to do. And anyway, if he got through the laundry quicker, he
could prepare a nice meal for Walter, since he was bound to be
hungry. Mulder shied away from the thought of just HOW the AD would
be working up his appetite this evening.
Finishing the laundry haphazardly, he moved to the bathroom. Another
chore that he hated. And it wasn't fair that he'd never seen Skinner
scrub the bathtub! Although given that he was in trouble most weeks,
he guessed that it didn't really need much more scrubbing than
that.
And somehow Walter managed to NEVER get into trouble. Running the old
toothbrush around the taps, Mulder rethought that last. It wasn't
strictly true; Walter frequently got into trouble with his superiors
at work, but it was almost always because he was defending Mulder. He
was rarely in the position of having to be disciplined by Mulder,
because most of his more questionable actions were in Mulder's
defense. Suddenly Mulder's chest felt tight. His lover spent so much
time trying to take care of him, and he didn't even appreciate
it.
Bent double over the bathtub, Mulder suddenly felt horribly guilty.
And he knew what he should do about it. But... but... he wrestled with
his conscience. He would be half naked soon enough, no need to
prolong it! But his conscience won out.
Standing up with a sigh, Mulder quickly undid his jeans and slipped
them together with his shorts down to his knees, his buttocks
constricting as the cool air wafted over them. Bending back over the
tub to get back at his scrubbing, he was acutely aware of his butt
sticking out. He could almost feel Walter standing behind him, taking
a swing at him already. Picking up the toothbrush with a growl, he
scrubbed fiercely at the stains around the drain, determined to quit
thinking about his impending punishment. But his violent actions with
the brush were making his ass cheeks jiggle, and he couldn't spread
his legs properly for balance, so he had to stick his butt further
out to compensate. Oh, this was awful. Maybe he should just -
No. Walter had gotten into so much trouble because of him, the least
he could do was follow his instructions just this once! With a sigh,
Mulder attacked the tub with renewed vigor, determined to finish up
as quickly as possible. He still had dinner to prepare, and he was
supposed to be standing in the corner when Walter got home.
The click of the lock and the swish of the door opening brought
Mulder out of his reverie as his whole body tensed. He heard the
usual sounds of Walter arriving home from the office. Hanging up his
coat, slipping off his shoes - so why was his body still so
tight?
Suddenly Mulder realized one crucial sound hadn't registered yet: the
sound of the front door closing. Stifling his moan of acute misery as
his face burned with humiliation, he buried his forehead in the
corner and willed Walter to shut the door before someone walked past
and saw him, a grown man with jeans and boxers around his knees and
his nose in a corner. Maybe there was something to this telepathy
thing after all, because at that moment, he heard the door swing back
into the frame, and the lock click.
Save for a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as Skinner walked past,
Mulder was completely ignored as the other man walked through the
apartment, checking that everything was in order. Hearing him walk
into the spare bedroom, Mulder knew he was looking at the slightly
crumpled, not folded, sheets, and more crumpled towels, and winced.
He'd not had time to finish them. On the other hand, he argued to
himself, since when did sheets or towels need ironing anyway? The
only people who would see them would surely not make judgments about
something that was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Or
then again, maybe not, he sighed to himself.
Skinner walked back out into the living room and headed towards his
corner. "Okay, would you like to come out of there now?" he asked,
running a hand caressingly down Mulder's back and buttocks before
gently raising his underwear.
Mulder pulled up his pants and fastened them as he turned around with
a grimace, before opening his arms to receive the offered hug.
"Not really." He buried himself in his lover's chest, humming his
contentment.
"Why not?" Skinner drew away slightly to look at him.
Mulder sighed. "It means the rest of my punishment is that much
closer, and let's just say I'm, `less than enthusiastic', and leave
it at that, okay?"
Skinner pulled him back into the hug again and started running a hand
soothingly over his back. "I know, babe. But you know by now that all
you have to do to avoid this is to follow the rules."
Mulder made a face at that comment and then leaned into the hug,
feeling so safe in Skinner's arms. This was why he loved the man.
Sure, the sex was great, and they generally had a wonderful time
together outside of Bureau hours. But the man's ability to make him
feel so secure was what he cherished most. Right here, in Skinner's
arms - the best place to be in the world.
Mulder grinned to himself at the sentimental drivel he could spout
when in his lover's arms, and then turned to smack a loud kiss on his
cheek. "Come on, big guy, we have to eat before the food turns to
rock in the oven."
Skinner smiled back and allowed Mulder to proceed him into the
kitchen. It always amazed him how a simple hug could have such an
effect on Mulder's emotional state. He made a mental note to hug him
as much as possible. Maybe that was the key to keeping him on an even
keel? He turned the thought over in his mind as he got out the
cutlery.
Dinner turned out to be as delicious as usual, but Skinner
regretfully had to restrain himself. No matter how much he might
gorge himself on Mulder's wonderful meals - in fact, he was beginning
to worry he might have to let his suits out a bit soon - he had a
vigorous workout ahead of him. On a full stomach, that was guaranteed
to give him indigestion. He saw Mulder glance over at him and he must
have read his mind, as he suddenly started picking at his food. Damn.
Taking Mulder's fork away and covering his hand with his own, Skinner
looked across the table. "Well, you're not eating any more, and I was
finished. Would you like to leave dessert and the dishes until after?
You look like if you have to wait any longer, you're going to start
climbing the walls."
Mulder's answering nod was so relieved it was almost comical, before
the two men rose and headed for the bedroom, hand in hand.
Mulder watched as Skinner settled himself on the edge of the bed, and
then moved to stand between his lover's legs. There was nothing
erotic about Walter's hands in these sessions. Those wonderfully
large and expressive hands could have him begging for release after
mere minutes, but he knew that this time he was only going to be
begging for them to stop. Noticing Skinner's eyes on him, Mulder
looked at him questioningly.
"Ready, babe?"
Mulder nodded, throat dry, and then closed his eyes, feeling his face
flush as his lover went to work undoing his belt and jeans. He hated
this. It was so impersonal, methodical, disinterested. And this from
a man who usually expressed such delight in being able to touch him!
It just made everything worse. He placed his hands lightly on
Skinner's shoulders for balance as he raised one leg, then the other,
and was left standing naked from the waist down, face burning with
embarrassment. Encouraged by the hand at his lower back he slowly
bent over the waiting left thigh, hiked well forward so that his head
was nearly brushing the floor, and his bottom was tilted sharply
towards the ceiling. Feeling Walter's right leg lock firmly in place
over both of his, securing him in his jackknifed position, he huffed
a deep breath, trying to relax. He felt his shirt moved out of the
way as Skinner's hand moved soothingly over his lower back and
bottom, waiting for him to loosen up. Here, now, with the spanking so
imminent, Mulder was finally able to let go of his worry over it,
letting all the tension drain out of his body. It was going to happen
and there was nothing he could do about it. The relief he felt was
surprising in its intensity.
In contrast, Skinner was steeling himself, hardening his heart
against what he was about to do. Whenever he'd been punished during
his childhood, he'd always thought his father's saying, "this is
going to hurt me more than it hurts you," was beyond ludicrous.
Since he and Mulder had come to this arrangement however, he had learnt
otherwise. All his protective instincts cried out unceasingly for him
to stop, while he knew at the same time, through bitter experience
for both of them, that if he didn't deliver a very thorough spanking
Mulder was likely to pull the same stunt again next week.
Fortunately, as they both continued to learn and grow, these sessions
were becoming more infrequent, and the really big screw-ups, like
this one, were even less common.
Schooling his emotions and raising his hand, Skinner asked the ritual
question and simultaneously landed the first SMACK of palm on bare
skin to the bottom raised over his lap. "What is this spanking
for?"
Mulder gasped. The first swat, no matter how prepared he thought he
was, always took his breath away. "For breaking the rules!"
he quickly replied.
There was no indication whether the answer was correct or not, just
another smack, to the opposite cheek, accompanied by the next part of
the ritual. "List them."
Mulder sighed, feeling the imprints of the two separate spanks as
though they were engraved in his skin. This was likely to take a
while, and the real punishment wouldn't even start until this part
was over. Quickly gathering his thoughts before Skinner might give
him an encouraging extra slap, he began, leaving a pause after each
item for the required five swats; one to the lower part of each
buttock, one to the top of each thigh, and one that straddled the
center.
"Not filing a 302." And the first set of five rained down.
"Not telling you where I was going." The second set of five, landing
on top of the first, and the sting increased.
"Breaking and entering." Another five swats, and Mulder wriggled
slightly. That last one on his `sit spot' really stung!
"Getting caught-" he put his head down and groaned as more swats
landed on his smarting skin.
"Nearly drowning - ah!" two particularly fierce blows landed on his
thighs, telling him, as if he didn't know already, that Walter was
particularly unimpressed about that one.
"Ending up in hospital!" he yelped, squirming.
"Worrying you and Scully!"
"Scully and I are two separate people, Mulder," Skinner replied
calmly, "I think we should be addressed separately, don't you?" and
proceeded to land ten deliberate smacks on the now rather pink rump
before him. Thankfully the question was rhetorical; Mulder just
managed to check his retort as he gasped and wriggled at the added
smart in his rear.
Pausing to think, he wondered what else, since Skinner was obviously
waiting.
Not fast enough. Another swat landed sharply, dead center, as he was
prompted, "What else?"
Mulder wracked his brains, trying to ignore the sting in his
backside. Another `helping' smack landed, causing him to blurt
out, "I don't know! Just- being bad!"
Immediately the descending hand was checked and came down instead to
rub gently and soothingly. "No, Mulder, never think that. You're not
bad. You can be impulsive and disobedient at times, naughty, but you
are NOT bad. Got that?"
Mulder whimpered softly. The rubbing may have been intended to be
soothing but it was only making him more aware of the sheer
vulnerability and helplessness of his position, and the additional
punishment yet to come. Burying his head in his arms he answered
Skinner, who was still waiting patiently, with a mumbled affirmative.
"Okay then, Mulder," as the hand continued to move in gentle circles
over his bottom, "I'll tell you the last one. It's for not finishing
the laundry properly." And he proceeded to land the final five smacks
on his lover's glowing bottom. "And since you didn't remember it
yourself, and because I like round numbers-" and one last crisp
stinger landed on his sit spot. "There, a nice round fifty," Skinner
said with satisfaction, giving the nicely warmed backside a fond pat.
Mulder's breath hitched as he felt the fierce sting concentrated on
the lower half of his buttocks. It felt like there was a line drawn
across the center, the top half still cool and the lower half
slightly more warm than was comfortable. Unfortunately, that was
about to change. Oh, why had he ever thought it had been a good plan?
He'd been so sure no one would find out! Feeling Skinner reach across
for the hairbrush he groaned his misery and then tensed as he felt
the cool wood resting against his bottom.
Seeing Mulder's ass cheeks clench, Skinner frowned. "Mulder, don't
tense up. You know it makes you bruise more and that's not the aim
here!"
But he didn't seem to be able to tell his muscles what to do any
more, his body was frozen in agonized anticipation, ignoring the
commands from his brain. However the sudden explosion of the first
stroke, hard and fast to the crease where butt met thigh, quickly
remedied that, as Skinner had known it would. All the air left
Mulder's lungs in a shout of surprise and pain, as he felt the impact
followed by the familiar sting of the brush, and then the radiating
heat a moment later. "SHIIIT!!"
Quickly another hard smack followed to land on the exact same spot,
making him hiss and writhe. "Do I have to remind you? Don't swear!"
"No, Sir, sorry, Sir," he gasped, as the brush proceeded, with
slightly less intensity, to paint bright red splotches all over his
bottom.
For some reason, Mulder always called him `Sir' when he was being
punished, although when Walter had asked him about it, he had evinced
surprise. Mulder had reassured him that he knew it was Walter who was
punishing him, and not his AD persona, but privately the older man
wondered about it. He was determined that their relationship outside
the office be an equal one, but he certainly didn't call Mulder
`Sir' when HE was being punished.
Deciding he'd bring it up again later, he applied himself to the task
at hand. The brush was large, made from a heavy wood that was
varnished and cut in a broad, oval shape, and Walter knew first hand
how fiercely it stung on impact. Skinner's method was to cover the
entire bottom, right down to the crease where bottom met thigh, with
a single layer of red, before starting over again. One round of
spanks was painful enough, to Mulder, but as the second rounded
started his yelps and wriggles became louder and more pronounced.
The part of Mulder's brain that was still working railed at the
injustice of the brush. It laid down a layer of pain, but when the
second smack came on top, the pain did more than just double; it
seemed to increase exponentially and, as always, Mulder was sure he
couldn't take much more. Unfortunately, that decision was not his
to make.
Putting his head down, he tried to focus on Skinner's left hand
planted on his lower back, as the third round of spanks started. It
held him down - as if that was needed; with his legs pinned in place
he could hardly move - but also anchored and grounded him. It helped
him to remember that despite the pain he was in a safe place, that
this had a purpose, and that it would be all over soon.
The fire in his butt was building though, and he tried feebly to kick
away. However he was only able to move his feet a small distance; his
legs were firmly trapped. Clasping his hands together and dropping
his head low to the floor, he let his legs and hips continue their
instinctive twists and kicks for escape, although his upper body
remained relatively still. He knew from experience that if he
seriously tried to get away, or to protect himself with his hands,
Skinner would just tuck his arm around his waist and spank even
harder. This was hard enough, Mulder thought. He felt the tears
gathering in his eyes begin to fall, as more blows to his unprotected
bottom forced cries of pain from his lips.
He was openly crying now, starting to sob as his struggles became
more desperate. The brush was continuing to land on his deeply red
and burning cheeks, reinforcing the folly of his actions, until he
felt like his backside had been doused in petrol and set alight. Oh,
he was never going to do something so stupid ever, ever again! Never
never never never never.....
Skinner, meanwhile, was wondering how long he could keep this up. His
lover's wails of painful misery were tearing at his heart, and he was
beginning to curse himself for ever starting this. It wasn't right.
Mulder was a grown man, with every right to make his own decisions,
even if he didn't agree with them. Who was he to stand in his way?
Certainly he shouldn't be dishing out punishments, especially ones so
humiliatingly childish. His deliveries began to lose their snap and
bite, although this wasn't noticeably appreciated by the squirming
body in his lap, as he became less and less certain that he was doing
the right thing.
Suddenly, Skinner remembered just exactly why he was doing this.
Mulder nearly drowned. He nearly DIED. His love, his soul mate, the
person he cherished so much, was so cavalier towards his own personal
safety. All at once, Skinner found his purpose again - to make sure
that the two of them would be able to have a life together, something
that could only be done if Mulder was prevented from actively
courting his own death. Taking a firm hold around Mulder's waist,
Skinner redoubled his efforts, delivering the spanks with harder and
faster, snappily peppering the shiny red cheeks, determined to finish
this soon and make sure it didn't happen again for a long, long
time.
Mulder's crying increased as he felt the hand on his back move to
encircle his waist. It meant Walter was stepping up his attack, and
his fears were well founded as the brush suddenly caused a fiery
explosion across his bottom. Mulder shrieked at the sudden impact.
His backside was throbbing, stinging, burning, a condition which was
only getting worse, and he was convinced he was bruised from waist to
mid thigh. And there was no end in sight. All at once, he realized
the complete helplessness of his situation. There was nothing he
could do to stop Skinner, he was firmly pinned in place, and deep
down he admitted he deserved everything he got. It had been a stupid
stunt to pull, even if he'd thought at the time that the possible
benefits outweighed the risks. He'd forgotten to figure in the risks
to his bottom, though! As the blow rained down, his resistance
evaporated, like so much smoke from his blazing butt. He went limp as
the pain, guilt and regret poured out of him, given voice in deep,
shuddering sobs that wracked his body. It didn't matter now how long
the spanking went on for. All he would do, all he could do, was
accept the consequences of his idiotic actions. Mulder lay there and
bawled.
Hearing the change in Mulder's cries, Skinner sighed with relief and
began to wind down his onslaught. The pauses between blows lengthened
and the strokes themselves lost their power until they were little
more than gentle taps. Even so, each one elicited a new gasp and
wriggle between Mulder's sobs. Looking at his handiwork, Skinner
could see why. The whole of Mulder's backside was a deep, angry red
and as he rested his palm against them, he idly wondered if he could
cook an egg on these blazing, vermilion cheeks. Mulder would probably
think so.
Still sobbing, Mulder moved, wanting desperately to get to the part
that always followed punishment. Helping him onto shaky feet, Skinner
gently seated Mulder in his lap - with renewed sobs as his seared
cheeks contacted unforgiving, scratchy wool - and rocked him gently,
crooning soothingly, until his crying had eased to occasional
whimpers and sniffles.
Then, making sure he had his attention, Skinner began to speak
softly. "Mulder, I'm sorry, I know that's probably the
hardest I've ever spanked you-"
Mulder interrupted. Snuffling through his blocked nose, he tried to
convey reassurance; "S'okay, Walter. I know I deserved it. Actually-
actually, I was kinda surprised that you stopped." He admitted.
Skinner sighed, part relief, part regret. "I'm afraid, that's the
point, Mulder." Mulder tensed as he continued gently, "remember, I
made you set out the belt as well as the hairbrush?"
There was a long pause.
"NO! No, please, Walter, I- I've learnt my lesson, I promise!" His
voice cracked, "Please- please-" he trailed off miserably.
After all, he'd just admitted, in essence, to the leniency of his spanking!
Walter sighed again. "I know, babe, and you know I hate doing this.
But you really, really scared me this time, and I'm determined to
make sure you think VERY hard the next time you're tempted to pull a
stunt like that!"
His voice had become progressively firmer through the speech until by
the end he sounded almost as angry as he had back in the office.
Mulder cringed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Skinner cut him
off harshly. "Don't tell me you promise you'll never do anything like
that again, you've said it before! Several times! Frankly, I'm
beginning to wonder what your promises are worth."
Mulder's mouth opened again, this time in shock. That really
stung.
That was incredibly unfair! That was totally uncalled for! That- that
was probably true. He sighed and stared at the floor.
Skinner studied him for a moment, and came to a decision. "Okay,
Mulder," he said, his voice gentle but unyielding, "since that
probably did hurt a lot more than anything I've dished out before-"
he paused as Mulder snorted "- I'm giving you a choice. You can count
out six strokes of the belt now and sit in the corner for half an
hour before having in a nice, cold bath, or you can count out and
thank me for ten strokes tomorrow morning, before sitting in the
corner."
Mulder shuddered, turning his miserable dilemma over in his mind.
Some choice! Walter really was determined to make him suffer this
time, wasn't he? Counting out the strokes! He hated that! And on top
of the fire in his rear end right now! And then SITTING in the
corner?! No way could he do that! But the alternative was no better.
He knew his butt wouldn't have recovered enough by tomorrow to make
ten strokes less painful than six taken now. Walter was continuing in
his efforts to prove the futility of procrastination. Added to which,
he really hated having to thank Walter for the strokes, he was never
thankful in the slightest! And he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able
to get through that without doing something stupid, like putting a
hand back, earning himself two extra each time. Apparently that
little bit of torture was to teach him control and to accept
responsibility for his actions. He hated it, but privately he had to
admit that it probably worked - he rarely tried to evade punishment
now, since the end result was always significantly worse. And anyway,
he couldn't really complain, since Walter was subject to the same
restrictions. Only Walter never moved a muscle, no matter how much he
cried and pleaded during his rare punishments. Somehow that struck
Mulder as being most unfair.
But he was getting off track, and Walter was waiting for his answer.
Sighing, he nestled into the hollow where neck met shoulder, the
tears starting up again as he reluctantly made his choice;
"I'll take six now."
Skinner hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you. You know that?" he
whispered, rocking them both. "I'm so proud to be a part of your
life." He kissed Mulder's forehead and his voice shone with
possessive pride. "My love."
Mulder smiled. The words warmed him and although he still hated the
thought of the belt, they gave him comfort and reminded him why he
was here. He'd do anything for this man. Even the habits of a
lifetime were slowly being changed to suit Walter's preference,
despite Mulder himself failing to understand what all the fuss was
about. That was another of Walter's projects - trying to get Mulder
to understand that love was a two-way street.
Regretfully levering himself out of the warm embrace, Mulder was
grateful to take the pressure off his sore bottom. He thrust away the
thought that soon he'd be sitting on a high stool, the fire restoked
and all his weight once again resting on it. The blazing had settled
down by now to a steady ache that he knew would stay with him for a
day or so, even without the imminent strapping.
He waited for Walter to get to his feet, and then crawled on to the
bed, positioning the pillows under his hips. Which conveniently
raised his bottom up into a nice, prominent target for the belt. Oh,
he hated this. Taking hold of the headboard with a firm grip, he
swore to himself that he wouldn't let go, and buried his face in the
bedspread. He was reduced to a pair of vulnerable, throbbing
buttocks, trying to decide whether the wait or the punishment itself
was worse.
Studying the proffered backside while winding the belt around his
hand, Skinner grinned distractedly to himself. Mulder was a creature
of opposites. Either he put things off for as long as possible, or
else he couldn't bear to put them off at all and tried to hurry them
along. Skinner himself would have been quite happy to sit and cuddle
for a while longer.
Drawing his attention back to the task at hand, he laid the end three
feet of leather against the uppermost part of Mulder's rear,
signaling the imminent start of the punishment. The target tensed and
relaxed rhythmically, fairly quivering with nervous anticipation. He
drew his hand back, letting the belt fall over his shoulder.
"All right, Mulder," Skinner said, remember to count."
And he laid the first stroke squarely on target.
Mulder was prepared. His hands gripped the head of the bed more
firmly, and as the stroke seared it's way across his smarting cheeks,
he discharged both his duty and his howl of pain in the same
breath. "ONE, SIIIIRRR!" How could he ever wonder if the wait was
worse than the strapping? This was far, far worse! He could feel the
imprint of the belt on the uppermost swell of his buttocks, as though
a red hot piece of metal had been laid there and pressed there. He
was sure his buttocks were blistered, if not bleeding! How was he
supposed to take another five strokes??
His shout had practically bounced off the walls and made Skinner
pause. Mulder had never screamed that loudly before! Critically
studying the effects of the first stroke and quickly coming to a
decision, Skinner hardened his heart and spoke firmly. "Mulder, you
can't yell that loud - unless you want the neighbors to come and ask
what's going on! Control yourself, or I'll have to gag you and
deliver a penalty two."
Mulder shivered; a `penalty two' were delivered one atop the other to
the back of the thighs. He quickly gave his reply, his voice thick
with tears, "No, you don't need to gag me, Sir, I promise!"
Skinner's heart went out to him, and his tone softened.
"I'm glad to hear it, Mulder." There was that word again. Why wouldn't
Mulder just call him `Walter'?
Putting the thought aside and firming his resolve, he lined the belt
up again, the upper edge just touching the bottom of the wide, rather
purplish line the previous stroke had left. Raising his arm again, he
let fly with perfect aim. He watched the colors change as the marks
rose, the point where the two strokes met standing out prominently in
a deep purple welt. The marks and pain from the spanking would be
gone after a day or so, but these welts would stay longer, the most
effective reminder of consequences that Skinner had found, to date.
Mulder, legs drumming, sobbed into the bedspread before he could
raise his head and utter, "Two, Sir." The pain was unbelievable.
Calmly, Skinner picked out his next target, just below the last
stroke, and determinedly brought the belt down again with a loud
CRACK. Mulder writhed and released his howl into the bedclothes. The
pain was unbearable! The upper half of his butt felt like it had
swelled to twice its usual size and was throbbing with agonizing
intensity. He dreaded to think what the remainder of the punishment
would feel like, as it steadily progressed lower! He sobbed
wretchedly, wondering if he'd ever be able to sit down again.
Watching the pain-induced contortions before him, Skinner waited
until they had abated somewhat before calling Mulder on the count.
The bottom raised over the pillows had taken on various mottled
shades of red and purple, and Skinner had a feeling that corner time
was going to be exceptionally painful tonight. He deliberately tapped
the end of the belt against the marks from his latest stroke,
delighting in the saucy wriggle that resulted. "Mulder, the count
please?" he prompted.
"Three, Sir!" Mulder hastily replied, although a bit thickly. Getting
six was bad enough, he didn't want any extras! The thought made his
hands clench tighter to the headboard; no way was he going to let go.
Skinner coolly lined the belt up again, this time just over the jut
of Mulder's ass, and asked, "Why are we doing this?"
Mulder looked up blearily through his tears. "What?" This was new.
"Why are we here, like this, you ass up over the bed and me spanking
you with the belt?" He clarified.
Mulder frantically tried to think. "Not following Bureau procedure,
making you worry about me, and being injured again," he gabbled.
Thank God for a good memory.
"Succinctly put, Mulder," Skinner complimented, as he brought the
belt down harshly yet again. He waited for Mulder's anguished yowl to
end before continuing. "However I think your priorities might be a
bit wrong somewhere."
Mulder squirmed uncontrollably, even as a confused frown crossed his
face.
"From your wording just now, I suspect you put more importance on my
being worried about you, thank on your own well being. Am I right?"
Mulder whimpered. "Can we not talk about this now? Please?" he
begged. "Four, Sir," he added belatedly.
Skinner frowned and quickly brought the belt down hard, watching as
the underswell of the raised backside flattened and bounced under the
impact, while the owner of said buttocks howled in surprised pain
- and reflexively reached a hand back as protection.
Mulder froze, feeling his right palm against his right butt cheek and
knowing it wasn't supposed to be there. Quickly he moved it back up
to the headboard, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panicked, "I didn't mean
to, you caught me by surprise, please, please, I've had enough!"
Skinner resolutely shook his head. "Doesn't wash, Mulder. You know
you're not allowed to reach back, we've been through this enough
times. Now, hold tight!"
He raised his arm high in the air, the belt tossed back over his
shoulder, and quickly cracked it down twice, in rapid succession, on
the tops of Mulder's thighs. Mulder howled, practically levitating
off the bed, although admirably his hands remained firmly attached to
the head of the bed. He collapsed, exhausted, back onto the bed,
sobbing desperately, frantically wanting to soothe this latest fire
and knowing he couldn't.
Again Skinner waited for the gyrations to cease. "As I was saying,
Mulder," he continued steadily, no sign of his own pain at doing this
showing his voice, "you seem to value my being worried about you,
above your own physical well being." He paused and tapped the bottom
laid out before him. "Are you listening to me?"
Frantic nodding assured him that he had Mulder's attention - although
probably not all of it, as he was still crying miserably - and he
resumed. "That is NOT how it goes, Mulder. Your health is far more
important than me being worried about you. And if you weren't injured
in the first place, I wouldn't have anything to worry about, would I?
If you learn one thing from this punishment tonight, I would like it
to be that YOU ARE IMPORTANT." He punctuated the last words by
tapping firmly with the belt. It was turning out to be an effective
method of ensuring he had Mulder's attention.
"What's the lesson, Mulder?" he prompted.
"'m `portant," came the breathless, tearful response.
Skinner tapped harder with the belt. "That didn't sound convincing,"
he warned Mulder roused himself and this time the response was clearer,
although still unconvincing. "I'm important."
"Again!" came the stern response.
"I am important!" slightly firmer.
"Louder!" Skinner demanded.
"I Am Important!" Mulder's voice raised slightly.
"Louder!" Skinner barked harshly, letting the strap drop a few inches
onto the red bottom like a mini-spank. It had the desired effect.
"I AM IMPORTANT!!" Mulder's head and torso lifted as he yelled the
words at the ceiling, before he collapsed back on the bed, deep
shuddering sobs wracking his body.
Skinner smiled a sort of melancholy satisfaction and gently swiped
the belt at Mulder's backside again. "Six." He said softly, dropping
the belt and gathering the weeping man into his arms.
Mulder lay there, curled up in the middle of the bed, his sobs dying
down more through exhaustion than because he was finished. They had
been lying like this for an age, but still Skinner continued to hold
him tightly, one hand running soothingly, unceasingly over his back,
while the other gently clasped the back of his head, silently
offering his love and support.
Mulder was beginning to fall asleep now, washed out by the intensity
of the evening. Skinner roused him enough to sit up so his shirt
could be pulled off, tugged him under the covers, stripped off his
own clothes and joined him. Resuming their positions, arms and legs
tangled together, they simply relished each other's presence in
silence, lost in their own thoughts.
Just as Skinner was falling asleep, Mulder spoke hesitantly,
"Walter?"
"Yes, sweetheart," he murmured.
"I'm important?" The question was quietly anxious.
Skinner opened his eyes and smiled, pulling Mulder closer to him and
pressing his lips softly, sweetly, against the pair in front of
him. "To me, very important," he whispered in return.
Mulder smiled before resting his head against Skinner's chest and
closing his eyes again. "I'm glad."
"Oh?" he queried.
"Yeah," Mulder smiled. "'Cause then it's mutual."
Skinner reached a hand out and gently stroked the hair back from
Mulder's forehead, using the excuse to gently caress the sleeping
face. "Yes, love," he murmured. "It's definitely mutual."
Mulder nuzzled in closer and grinned faintly. "Good. Just you
remember that, the next time YOU get in trouble," he yawned sleepily,
before falling sleep.
Skinner's hand faltered in its soothing strokes before he recovered
himself. It had been a long time since Mulder had last found cause to
punish him, but that last sentence didn't sound too promising? He
wondered if Mulder had heard something. Surely his latest deal with
the Cigarette Smoking Man wasn't common knowledge? Although, Mulder
being the investigator he was, he probably knew things most of the
gossips at the Bureau didn't. If Mulder had found out- Skinner
groaned to himself and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
It was going to be a long night.
~FINIS~