Title: Four corners ‘Go home, get naked, find a corner in the den and wait for me.’ There are four corners in the room, but only really two. Two that I can occupy to follow Sam’s terse instruction. The other two are by the windows and I have no idea how long he’ll make me wait. I don’t want our neighbors wondering what I’m doing stuck in a corner, staring out of the window. Corner time. A varying period of time during which I’m supposed to think about what I did wrong, and what I would do different next time. Except, this time, there’s nothing I’d do differently faced with the same circumstances. I’d still knock Claypool into next week. Okay, not what Sam’s gonna want to hear. Um, how about something around the idea of letting someone know Claypool has an illegally-obtained document. No, that won’t do it. It’s gotta be something I’d have done differently at the time. Well, that’s easy. Nothing. I’d have done nothing diff… ‘Josh, it’s time. Come here.’ I didn’t even hear Sam come in. We are lovers. Have been for a while now. So the sight of each other naked is something we’ve both become used to. This is different. Sam’s dressed. I’m naked. A whole different dynamic. I’m older, taller, senior at work and, I’d have to say, smarter. Well, maybe not the last one. Sam didn’t almost break Claypool’s neck. So the others don’t really count for much. ‘Josh, did you manage any thinking time?’ ‘Yes Sam.’ ‘And?’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘Josh!’ Sam’s tone carries his dissatisfaction with my response. ‘I shouldn’t have let him get to me.’ ‘And?’ And? There is no ‘and’. Oh no. There must be. Okay, think about this. ‘Um, I should have walked out sooner.’ ‘Yes. And?’ ‘Um…er…’ Sam sighs heavily. ‘Josh, what about the small matter of letting Leo know what happened?’ ‘I told him. Just before I came home.’ ‘Well done.’ Some of Sam’s earlier disappointment in my behaviour has clearly been erased because I told Leo what I did. He was cross with me, but philosophical. ‘It’s done’ was all he said with his characteristic shrug. And we hugged. Which was nice. I don’t think I’m gonna get hugged again tonight. *********** Sam’s scarily calm. We both agreed that he would never punish me when he was angry. For the most part, I have to work the morning after a punishment, and I can’t do that if Sam hurts me too badly because he’s angry. He’ll have been out walking, probably around the Monument. He says the stillness of the obelisk calms him. Whatever. He still comes home and punishes me. *********** I’m lying over Sam’s lap, stretched out along our couch. Anyone who thinks the actual punishment is the hard part should try this. Waiting for the first stinging, burning pain is infinitely worse than the pain itself. ‘Josh, what is this punishment for?’ ‘Hitting Claypool.’ ‘And?’ ‘Making things harder for Leo.’ ‘Yes.’ It’s all Sam says. One small word, a single syllable. But the tone it’s delivered in carries his disappointment in my behavior and his feelings about having to punish me for it. I feel his grip tighten around my waist, and then, without warning, it starts. ************ Toby could have asked me to do the drug thing. At least then it would have been me facing Claypool. And I wouldn’t be struggling to hold Josh as he squirms and kicks. I never count. I know when he’s had enough. His mood changes in a second. He goes from noisy struggling to quiet acceptance. And I always, always stop at that point. If I were to analyse it, I’d probably find it’s usually around the same point in his punishment each time. But there’s no way he’s worked that out. It just happens. And, if he’s feeling really guilty, it can get to the point that I stop before he thinks I should. But I’m in control, and he doesn’t put up more than a token objection. It’s like my choice of punishment. I don’t think about it for ages in advance. I decide when I call him from his corner. Once or twice I’ve used my belt. When he’s done something deliberately, planning it in advance. But this was an instinctive reaction to Claypool baiting him. So I kept my belt on. He’s quieter now. We’re almost done. It’s a close thing which is brighter red, his butt or my hand. Here it comes… He’s crying now, a release of emotion which is as much a part of our routine as the actual punishment. As I stop, I realise that, as always, he won’t notice it’s over for several seconds. So, as always, I use a firm voice to penetrate his endorphin-flooded mind. ‘It’s okay Josh. It’s over. It’s in the past, okay?’ He needs to know I won’t mention what he did ever again. He did it, he was punished for it, it’s history. And he needs to decide when he’s ready to move. I can sit for several minutes with a hiccuping, shuddering, boneless Deputy Chief of Staff across my lap before he moves. It’s okay. It’s part of the routine. When I’m sure he’s ready, I get up, remembering to cover him with the soft throw from the back of the couch and give him a handkerchief. He’s naked, and could easily get chilled when the endorphins wear off. Once or twice I’ve forgotten because it’s a warm day and the apartment is warm. I’ve come back to find him shivering so hard his teeth chattered. There’s always a can of sugary soda in the refrigerator door. He likes lime, lemon or cherry flavor. And there are two small ice-packs in the bottom drawer of the freezer. When I sit back down next to him, I have to be careful not to touch him accidentally with what I’m carrying. I pop the lid of the soda can and hand it to him before uncovering him and laying the ice packs on his punished butt cheeks. He yowls as the shockingly cold sensation reaches his brain, but, covering him with the throw, he soon settles. I move into the kitchen, open the paper and start on the crossword. When he’s finished as much of the soda as he wants, and used the bathroom, he’ll go to bed. We won’t kiss goodnight and we won’t touch, except accidentally in sleep, until the morning. It was something I suggested and Josh, reluctantly, agreed to. I didn’t see the point in punishing him for a transgression and then jumping him five minutes later. The ‘no touching’ is, I think, a worse punishment in Josh’s eyes than anything I do to him. He’s a sensual, sensitive man, and needs physical contact with those around him to feel safe. If I had known that about him when I made the rule, I might have decided differently. But I didn’t, and at the time he didn’t feel able to object, so the rule stands. *********** We wake intertwined. My arm is across Josh’s waist, and our legs are tangled. Sometime during the night, he spooned up close to me, and my subconscious need pulled him close, and held him against me. ‘Morning.’ His voice is wary, as if he’s afraid of me. After all this time, I’d hoped that he’d believe me when I tell him that the end of his punishment is the end of whatever he was punished for. But it’s the same every time. A gentle reassuring kiss later he’s smiling tentatively, as if his nervous frown could reappear any second. ‘Morning. Ready for another day?’ I ask the question more to give myself a few more seconds to wake up than in genuine hope of getting a full answer from Josh. He is not, under any circumstances, a morning person. He’ll stagger around the kitchen making coffee and toast, then stumble into the shower while the caffeine kicks in. By the time he’s dressed, he’s almost completely Josh again. ‘Yeah.’ He manages to force the word out, then rolls onto his back and the memory of the previous night comes back with a painful jolt. He rolls quickly onto his stomach and looks at me. ‘I’m sorry.’ His ability to imbue that single phrase with such pathos and abject misery always leaves me forcing down a smile. ‘I know. Clean slate Josh, okay?’ My voice is firm. It needs to be. I don’t want him spending the day thinking about last night. ‘Okay.’ We kiss again, and this time neither of us is in a hurry to break the contact. Then I remember that I actually have to breathe, and pull away, dragging in several huge lungfuls of air. For a guy who musical taste is dubious, to say the least, he’d make a great singer. His breath control is awesome. ‘We’re gonna be late.’ I offer. He nods. ‘Yup.’ What the Hell. Claypool can wait. Just as he reaches for me, Josh remembers: ‘We have staff.’ Claypool can wait. Leo can’t. Dammit. Josh sees my disappointment. And guesses the reason for it. Leaning close for a quick kiss, he whispers: ‘Hold that thought.’ End Home Send me feedback on this fic Return to the X-Files Fic Index Return to the West Wing Fic Index