Title: Wake Up Call
Summary: Run Fat Boy Run. Gordon is fed up with Dennis's ways and is going to set him straight with a little help from a certain spatula. Gordon/Dennis. Spanking.
Disclaimer: I do not own Run, Fat Boy, Run.
Timeline: Imagine that Dennis went to Gordon's apartment after they fought. Dennis still would claim he isn't running the race and Gordon is still pissed. Hell, I don't know if that even makes sense, but that's what I'm going for. Also I don't care what the deleted scene says; in this dimension, Gordon went home after their tiff.
Dedication: A certain someone asked me to write this fic. Him/her will not be named, but he/she is my best friend and I cannot deny him/her it. So here's to me finally making one of my promises come to fruition! And no, I'm still not writing that House/Chase fic! Or any of the other ones I promised!
IIIII
"Gordon!"
No answer came from the stone balcony.
"Gordon, I know you can hear me! How many times do I have to say that it just wasn't meant to be? I can't help it that you went and bet all that quid on me!"
Dennis frowns deeply then gets a set look of determination. He's not going to let everything go to waste just because of some stupid marathon. He shouldn't have committed to it in the first place! He simply should have let that bastard Libby calls her boyfriend outshine him in every way possible. There's nothing more he can do other than try to salvage his relationship with Gordon. After all, they've been friends since primary school.
Dennis throws a rather large stone up there and he can hear it knock something over. This gets his friend's attention.
"Oh for Christs sake, Dennis! You hit my guitar!" comes a yell. It takes another minute for him to actually appear, peering down at Dennis from up above. He still looks majorly ticked off from what the blonde-haired man can tell but atleast he came out to talk to him.
"Are you gonna let me up?"
"I would feel more generous about that if you hadn't kicked me in the balls," says Gordon coolly, inhaling on his cigarette and puffing out little rings.
"In all fairness you kicked me in the balls first!" responds Dennis, putting his hands on his hips in a defiant gesture.
"Hm. Well. I'm still pissed, but I suppose I can let it pass. But we're talking about this running thing, you can make sure of that."
Dennis stands outside the door, waiting for Gordon to open it. Even though they've been friends for years Gordon has never given him a key to the apartment. Dennis tries not to ponder why, since Gordon has a key to his apartment. Fair is fair. But with Gordon, sometimes fairness just gets lost somewhere along the way.
Gordon opens the door and they head on into his apartment. It isn't much. It's atleast got two bedrooms--the front room which connected to the kitchen and the bedroom--so that's one more bedroom he has over Dennis. Not that Dennis is envious. Gordon's landlord is much, much nastier than his.
"So what did you come here for?" Gordon asks, sitting on the couch.
"I--" Dennis has to stop for a moment. Did he really come here to apologize? He has nothing to apologize for, does he. He did make the mistake of saying he was going to do something and, yet again, he didn't do it, but it was his life. He made his own decisions, dammit, Gordon wasn't going to make them for him no matter how much quid he bet on his marathon. "I don't really . . . know."
"Bloody brilliant. You run away from me, then beg me--"
"Oh that was hardly begging."
"--to come up to my apartment? And for what? To have a fag with me?"
A pause. "Can I bum a smoke? I don't have any on me--"
Gordon goes into his laughing bit, as though Dennis had asked for the most ridiculous thing in the world. It's essentially Dennis's reply. So thusly Dennis sits on the couch next to him rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants nervously because, frankly, his damn mind has shut down on him. He's so disappointed in himself that he can't think straight.
"You have a commitment problem," Gordon says.
Dennis groans out, "I fucking know this, Gordon. Don't repeat what has already been told me to twenty times before."
"You need . . . you need motivation . . . "
A look washed over Gordon's face as though he had an epiphany. Perhaps he did, because Dennis watches as he walks over to his kitchen and digs through his drawers.
"What are you going on about?" asks Dennis. He has a deep, twisted feeling in his stomach that he's not going to like this one bit.
The worst response is the silence he recieves. But then Gordon holds up what he had been searching for, and it makes no sense.
"The spatula?" Dennis says in a disbelieving tone. He laughs nervously at the serious expression his friend is currently wearing. "What? Are we going to go for a run? Well I'll tell you this much, I am not running anymore."
"No, you're not running. Not any more. I'm going to convince you that running is, in many cases, the wrong thing to do. I'm not talking about marathons, I'm talking about your life, Dennis. You keep avoiding things and trying to escape when you feel the tiniest bit nervous. Well it's time someone set you straight." Gordon slaps the spatula in his hand and looks down his nose at his friend.
"I don't follow."
"It's a very textbook form of punishment--"
"Oh no, no, no. You are not going to smack me on the arse with that thing--"
"I have no choice. As your friend I'm obligated to force you to do things--"
"You're insane! I already got smacked with that thing enough from Mr. Ghoshdashtidar! And how where in the bloody hell did you get one exactly like his?"
"If you just do it then you can learn your lesson, get back into the race, and we will all be a little happier, now won't we? Oh, and I was only letting him borrow mine. It was mine all along," Gordon gives a lopsided smirk as though he's enjoying this.
He is enjoying this, sick bastard, realizes Dennis who lets out a nervous laugh.
"You--You're not serious."
A long, long stare from Gordon.
"You're serious! You're bloody serious! Well you might as well forget it because it's not happening."
"Oh it's happening all right," says Gordon with much determination.
There's a moment where both men stand-off. Dennis is unsure of what to do other than run, but there's hardly any room to run to. And Gordon is blocking the only way to the door and he's not about to go through him. With no where else to go he runs around the coffee table in front of the couch but Gordon isn't dumb enough to lose his position. He heads straight forward for his longtime friend and wrestles him to the ground after throwing the spatula off to the side, it landing on the couch.
In a battle to see who's stronger Gordon is more likely to succeed. Even when Dennis struggles his hardest Gordon has a mighty hold on his shirt, which Dennis promptly tries to slip out of his T-shirt but only gets out of it halfway, stuck with it up covering his face and his arms shooting straight upward. With this at his hands, straddling the younger man who is face-first to the floor, Gordon watches as Dennis flails, trying to get his shirt off.
"Let me help you, geesh. I never met a man who can't take off his own clothes," says Gordon with annoyance. He slips the Tshirt clean off.
"Would you get off of me now? I do have places to go you know. Places where people aren't complete nutters like you!"
"I'm only trying to teach you a lesson. Now get up and quit your whining so we can get this over with." Gordon hauls Dennis up by one pale arm, his grip iron clad. He sits down on the couch and pulls Dennis down, meeting only a moderate amount of resistance when pulled over onto his lap.
But when he reaches down to unzip Dennis's pants, Dennis goes into a panic. He bucks and yells.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"It wouldn't be fair to whoop you through your pants."
"Fine, fine. Take 'em off. Just get this over with. It can't be any more horrible than what I've gone through in the last five minutes."
Dennis bares the humiliation of having his pants pulled off, revealing a nice tight buttocks clad in gray briefs. Gordon would be lying if he said he doesn't have dirty thoughts as soon as he stared at the other man's behind. But he quickly shakes them off and gets back to the task at hand. Literally at hand, because he doesn't plan to use the spatula right away. It is metal after all and he doesn't want to truly hurt him. Some preparation with his hand might be called for.
"You know I wouldn't have to do this if you didn't screw up all of the time! You insist on being a quitter and this is what happens to quitters." He brings back his hand, then roughly lands it on Dennis's rear end, a resounding smack ringing across the room.
"Ow! This doesn't happen to quitters unless they've got a sadist for a--"
Another harsh smack on his arse brings him to silence, other than an "Ow!".
"That was for talking back."
Dennis tries to breath evenly. He didn't think these hits would sting so much, but Gordon is really whaling on him.
"You really had everyone thinking you were going to do it this time. That you were going to make it across the finish line. This is for getting all of our hopes up."
Another smack, another cry out. Dennis's face construes into a mask of much discomfort. He wiggles in Gordon's lap trying to to get comfortable but he can't find any place where he could be. Finally he gives up on the idea of comfort and holds on tight to Gordons leg, not actually willing to take his punishment but he's here and in the position, so he might as well come to terms with it.
Gordon brings his hand down on Dennis's cheeks again, then twice in a row. Dennis let out a little whimper at the pain but for the most part stayed quiet. There was no use in arguing over the unfairness of it all.
"You constantly run, Dennis. You never finish a damn thing. Do you know how many people you've disappointed?"
It's true, thinks Dennis. I've disappointed everyone. I--
His thoughts are cut off when another hit is bestowed upon his bottom and this one is particularly hard. He bites his bottom lip to keep from crying out.
"And you can do so much better, Dennis, I know you can. You just keep under-estimating yourself all of the time. I've seen you do some pretty good things, along with some horrible decisions to balance it out. But what's even sadder is when you let things hang in the air and don't make a decision. That's what I'm angry about."
"You don't understand--"
"No, you don't understand. You're not incompetent, I know this much, but you act as though you are. Now I want you to count out loud how many smackings I give you."
"Gordon, stop this!"
Gordon does not reply. Instead he hits him in the backside with his hand trying to express his frustration through the smack. Dennis cries out in surprise but he does not count.
"I said count."
Clenching his teeth in determination he grinds out, "I'm not going to count the--"
Smack! "Count!"
"No!"
Whap!
Smack!
Slap!
"Okay, okay! Give a bloke a second, all right?"
Dennis tries not to let the burning sensation get to him. With every pounding, he feels as though his arse is on fire. Breathing through his mouth he waits . . .
He doesn't have to wait long. Gordon brings down his hand again and Dennis yelps, "One!"
Smack!
"T-two!"
His buttocks by now is surely red.
Slap!
"Three!"
"I did that because it was for the three people in your life that you've let down most; Libby, Jake, and I." Gordon picks up the spatula and adds, "Now it's time for the spatula. I don't mean to hurt you Dennis even if it feels so. Keep that in mind."
"You're trying not to hurt me?" Dennis laughed but without an ounce of humor in it. His grip on Gordon's leg became tighter.
"Repentance doesn't come easy," says Gordon sagely.
"Bugger off you wanker!"
"If you're going to be that way, I'm going to have to take off your underwear."
"Gordon, you sick arsehole--ow! Ow, that fucking hurt!"
"Calling me names only upsets me, you know." Dennis can almost hear the smile in his voice. He can also tell from the precarious position on the mans lap, and all of the shifting Gordon is doing, that he has a slight erection. This is actually turning him on.
Dennis would be lying if he didn't feel a little stir from beneath the belt too. Even with all of his whinging, he really does enjoy the close proximity. Although he's not too happy about all of the smackings; he could really do without those.
"Leave my underwear on and you can hit me all you like with the damned spatula," mutters Dennis unhappily.
"Ashamed of what's under there, are we? Just a wee bit?"
"I just don't fancy having you near my bare arse, okay?"
There was a smack with the spatula and Gordon says, "Points taken for swearing."
"Stop already!" shouts Dennis.
"But we're just getting started," Gordon says sadistically. He raises his weapon and says, "For leaving Libby at the altar. You ran away that day thinking you weren't good enough, when in reality you were all she wanted." He brings it down and Dennis barely contains a squeal of pain. "I had to comfort her after you left, Dennis. I was there and I heard her say 'But I still love him, I still love him'."
"Sh-she did?" He whispers.
No, he won't cry. Dennis Doyle, he says to himself, don't you dare cry.
"This one is for making me go through that."
When the spatula smacks his bottom once again Dennis cries out, "Okay, okay! I get the point! You can stop now!" He's beginning to let the tears brim, a few spilling out.
"I've not gotten to the most important person," Gordon says. "Your son."
"I know I've screwed up--"
Smack!
"I know I've screwed up!"
Slap!
"Do you know how much pain you've caused him? You've missed birthdays, been late for visits. He's not going to forgive you forever, you know. One day he will grow up and surpass you on maturity."
A tortured groan escapes between Dennis's lips. He begins to sob, taking in the harsh but true words his friend spoke. Dennis knows he's never truly grown up. He's run away from everything that means something; responsibility, fatherhood, marriage. How is he going to raise his son when he can't even take proper care of himself? And suddenly he knows Gordon isn't being cruel and unusual. It's not about the smackings; it's about the words inbetween. The smackings are only to reinforce what he is saying.
And he gets it.
Finally, he gets it.
And it all hits home much too quickly and Dennis is reduced to a blubbering idiot, mumbling sentences and apologies that don't even make sense. Gordon softly lets him to the floor, placing the spatula on the couch, and he hugs Dennis tight to himself. Dennis buries his face into the hollow of his friends neck and sobs anew, unashamed of what he is feeling right now. Gordon doesn't judge him for it either. He only worries.
Gordon gently rubs his back, placing soft kisses on his cheek, then down his jawline, and to his throat, all the while murmuring into his skin, "It's okay, Dennis. You are not a bad person, you've just made mistakes. You're only human. It is okay to make mistakes as long as you make up for them."
Gordon plants more kisses on Dennis's face, his lips coming into contact with salty tears but not minding it, and he places one more kiss right on his forehead before saying, "There's no more reason to cry, Dennis. You're okay now."
Dennis says between gasps, "I'm sorry. I-I've been run-running for so long that I'm used to it. I can-can't do that anymore though. What kind of fa-father would I be to my s-son?"
Gordon lays a kiss on Dennis's lips to hush him, to finally calm him down. The tension recedes and is replaced with desire on which Dennis responds by running his fingers through Gordon's messy brown hair. It's as though he's trying to communicate to Gordon how much he appreciates what he's done here this afternoon, even if it hurt, both physically and mentally, and for the message that he sent.
Be a better person.
Stop running.
Gordon whispers, "Dennis . . . I didn't hurt you much, did I?" He actually sounds worried.
"It stings somewhat."
"Good. I was aiming for somewhat painful, or at the very least, very uncomfortable." Gordon smirks staring into Dennis's eyes.
"You're pretty good at that," admits Dennis. "And I felt your hard on, you sick fuck."
"You begging for mercy is something I find very erotic."
"I never begged for mercy!"
"Oh, then what was all those 'Stop it!'s for?"
"I, well . . . "
Gordon puts another kiss on Dennis's lips and smiles. "Put on your clothes. We're going on a run. You need to be in top shape for the marathon."
Without a beat Dennis replies, "But do not bring that fucking spatula. I've had enough of that bloody thing for one day."
IIIII
IF ONLY I WERE A SLINKY SAYS:
Okay, him/her, you know you're the only one who's reading this so review and tell me what you thought before I sneak into your room and lay on top of you until you wake up. Creepy? Yes. But that's what you get for not reviewing AFTER I LABORED FOR ONE HARD WEEK MAKING THIS FOR YOU. I'M SO UNAPPRECIATED.
And if anyone else besides that certain person is reading this . . . well, how the hell did you end up reading this shite? Ah well, whatever, review if you feel the need to tell me what you thought.
It's one in the morning and I'm not tired, woo hoo!