Disclaimer: This story contains corporal punishment / spanking of a minor

Self Abridged Protocol
7-Pistol

Edward was stumbling under the Brigadier's hold. The man was monstrous, six three and built like an ox. Even now at fourteen, Ed was still as wiry thin as he'd ever been, and looked dwarfed in comparison.

"Is this one yours?" the Brigadier asked, dragging Ed into Mustang's office by his ear. Ed was cringing, up on his toes, and holding the man's sleeve in an attempt to keep up.

Roy Mustang looked up from his paperwork, and with a heavy unenthused sigh asked, "What's he done now?" This sight was not unfamiliar, but the Brigadier only snorted. The man took the few necessary steps to Mustang's desk and shoved Ed into a chair before leering at the boy.

The Brigadier didn't bother answering. He gave the hand so recently clamped to Ed's ear a small shake, as if to toss away the boy completely, and turned to leave. "See that you follow protocol and take care of him." The man left stomping for the door.

Ed sat wide eyed, watching the man retreat looking a bit shaken with his breathing still quick. "C-can you believe that guy?" Ed managed sitting up and giving his nose a wipe. Ed gave his shirt a small yank, trying to compose himself. "I-I-I mean…"

"Give it to me." Mustang interrupted, extending his hand. Ed dug the traditional note from his pocket and handed it over. The soldiers referred to it as a pink slip, and my god by now you think they'd actually start producing them on pink paper just to get a laugh.

"I—I can't believe him." Ed continued as Mustang unfolded the message and read through the quick and angry penmanship.

"Ed." Mustang groaned, dropping the small paper to his desk. He ran a hand over his face before getting up. Ed watched attentively, still breathing hard, before startling when Mustang walked to the large mahogany cabinet along the right wall. It was where those things were kept.

"Okay, come on! You didn't even hear my side!" Ed cried, watching Mustang slip in the familiar key and unlock the doors. "There is a good—perfectly good explanation for everything!" Mustang ignored this and reached inward to the cabinet's contents. "Also, it wasn't my fault!" Mustang selected a paddle, and Ed's voice raised. "Are you nuts! I am not a little kid anymore!" Ed tossed a wild pointing hand toward the offensive object but Mustang paid this outburst no mind. No, Ed was not necessarily the infant twelve year old he was when he first joined, but two years didn't exactly throw open the doors on the word 'adult.' "Cut me some slack!" Ed yelled. "Come on, cut me something!"

"Is he right?" Mustang asked, shutting the cabinet. Ed silenced. Mustang returned to his desk and lifted the note up for Ed to see. "Is this right?" Ed glanced at the detested slip of paper. In a few sentences it had completely ratted him out, and he licked his lips nervously. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't deny it, but he wasn't about to confess. "Right," Mustang said, falling to a confident and authoritative tone. He dropped the note to his desk and pointed to the small spanking bench kept politely along side his row of file cabinets. It was common place enough, most Generals and Colonels had one, but Mustang did not feel the need to sit it someplace noticeable in his office.

"You're not even going to listen to me!" Ed left to it stomping. "You're not going to listen to my side!" Mustang followed, and helped gently guide Ed to face it, when the boy hesitated. "Colonel!"

"I can later," Mustang replied simply.

"How about first, huh!" Ed shoved Mustang's hand off his shoulder with nervous irritation. He had gone stiff with what they were about to do, but it was familiar enough they both had a comfortable part to play. This wasn't the first day on the job after all, and Ed had a long long list of doing things which some parties thought shouldn't have been done and wasted lots of tax payer dollars.

"Come on," Mustang said, indicating the bench again.

"I can stand and take em," Ed said, fixing a shaky glare of bravado on Mustang's casual expression.

"Protocol requests you be on your knees." Mustang took a gentle grasp of Ed's shoulders and moved the boy flush against the lower rung of the bench. Ed knelt onto the low rung reluctantly. He didn't fight the movement, but he didn't cooperate either. "So you are humbled," Mustang said kindly, guiding Ed forward to rest his elbows on top of the padded surface. "And hopefully gain some obedience from this."

Ed was angry, and continuously reached back and bat at Mustang's hands even while obeying the instruction. He climbed onto the bench, as he had dozens of times before, and fell into the temporarily comfortable position.

"The idea is not to keep repeating the lesson Ed," Mustang said, teasing gently.

"You can do what you want, I won't give in to anyone," Ed snapped. Always the stubborn side, always the will wild pride which wouldn't let the boy submit.

Mustang sighed. And every time the theatrics. "Ed, be thankful that I am your colonel, and not someone who would actually become irritated with your empty threats."

"They're not empty!" Ed yelled. Mustang stepped up and brought the paddle to Ed's face, but Ed yanked away and turned his face to the side. "Get it out of my face!"

"Ed." Mustang scolded. "Give it a kiss." He moved the paddle closer, but Ed jerked his face down and closed his eyes in stubborn refusal. "Come on, neither of us want this."

"Neither of us." Ed snorted. Mustang let the paddle linger a moment, protocol outlined that Ed should acknowledge and except the instrument of his correction, and Mustang had interpreted this clause like so. Protocol also had much to say about subordinates who refused to, but Mustang had never been keen on those paragraphs with Ed. Instead, the man let his eyes roll dramatically when Ed kept his face tucked away and he dropped the paddle back to his side. Good grief.

"Like you care," Ed muttered irritably, beneath his breath, but conveniently loud enough to be heard. "Neither of us want this...psh, like you even care." Always the drama.

Protocol had some things to say about this type of attitude as well, but Mustang casually lost those pages to Ed's file. Oops. So he dealt with it his own way.

Mustang lifted the paddle up and swung it into Edward's small leather clad ass. Edward was of a small lithe build and kneeling submissively on the spanking bench was a genuine sight. For some officers this sight would encourage harder blows, longer blows, or many many more blows. They'd want to see the boy who could look so very young yell and squirm as they punished him. They might deliberately exert their command to snuff out or spite Ed's running mouth, but Mustang…Mustang casually forgot to be annoyed by Ed's insubordinate comments.

The Fullmetal Alchemist was his soldier, and because Edward was his Mustang knew much of Fullmetal was for show. He knew the often insane comments, loud tone, constant stomping, and disrespectful snickering was…constant deposit into the bank account Ed had opened to ensure that no one would forget he was part of the team, and hopefully most would forget his age.

This had taken Mustang only a few days of reigning over Ed to figure out, and he remembered rolling his eyes and sighing heavily when the path of monotonous repetition spread out before him. He warned the boy once, on day four. He pointed to the spanking bench and said, don't put yourself there. On day five Ed felt it for the first time, and Mustang was doubtful even then that experiencing it would curve Ed's behavior. Now he wished he'd actually taken up a bet on the subject. Ed's wide eyed look of dread when he was told what would happen when he became "obnoxious" or "neglectful" of topics the military found important, was enough to suggest the boy would do everything in his power to avoid said consequences…but no, not Edward. Winning that bet would have fed Mustang for a week.

On day five Mustang accidentally spilled some of Ed's personnel folder, and specifically the sheets outlining protocol for progressive discipline into the garbage along side his desk. He decided he would run Ed the same way he ran his office: his way. So he disciplined the boy appropriately, but never overly sympathetic or harsh.

Ed flinched with the first blow. The loose bangs about his forehead gave a small hop forward, and Mustang watched Ed's shoulders and tiny rear tighten. Even without Mustang applying excessive force, Ed was still a young boy, and he was still being paddled. Mustang gave another smooth arch with the weapon, and Ed shifted uncomfortably with the second blow. By the third Mustang began to target each cheek and Ed spoke.

"This is crap," Ed snapped, flinching with the fifth impact.

"You'll be fine," Mustang said, landing a sixth dead center on Ed's right cheek.

"Ow!" Ed snapped, jerking his head around and glaring. "Geez Mustang!" Ed's small white gloved hand came back and began rubbing.

"Put your hand back." Mustang gently knocked Ed's hand off with the paddle.

Ed quickly wiggled it back onto the pert of his rear and gave one last rubbing squeeze while muttered a sour, "Yeah yeah." Ed replaced his hand. "You don't have to single out my—you could show some restraint!" Ed complained as Mustang raised the paddle back again.

Mustang paused, paddle held high and considered this before giving a soft chuckle and landing the blow.

"Ow!" Ed snapped, before grumbling. "Don't laugh." Mustang suppressed the chuckle that rose up his throat and gave Ed two fast hearty ones from either cheek. Ed shuddered directly after them and tipped his forehead to rest on his clenched hands. They continued with some silence, Mustang was slow yet methodical, and kept each blow controlled and consistent. After five more Ed adjusted his hands to grip the top of the padded top he was leaning on, and after two more knocked his forehead into it a few times.

"Relax," Mustang said, stopping mid swing. Ed immediately weaseled a hand back and began rubbing quickly. "Move the hand," Mustang ordered.

"I am gonna!" Ed snapped, rubbing viciously at the middle of his cheeks where he was feeling the burn from the brunt of the blows. Mustang reached forward and pulled Ed's hand away, and Ed coiled it back to his side with a small uncomfortable grunt.

Mustang placed his hand on Ed's lumbar for a moment, considering Ed's small black rear. It looked untouched, but he knew this was untrue. With the paddle in his right, he plucked the glove off his left and gently ran his hand over Ed's cheeks to gauge the heat.

"Don't touch!" Ed snapped, head snapping up. Mustang ignored this, and gently pet the middle and underneath where Ed had been rubbing. Ed's skin was hot.

"You're very warm." Mustang stroked his thumb down the pert of Ed's rear, and Ed buckled his knees so it dropped from reach.

"I said, get your hands off," Ed said, speaking with angry authority. As if he had any at the moment.

"I won't give you many more with your pants on," Mustang said, thinking aloud.

Ed looked back, suddenly optimistic. "Really?" he asked, breaking a wide smile. "Sweet." Ed was up in a second. He staggered a step away from the spanking bench and broke into a solute.

"Ed." Mustang scolded

"You're the best colonel ever, have I ever told you that before?" Ed asked, flashing an innocent grin. "That's what I say whenever people ask. I always campaign in favor of your hard work and dedication colonel."

"Really."

"Every time." Ed nodded with conviction before reaching forward and giving Mustang's arm a friendly slap. "You can ask anyone, that's what I say. Patriotic with mastery leadership, that's what I say."

"I am not falling for this."

Ed's smile dropped. "Aw, come on," Ed groaned. "This is crap. I am fourteen! I am not little anymore. You can't haul me over your lap or any other perverted things you higher-ups like to do to young blonde boys. It is cause I am blonde, isn't it?" Ed teased, giving Mustang an accusatory poke in the chest.

Mustang snatched Ed's poking finger with a small humored grunt. "You're funny," he admitted. Ed was trying desperately for humor. "But you have a much stronger will than a meager few paddles over your pants." Mustang turned Ed to face the spanking bench using the hand caught in his own.

"Okay," Ed agreed reluctantly. "I'll go down for more, but…" Ed silenced, beginning a blush he was trying to fight. "But let me keep them."

"Just bend back down and we'll do it together."

"Just my shorts," Ed said quickly. "You can have the pants." Ed broke a few agreeing nods. "That's a fair deal. That's a good deal." Ed had no negotiation skills. "Roy, okay? How about that?" Ed's humor had evaporated with the blossom of his embarrassment, and he was licking his lips quickly. Trying to think of something witty, clever, funny, anything to help his cause, but nothing was coming. "That's my final offer."

"Why don't you take them down now, you have privacy," Mustang said. This was not something he had to offer the boy. This was not something most colonels granted. In fact, had someone made sure Mustang was delivered a complete version of the protocol he was supposed to be following, and not one missing so many pages; he might have known this was not even within his jurisdiction to grant. "Don't dwell on it," Mustang said casually. "This is easy. It's just your ass Fullmetal, you know it's easy." He helped Ed through it. Where he knew the boy had a hard time, he helped, and Ed responded. Without the drama, thank you.

Ed stepped up and knelt onto the first rung of the bench quickly, and just as quickly he was unfastening his pants, hunched into himself feeling embarrassed but somehow capable.

"It's not too bad," Mustang added, tone almost indifferent and if anything, distracted. "Tomorrow we'll laugh about it."

Ed shoved his pants to his knees, boxers and leather together. He did so while crouched as low as he could get so nothing but what he had to show was shown.

"You've seen it before anyway," Ed muttered, tone falsely sour. He was determined to keep stalking ahead, to stay strong no matter what.

Mustang smiled. "That's true." He raised the paddle again and this time the target was one small bare collection of skin, bent over and clenched. Ed was waiting for it, hanging tight to either side of the bench with a pink color blushing the middle and underneath of his cheeks. Roy knew this was where the boy was most sensitive. He knew he could hurt him if he wanted to. Really make these sting, really make them fucking burn, force Ed to suffer and push the pain limit up until Ed was reduced to radically embarrassing himself and doing something as desperate as begging or crying for some leniency.

It was Mustang's choice. It was with his own power he decided what to do. Who knew what protocol actually said here, no one had provided that information. He aimed higher up, just center and a half an inch above so the blows would not sting too greatly, and let the paddle drop.

"Ow," Ed whispered, after the first one hit. Hot and hitting already warmed skin. The sensation was clapping your hands, well after your body had told you to stop. The impact to your skin was well beyond comfort level. "Ouch." Mustang moved smoothly back and forth from each check. "Ow." Ed gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and took long in and exhales trying to stay perfectly still. The sound was drumming, a perfect temp, and it was HOT. "Ow," Ed groaned, tossing his hand back. He couldn't take it; it had to stop for a second! The paddling immediately stopped and Ed was rubbing quickly between both cheeks. The skin beneath his palm was blazing, and the rubbing sensation caused an itching but at least it stopped the heat for the split second his hand was touching it.

Mustang reached forward without comment, and with a gentle but firm grasp, took Ed's wrist and locked it comfortably over the low of Ed's back to restrain it. Then he continued. Ed thrust his hips forward with the first blow but kept silent. Mustang planned to end it. He did two quick passes from either cheek, landing two before punctuating with a solid blow to both. It had more strength than anything he'd dealt yet, and Ed cried out a sharp, "OW!"

Mustang stopped, and Ed was panting heavily after the sudden shark bite which came out of no where. A bit wide eyed Ed looked back at the colonel and Mustang smiled. "Can't let you think I am a push over, can I?" he asked. He released Ed's hand and Ed shot up nursing his red skin. Ed was puffing quick breaths through pursed lips while rubbing frantically before ripping his pants up. The action was clear, Ed wanted to rub like crazy, but he didn't want to stand half dressed.

Mustang ignored all of this and politely left and put the paddle away. "Now you've been disciplined," he said, locking the cabinet again. He walked to his desk and stamped the note with his fire emblem, before extending it. Ed was fully dressed and frowning at him with both hands scrubbing his bottom. Mustang had to chuckle. "Try not to get in so much trouble Ed." Ed looked sour, but came obediently and took the note with one hand still rubbing. "At least trouble that requires I take time away from work."

"So sorry to inconvenience you," Ed said, scowling. That was how the colonel approached this? Time away from work! "I'd prefer it another way too ya know." Ed jammed the note into his pocket and gave a mock solute. Then he turned to the door. "Later."

Mustang sunk back into his desk chair and picked up his pen. Just to tease, and without a shred of belief such a bar might ever be met, he called out, "Aim for the straight and narrow Fullmetal!"

Still heading for the door Ed raised his hand and lifted his middle finger without missing a beat. He opened it swiftly and slammed it behind him, and Mustang was left chuckling down to his report.

Cute?

Ed/Roy are my favorite FMA spanking pair, and although I love the traditional parental spanking fics with them, I tried to add a bit of office spice to this one. Mustang's not such a big bad guy; I love to see him taking a caring yet needed approach to Ed's discipline.

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