Alright, here is the last chapter! I apologize if some parts of this one feel a little forced: I really wanted to get it done, but I was feeling rather uninspired. Anyway, I hope it's still enjoyable to read!
The wait seemed like forever. Every minute seemed to stretch into ten as Claude lay on the bed in his dormitory, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the professor to finish with the others. Ferdinand's frantic wails did nothing to calm his nerves, but it was even worse when he could hear the faint snap of the crop in Felix's room right next door. He was familiar with that sound, and could well imagine the fire it was leaving in its wake.
Had he thought of it earlier, he would have attempted to count the strokes to see just how thoroughly he could expect to be whipped tonight. As it was, there were far too many for his liking, and he thought with a sinking feeling that this might be the worst thrashing he had ever received. And yet, as nervous as he was, he also felt a sense of resignation. Reflecting on the day's events, he knew he would deserve every lick the professor gave him.
Teach was right...again. I wonder if I'll ever learn to listen to him...
When the sounds from next door finally quieted, he felt his heart begin to speed up its pace. The professor had already disciplined Ferdinand and Felix, and with Linhardt's dormitory on the first floor, Claude knew he would almost certainly be next.
He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he jumped slightly when the professor's knock finally sounded on his door. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed before calling out a soft "Come in."
When Byleth entered, Claude could only hold his gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes back down to the ground. The disappointment in his professor's eyes made his stomach feel like lead.
"Sorry for... all the trouble we caused today, Teach." Claude grimaced at how pathetic his own mumbled apology sounded, and glanced briefly up at the professor to gauge his reaction.
Byleth nodded as he considered Claude's apology. It seemed genuine enough, but he was not convinced it reflected an understanding of the real issue.
"By 'all this trouble,' do you mean disobeying a direct order and nearly getting yourself killed?"
While the question was asked calmly enough, there was a sharpness underlying Byleth's tone that made Claude wince.
"Uh... yes sir." He shifted uncomfortably, his stomach twisting at the anger radiating from his professor.
Byleth frowned slightly at the less than convincing response. Gesturing with his hand, he commanded "Stand up."
Claude quickly obeyed, his head tucked down and his hands fidgeting at his sides.
"Do you understand why you are being disciplined, Claude?"
Nodding slowly, Claude responded in a small voice, "Because we disobeyed your order to stay away from Derort. We went looking for him... on purpose. And... Teach?"
"Yes?"
"...Linhardt was right. It was my idea to fight him, even though I knew you said not to... I'm sorry."
"I appreciate your honesty, but Ferdinand was right as well: each one of you made his own decision. I hold you each individually responsible for your own actions, and no one else's."
"...Yes sir."
"Now, tell me this," he waited until Claude's eyes flicked back up to meet his, "Why did I tell you to stay away from Derort?"
Claude shuffled uncomfortably, "Um... because you knew we couldn't beat him..."
"That's right," Byleth's dark glare bore straight through his student, "I told you he would tear you apart. You disobeyed me, and in doing so you needlessly endangered yourself and almost died."
Wincing, Claude thought about how close he and the others had been to being wiped out by the dark lord. If the professor had not shown up when he did...
"I hope you know I will never tolerate you dealing so carelessly with your own life," after pulling Claude's pillow to the edge of the bed, Byleth continued in the same steely tone that left no room for argument, "You're getting thirty strokes. Drop your trousers and bend over the bed."
Claude cringed at the announcement; he had been right about this being the worst whipping he had ever gotten. Hanging his head with a quiet "Yes sir," he slowly made his way into the required position. A shudder rippled through him as he shifted to find the most comfortable version of the humiliating pose, hating the feeling of the cool air dancing across his naked ass. A moment later, he felt the crop brush lightly against his exposed skin, and his body tensed in preparation for what he knew was going to be one hell of a whipping.
Byleth paused a moment to let Claude feel the reality of his position before flicking the crop sharply across the boy's ass. Claude clenched his eyes tightly shut with a little gasp as the sting of the first swat settled into his skin. No matter how many times he experienced it, there was just no way to brace himself for that feeling. The next stripe fell just below the first, and he whimpered softly, pressing his forehead against the mattress.
Byleth was relived-if perhaps somewhat surprised-to see that Claude seemed to be fully submitted to his punishment. He accepted each stroke from the crop with little gasps and yelps, squirming slightly from the pain but not fighting the position at all. Perceiving that his student was truly repentant, Byleth fell into a steady rhythm of strokes at a pace that would hold the boy's attention while keeping the discipline from stretching out too long.
At times, Claude wondered if giving a thrashing was a standard skill for mercenaries to be trained in, or if his professor just happened to be particularly good at it. Each stroke was allowed a moment to settle into his skin, making him feel the sting of every stripe individually before the next one fell. He made no effort to suppress the gasps and yelps that tumbled from his mouth or the way his body jerked and shifted in response to each sharp impact.
When a particularly sharp stripe landed across the tops of his thighs, the pressure building behind his eyes overflowed, and he squeezed his eyes shut as tears tracked their way down his cheeks. A sob trickled from his mouth, followed by a yelp as the next stroke landed just below the last.
Initially, he had attempted to count the strokes to see how close he was to the allotted number, but he lost track fairly quickly as the building sting in his ass made it difficult to focus on anything else. The steady rhythm of the falling crop seemed to go on endlessly. Every swat seemed to sear across his skin more intensely than the last, and the fire burning in his ass was becoming unbearable. It required all of his effort to keep himself in the proper position, and there was no stopping the kicks and cries that accompanied each stripe.
Just when he was beginning to wonder if he could take any more, the rhythm of blows paused, and he felt the professor's hand against his back.
"You have five more, Claude."
The sound that escaped from Claude's mouth was somewhere between a whimper and a groan. He struggled to take in a shaky breath before sobbing out a pitiful "Yes sir…"
"I don't give orders for no reason. I value you and the others above all else, and the orders I give are for your benefit," As he spoke, Byleth snapped the crop down again across the middle of Claude's backside.
"Ahh!" Claude wailed as the bite of the crop burned across skin already striped with the welts of previous strokes. His head shot up and his body jerked back against the hand pressing him down. Each of the remaining four swats produced similar cries and squirming, with a steady stream of tears continuing to flow through his tightly closed eyes.
When the loud crack of the final stroke finally faded, Claude collapsed against the bed, his body shaking with uncontrolled sobs. He felt the mattress depress as Byelth sat beside him, and the hand that had held him down rubbed slowly up and down his back.
"M-M'sorry, Teach," he choked out through ragged breaths, "I nev-never listen to you…'M so… so stupid…"
A fresh sting blossomed in his ass as Byleth smacked him twice with the flat of his hand. Yelping at the unexpected assault on his already burning skin, Claude twisted to cast wide eyes up at his professor, who met his gaze with a stern frown.
"I never want to hear you say that again," the command was spoken quietly, but with unquestionable authority, "You made a bad decision, but you have been punished for it and will learn to make better choices in the future. You are not stupid. Do you understand me?"
"Y-Yes sir," Claude stuttered, feeling a warmth in his chest at the professor's words. All the tension seeped out of his body as he continued to sob into the mattress, a sense of calm security settling over him despite his smarting backside.
"Good boy," Byleth murmured, still rubbing his hand in slow circles on the boy's back.
They sat like that in silence for a while, Claude's sobs gradually trickling down to sniffles and occasional hiccoughs, and eventually settling into slow, even breaths. His eyelids drooped over his eyes, and his whole body took on a pleasant heaviness that made him feel like he might just melt into the bed beneath him.
Byleth stroked his hand down Claude's head and straightened, tugging gently on the boy's arm, "Alright, I think it's time for you to get some rest."
"Mmm," Claude mumbled, following Byleth's guidance and crawling up onto the bed, where he settled on his stomach and hugged his pillow with both arms.
"Hey, Teach..."
"Yes?" Byleth bent closer to hear his student's sleep-heavy words, running his fingers through the boy's hair once more.
"Thanks for... for always being there," Claude's half-closed eyes looked up at Byleth, and a little grin lifted the corner of his mouth, "You're the best professor I've ever had..."
His words faded as his eyes drifted close and his breath settled into a slow, deep rhythm. Byleth stood observing his sleeping student for a moment, the boy's sleepy words still resounding in his head. They had been spoken so softly, barely even mumbled, but he found their effect warmed him from the inside out.
Yes, teaching these students was a real challenge. He worked himself ragged at times trying to give them every opportunity to learn and grow, and often felt he made little headway. By then, at times like these, it all seemed worth it. As hard as tonight's lesson had been, his students were better off for it.
As he quietly left Claude's room and made his way back to his own, he reflected on the day's events. Thinking of the four boys he had just disciplined, now all sleeping peacefully, he allowed himself a deep sigh of relief that things had not turned out much worse from their encounter with Derort. Someday, he resolved, he would remove that man as a threat, completely.
When Byleth reached his own room, he ignored the stack of books and papers on his desk and climbed straight into bed. Lesson planning could wait until the morning; right now, his body felt heavy.
As sleep rapidly overtook him, Claude's mumbled words ran through his head again:
You're the best professor I've ever had.
There had been many times since coming to the monastery that Byleth had second-guessed his role as a teacher, but now, he could not imagine doing anything else.