Depositing the two loathed items in the middle of Hotch's living room, Reid raised a last ditch set of puppy dog eyes. Dutifully ignoring the silent plea of a condemned man and stuffing his cell down the side of the sofa, Hotch sighed and stood slowly up. He felt suddenly much more like a man in his seventies than one in his forties. Striding over to the all too familiar set up, he plucked up the thick hairbrush that sat on the seat of the high-backed chair and handed it silently to Reid before sitting down in its place.
"You hold on to this. It will do you absolutely no harm to be looking at it whilst I tan your behind with my hand, all the while knowing it's only going to get worse for you."
Taking the brush on autopilot, Spencer spluttered in indignation.
"This is cruel and unusual punishment."
Hotch responded by pushing up the arm of his navy sweater with a stern frown.
"No, this is calm and measured punishment. Learn the difference together with your lesson and we wouldn't have to be in this position so often."
He looked down at his knee meaningfully.
"Over."
Despite knowing he had perhaps never deserved the trip he was about to take more, a physiological instinct for self-preservation prevented Reid from doing as he was bid. Chewing his lip and feeling the impossibly heavy weight of the brush in his hand, he stalled for all he was worth.
"Can't you just write me up?"
Hotch blinked before recovering quickly.
"Sure," he acceded slowly. "If that's what you want. I mean, something of this magnitude isn't a write up in the usual sense. I think you know that. If I go through official Bureau channels with this, it's instant termination and potential criminal action. You broke the law, Reid. Not just Bureau protocol, you broke the actual law. Take my word as a former prosecutor that the DA's office would have a field day with you if this ever got out."
He paused for the briefest moment and allowed a marginally softer tone to creep into his voice.
"But if that's what you want, that is what we will do. I would never force you to accept these… admittedly unorthodox consequences. You get to decide how you pay for this, Reid, but there is no scenario on this earthly realm whereby you don't pay for this. You screwed up and you screwed up big time. Actions have consequences and you need to decide what yours are going to be."
He looked up meaningfully.
"You need to make that decision now. If I stall in bringing this to the attention of the Bureau, that brings down even more unwanted attention on the team. I can't have that, Reid. We're hanging on by a thread as it is. So, what's it going to be? A blistered backside or a pink slip?"
He fell silent with the weight of his ultimatum pinching his chest. The idea, the very idea of having to fire Reid was intolerable. It would kill him. But he knew it had to be the kid's choice and that he would respect whatever that decision was… whether he liked it or not. His dread laden anticipation was short lived.
"I don't want a pink slip, Hotch."
Hotch breathed an unseen sigh of relief and forced himself to retain his stern exterior.
"Then you know what to do. Bend over my knee and let's get this taken care of. The longer you stall, the worse it will be and you know that. This isn't the first time you've tried to worm your way out of what you know full well you deserve and it never aids your case to do so."
He patted his knee.
"Over. Now."
Biting his lip in sheer, unadulterated misery, Reid shuffled closer to Hotch's side. It was with the most marked of marked distaste that he slowly allowed himself to be draped over the older man's knee in a position that was all too familiar to him. Closing his eyes in acceptance of his fate as Hotch snaked a firm hold around his waist, Reid forced himself to examine his conscience and affirm that if ever there was a time he had earned a tanning, it was now. Even accepting that fact couldn't have prepared him for the intensity of the first swat that landed on his cords clad rear.
Hotch was not holding back.
Rarely, if ever, lecturing when having the boy genius over his knee, Hotch was silent as he methodically launched into what would be a thorough whooping. Working in logical progression from upper behind to sit spots, he leathered Reid's prone behind with exacting swats. Despite never having engaged in manual labour, his hands were hard and large and were more than adequate to paint a shade of red across the Doctor's behind. He wasn't surprised to hear the yelps and hisses of pain so early on in proceedings as he added a particularly punishing swat to Reid's left cheek and hardened his heart against the sounds of distress from his unashamed favourite. The boy had a lesson to learn and it was incumbent on him to teach him that very lesson.
"Ow. Hotch," the kid spluttered as another unforgiving swat landed. "It's too… hard!"
The next swat was just as unforgiving.
"I know it's hard," Hotch said calmly. "It needs to be hard. You need to know that if you ever pull something like this again that you won't sit for a month. It needs to be hard because it would be very hard for me to explain to the parents of a murdered child that I didn't have one of the best profilers in the world on my team to help them because he was fired for breaking the law."
With that, he resumed his steady rhythm of hand to butt without lessening the force one jot. It was only when Reid's eyes began to water and he began to squirm across Hotch's knee in a pointless attempt to elude his punishment that the swats suddenly stilled. With Reid never knowing how much of a toll it took on him, Hotch rubbed a small comforting circle on the kid's back before releasing his grip.
"Stand up. Pants and shorts down please."
The splutter of pleading horror was far from unprecedented.
"You either stand up and drop them now or I start your spanking from scratch and you stand up and drop them in a couple of minutes. You know I will and so it's entirely your call. Either way, you will do as you are told."
Knowing that Hotch didn't make empty threats, Reid slowly stood with a loud hiss. Helpfully taking the brush that the kid still clutched from him, Hotch looked away as the genius slowly fumbled with his waistband before pushing his pants and shorts to his knees. Giving an approving nod, Hotch reached out and carefully guided the kid back across his knee. Wincing at the already vibrantly red cheeks that seemed to glare at him in judgment, he took a deep breath.
"Alright, Reid. You might want to brace yourself. Time for the hairbrush."
The miserable nodding of the sandy brown head broke his heart.
"M'sorry Hotch, I really am…"
The older man closed his eyes and wished to high heaven he could relent but knew it would be entirely counter-productive to do so.
"I know you are," he said softly. "You're doing great. Just take it easy on the squirming and we will be done in a few minutes. Ok? You need to hold still. This brush could really hurt you if it lands somewhere it shouldn't and I don't want that."
The answering snort was derisive as hell.
"I'm pretty sure it's going to really hurt if it lands exactly where it's supposed to, Hotch."
"You know what I meant….your leg or…" Hotch sighed. "Never mind.
Before Reid could process what was coming, the first lick of the heavy wooden hairbrush had landed. As ever, he was amazed at the sting one small piece of wood could produce. He bit back a small whimper and settled in for the long haul. Hotch didn't break out the hairbrush all that often, confident in his hands ability to make a point, and so when he did… he meant business. All too soon the living room was alive with the sounds of cracking wood on soft skin. All too soon after that, those sounds were intermingled with Reid's yelps of pain and unanswered pleas for leniency. The dam of Reid's tears broke when a series of well-aimed licks assailed his sit spots and his soft sobs joined the fray, much to Hotch's sadness.
"Are you ever going to do something like this again?"
The brush stilled just long enough for a watery, strained answer to waft upwards.
"No… no I will never do it again. I promise…"
The brush added two more smarting swats to its kill count.
"What do you think will happen if I find out that you, as a serving Federal Agent, ever break the law under my nose again? No matter how justified or otherwise you think the reason is?"
Reid sniffled down another sob and tried to sound collected as he stared tearily at the carpet.
"You'll… do this again."
The brush scoffed at his answer by laying down four searing licks in close succession.
"Try again."
Reid howled with pain and forced himself to think rationally.
"You'll… you'll use your belt…."
Hotch nodded and was grateful that Reid couldn't see his face to call him out on his lies. He could never use the belt with the kid. As hard as it was to upend him over his knee and spank him into next week, the thoughts of something as clinical as a belt whooping was beyond him. Still, the kid didn't need to know that and if a healthy amount of fear was the difference between jail and no jail, he'd lie like a politician and lose not a wink of sleep.
"You're damn right I'll use my belt," he fibbed smoothly. "I will strap you until you sell all your furniture because the mere thought of sitting down makes your head spin. You do not break the law. You do not source and possess illegal narcotics and you do not try and supplement your Mother's medication regime with untested meds. Do I make myself clear?"
Reid yowled as Hotch punctuated his query with searing licks to the middle of his now flamingly crimson behind.
"It's clear! Ow.. Hotch… please. It's clear. Please man…"
"It better be clear," the older man countered grimly. "Because if I ever have cause to discipline you for something like this again you will rue the day. You should bear in mind that this is only your first of two hidings for this debacle and if you have any ideas about doing something similar to this again… just remember you have the exact same spanking coming to you in a couple of days for your lip and attitude. Do you understand me?"
Reid whimpered across his knee and nodded miserably.
"Yes, Hotch."
Closing his eyes in relief at the clear repentant tone, Hotch resolved to bring the punishment to an end. Tightening his grip around Reid's slender waist he held him tightly before laying down a barrage of red-hot licks across the glowing backside. Reid bucked across his knee but had nowhere to go as Hotch lifted his right knee slightly and leathered the boy's reddened sit spots for the final time before throwing the brush out of his hand to the backdrop of Reid's soft sobbing. As was his norm, he replaced a punishing hand with a comforting one as he rubbed his hand across the small of Reid's back silently, allowing the kid to cry himself out. The sobbing turned into petering sobbing which eventually turned into congested sniffling as the minutes ticked away. Just when Hotch was beginning to become concerned, Spencer peeled himself off his knee with a small yelp. Looking away as he righted his clothes with a pained gasp, Hotch silently returned the chair and the hairbrush to their rightful spots, lamenting the fact he wasn't done with them. When he returned and found a tear-stained Spencer looking morosely at him, he felt the usual surge of self-hatred.
It was times like this he loathed, despised and otherwise abhorred being the Boss.
"How you doing, Spencer?"
His tone was remarkably different to its predecessor and the boy breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm ok…" he said croakily. "Well, I've been more comfortable in my life… but I'm ok…"
Hotch smiled a very rare smile. Reaching out, he pulled the kid into a tight hug and felt relief when it was immediately returned. He wasn't an overly tactile or physically affectionate person but Reid was practically guaranteed a hug after he'd had his backside tanned. It was Hotch's way of making it clear that his slate was clean and the status quo had returned. Releasing the kid with a quick ruffle of his unruly hair he wasn't surprised at the question that was blurted out.
"When are you giving me the second one?"
Hotch considered this and decided he could afford to be somewhat democratic.
"I assumed you would appreciate a few days in between so… seeing as today is Wednesday… how about next Wednesday? I can't be any fairer than that."
Reid looked at him with his impossibly brown eyes.
"You could… by waiving the second one."
Hotch rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.
"Don't try me. Next Wednesday or tomorrow night. Your choice."
Reid shrugged in chagrin. There was no harm in trying.
"Next Wednesday… which kind of sucks because I will just be about ready to sit by then."
Snorting, Hotch gently guided the rogue to his usual spot on the living room sofa and shook his head at the dramatized wince.
"Don't be so dramatic. You were spanked. Not hung, drawn and quartered like I ought to do with you."
Reid smiled his own crooked smile at this.
"Any chance of that dark hot chocolate you make? With extra cream?"
Staring down at his resident genius with raised brows, Hotch couldn't help but chuckle.
"You break numerous laws, give me the height of cheek and attitude on multiple occasions… and then have the audacity to sit there and ask me for hot chocolate? Do you have any self-awareness whatsoever?"
Reid blinked unrepentantly, his red rimmed eyes scoring him points with the long-suffering Hotch.
"I'm self-aware enough to know that you're definitely going to make that dark hot chocolate… with extra cream."
"Unbelievable," Hotch muttered as he set off towards the kitchen only allowing himself a relieved smile when he was safely out of view. He harboured serious and troubling doubts about how he disciplined Reid… fearing he would one day grow to resent him. It comforted him to know that the kid was happy and felt safe in his presence even after being taken in hand. He pottered around in making the hot chocolate before returning to find a bemused looking Reid. Instantly suspicious of the small smirk, he set down the steaming cup of hot chocolate with a raised brow.
"What have you been up to?"
Reid grinned and held out Hotch's cell in his right hand with a new message icon pinging off the screen.
"What have I been up to? What have you been up to?"
He tossed the phone to Hotch who caught it deftly and scanned the latest message from Rossi with a frown. An all too familiar and yet long forgotten twinge in his stomach assailed him which wasn't one bit assisted by the kid's teasingly sing song voice in the background.
"Looks like Rossi isn't that happy with you, Hotch."
The wearied Team Lead shot his incorrigible charge a warning glare which was promptly ignored.
"Don't worry," Reid said with only the slightest tinge of churlishness. "At least Rossi only drones on and on and on… he'll just talk the ear off you. Unlike me and my poor, third-degree-burned backside. You should count yourself lucky you're the Boss, you know. Whatever Rossi's annoyed about, you can just tell him to drop it."
He sighed as he stretched out on the couch.
"I wish I could do that."
Glancing down at the message shining up at him, Hotch sighed.
He wished he could do that, too.
…
Hope you guys enjoyed?
Inks x
….