Realising that the time for talking was spent, Peter stood without another word and strode into the kitchen. Returning with one of the tall, straight backed kitchen chairs, he pretended not to notice Neal's miserable gulp of despair. Planting the chair firmly in the middle of the room, he sat down and made quick work of unrolling the sleeve of his right arm and pushing it firmly up to the crook of his elbow. Sitting right back in the chair so that Neal would have more than ample room to bend over his knee, he crooked a brow at his deflated looking charge.
"Go into the kitchen and fetch me the wooden spoon please, Neal."
He could, of course, have fetched the thick and squat wooden spoon that had never stirred a stew in its lifetime when passing. However, his father had always made him collect whatever implement was to warm his behind as a knuckleheaded college freshman and it was a trait he was unconsciously passing down to Neal. As predicted, Neal baulked and held up his hands in puppy-eyed protest. Shaking his head firmly, Peter slipped into his utmost of no-nonsense modes.
"Neal. Your behind is getting a licking it won't soon forget with that wooden spoon. That is a simple fact of life. The only thing, and I do mean the only thing, that you will achieve by delaying in bringing it to me is that I will use it for twice as long and twice as hard. If you hold any aspirations of sitting down this week, I suggest you go in there and fetch it within the next ten seconds. One… two…"
With a groan of despair, Neal made the wise call and stalked into the kitchen. Pulling the relevant drawer open with more force than was strictly necessary, he eyed the devilish spoon with hatred. Scooping it up with his eyes closed, he slouched slowly back into the living room and handed it wordlessly out to Peter who shook his head.
"Put it on the floor for now. Right where you can see it. I think it will do you the world of good to know what's coming just when you think your butt couldn't possibly hurt any more. Don't you?"
Neal growled as he did as he was bid.
"It's not like you to add emotional distress to physical distress, Peter."
"It's not like you to blatantly lie to me either, Neal."
Swallowing the well-deserved retort with all the grace of a rabid racoon, Neal shuffled miserably in front of his executioner. He couldn't possibly know that under Peter's sternest of stern exteriors that the man's heart was breaking at his forlorn face and downcast eyes. Knowing that justice delayed was justice denied, Peter guzzled down some air and vowed to get through the miserable time that lay ahead by reminding himself, cliché though it was, that it was for the boys own good.
"Alright Neal. Get those slacks down to your knees and bend over my knee. Let's get started."
Predictably, the young man yowled in despair.
"Peter! You usually let me keep them up for a while… I…."
"Get those slacks down to your knees right now, Neal. I am not negotiating with you on the norms versus the changes of this situation. That's not my goal right about now. My goal right about now is to tan that behind of yours to such an extent that you never, ever even dream of pulling a boneheaded stunt like this again. You can count yourself damn lucky I'm not starting straight on your bare butt. If you keep this up, I might change my mind on that too and give you something to really whine about."
Neal knew a sinking ship when he was on one and miserably reached up to his belt buckle. Kicking his shoes off as he deftly unbuckled the expensive leather belt, he took a deep breath and let his designer trousers slip down to his knees. He closed his eyes miserably as he felt the cool wind draft over his prone behind.
"That's better. Now, bend over my knee. Hands and feet on the floor and keep them there."
Neal shuffled sadly and shot one last ditch puppy dog look at the long-suffering Peter.
"Neal," Peter warned. "This is the last time I am going to tell you. Either you bend over my knee right now or I will put you over. If I have to put you over you better believe that those boxers are coming straight down. Its your choice."
That's all it took. Albeit with poor grace, Neal immediately moved to Peter's right-hand side and took the all too familiar trip over the man's knee. He bit his lip as he felt the older man's left-hand snake firmly around his torso and hold him securely in place. He had been in the unfortunate position he found himself in far too many times to think that any squirming would be fruitful under Peter's restraining hold. Neal planted his hands on the floor and stared at the all too familiar patch of carpet and waited for his sentence to commence.
"Why are you about to be very thoroughly spanked, Neal?"
The word thoroughly hung in the air like smog.
"Because I lied to you," Neal mumbled miserably. "I deliberately made myself sick so that I could tell you I was sick without it technically being a lie… but it was a lie even if it was a clever one. I'm really sorry Peter…"
"I'm sure you are, Neal," Peter answered sternly. "You're always sorry when you're over my knee about to have your hide lit up. It seems to me that we would both be much better served if you could think about how sorry you feel right now before you pull deceitful, disobedient and dangerous stunts. Right?"
Neal's cheeks flushed as red as his nether region cheeks were about to.
"Yes, Peter."
"Uh huh," the elder man said dryly. "For the avoidance of doubt, this is number what of how many spankings you have bought yourself for this outrageous, boneheaded and decidedly moronic stunt?"
Feeling somewhat objectionable to the use of the word moronic, Neal wisely kept his counsel.
"It's one of three," he practically whispered.
Peter, loathing himself for having to be the bad guy in the extreme, nodded firmly.
"Good. Now, with every lick that lands on this butt tonight I want you thinking about why you never, ever lie to me. You and I are never going to have a one hundred percent open and honest relationship. I am not delusional… but we are going to have a mostly open and honest relationship and that means you do not lie to me. Not directly and not be clever omission. Nothing can and will jeopardise your deal and freedom like lying to me will. If I don't know what I need to know to protect you then I can't protect you. You do not risk your deal for anyone or anything. I… you can't go back to jail, Neal. You just can't. You hear me?"
Neal heard the underlying pain in Peter's voice and felt the guilt of a thousand snakes writhe in his stomach. It was unspoken but it was as clear as brass in a bell that Peter wasn't talking about losing Neal in a professional capacity. Swallowing guiltily, the dark mop of hair bobbed up and down in immediately agreement.
"I hear you, Peter," Neal said softly. "I'll never do it again…"
At that, the seasoned Agent couldn't help but snort and roll his eyes.
"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that…"
Neal, despite his precarious position, grinned a little.
"I guess I'm a slow learner."
At that, Peter tightened his grip on his rogue's torso and pulled him closer so that his boxer clad behind was angled perfectly into the firing line.
"I guess I'm going to have to teach you a tougher lesson then."
With that, the time for talking was done and the first swat of Peter's hard, wide hand landed with a brisk crack upon Neal's right cheek before an identical swat landed on his left. The speed and force of the swats were on the upper end of the upper scale and Neal's eyes flew open as the instant bite of pain reached his brain. Usually, Peter had the heart to ease him into a tanning with lighter swats at a slower pace but it was clear as day that concession was out the window on this one. Within ten seconds, the comfortable living room sang with the sound of hard, crisps swats. Peter concentrated on covering the entirety of Neal's behind which he accomplished with ease. Neal, ever concerned with appearances, grit his teeth tightly to precent the yelps that organically sprang to his mouth as the sharp pain in his behind increased with every second. Peter was silent as he continued to pepper the boy's backside in exacting swats. Without warning or regret, he stopped his rhythm only for the three seconds it took to swiftly pull Neal's boxers right down to his knees.
The dull red hue of Neal's backside was not surprising.
Starting up again, Peter was not surprised to hear Neal's first yelp as his leathery hand came down on bare skin for the first time. Remembering the strength of his own father's hand, he felt a stab of pity for his favourite pain-in-the-head. The colour of Neal's punished bottom rapidly bloomed from dull red to a fiery red under the steady spanking. Paying particular attention to Neal's tender sit spots, he closed his heart with some difficulty to the kid's loud yelps, burgeoning squirming and slight kicking of his feet.
"Keep those feet on the floor and stay still, Neal," he warned softly. "If they reach up here to block your butt you'll be buying yourself extra time."
Neal immediately stilled his feet and torso and fought like hell to keep the cries of his pain deep in his throat as Peter mercilessly reddened his prone rear end. He'd been spanked by Peter more times than he cared to admit but this was a level above most of those tannings. With every swat that landed he was moved closer and closer to tears that he would eventually have to shed. With one particularly unforgiving swat on his left upper thigh, he yelped out loud.
"Peter! I… c'mon, I'm sorry…"
Peter, in response, landed a swat of equal force on Neal's right upper thigh.
"It's too late for I'm sorry, Neal. You can tell me you're sorry when I'm done with you… which is no time soon."
With that, he continued to silently whoop Neal's now ruby red behind without pause or hesitation. It wasn't long before Neal began to whimper as the sharp swats continued to bounce around the living room. Peter held him closer as his involuntary squirming started up again and brought his hand down with sniper precision over and over again on the well chastised bottom over his knee. Neal, having no choice but to forego any aspiration of stoicism, yowled freely and loudly as his spanking continued for longer than he believed possible.
"Peter… no, no…. stop. Please…. I'll never lie again… OW….please… I've learned my lesson"
Feeling his heart splinter, Peter forced himself to remain strong.
"Unfortunately Neal, you only learn the hard way and the hard way is through a long, hard spanking. We're nowhere near done young man so you better use this time to think about how you're never going to do anything like this ever again…."
At this, Neal let out a strangled sob and began crying very softly into the soft carpet. As dramatic as he was normally, Peter had learned long since that the kid didn't do loud and histrionic sobbing when he was getting a well-earned tanning. Rather, he cried softly and deeply and that, Peter knew, was harder than hell to listen to. Taking a deep breath, Peter worked hard on ensuring no square inch of the boy's behind was left unscathed and the room was silent save for Neal's quiet crying and unrelentingly brisk swats until suddenly the swats fell silent. Unable to help himself, Peter rubbed soothing circles on the small of Neal's back and spoke gently to him.
"Alright Neal, you're alright. You're doing great buddy. I know this is hard… I know it hurts… but you're doing great. Take a deep breath now… and another one. Good. That's good. Okay…. I need you to pass me the wooden spoon now."
Neal, who had been comforted by Peter's gentle tone, shook his head violently.
"Please, Peter," he choked out in a watery whisper. "It already hurts so bad… please don't…."
The elder Agent bit his lip as abject misery and self-loathing flooded him. It broke his damn heart to hear his recalcitrant rogue sound so broken. Neal always bounced back like an elastic band within an hour or two of a punishment but it was still hard as hell to hear his dampened spirit in the throws of one.
"I know it hurts; I know it does…" he said quietly. "But you still have a sound spanking with the wooden spoon coming to you. We're nearly done, ok? We're nearly done. Pass me that spoon now and let's get this over and done with. C'mon Neal…"
With a spluttered sob, Neal reached out, grabbed the spoon and passed it back. Peter closed his eyes in relief as he took the heavy implement from the kid's clammy grasp. As much as Neal would never believe it, he wanted the punishment to be over as much as Neal did. Tightening his grasp on the smooth handle, he took a deep breath and tapped the spoon lightly on Neal's scorched backside.
"Hold still, Neal."
With that, the spoon made one smooth arc into the air before crashing down on its target with military precision. Neal's strangled, spluttered yelp was to be expected before it morphed back into the kid's steady stream of tears. Peter groaned inwardly as he settled into a punishing rhythm, coating Neal's crimson bottom and sit spots with firm licks. It didn't take long for Neal's taut torso to deflate and for him to lay completely limp over his knee emitting a soft stream of sobs. No further squirming or pleading was to be seen or heard as Peter spanked the kid thoroughly and without reprieve. Lifting his right knee upwards slightly and tipping Neal forward, Peter paid special attention to the exposed sit spots, intent on Neal feeling the after effects of his punishment every time he sat down tomorrow. Finally, and after what felt like an eternity, the tired Agent snapped down the last two swats of spanking number one before throwing the wooden spoon onto the nearby armchair.
Neal, for his part, didn't even seem to realise his punishment was over as he wept silently over Peter's knee, his slim torso shaking somewhat with the exertion. Peter immediately placed a warm hand on the kid's back and rubbed it gently, muttering soft words of praise and forgiveness all the while. It took a while, then again Peter would have sat there all night if needs be, but Neal eventually seemed to realise the raining hellfire of swats he had absorbed at ceased.
"Are… are we done?" he sniffled quietly, his voice cracking with pain.
"We're done," Peter confirmed immediately. "You took that like a champ, Neal. It's done now, all done.
The unruly mop of hair bobbed up and down in acknowledgement.
"Can I get up now?"
Peter immediately unravelled his arm from Neal's torso and leaned back in the chair.
"Of course, buddy. You can get up whenever you're ready."
Slowly, and with some jerky movements, Neal peeled himself off of Peter's knee with a significant hiss of pain. The older man looked away and afforded the kid some privacy as Neal pulled up his boxers and slacks with another growl of pain. Standing and feeling the strain in his knees, Peter took the chair and spoon back into the kitchen in order to give Neal some time to catch his breath and wipe his eyes. When he walked back into the living room, he felt the all too familiar stab of sadness at the red rimmed eyes and flushed face that greeted him.
"How you doing, Neal?" he asked anxiously.
The reforming con looked up from the ground and took in a deep breath.
"Considering you just wore me out… I'm not doing too bad, Peter. Thanks for asking. You're a real sweetheart."
Peter experienced a wave of cresting relief at the boy's muted cheek. Crossing the small distance between them, he opened his arms and crooked a brow at his favourite, albeit maddening as hell, charge.
"Can this sweetheart get a hug or do you need some time?"
Neal considered this for a brief moment before moving slowly with a hint of uncharacteristic shyness. Peter reached out and pulled the kid into a bone crushing hug, carding a hand through the thick shock of hair. Neal stood stiff for just a moment before melting into the older man's embrace, sniffling slightly into his right shoulder. Releasing him after a few moments ago, Peter reached out and tipped Neal's chin upwards so they were eye-to-eye.
"I hate doing that, Neal," he said softly, seriously. "I know you might not believe me, but I do. I hate it. Please stop giving me so many reasons to have to put you over my knee. In particular, please stop giving me so many reasons to have to put you over my knee and spank you to the extent that I just did. Ok?"
Neal nodded vigorously.
"I will. I promise that you'll never need to do that ever again. Ever again."
Peter snorted and squeezed Neal's shoulder fondly.
"I think that's a bit of a reach kid but I'd be happier than you could ever know if that were to be the case. Now, I trust you learned your lesson? I trust that you learned, without a doubt, what happens when you lie to me?"
Neal rubbed a hand across his still damp eyes and nodded.
"I learned my lesson…. I know that you'll take a layer of skin off my ass if I lie to you."
Peter rolled his eyes with a small chuckle.
"Ok, that's a bit dramatic but I'll take it…."
Neal squawked reproachfully.
"Dramatic?! I am pretty sure if we were to go to the hospital right now and if they were to take an x-ray of my ass that it would be broken…"
Peter shook his head fondly.
"Incorrigible," he muttered. "You're completely incorrigible."
Neal managed a shadow of his usual smirk before sobering somewhat and ducking his head to the ground.
"Peter… I really am sorry you know. Not just because I've been spanked but because I should never have lied to you. I broke my own rule and… I should never have done that. I know it's hard for you to believe me right now but I promise I won't ever do it again. I won't…"
Peter felt his heart melt all over again. Reaching out, he gently pulled Neal into another hug and held him tightly before releasing him with a soft clap on the back.
"I know you're sorry, Neal. I know… what you need to know is that you're forgiven. You took your punishment extremely well and I'm very proud of you for that. We all do stupid things sometimes but it's how we deal with them that matters. You dealt with your mistakes like a man and you should be proud of yourself for that."
He tilted his head at a rapidly more cheerful looking Neal and spoke softly.
"Because I know I am."
The shy grin that crossed Neal's face was the tonic both men needed.
"You're quite eloquent for a government employee, Peter."
Snorting, Peter threw his eyes up to heaven in mock despair and pointed to the stairs.
"Less of the cheek you. Now, why don't you go on and get washed up for bed. You must be tired and we've got a long day tomorrow. We can catch an hour or so of that horrific Art show you like before we hit the hay if you like?"
Neal nodded agreeably and made to walk towards the stairs before turning to look at Peter with a sudden look of worry.
"Peter?"
Collapsing wearily into the sofa, the tired Agent raised a brow.
"Yeah, Neal?"
"Umm… El…. Is she mad at me?"
Grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV, Peter grinned at his protégé.
"Oh you bet your butt she's mad at you."
Neal baulked.
"Peter, this is not a laughing matter. You gotta help me. El gives lectures that would make even Death Row inmates repent. You gotta talk to her for me man. Explain double jeopardy to her. Do whatever you need to do so-"
The key in the door cut him short and he turned without another word and bolted up the stairs, hissing in pain, much to Peter's amusement. Satchmo bounded in and resumed his position on the armchair as El dropped down beside her long-suffering husband with a questioningly raised brow. She spoke loudly enough so that Neal, hovering nervously outside his appointed bedroom door, could hear.
"I trust I gave you enough time to light a fire in that boy's behind?"
Peter's chuckle answered her.
"You sure did, hon."
The silence that followed filled Neal with dread… rubbing his scorched behind furiously, he strained his ears to determine his fate. The idea of listening to an Elizabeth Burke lecture whilst seated on a blistered behind was about as appealing as a platter of gone off trout.
"I better bring the poor thing something to eat and drink. I hope you weren't too hard on him, Peter!"
Neal's face broke out into a grin at the sound of Peter's spluttered outrage.
"You just said that you hoped I tore his backside up! Which, yes, I did. Because he earned it!"
El sniffed delicately.
"That's neither here nor there. Now… I hope I have some Cornish hen left over from last night."
…..