Punishment for misbehaviour isn't normally a part of their scenes, but occasionally, just occasionally, one of them will push that little bit too hard, and the other will be in just the right mood to oblige.
Wolfe snaps the crop against Santi's thigh once, twice, thrice, punctuating each strike with a word. "Mind. Your. Manners." Santi takes the blows with a grin. He's sat on a chair, hands holding each other behind his back, and he's supposed to be sucking Wolfe off, but is using his mouth in other ways instead.
"Is that all you've got?"
"You are asking for it tonight, Captain." Wolfe warns, tempted to take the crop to him again but choosing instead to take a handful of hair at the back of Santi's head and direct him back to the task at hand. Santi lasts all of thirty seconds before pulling off with a pop and another grin.
"I was just saying-" This time Wolfe cuts him off with a slap, but even that doesn't knock the grin from Santi's face.
"I know what you were saying, and I don't want to hear it." Wolfe growls. He's starting to get frustrated at Santi, both his mouthing off and the fact that Wolfe's cock has been upsettingly hard for far too long now, and Santi is meant to be helping, not hindering. "I'd gag you, but I have a better use for your mouth." Wolfe hints, and thankfully Santi gets it. This time he sets to work with a will, doing something with his tongue that almost has Wolfe's knees buckling, humming deep in his chest to send vibrations running through Wolfe's cock. Wolfe is starting to regret choosing to stand for this, when Santi suddenly pulls away again, and Wolfe groans at the loss of simulation before focusing his attention on the man grinning up at him.
"We had an agreement, after all." This time Wolfe does crop him again, three more on Santi's inner thigh this time.
"You have one more chance." he growls. "Get to work."
"Is that a threat, Scholar?"
Wolfe considers his next options carefully. He won't win a physical fight against Santi, and the captain won't follow a direct order, not in the mood he's in, but - ah, yes. That will work. Wolfe pulls Santi up by the chin into a searing kiss and slowly starts pushing him backwards to the wall. Wolfe waits a few seconds for Santi to get into it before pulling away suddenly and pushing Santi further back into the wall.
It takes a few moments, but Wolfe thoroughly enjoys the changing expression on Santi's face as he realises first what Wolfe means, and then exactly how much trouble he's in. Santi bends his knees until he's in a wall sit, form as perfect as it can be. They've done this once before, after seeing another soldier do it at The Hive, and Santi had immediately declared it horrible but not a hard limit, and so it had gone on the very short list of actual punishments they have.
"Hands out. Palms up." Wolfe places the crop onto Santi's outstretched hands and then fetches the chair to place it in front of him and takes a seat.
"However long you hold the wall sit for will help determine how many strokes of the cane you get." Santi narrows his eyes at the careful wording. Wolfe had been sure not to specify exactly how that would work, if the strokes would be determined by how long he held it, or if he'd get less for holding it for longer. Santi doesn't need to know that Wolfe already has a number in mind, and will adjust his calculations accordingly.
Santi makes the first minute or so look easy, with only a slight tensing of his leg muscles showing any strain. Wolfe sits and watches in silence, enjoying the sight of his lover's body laid out before him, of Santi's flexing muscles trying to keep position, his breathing getting heavier and heavier as he starts to struggle more.
Wolfe had intended to sit and watch in silence, but just after the four minute mark, Santi gasps out "Talk to me," his arms losing their position a little as he speaks.
"I don't think you're in much of a position to make requests." Wolfe states mildly. "But if a lecture will help get through to you, I suppose I'll agree. But, if I ask a direct question, you must answer."
Santi drops his head in acknowledgment, then whines a little and brings it back up as the new position puts new strain on his arms and chest and the crop wobbles slightly.
"I had plans for tonight, plans that I've had to abandon in order to teach you some proper manners. Maybe next time I'll invite some friends over to help, or maybe we can go to The Hive to do it. You never did finish me off, I'll get some help with that too, you clearly need more practice at it. Chain you down, gag you with a ring so you can't close your mouth, let people queue up for a go. Or maybe it'll be the glory hole, so people won't know it's the great Captain Santi they're fucking, you'll just be another hole to use."
Santi whimpers, but Wolfe isn't sure if it's the position wearing on him, or his newly hard cock.
"Look at that, getting hard at the thought of being used like that. Maybe we should do that, what do you think?"
"Please." Santi whines, and Wolfe grins. "That's a plan then," and then, when he sees Santi has reached the seven minute mark, "You know you can drop any time you like. But the longer you last the less strokes you'll get."
Normally the threat of a lighter caning would have Santi dropping right then, but Wolfe suspects Santi has guessed it won't be an easy one anyway, and so he struggles on, breathing now more heavy pants than anything, muscles flexing rhythmically to hold the position. Santi lasts another three minutes, dropping to his knees just after the ten minute mark, the crop rolling away towards Wolfe as Santi falls onto unsteady arms. Wolfe lets him stay there for a few seconds, head hanging low between shaky arms until his breathing slows down again.
"Bring the crop to me."
Santi looks like he's considering getting to his feet to walk over, but eventually decides on crawling, sending a jolt through Wolfe at the sight of his lover on his hands and knees, and then again when Santi kneels at his feet and presents him with the crop. Wolfe rewards him with a hand in his hair, pulling a little too hard for it to be entirely pleasurable.
"Well now, I think you're in a much more agreeable mood after that. Will you accept your punishment?"
"Yes, Scholar." Santi's tone is more reserved than it's been all night, all the sarcasm bled out to leave deference and submission in its wake.
"I had to reprimand you five times, and I think ten per incident is appropriate, don't you?" Wolfe waits for Santi to answer, bringing the crop around to brush down his side when he doesn't in warning.
"But, you held the wall sit for an impressively long time, and you get two strokes off per minute, so that leaves you with thirty to take."
"Thank you for your mercy, Scholar." This time Santi doesn't need reminding to answer, and he lifts his head a little to look at Wolfe. There's a glint of what could be pride in his eyes, and Wolfe can't help but drop character for just a second, laughing at his love being proud of his own endurance, which only seems to encourage Santi, who grins a little.
Wolfe pulls himself together and drops back into character as quickly as he came out of it. "Get into position. Hands against the wall, leaning out, legs apart."
"Yes Scholar." Santi stands this time to walk back over to the wall, and Wolfe is pleased to see his legs are a little more steady now. Wolfe stands as well, and fetches the cane from where he'd laid it on the table at the very start of the night. Walking back over to Santi, he runs a hand down the other man's spine, revelling in the muscles he can feel bunching and relaxing beneath the smooth skin.
"You will count, and you will not move your hands. Losing your count, or moving your hands, will earn you one more. Do you understand?"
This is perhaps the harshest thing Wolfe will do tonight. 30 strokes of the cane is nothing, Santi has taken a lot more and begged for it to continue, but he'd been allowed to lose himself in the sensation, to float with the pain and the feeling. By ordering him to keep the count, and to focus on not moving his hands, Wolfe is ensuring his mind will stay focused, and Santi will feel every inch of every blow.
Wolfe doesn't speak again before he lands the first, a neat strike right on the meat of Santi's backside. The captain hisses slightly, and starts the count. "One."
By the time he's half-way though, Santi is gasping with each stroke, head hanging low as he strives to obey his orders, neat red welts beginning to rise on his backside. He falters and loses the count at twenty two, and then again at twenty four, and then his hands come away from the wall at twenty five and twenty nine.
Wolfe delivers the last blow, waits for Santi to deliver the count, and then runs his hand across the red lines. "Don't move, Captain. How many more do you have?"
Santi is silent for a second before saying hesitantly "Four, Scholar?"
"Very good. You will thank me for each one, for taking the time to teach you better manners. Understand?"
These four strikes are harder than the previous thirty, and Santi almost sobs out the final "Four, thank you Scholar!"
Wolfe gives him a second to collect himself, a hand on Santi's back, and then goes to sit on the chair again. "Come to me." Santi's head drops between his still outstretched arms, and then he turns and walks the few metres over to Wolfe, dropping to his knees when he gets there, hesitating for half a second and then dropping further to press his forehead to the floor in between Wolfe's feet.
Wolfe's sudden intake of breath is entirely involuntary at the sight of such total submission in front of him, his beautiful soldier, all long lines and taut muscles bent in deference to him, and then the red lines of his punishment getting brighter every second it seems. He takes a second to appreciate the view, and then another to give it the focus it truly deserves, before nudging Santi with his foot to tell him to come up to his knees. He does, wincing as his newly reddened ass touches his heels. His posture is still perfect until Wolfe says
"You're forgiven, Nic," and then he slumps to the side, body sagging as all the tension leaves at once.
"You're an ass, Chris." Santi moans.
"It's that kind of talk that got you into this mess." Wolfe says mildly.
"Mercy, mercy." Santi replies, only slightly sarcastically, slightly slurred as the adrenaline leaves pain behind in its wake. Wolfe shakes his head a little and offers Santi his hand, leading him to the bedroom and laying him down on the bed.
"I'll get you some water."
"No, stay." Santi gropes in the air for Wolfe's hand, pressing it to his cheek when he finds it. "Don't need water, need you." his words are becoming more and more indistinct.
"Alright." Wolfe relents, and sits on the bed next to his love. "Stay awake long enough for me to put something on those marks?"
"Mmm." Santi agrees in theory, and then raises his head slightly.
"It's still your turn to do the dishes."
In which Wolfe is mouthy, and gets what he needs.
Oops. I'm not meant to be writing kink. Ah well. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The lives of a Scholar and a High Garda Captain involve more paperwork than Niccolo Santi and Christopher Wolfe care for. They try and make it as bearable as possible, and so a night in late summer finds them sat at the table in their little house, Santi working on logistics for his upcoming mission and Wolfe on a budget report for his most recent creation. Or at least, that's what Wolfe is meant to be doing. Instead, he's commenting on the secondary report made by one of his assistants and is fairly tearing the poor boys work apart. Santi endures the comments for as long as he can bear before he finally puts his stylus down sharply.
"Do you want me to gag you?" he threatens, only mostly joking, and is surprised when Wolfe stops in the middle of his sentence, mouth still slightly open.
"Do you want me to gag you?" Santi says it slower and more deliberately this time. Wolfe closes his mouth but doesn’t otherwise respond. A plan starts to formulate in Santi’s mind. “Let’s see if you can control yourself. Stay quiet for ten minutes and let me finish these plans, and we’ll have some fun.”
“If I can’t?”
“You’ll find out, won’t you.” Santi knows it’s the right thing to say when Wolfe flushes and tries to hide it with a smirk.
Wolfe lasts all of three minutes before starting to critique the report again – the assistant hadn’t been thorough enough in his budgeting apparently, and Santi sighs before standing without a word and going into their bedroom. They only have a few gags, and it doesn’t take long for him to decide on the one he wants to use today. The muzzle is his, Wolfe doesn’t like the ring all that much, and the ball would lead to too much drool. The tongue plate is the perfect one, comfortable enough to wear for a while, and it suits Wolfe so very much. Santi picks it up and walks back into the living room, going behind Wolfe, still sat where he was, and dropping a kiss onto the top of his head.
“I did warn you. Open your mouth, dear Scholar.” Wolfe does as he’s told, and Santi inserts the gag and buckles it, making sure the plate is straight and holding his tongue down, and none of Wolfe’s hair is caught in the straps. Done, Santi leans down and palms Wolfe through the loose trousers he’s wearing, unsurprised to find him half hard.
“Let me finish this report, and I’ll do something about that.” Santi says as he stands suddenly, and Wolfe whines at the sudden loss of contact. “Be good, Scholar.”
The next few minutes are the most peaceful of the night, the quiet only broken by the sound of soft scratching of stylus on paper and the whisper of turning pages, the gentle sound of Wolfe mouthing on his gag. Santi senses more than sees his hands reaching up to touch the straps.
“If you touch it, I’ll lock it on.” He warns mildly, and is gratified to see Wolfe drop his hands and pick up his stylus once more.
A few more minutes pass, and Wolfe’s hands start to move again.
“Scholar.” Santi’s tone is harsher this time, but it takes a second for Wolfe to obey. “Is it hurting?”
Wolfe shakes his head, smiling the best he can around the gag.
“So you are just testing my patience.”
That gets another beautiful flush, and Wolfe shifts a little in his chair, but that doesn’t stop him from almost unconsciously reaching up to his gag. Santi sighs deeply, glad he’d had the foresight to get a small lock from the bedroom and stands to walk behind Wolfe again. He’s not gentle about grabbing a handful of hair to push Wolfe’s head forward to get at the buckle, and the whine he gets in response goes straight to his cock. The lock clicks shut, and some of the tension Santi hadn’t even noticed was there drains from Wolfe’s shoulders.
“In ten minutes, you will go into the bedroom, strip, put the straps on the bed, lay out the cuffs, and stand by the bed at attention to wait for me. Do you understand?”
The next ten minutes are quiet and filled with promise, and Santi is quietly thrilled when, as ordered, Wolfe lays down his stylus, closes his books and goes into the bedroom. Santi clears his own things away and wait until he hears the movement stop in the bedroom, and then waits a few more minutes before collecting some things from the kitchen. Entering the bedroom, he’s pleased to see Wolfe has followed his orders to the letter, even to the point of not wiping away the thin line of drool coming from his mouth.
“You can be good for me.” Santi lays the tray down on the bedside table, then uses a finger to redirect Wolfe’s gaze away from it and back in front of him. “Eyes front, Scholar.” Santi picks up the cuffs one by one and methodically buckles them on, wrists, biceps, thighs, ankles, and then when he’s done, stands and fetches one last thing from their toy chest, a long piece of black silk. “I’m going to blindfold you, and then I’m going to take the gag out. I don’t want to hear a word from you unless I ask a direct question.” Santi doesn’t wait for a response before doing exactly that, tying the blindfold carefully before working the gag out, letting Wolfe move his jaw around to work out the kinks before ordering him to lay down on the bed and attaching the cuffs to the straps, stretching Wolfe out until he’s spread eagled.
“Comfortable?” he enquires.
“Good.” Santi settles himself on the bed to the side of Wolfe. “We’re going to play a game. I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to guess what I’m using to touch you. A right answer will give you points, a wrong one will take them away. Once you get to ten, I’ll help you with this.” On that last sentence, Santi grabs Wolfe’s cock and gives it a gentle squeeze, smirking a little as Wolfe’s hips jolt up into the touch.
“I’m allowed to talk now then?” It seems like an innocent question, but the sarcasm is clear in Wolfe’s tone, and Santi slaps him on the inner thigh, hard. The yelp he gets in response is very satisfying.
“Mouthing off will get you punished. Let’s begin.”
Wolfe doesn’t know what to expect, lay there in the dark, limbs stretched out and the sting of the slap to his thigh still throbbing, and the soft touch of a feather has him jolting as much as he can as it traces a line down his chest and around one nipple.
The next touch is similar, and it takes a long line draw up the sole of Wolfe’s foot for him to identify it, sending his leg into involuntary spasms as it tickles down the arch.
The brush continues on its way up Wolfe’s leg up to his thigh. The darkness amplifies every touch, every sensation, every sound, until all he can focus on is Santi’s quiet breathing, the soft brush of fibres against his skin, where the sensation suddenly changes, a wet stripe along his inner thigh, right along where Santi had slapped him, just far down enough to miss where he really wants to be touched.
“Your tongue, Captain. This is too easy.” Wolfe can’t help himself, and immediately regrets his decision when he gets a slap to the other thigh.
“Let’s make it a little harder then. If you twitch, you lose a point.” With that, Santi draws the brush up Wolfe’s inner thigh, and try as he might, he cannot stop himself from trying to close his legs. Wolfe can almost see Santi’s self-satisfied smile in his mind’s eye.
“You were doing so well.”
“Fuck you.” Wolfe says almost reflexively, jerking again as the brush moves across his groin, so close yet so far from his aching cock.
“I believe that counts as mouthing off, Scholar.” Wolfe hears Santi muse, before the sudden shock of ice against his nipple chases thought away. Wolfe manages to contain himself, but only just, pushing his back into the bed to escape the sensation.
“Good.” The cube is taken away, and there is blessed relief for a second before something pinches his nipple for a second, the pain amplified by the cold.
“Fuck! Your fingers.”
“Good. Also, you’re back down to two points.” Wolfe doesn’t even attempt to stop the whine that escapes him at that, or at feeling Santi move from sitting next to him to straddling his legs.
The next touch is hard and cold, and it only takes a second for Wolfe to identify it as a stylus, too hard to be ticklish and too familiar to surprise him. The feather is back next, and Wolfe manages to stop himself from moving just in time, and it’s worth it for the praise he gets in Santi’s velvet voice. The world narrows to the weight of Santi on his legs, the cuffs holding him still, the feel of the fabric covering his eyes and all he has to do, all he can do is lie there and follow his orders, naming every item used on him, every jerk against the cuffs and responding slap or pinch or bite the perfect pressure/release of everything that’s been building up for days of trying to keep a handle on his assistants and his research and the budget and the deadline.
The implements Santi is using have started to reappear, and Wolfe’s brain is starting to come back online, the very last thing he wants, so he uses his returning brain power to work how best to get back to that state of just following orders.
“Touch me, Nic, please.” He gasps, and for a second he thinks he’s failed as Santi’s weight shifts to one side but then there’s a sudden shock of ice on his cock and his brain whites out again, only hearing Santi in the distance as he says “You were doing so well, Scholar.” Wolfe can feel his cock softening and shifts his hips in an attempt to get away from it and only gets pinned down with a firm hand for his troubles before the ice is taken away and replaced by the wet heat of Santi’s mouth and the sudden change is almost too much and he’s hard again in an instant.
“Please.” Wolfe half sobs, bucking against the straps and the hand and Santi is all around him, holding him down, taking him down to the very base elements of his soul, and then Santi sits back up and Wolfe whines at the loss of the heat only for it to be replaced a second later by Santi’s hand, the pressure perfect, and it takes a second for the sounds of Santi getting himself off at the same time to filter through to Wolfe, and by then he’s only seconds away from coming himself, and when he does he’s not sure if it’s his or Santi’s that he feels on his chest and it’s perfect.
Wolfe comes back to himself just as Santi is tipping his head to one side to undo the blindfold. The cuffs are still on but the straps have been undone, and there’s no mess on his stomach. He blinks once or twice in the light, but it’s dim enough that it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust again, and he turns his head to smile at Santi.
“Welcome back.” Santi’s answering smile is beautiful, and Wolfe is overcome with how much he loves the man in front of him.
“I love you.” He says, fervently and earnestly.
“I love you too.” Santi settles on the bed next to him and gathers Wolfe in his arms, both of them ignoring the cuffs still attached to his limbs. “What do you need?”
“Nothing. Just you.”
“I can do that.”
They lie like that for a while, Santi stroking Wolfe’s hair every now and again, and Wolfe’s mind is quiet for the first time in what feels like days.
“What was that about?” Santi asks quietly after a while, shifting to sit up so he can start unbuckling the cuffs. Wolfe lets him as he thinks about what to say.
“I was too much in my own head, but I didn’t know what I wanted. You always know what I need.”
“Better now.” Wolfe confirms.
“Maybe we should do paperwork together more often if it leads to this.”
“We’d never get anything done, that’s a terrible idea.”
The last cuff undone and placed to one side, Wolfe leans back against Santi’s chest again. He’s asleep in minutes, the last thing he feels a soft kiss to the top of his head.
This is the gag Santi uses on Wolfe. NSFW, obviously.