Work Text:
“Alexander. My office. Now.”
Jefferson was seething- practically beyond that point, actually- as he spit the message to his secretary. The man, George Clinton, stared at Jefferson silently, eyes slightly wider than normal as he headed away to find the man that had been causing a ruckus in the office space all throughout the day.
Thomas was pissed. His blood was heated, his hands shook, and his vision was blurred ever so. All because of Alexander Hamilton.
Typical.
Alexander had a big mouth, that much everybody knew. Sometimes that mouth paid off, but today was not that day. No, today was one of those days in which Jefferson had to pinch himself until he drew blood in order to keep from murdering anyone who so much as glanced his way. Today was one of those days in which he ran on 3 and a ½ hours of sleep, 2 pots of coffee, and 4 shots of espresso in order to keep himself awake and working. All of this caffeine resulted in side effects, however, and Jefferson could feel himself shaking in absolute fury.
The night before had been restless to say the least. An 8 hour work day that had drifted its way to 10 hours. A boyfriend that not only refused to eat what Thomas managed to scrounge up around the house, but actually had the gall to complain about hunger and not being fed. Then, after a nearly steady 3 hours of complaining about not having any food in the house, the shower pressure not being high enough, the heating system being too faulty (goddamn asshole from the Caribbean what the fuck did he expect in New York? Winter was a bitch), the pretty little thing decided it was time to debate with Thomas. For 3 hours. And then after that, of course, he had tried to persuade Thomas to have sex with him. At fucking 1 a.m. That lasted until around 2 a.m., and when Thomas didn’t budge, his boyfriend decided to act like a petty bitch for another hour. Jefferson didn’t manage to find any sleep until one half hour after that.
Jefferson could hear him- Alexander, that is. He could hear him all day, running his mouth, bragging about his sales pitch, his numbers, how great he was at his job. This, that, everything. Alexander thought that he was perfect; that was the issue. One of the issues, anyway. The man could never shut up. Even more, his ego through the roof led him to believe that he actually had authority over the workers around him. As if he had some sort of higher power that they didn’t. Yes, Alexander Hamilton just so happened to be at the head of the sales department, but by no means did that make him some deity. The man was non-stop, he was arrogant, loud-mouthed, and absolutely aggravating.
Thomas certainly knew how to pick his lovers, that much is clear.
A low murmur filled the office space as employees looked on from their cubicles, eyes drifting towards Jefferson, drifting away quickly as soon as their gaze was met with a fiery one. His pupils were blown, surely, and if the grip he had on his office door had anything to say, his anger was more than apparent. His glare burned against the backs of the workers as he scanned the room out of habit. John Adams sat in his cubicle, papers strewn on his desk, hands fidgetting with his phone in a non-discrete way, a smirk growing on his face as he watched the others whisper about Mr. Hamilton. Jefferson rolled his eyes at the man, teeth biting hard into his cheek until he could taste the tell-tale coppery blood. On the other side of the room stood Angelica Schuyler, hands on her hips, holding onto crumpled documents and glaring at Jefferson unabashedly. A sarcastic grin grew on his face, one hand coming up to wave almost flirtily. He was met with the middle finger and within seconds went back to gazing the room irritably.
After a few moments a hush fell about the room. One voice could still be heard calling bluffs, and false-fronts were put on as the workers pretended to return to their specific task. It was nearly 5, anyway, and therefor the work day was nearing it’s end. Jefferson was screaming in his mind, urging the clock on; his ears had long since picked up on the one-sided argument unfolding, and he was absolutely done with everything.
“And another thing, Mr. Clinton- don’t think that you can boss me around like this. Do you even work here? What are you, an assistant or something? Are you lost?”
“Mr. Hamilton, I think-”
“Did I ask what you think, Georgie? No. I don’t think I recall. I don’t give a damn what Jefferson wants, I’m a busy man. I have work to do. Scatter.”
“Sir, I really think that-”
“God, again with what you think. Did I not make myself abundantly clear? I couldn’t care less what-”
“Hamilton.”
Jefferson had had enough. His voice bellowed above the heads that were turning, booming and clearly enraged. Wide eyes stared for a calculated number of moments before everybody returned hastily to their work. Hamilton was known to cause issues in the work space. He was a dramatic man. It would be a wonder that he kept his job was it not for the extravagant amount work he put into the job. It never seemed to quite pay off in Jefferson’s eyes, however.
“My office. Now.”
Alexander’s eyes were steely, cool and collected. His gaze above the surface proved him to be a man of strong resolve, someone who could and would get the job done no matter the cost. He was a hard worker and beyond all a stubborn man with a powerful will. Below his held-strong resolve, however, Thomas could see the signs that the man was on the way to cracking. Hamilton’s fingers twitched against his weather-worn belt, his pupils were somewhat dilated, the purple vein on his forehead was making an appearance. Hamilton’s anger was growing and growing, as was Jefferson’s, and both men already knew how this would end. Alexander would end up falling apart in Thomas’s hands in their own home by 7 p.m., too out of it to put together a coherent sentence. Despite this knowledge (after all, that’s how it happened every single time), both men stared angrily at one another, challenging the other to make a move.
After about a minute and a half of staring, egged on by awkward side-glances of those watching, Thomas Jefferson turned abruptly on the heel of his shoe, stalking back through the open doorway of his pristine office. Even Hamilton was smart enough to know not to ignore the clear command. As a result, he followed after Jefferson, no matter how much he wanted to head in the opposite direction.
“What the fuck is this about Jefferson,” Hamilton spat the moment he entered the threshold, the door still wide open. Upon the others wide-eyed glare, Alexander turned, slamming the door with a reverberating thud. Thomas rolled his eyes at this, fingers curling into fists as he paced back and forth in front of his desk.
“Can’t you go a single day without causing some sort of problem?”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Hamilton. Do you really need to pick a fight with everybody in the office? Or is it just that you adore the attention,” Thomas raged, a scowl on his lips as his eyes flickered towards Hamilton. His posture was somewhere between lazy and uptight, hands drawn defensively around his chest as he glared at Thomas venomously. There was a vicious light in his eyes, a fight about to be unleashed. Hamilton stood with his knees locked and his chest puffed. Trying to make up for his short stature, no doubt.
“Ah, so you pay attention then?”
“Knock it off. It’s hard not to when all I can hear is your screeching voice outside of my door.”
“Oh that’s bullshit- my department isn’t even on this floor!-”
“And yet you’re always up here it seems.”
“To deliver papers.”
A laugh. “To deliver papers,” Thomas mocked, hands thrown about to form air-quotes. “Bullshit. You just love everyone’s eyes on you.”
“If there’s something you wanna say, by all means, go ahead,” Hamilton challenged as he took a step forward. His eyes shone bright, something lusty and wrong for the workplace finding it’s place.
Thomas matched his step with two of his own, and then another three. His paces were much larger, and he quickly found himself cornering Hamilton against the door. Hamilton backed up out of his own account- not out of intimidation, no, what, are you kidding- and found himself face to chin with Thomas. He glared up at the man, standing taller and unwrapping his arms from around himself. His hands balled into fists at his side and he bared his teeth at what he wouldn’t admit was his superior.
“Don’t test me, Alexander. You are beyond trying my patience.”
“What’re you gonna, daddy? Huh? Punish me,” Alex mocked in a tone dripping with sarcasm, a wide and dirty smirk finding its place on his face as he pushed forward off of the door. The shorter man shoved against Thomas’s chest, testing him despite the warning.
Taking a deep breathe, eyes falling closed, Thomas muttered, “don’t push me, boy- you know what’ll happen.”
Alex put on a faux-pout, trying his hand at looking as doleful as possible. He ran a finger down the front of Jefferson’s maroon blazer before stepping back and shoving his hands hard against his chest once more.
“Aw, is little Thomas having a rough day? Is there anything his pretty little boy-” Alex’s jeer was cut short within seconds however, as he felt a white-hot pain wash across his face. The man could feel his cheek reddening, cracking his jaw back and forth to regain feeling. Thomas grabbed onto his chin with sharp fingers, yanking it back to face him straight-on. The tears in Alexander’s eyes were not faked, but were rather derived from the pain and the anger.
“You wanna keep going or do I have to slap you again?”
“You know what? Fuck you, Jefferson, fuck you and this office and your stupid face and your stupid ‘authority,’ and all of this goddamn bullshit,” Alexander did in fact go on; his tone was hot and heavy as he snarled, one hand curling against the lapels of Thomas’s jacket as the other ran through his hair in an attempt to keep it from falling from it’s bun. Jefferson took the chance to lean forward and rip that hand away, pulling Hamilton’s hair from the tight bun it was in in order to pull the man to attention. The rush of pain that filled Alexander at the sensation of his hair being tugged was irritatingly erotic, but neither men were thinking about that.
“Alexander Hamilton, shut your goddamn mouth or so help me I will do it for you- these walls are thin, and if you want every single person in this company to know just how much of a submissive bitch you are, you’re on the right track. Now, so help me, if you don’t learn to behave yourself I am going to have to-”
“Fuck you Thomas, you aren’t shit! Who the fuck are you to be calling me a-”
“A what? A ‘submissive bitch’? Well, if that isn’t what you are, then what are you, babe?”
“Not so submissive right now, am I?” Alex bit off, shoving Thomas off of his body in order to stalk away from the man and deeper into his office. He spat out a small, “motherfucking cock-sucking piece of trash asshole,” at his being tugged once again to a more harsh degree. That must have been what made Jefferson snap. Or maybe it was the fact that, as Hamilton turned towards him once more, he leaned back to stare him up as he spat on his newly polished shoes.
Either way, Alexander found himself a moment later with his unharmed cheek pressed harshly against the dirty, cold tiled floor of Jefferson’s office. He groaned in pain as his knee bounced off the floor, and soon after he felt the same shoe he spat on pressing sharp between his shoulder blades. When he tried to wriggle away, the foot only pressed down harder on the pressure point.
“You gonna be a good boy for me now? Huh?” Thomas asked in an eerily calm voice, the last shot of espresso seemingly giving him the energy to keep from snapping completely.
“Oh, fuck you,” Hamilton muttered. Apparently that was the last straw. Soon thereafter the pressure left his back. The shoe was only replaced by a large hand which effortlessly dragged him to his feet.
“We’re going home. Now.”
“Thomas, what the hell? I still have work to-”
“Now,” he gritted, and Alex tensed at the implication. He knew, however, that the damage was done and that there was no way of undoing what he had created.
As the door to the office opened- ever so peacefully- a few dozen eyes drifted away; wide gazes were shared amongst those who hadn’t already left the office for the day, and it was evident that the walls were even thinner than Jefferson had originally deemed. That, or Alexander was even louder than he thought.
Despite the blush flooding Alexander’s cheeks- public humiliation always made him feel certain ways- and the tense silence enveloping the room, Jefferson made his way towards the single elevator with cool composition. He merely rolled his eyes at the shared glances, the sly smirk curling against Charles Lee’s lips and the approving thumbs up coming from Seabury. Hamilton behind him finally found the decency to keep his mouth closed, following Thomas with rigidly paced steps. He had set himself up for the worst, he knew.
The car ride home was all stiff silence and angry air; Alexander remained silent- Thomas had an inkling that the man knew what was coming. He always seemed to know. At least, it seemed that way. The punishment was never enjoyable for either men when his behavior peaked towards the worst, and Alexander had been building up Thomas’s temper for days on end. Breaching 3 weeks, at least.
The small man sat slouched in his seat, head bowed towards the ground and an iron grip on the door handle. Traffic was slow, and no music played from the radio, but at least Jefferson had the tenderness in his heart to blast the heat for his sensitive boyfriend; even though, he duly noted, he himself was nearly melting in his heavy mauve jacket.
Jefferson watched from the corner of his eye, fingers tightening on the wheel as the tension in his jaw built. He didn’t want to hurt his boy, but discipline was in order, and there were only so many things he could do to get his Hamilton to behave himself. His heart clenched in his chest as he watched his small figure slump further into himself. Thomas’s gaze shifted across the shying man, landing on the other fist that rested defiantly balled against the consol. His body language spoke of anger and nerves; Thomas knew what he was doing.
The first mistake Alexander made as the two found their way through the threshold of their home was attempting to hurry past Thomas and into the bathroom- a hideout of sorts. The man huffed irritably as Thomas yanked him back by the collar of his jacket, refusing to make eye contact when he was turned to face the other man.
The second mistake was, ironically, holding his tongue instead of answering the man when asked if he knew why Jefferson was angry. This only proved to heighten Thomas’s temper. Not a smart move.
The third mistake came in the form of him trying, once again, to escape into the bathroom when Thomas turned his back away from the man. In Alexander’s defense, he probably should have seen that one coming. Alex could be sneaky sometimes.
To top off all of these mistakes, Alexander layered the icing on the cake by leaning in to bite sharply at Jefferson’s wrist. No, he didn’t draw blood, but a mark was left, and Thomas decided he had had it. No more stalling around. Within seconds, he had Alex against the nearest wall with the object that he had turned moments before to grab- a long, somewhat thin cane made of rattan with a rich, deep brown finish- hooked under his chin. He tilted his face towards his own, hardly able to contain his rage. Alexander challenged his gaze vehemently, although Thomas could see the fear that shaded his eyes clear as day.
“I have handled your adolescent behavior with an inviolable level of patience for a tall number of days now. You are far past what I am willing to overlook, and if by any chance I decide to grant you the most minute measure of mercy, I expect to see you grovel at my toes in gratitude. Am I making myself clear?”
Alexander’s eyes were quick to widen, glassy already at that point and looking nearly dazed. The nod he gave was barely perceivable, but it was clear that he knew not to continue with the games he was playing. The tone Thomas had used was incredibly and unbelievably calm, an undeniable chill the first to dance upon the ear and a deep rage underlining the whole thing. Alex suddenly was finding breathing to be very difficult.
“Good,” he sneered, a sick and malicious grin growing effortlessly on his lips, “now, be a good boy for me for once in your goddamn life and strip yourself down. Don’t bother taking your time.”
The man- or, in this moment, boy- shivered once over, breathing in deeply once released from Thomas’s grip. He didn’t bother to chance a glance at the other man as he began to pull from the bondage of his clothing. Jefferson had crashed through the surface and was already in full charge, his Dominant role one to be feared and lusted over at the same time. In moments like these, however, when Alexander breached levels of mischief that not even Thomas could handle- well- the only thing that remained was fear. There would be no sex tonight.
That is not to say that the situation was particularly dangerous or non-consensual in the least bit. No, Alex prided himself in being Thomas’s Submissive behind closed doors. He loved being controlled, reigned in, letting himself go. He knew fully what he had done and the full impact of the situation. He knew fear, but he also knew that Thomas was only acting this way in order to help him behave as a proper Submissive should. He trusted the older man 100%, knowing that he wouldn’t even think before stopping if he thought that what he was dishing out was too much for his Alexander. With the discipline came explanation and love. There was fear, yes, but afterwards there was tenderness.
“What a little shit you’ve been, opening that big mouth of yours and not shutting up once within these last few weeks. No wonder half of our colleagues keep silent with you around- they can’t get a word in edgewise. The only reason they put up with you is because you are such a pretty whore. Probably imagine what that mouth could do if put to other use.”
This time Thomas was the one to run his mouth, wielding the moment for what it was, knowing that Alexander had a thing for humiliation and being put down. Sure, it wasn’t all true, and yes, sometimes he said things that verged close to the edge of too much, but Thomas knew where to draw the line without actually shooting holes into Alexander’s self-esteem. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.
He was silent once again as he sat in the moment, watching as his boy unclothed himself with shaky fingers and a brightening face. He was clearly feeling berated. The jacket was shed within a few moments of fumbling, his short fingers having initial problems with the round bronze buttons keeping it tightly shut. His simple work tie- that had began to feel like it was choking him- followed, and then his fingers worked at the smaller buttons of his button down. Despite the collar being loosed around his neck, it still felt difficult to breathe in the room.
The sub felt a cool chill embrace his torso as the shirt fell easily from his shoulders, and he looked down in unnecessary shame as he felt the dom’s burning gaze on his back. He couldn’t hear him, but he knew that he was pacing, walking hastily back and forth behind him, probably twirling the cane between his large hands. Rubbing the pad of his thumb meticulously against the shiny golden tip. Smoothing his long fingers against the smooth exterior of the object. Holding it with a light grip, swinging it through the air in trial; with care; with precision; with expertise.
Alexander reminded himself that, of course, Thomas knew what he was doing. He was an educated, practiced man who knew how to properly hold a cane and give a fair, if not tough, punishment. He was safe in his hands. Always safe, no matter what words were spit.
Thomas is ghosting against his back then, breathe warm against the cold that had consumed his unclothed body. Goosebumps broke out across his flesh and his breath halted, knowing fully well that those were the intentions- if he meant not to be acknowledged, he wouldn’t have made his presence known. Even worse, a moment later Alex could feel the nearly freezing golden bulb press against the small of his back. He was being pushed forward, towards the open door of their bedroom. He was still fumbling with the zipper of his trousers, still in his shoes. Ah well.
He knew better than to complain as he was persuaded through the doorway and into the chilled room; the temperature was a few degrees colder, and despite it being a comfortable enough temperature for Thomas- if not a smidge on the cold side- Alex could feel himself on the verge of shivering. He sometimes hated the fact that he was from warmer weather.
“You know how I want you; get in position. Right there, over the edge of the bed,” the dominant commanded in a strong voice, watching as his submissive boy nearly quavered at the sound. Alexander slowly made his way to the foot of the bed, chancing a coy glance over his shoulder at Thomas- all big doe eyes and parted lips. He would be the picture of innocence if not for the weeks worth of poor behavior branded into both minds. Thomas couldn’t bring himself to reconsider this decision, but he did feel a tinge of guilt at the pain that his boy would be feeling soon.
By the time Alexander got into position- chest against the surface of the bed, face tilted to the side to ensure he could breathe, ass in the air- he was fully in the nude and going pale fast. The bareness of his skin left him even colder than before.
“What did I tell you, Alexander?” Thomas asked with a renewed tone of voice that matched the cold one from before. “Position?”
Alex looked back at him in confusion, eyebrows knitting together to show that he was genuinely in the dark about what he had done wrong.
Thomas sighed.
“Your thighs and ass are tensed, your back isn’t quite level, and your legs are pressed together. I know this isn’t something that we do often, but you really must remember the proper position. If I were to serve you your punishment like this, you could receive some serious and long-lasting damage. I don’t want this to hurt you more than necessary.”
The small man blushed at the scolding, eyes shifting away from his dominant as Thomas pressed a leg between his thighs in order to separate them. Then he pressed a firm hand against the center of his back in order to straighten his posture. Try though he might, the younger submissive couldn’t seem to completely loosen his muscles. The dominant tsked at this, petting against his boy’s thighs in hopes of ridding the tension. He honestly had no interest in tearing skin and drawing blood.
“Shh, there you go. Just relax and this will go much smoother. Okay? Okay,” he murmured smoothly, the coldness in his voice slipping away little by little. “Now, you know why you are being punished, yes?” he pondered out loud, feeling the nod of the boy’s head in response. Despite this, he explained with a clear tongue: “you have been acting very brashly and inappropriately for a number of days. 3 weeks, I’d say.
“I have tried to be very patient with you, but I cannot let you get away with such behavior. You are my responsibility as my submissive, and you must know when you are acting in the wrong manner.
“You will be receiving a caning for the way you have been speaking to people- namely the rude things you have said and how you have acted in their presence-, how long you have been keeping me up at night despite our work schedule, and the endless complaining you have been doing. Do you understand?” a nod, “ good, now repeat to me why you are being punished so that I know you understand fully.”
“I-,” Alex cleared his throat and continued in a small voice, “I am being punished because I have been very rude to you and the people around me for many days.”
“Be more specific,” the other chastised lightly.
“For my complaining, keeping you awake, and speaking and acting rudely to you and those around me.”
“Very good,” Jefferson handed him the words as a mercy, “now, what would you like our safe word to be, little one?”
After a few seconds of consideration, Hamilton dished out a soft, “aries,” before letting his body go limp against the bed.
He remained in position, knowing that the punishment would be much worse if he didn’t. The small man tried to brace himself for the oncoming strikes, not knowing when it would begin or how long it would last. He trusted the dom to take care of him, however, knowing that he would keep a close watch on body language in case Alexander went too far into subspace and couldn’t call the safeword if necessary. Otherwise, the man knew for how long to punish the man, he knew how to lead him through the punishment mercifully and lower him from his headspace carefully and without dropping him.
“I am going to begin your punishment now. Are you prepared?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Alex replied hastily after a second, mentally readying himself for what was to come.
The first contact was not in itself technically what might be called a strike; moreover, Thomas was testing the water, pressing the cane forward and rolling it against the curve of Alexander’s ass. The object was nearly unfamiliar to the man’s skin, and he held his breath for a moment as he felt it’s presence. In the next second it was gone, a tense silence filling the room.
The next time the object came into contact with Alexander’s skin, it was in the form of a light smack placed by a gentle, yet firm, hand. The blow was careful and precise, catching the boy off-guard. While the smack was not particularly painful, it left a dull sting that had Alex rocking forward in shock.
“Stay in place,” the voice behind him commanded in a sharp voice, taking the place of a warning. The small man sighed a shuddery breath in response, trying to focus on breathing properly. Relax. Sit still. Release the tension. Breathe. Repeat. You are in safe hands.
The next smack came within 15 seconds of the first- enough time to gauge a reaction. It was slightly harsher than the first, but it was also clear as day that the strong force behind Alexander was being careful to pace the punishment. It would be a fair one, if anything. The slap of the cane fell along both buttocks, aligned in the same place as the first. Alexander couldn’t help but wince as the sign of a warm tingling feeling began to spread high up on his ass.
Thomas took a step further back, and in haste, sent a quick, sharp flick of his wrist. The sound of the cane slicing through the air caused Alex to jump in momentary terror; he relaxed, however, when no blow found it’s way onto his ass.
“T-thomas?” Alex stammered, tilting his head further to the side and stealing a glance in the direction of the man in question. His view was strained, Thomas just a bit too far to the right to be within sight. Thomas could see him, though, and the view he had of his boy was one of his favorites. Wide brown eyes with pupils that were quickly dilating, nervous recollection in his gaze, eye brows etched together in suspense, cheeks bitten a light pink from the cold and shame, and small white teeth biting at his bottom lip. The boy probably wasn’t even conscious of the fact that he had caused the lip to tear, a droplet of blood beading at the surface.
Thomas covered his awe with a stony glare, tilting his head higher in the air and staring down at his boy in scrutiny.
“You are to be silent, boy. Silent and courteous. If you are to speak…” he trailed off, waiting for Alex to finish the thought.
“I am to speak my appreciation,” he murmured into the comforter of the bed, tacking on a small, “Monsieur,” at the end to appease him.
Thomas tsked at the shyness in Alexander’s voice, ghosting the tip of the cane over his pet’s spine in contemplation. He took another step forward, just for a moment, to press the tips of his fingers against Alex’s tail-bone. At least the boy had remembered his title.
“Of course, Monsieur. Thank you, Monsieur.”
“That’s a good little bitch.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” he reiterated in hopes of more words of praise and appraisal. Instead, the dom retraced his step, taking in a moment of consideration before bringing the cane down once again; this time without warning. The blow came with greater speed and power than the first two, and the boy jostled forward against the bed out of shock. A low whimper was drawn out from his lips as he felt the tip of the cane bending around his form and nearly tearing into the skin of his ass, right below where the first two smacks had fallen.
“You impudent boy, what did I tell you moments ago?” Thomas snapped, stepping forward once again in order to press his nails harshly into the meat of Alexander’s thigh.
“I- I’m sorry, Monsieur, I, I didn’t mean to, I just- I-” Alex stuttered like his life was at stake, fingers curling into the blanket beneath him, eyelids growing heavy at the pressure of his dom’s words.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You said- you- I am to stay in place, Monsieur.”
“Correct. Do you know why, my little vixen?”
“I do not, Monsieur.”
“You are to stay in place,” he drawled, taking a moment to approach the side of the bed where Alexander’s face was tilted in his directions, squatting down on his haunches to look him in the eye, “so that I do not tear up the skin on that pretty little ass of yours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” the boy whimpered, forcing himself to hold eye contact with his lover. The obedience seemed to pay off, and in the next moment Alex was greeted with a light pat- close to, but not quite a slap- to his left cheek. He attempted to nuzzle into the warm palm, but in the next second the dom was back in his original spot at Alexander’s rear.
The three smacks that followed all fell within a 30 second time frame, one after another, growing steadily in strength.
“Six down. What do you say, boy?”
“T-thank you, Monsieur.”
“Are you ready for more?”
Alexander winced at the prospect, could feel the three lines along the top of his ass where the welts left behind by the six strikes were forming, growing inflamed. Could feel the intensity of the blows growing as they went along. Knew it wouldn't be long before he was slipping out of a conscious mind. There would be heavy bruising to be sure.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Are you sure, little one?”
Alexander nodded his response, could feel something heavy growing in his throat and felt unable to speak his approval. It was a wonder he hadn't began crying yet.
The tears kicked in eventually, approximately around the 8th strike, although neither of the men initially realize their presence. The blows are steadily increasing in intensity, moving past scoop strokes, those that left Alex with some stigma of comfort.
On the 10th blow, Jefferson held the cane to Alexander’s ass for just a moment, sliding the cane towards himself in a smooth motion within a fraction of the conclusion of the hit. Something he was taught to do once upon a time, something to peak the punishment, push beyond the simple smacks and leave the sub with something else.
The burn in the boy's muscles grew, accompanied this time by a terribly painful sensation- as if his skin was being pulled or torn. Thomas glanced over the place where the cane fell, relief flooding him when he saw no tear despite his well-renowned skill. Still, though, the sob that Alexander let out was incredibly pitiful, and the man stopped himself for a solid minute and a half.
10 in was by all means more than halfway over, and at that point in the punishment the small man sprawled out across the bed was very much out of it. His breaths were coming in labored, eyes screwed shut and fingers pale against the dark green covers. There was no tensions visible below the cane, however, filling Thomas with relief.
“Halfway done darlin’, okay? You're doing so well sweetheart, taking your punishment so well, so proud of you,” he complimented in a soft voice, pressing forward to drop a feather light kiss against the boy's spine. Alex only stifled another heavy sob in response, nodding his head in thanks, unable to find the words.
“Eight more. Just eight more sweetheart, okay? Then we’re done. Relax your muscles, okay? You're fine, you're doing so well. You can do this. Proud of you, so proud little one. The worst is over,” Thomas promised, whispering soothing words endlessly to the man below him in a sweet tone. It was a pitiful scene, Alexander hunched over himself wracked with uncharacteristically silent cries. It nearly made Jefferson stop right there, but he had to fulfill the punishment. Alex could take it. He was doing just fine.
The final eight blows, while certainly not rushed in the slightest, followed through at a quicker pace than the first ten. The smacks had met their peak, and eventually Thomas found himself lessening the power behind the blows, wielding the cane differently in order to make the slap against Alexander’s skin lighter and more bearable. It was a process he knew was incredibly important, leaning into and out of the intensity of the punishment in order to really push the point while not being unnecessarily cruel. Lowering Alexander from the punishment in this way is what he as the dom was meant to do in order to keep his sub from falling and crashing out of that little floating space where he found himself.
Thomas stilled himself for a second once delivering the last hit, taking in the moment; the breathed deeply, fingers twitching lightly around the cane as he scanned over Alexander’s hunched form. The man seemed to be slowly coming back to himself, apparently in realization that the punishment was over. Thomas watched as his head lifted lightly from it’s place, eyes heavily lidded and glazed over, before flopping back over in relief. A small smile grew onto his face at the sight, and then he was moving to replace the cane against the wall.
“You with me, beautiful?” he murmured lightly as he crouched down beside the bed. Alexander’s head tilted further in his direction at the sound of his voice, and his eyes opened lightly to reveal an imploring gaze.
“Mhm,” he nearly mewled, nuzzling against the back of Thomas’s hand. “Hurts,” he moaned low in his throat, “a little. Or a lot. Feel weird.”
“I know, baby boy. I’m gonna take care of you now, okay? I’ll be right back,” Thomas promised as he stood, taking in the sight of Alex one last time before turning and heading out of the room.
Thomas returned before long, carrying a glass of juice, a bag of ice, and leftover takeout that he had managed to scrounge up from somewhere near the back of the fridge. The items were stacked precariously, making Alexander smile lightly at the sight. His vision was clearing up, and besides the intense sting he felt in his bottom, he was honestly beginning to feel better.
“There he is,” the taller man cooed as he strolled towards Alex. “My beautiful little boy. Now, have you learnt your lesson?” he asked with a serious tone, staring the other down. Alexander ducked his head at the question, face flushing with embarrassment and shame. What had pushed him to act the way he had been?
“Yes, Thomas. I promise, I- I have. I’m sorry.”
“You are forgiven. But you need to learn to behave yourself better. It can be infuriating sometimes, having to take hold of these things. And I don’t like hurting you for a second, but if I don’t punish you for your behavior, somebody else might try to kick your ass.”
Thomas had pressed Alexander’s back gently into the bed afterward, telling the man to relax as he rubbed lavender oil into the welts on his ass in hopes of lessening the inflammation. Bruises were already starting to form, blooming purple lines that he thought looked (ironically) like lavender sprigs. He told this romanticization to Alexander, and received a half moaned line telling him how pretentious he was sounding. He responded in the affirmative, enjoying the lax-ness of Alexander in his hands as he massaged the skin.
The rest of the night was spent like that, Alexander curled up against Jefferson’s chest, over-sized sweater covering his torso while the painfully cold bag of ice rested on his ass. Thomas fed Alex another bite of whatever kind of stirred-rice they were eating, smiling lightly at the faces that the man made at the adoring attention. It was a strange, non-traditional sort of relationship, but it was what worked for them.
And if Monday at the office Alexander seemed less strung-out and temperamental than normal, well, who would that be hurting?