Hayday

"Is that how you're supposed to be sitting on the corner stool?"

A moment after he's given himself a modicum of relief by sitting on his hands, Harley's voice from behind him makes him whip his head around, eyes wide. He hadn't heard Harley enter the room, but he's sitting behind his husband's desk, leaning forward on his elbows. Worse than the unimpressed expression on his face is the small paddle he's placed ominously on the desk in front of him.

"Um…I…," Walter can't think of a good excuse because there isn't one.

"Come here," Harley beckons him. He glances over at Koda, who has his fists clenched tightly in his lap and who appears to be as stiff as board, with the exception of one foot kicking angrily and rhythmically at the leg of the stool. Even though his friend is sitting down, Walter can catch a glimpse of the hot pink color on the edges of his flattened cheeks.

He gladly hops down from the stool, but then hesitates, not sure what to expect from Harley. When he reaches down to pull up his pants and underwear, Harley 'tsks' loudly and shakes his head. "Just step out, little boy."

Walter is pretty sure the color of his face matches the color of his butt, but he toes off his shoes, steps out of his clothes as directed, and creeps towards the professor. He didn't have a good reason for sitting on his hands, so he angles for sympathy instead. With his until-a-couple-weeks-ago legal guardian, sometimes he can win leniency. He doesn't have to fake the tears still pooled in his eyes, or the waver in voice. "Harley, it buuurrrrns."

"Good, it's meant to," Harley dashes any hope he has of pleading his case. As soon as he's within reach, the man snags his wrist and pulls him close. "How should you have been sitting on that stool, Walter?"

"O-on my b-butt," he sniffles. "But, Harley, I can't…" He starts to breath a little faster, but Harley grabs his chin and lifts his face to meet his eyes.

"None of that, kiddo. Pick a grounding exercise if you need one, but you need to calm down." Walter does his best to comply, and after taking a couple more honest breaths, Harley gives him an approving hum. "Do you trust Noah?"

Walter nods as best he can with his chin grasped.

"Then you know he's not going to do anything that will harm you, hm? I know it's not fun. Been where you are right now, got the t-shirt." When his eyes widen and his mouth drops open, Harley chuckles at him. "Yeah, kiddo, me too. You're not alone in making the occasional terrible decision. But," he sobers quickly and his face goes back to stern, "as unpleasant as it is, it's not going to do more than make your little bottom hot and give you a reason to think harder next time. If it's honestly too much, and you need it to stop, what do you do?"

"Safeword," he whispers.

"Did you need to safeword?"

"No, sir." Even as he says it, closing his eyes, Walter swallows down the sour taste of regret and betraying his own ass.

"Good boy, thank you for being honest. But since you decided to be naughty and try to get out of your punishment, I'm going to rekindle that fire before you go serve the rest of your time."

Before Walter can protest or whine about the pronunciation of his sentence, he's tipped over a familiar lap. Since he's already bare, there's no work for Harley to do except brace him with a big hand wrapped around his hip. The paddle that rests on his bottom a moment later feels, deceptively, slightly cool against his cheeks but Walter knows better. He grabs Harley's ankle and whines, low in the back of his throat.

The paddle leaves his bottom and he tries not to tense up too much before it comes back down, a sharp smack on the fullest part of his left buttock, and then a match smack on the right side that drives a yelp from his throat. Harley isn't using a ton of force, but on his already tender bottom, it's more than enough. He can't quite appreciate in the moment that his mentor has chosen a stingy, lightweight paddle that will be all surface sting and no deeper impact.

When the paddle falls again on the left, it's to the top of his thigh, and his helpless kicking in response doesn't interfere with Harley bringing the paddle down on his right thigh. Walter cries out with each and throws his hand back, but Harley just catches it and presses it to the middle of his back before using the leverage to tip him forward over his knee.

He's gotten spanked enough this year to know exactly what that means, and Harley is particularly good at it; desperate and beyond thinking Walter squirms and kicks as hard as he can, trying to get away. Harley just tightens his grip and leans down on him slightly, holding him motionless. When he brings the paddle down for the fifth time, it's with a wicked upward cant to the stroke that catches the crease between the bottom and the thing and the entirety of the sit-spot in one burning swat.

Walter gives in to the desire to howl his protest, back arching and legs going stiffly straight out behind him, and then just dissolves into tears, going limp. It's all just so overwhelming. When his guardian lands the sixth swat, with the same aim and purpose on the other side, he doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything but cry. Harley had promised to reignite the fire, and despite only delivering six swats, he'd made good on that promise.

Humming something soothing and nonsensical, the man lifts Walter back to his feet and wraps him in a tight hug. Walter leans into his chest, taking any comfort that's on offer. "Alright, you're okay munchkin. Don't make me do that again today, hm?" Harley presses a kiss to the top of his head. "You know Noah's not done, so give yourself a break, kiddo, and just be good."

Walter tries to nod his agreement into his guardian's chest, practicing some of his anxiety breathing techniques to stop the tears until Harley gently pushes him back and takes him by the hand, leading him back over to his corner. Before he can make any bad decisions, Harley lifts him up and sets him on the heating pad, hands staying on his hips through the first, awful rush of fire that is his well-spanked cheeks pressing into the already hot plastic.

"I know it's awful, kiddo, but you can handle it. Make sure you're thinking about what you're going to say when Noah comes back, and just let it happen." Harley holds him until he, very reluctantly settles, letting himself sink all the way down onto the unyielding heat and hardness of the stool. Then he presses another kiss to the side of Walter's head and walks away. He doesn't dare turn to look, not willing to tempt any more paddle swats, but he can hear Harley whispering to Koda somewhere behind him, and he guesses that the other ex-freshman is getting a hug and a word of encouragement as well.

It's hard to hold the swats and the enforcement of Noah's decree against Harley when he's so freaking nice about everything!

He might as well have not tried to stop the tears. Within a couple of breaths, Walter is convinced that his bottom is actually on fire, burning, and he'll never recover. His eyes water and then leak, penitence dripping from his eyes and his running nose. He can't muffle quiet whimpers as he gives in to the urge to shift on the stool, trying in vain to find a position that would alleviate some - any! - of the burning. But it's no use; every position only serves to remind him of the spanking and the paddling he's gotten, and every wiggle just feels like he's exposing a new section of his poor bottom to the fury of embers pulled right from a volcano.

As the fire slowly burns, his tears eventually dry to a trickle. He clenches his fists like Koda now, biting his lip to keep from shouting out his frustration at being unable to get away from the sensation. He feels so vulnerable and exposed, too, sitting there with his bare bottom on fire while Harley watches from across the room. The thought of being caught like this, by someone else who comes looking for Noah, to know they would know exactly how naught he would have had to have been to earn this, makes him feel even more ashamed.

Koda's kicking at his chair intensifies, from restless to very purposeful. Walter doesn't mind, it gives him something else to distract him from his morose thoughts and burning bottom, but then the soft thumps turn into loud thuds as he begins to kick the wall instead. He gets in five or six solid kicks before Harley's stern voice behind them makes Walter jump and the other boy freeze.

"Dakota, if you kick the wall again and you can have a taste of this paddle too. Your choice, buddy."

Listening to Walter get it must have convinced Koda it wasn't worth it, because he doesn't kick the wall again.

Walter sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He can't help but feel like an idiot for getting himself into this situation in the first place. He did know it was a terrible idea, but he had been so desperate to impress Koda and feel included in 'naughty mischief' (Roscoe's words) or 'brat antics' (Lena's less tolerant term) that he'd decided to ignore Auggie's warning and the known consequences for doing dangerous things on the farm. Now he is paying the price for his decision, and it's awful.

It's been getting steadily darker, the usual light from the office's big window disappearing. Thunder rolls outside and not long after, they can hear rain pelting the window and the side of the building. Lightning flashes and the wind howls. Apparently the storm that's rolled in is going to be one of those Earth-shaking, awe-inspiring summer thunderstorms. Walter just wants to curl up in his bed and listen to the rain and forget today ever happened.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, (he'd be horrified to know it was only about thirty minutes, all told), he hears the heavy tread of Noah outside the door, and then the door opening and closing. Walter stares at the wall in front of his nose with a mixture of relief and dread – relief that it is finally over, dread at how Noah might choose to 'finish' their 'discussion'.

"Any issues?" the farm manager asks, and listening to the sounds of the two men moving around behind him, Harley can see the image they present in his mind's eye. Noah would have gone around the desk, to his husband's side. He would have either pulled Harley up into a hug or leaned down, kissing his forehead. When he'd first met them, he'd thought the three of them - Noah, Harley, and Kellyn - had displayed a sickening amount of PDA. Over the course of a year, though, he'd realized that it wasn't that they did too much…it was that his parents had almost never touched, or touched him. It had taken a while, and more than a few nights of sleeping on his stomach when his confusion and uncertainty manifested in tantrums and other naughty behavior, but he's realized he wants what they have. It's not too much…it's just right.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Harley replies. A pause, and Walter can see this too: Noah would have arched an eyebrow, a silent demand for more information.

Harley would have held his ground a moment before shrugging and saying, "Walter needed to test the boundaries and I swatted him for it, but he's been very good since then. I took care of it. Did you get the hay in?"

"Yep, pulled the last trailer into the barn just before the sky opened. Thank you for keeping an eye on these two." Walter can hear them kiss. "I told the crew I'd spring for dinner for everyone. Can you go order some pizza or takeout or something? They've got the last two trailers to throw into the loft, then I'm sure they'll want to shower but then they're all going to show up at the house."

Harley agrees, laughing. Then he whispers something to Noah that Walter can't make out before he leaves. When the door clicks closed behind him, everything is silent in the office except the sound of the weather outside and the tick of the clock on the wall. Noah breaks the silence both well after Walter wants him to and well before he's ready.

"Alright, boys, come here."

Walter jumps down immediately, steadying himself using the wall, and it takes everything in him not to clamp his hands over his smoldering rear. As he walks over to stand in front of Noah, he glances over at Koda, who looks just as miserable as he feels. He's also kicked off his shoes and his clothes, leaving them both standing in their shirts and socks. In this moment, he truly feels like a naughty little boy, and not an 18-year-old college sophomore.

"You had plenty of time to think," the man says quietly. "Let's make sure you came to the right conclusions. Dakota, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"We shouldn't have been using the rope swing," Koda mutters to his feet. "I should have listened to Auggie when he said it was a bad idea. And," he turns to Walter, and sounds infinitely more miserable. "I'm sorry, Wally. I shouldn't have pushed you to do it after you said you didn't want to."

"While I appreciate you taking responsibility for your actions, Walter can make his own choices," Noah interrupts. "Walter, what is my number one rule?"

Walter doesn't even have to think about it. It's the same rule in the man's home, on the farm for students and workers, and in the dorm. "Don't do anything that endangers yourself or somebody else," he recites.

"Do you think you broke the rule?"

"Yes, sir," he knows they did. It was a reckless, foolish thing to do - just like Noah had said when he first caught them.

"Dakota?"

"We had one when I was a kid," Koda whines.

"Did you think I would let you?"

"My pops never had an issue with it. I just…I thought…" he trails off, kicking the ground petulantly.

"You just thought you wouldn't get caught," Noah says flatly. "Answer the question. Did you think if you asked, I would let you swing fifteen feet off the ground on a rope swing that has been up there for god knows how long and could come untied or break at any minute? And that is before we factor in the risks of one of you losing your grip and falling off of it!"

Noah doesn't yell. He doesn't have to. Walter quails at the intense scolding, and he can feel Koda fidgeting beside him. His response, when it comes, is a whisper. "No, sir, I didn't think you'd let us."

Leaning back against his desk, Noah lets the silence sit heavy on them long enough for tears to prick Walter's eyes again. "I will not tolerate you making foolish decisions that intentionally put yourselves in harm's way. I hope you learn that lesson today, boys, because if we have to have this conversation again, we'll be having it every day for a week. Do you understand me?"

They both stammer out the expected 'Yes, sirs'.

"Let's finish up then so we can put it behind us. Over the desk, gentlemen." Noah straightens and walks around to the back, opening a drawer and pulling out an implement both boys are familiar with. It's nothing fancy - just a thick leather offside billet that had been appropriated at some point for spanking some poor bottom and never returned to the barn. About eighteen inches long, two inches wide, two layers of well-oiled saddle leather kept neatly folded in half with a bit of saddle string. At some point someone had added a fancy concho with a bear's head on it into the first hole, well away from the part that strikes unfortunate bottoms.

Last time he'd seen it, Walter had promised himself he'd never earn himself another encounter with it.

"Um," Koda looks at Walter and then back at Noah. "Who first?"

"You got in trouble together, you can get consequences together," Noah says. "Both of you over, now. If I have to count, I'm adding minutes hot seat minutes after."

Walter throws himself over the desk at the same time that Koda does. He tucks his red face into one arm bend under his head and reaches the other out in front of him, but he's too short to reach the far edge of the desk, so it rests loosely on the table.

The sound of the little strap landing on bare skin is loud; Walter jumps, clenching against pain that doesn't come. He swims in confusion until Koda hisses beside him, and then realizes Noah must have started with the other boy. He relaxes, only to hear the sharp retort of leather on skin again, but this time it's his own. The strap leaves a stripe of instant regret behind.

Noah continues in a steady rhythm, alternating back and forth. It leaves just enough time for the burn to set and peak from one stroke while he swats Koda, and then he returns to Walter's butt. Each time Walter squirms and kicks and cries; but each time Noah presses a hand to his back, stilling the worst of his wriggles, and lands his strap again carefully just below the last. By the third, he's open crying again. On the fourth, he starts to reach back to block but Koda feels his arm move and grabs his hand, squeezing it tight. By five, he's convinced that Noah just poured liquid fire on his poor bottom. Six lands exactly on the crease between his bottom and thighs, and he wails out his sorries, incomprehensible as they probably are.

Seven, to his horror, lands back at the top. Noah marches the stripes down with the same precision as the first set. But now each time the strap lands it's landing on already raw and blazing skin.

Walter has no thoughts except regret. He knew better, and he's paying the price now. The wildfire that was previously his bottom shows no sign of petering out, so he doesn't notice at first that Noah's made the strap disappear and he's rubbing their backs, humming nonsense.

Koda scrambles upright first, and Noah pulls him into a hug. He takes his place on the desk, propping his hip up at the edge so he can hold Koda with his right arm and continue to rub Walter's back with his left. Slowly, Walter also pushes off the desk and turns into the offered hug. It hurts - the burn still rolling across his brain in waves of varying intensity - but the hamsters using his stomach as an exercise wheel have been vanquished.