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“ G ood boy.” It seemed to suit him and be what he needed to hear. He was being good. So, so good. Brave.

Braver than me, trying to not show him how my hand was shaking. I’d done this before; none of this was new to me. This was my jam, completely. I had my techniques down, but I’d never looked after someone who mattered. And Bastien?

Boy, he mattered. The responsibility of doing this right and making it exactly what he needed—I didn’t even know if I was on the right track. I’d asked Juliet, rang her repeatedly yesterday and managed to get the odd sentence of sense out of her. Asked where she’d been.

The girl had guts, I had to give her that. She had done her research and had been to see someone in a hardcore club for guidance. I wondered what she’d done to Bastien, if it had helped or made him worse. I couldn’t tell, from the way he stood there, naked in front of me.

I’d decided to stay dressed, give him the security of knowing I wasn’t about to fuck him. Not this time. Instead—

“I want you to lie down on my lap.” I kept my voice stern, not giving him choices here, nor openings to back out. Holding on to his hand, I guided him where I wanted him, put my hand on his back, pushed.

“Over my lap. Like I did this morning.”

I hadn’t been ready for this earlier, suddenly not sure at all what I was doing. I felt more confident now, having set the scene. Outlined my expectations. Got him to agree to them.

He was doing what he was being told to, even though his arms were all over the place as I tried to get him comfortable with his dick between my thighs, legs resting on the floor so he could control the movements. I put his arms behind his back, crossing them over so I had full control. He wasn’t going anywhere.

I had no idea if this would turn him on, but I was hoping it would.

“Bastien, are you comfortable?”

No response.

“Last warning. I expect answers.”

“Green, fuck’s sake, green. So bloody impatient.” He was shaking a little. I didn’t blame him. But he was also hard. Really hard, that dick of his straining against the inside of my leg. As long as he was, I was on the right track .

“Therefore, all this bullshitting about the past weeks? That stops now. You fucked up, and you’re going to take the punishment for that. After that, we start fresh. Is that clear?”

He swallowed. Hard.

“Words, Bastien.” I liked how he shuddered as my hand slowly stroked his pale arse cheeks. Soft skin, soft hair everywhere.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“I’m going to give you a good spanking.” I loved that word. “You’re going to be good for me and take it. Ten, and you’re going to count with me. Like the good boy you are.”

His chest was heaving, but I held firm, determined this time. I wasn’t going to give in to him. He needed this almost as much as I needed this. It had been a long time coming.

“How are you feeling?”

It took a few breaths and my hand firmly bending his crossed wrists. A little pain compliance went a long way.

“Green.”

“Good boy. I will check in after each one. Any time you’ve had enough, you say red. But I think you can take ten. All the way, Bastien, because you deserve them. Every single one.”

That seemed to get to him. He swallowed heavily as I raised my hand.

Took aim.

I was strong. My arms were my tools at work, and I could pack a punch. I wasn’t going full-on with the first one, though. Just enough to make it sting.

It did. I could tell, his body taking the impact with a shrill “Fuck!” out of his mouth.

“No, Bastien. Count. I didn’t hear a number.”

He was breathing too fast. Good. A pink blush formed on his buttock; I smoothed it down with my gloved hand. My palm inside felt as hot as his skin would. I didn’t do this often, and I’d forgotten how much the first one affected me. How it felt. The way my skin tingled.

“Number?”

“One,” he spat out. “Fuck, that hurt!”

“So it should. And you can take it. Every single one. How are you feeling? ”

“Fuck feeling, green. Fucking green.”

I landed the second one a little harder. He howled.

“Number, Bastien. Count them out.”

“Two.” Still defiant. Still not anywhere near concern, and I was just getting started.

The third one hit home, as he wailed, “Fucking hell!!”

“Number, Bastien.” I was not letting him get away with this. Not yet.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “Bastard,” then, “Three. Another.”

Such a small word, but yes. I’d been right, and the pride warming my chest spurred me on.

“How are you feeling?” I asked softly, gently massaging his reddened skin. Warmth. Shivers. I traced a finger down his leg, teasing his balls on the way back up. I wished I was naked. That I could give my dick a few good strokes. But this was not about me.

“Green. Fucking give it to me.”

I did. Of course I did, landing one firmly on his other side. A red blush blossomed to match his other arse cheek. The sounds out of his mouth a sharp tone, accompanied by rasping breaths .

I hadn’t lied when I’d said this turned me on. It did, oh, so much. Holding him down like this, with no complaints, the soft rocking of his hips, his dick against my leg.

I ran my gloved hands over his skin, teasing him, so he wouldn’t know when or where the next one would hit, and he wanted it, oh yes, he did. He was trying to hump my lap, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I tensed my thighs against his length, giving him what he craved. Friction. Movement. Touch.

I raised my hand and let another slap hit his skin, and he howled, swear words and sounds that once again made my dick swell.

This was what I did. What I loved. My grip on his wrists pushed his elbows further up, and his skin was red and prickled with goosebumps as I stroked my fingers over it. It stung, I could tell from the way he shivered and how his toes were digging into the floor, walking in frustration as I pulled him closer, wedged those arms in.

“Colour.”

“Green.” His voice was little more than a huff .

I’d forgotten about the counting. Forgotten all the reasons why. I was just there in the moment, the way these things went when they were good.

“Do it,” he urged me on.

I did, and this one hit the mark. He screamed, and my heart went into overdrive.

I didn’t even have to ask before he whispered, “Green,” in a voice that sounded broken, cracked open the way I needed him.

Shushing him, gently massaging his skin, I urged him on in words I wasn’t sure he was taking in. I was enjoying this moment far too much—the way his body felt, the breaths out of his mouth, the delicious anticipation in him when I kept him waiting. Longing. Wanting.

The next one, he said nothing, just shivered violently as I stroked his tender skin, his hips slowly rocking, hand clenched in a fist.

“Colour?”

“Green.” It was the smallest whisper but a beautiful one. The way his body reacted, relaxed despite the shivers, the humps against my lap, his head bowed down over the edge of the sofa, the soft, rasping breaths, I knew this was what he’d needed, and what I’d needed too.

The hits became muddled in my head, one after the other. His body was so responsive, becoming more relaxed between every swing of my hand. I could feel the impact through the glove. It was protection but also gave a sweeter sting to every spank, every little touch.

I usually didn’t orgasm from spanking alone. Instead, I’d demand to finish in their mouths, thrusting my cock deep down a willing throat, looking down at a face that would normally be reddened and covered in tears.

Grateful. The people who took my gloved hands usually were. I wasn’t sure Bastien was grateful. He probably hated me… The blotchy skin on his arse woke me from the haze I’d sunk into. The violent redness. He was far too relaxed.

I’d lost count. So had he. Yet here we were.

I delivered one more, hoping it would be the last. His body tensed and held firm before slowly relaxing back down .

“Good boy,” I whispered, in awe of him. Of this. Of everything this was.

I threw another one, the smack of my hand against his skin making me moan out loud. If I wasn’t careful, I would come, just like this, my dick hard in my jeans, wedged against his hip as he humped me, slow, careful movements that were egging me on, holding me back.

I didn’t want it to end.

“More,” he slurred out. “Green.”

I gave him what he wanted. His body was now heavy and pliant against my lap, his legs slack against the floor, arms relaxed, fingers unfurled against his back, so pale and beautiful, like a painting against his reddened skin. He would bruise; I had no doubt about it. Feel this for days. Take it like the wonderful boy he was.

“Colour,” I checked in, since he hadn’t said a word. His fingers flexed, but he said nothing, and his breathing had slowed, almost as if he was asleep, which he wasn’t.

Floating in a haze was the way he’d described it. Lost. Oh God, he was beautiful. Stunning. I stroked his back with my fingertips, gentle movements, while his hips still jerked erratically. Then he stilled, went completely stiff. His back arched up, a sudden wave travelling all the way down to his toes and a drawn-out noise that seemed to go on forever before he became a dead weight against my legs. I had to hold on to him tighter, grappling with his hips, dragging him closer so he wouldn’t fall. Something wet formed on the inside of my leg. I could feel it. Wet and warm.

I don’t know why that tipped me over the edge, but it did, a moan escaping my mouth as I jerked and tensed and arched off the seat, holding on to him with everything I had as a blistering orgasm tore through me. It felt more like pain than pleasure, draining everything that I was down to something so small. This, just him and me.

“I’m right here,” I murmured in a voice that barely held. “Right here. You did so good. So brave. Took all of that like a good boy. It’s all over now, I’ve got you. Right here.”

I was shaking, and I wondered if it was from emotion or exhaustion, perhaps from both, but I lifted him up, pulled him into my arms and shifted back on the sofa, turned him gently around, like he weighed nothing.

I was mindful of his back, resting him gently on his hip against the seat cushion so I could cradle him in my arms, his head against my chest, his face stained with tears. Oh, my beautiful boy.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much. You don’t need to say anything now, just rest. I’m right here, and I will stay with you. I’m so proud of you. So incredibly proud.”

He was still there, somewhere, a small smile on his face.

“Good boy.” I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, eyelids and nose, those still smiling lips. “I love you,” I repeated.

“I fucking came all over your legs, man.”

That’s when I finally laughed, the relief that flowed through me threatening to overwhelm me.

“That’s okay,” was all I could say. Then he laughed too.

“How many did I take?” he asked much later, after we’d been on the sofa for a good while and my leg was starting to cramp. It was still light outside, a perfect evening for opening the balcony door, getting the warm summer air inside. But I didn’t want to move, and we were both under the blanket, him still on his side but now leaning back, trying to inspect his backside. Flossie was asleep on my armchair. I hoped she hadn’t been watching.

His backside was speckled with red, the outline of my gloves visible in a blotchy pattern. It probably hurt. I needed to put some cream on it, a couple of drops of ointment to minimise the inevitable bruising.

“I lost count. My bad. I got carried away with it all. But no more than twenty-five.”

“Hot as fuck.”

Trust Bastien to mess with the programme. This was a serious exercise, yet he was grinning from ear to ear and drowsy, like a baby awakening from a nap. What did I know? I was the youngest sibling and had never had a baby in my life, but I got it. I truly did. It was a conversation for another day.

He was still leaning against my chest, a little wetness dribbling from the corner of his mouth as I once again kissed his forehead .

“How do you feel?”

“Do you need a colour again?” The little shit, but he was smiling. I was too.

“Just words.” I kept kissing. Couldn’t stop.

“What’s with the gloves?”

“To protect my hands. Also gives a nice smack against bare skin, and well. Leather.”

He said nothing, and that was good enough for me. I could have added that I loved the smell of them, and that people usually found them hot. I knew I did.

“Hot,” he said softly. I hugged him, held him closer, dropped another kiss on his hairline.

“Wanker,” I retaliated with a smile.

“I like when you hug me.” Surprising.

“I always wanted to hug you, you know, at uni. Never dared to. We hugged hello and goodbye when we went on breaks. But other than that…” It seemed I couldn’t stop telling him all my secrets, years and years of hopes and dreams I’d never aired. Not to anyone. Never to him. At all. What a waste that had been.

“You used to lie on my lap, watching TV,” he said. “I would play with your hair. We did that.”

“True. ”

“Wasn’t into blokes. Otherwise, I would have hit on you. Promise. I wasn’t taking the piss or anything. I just didn’t…you know.”

“I know.” I did.

“And yet here we are, years later, and I just came from you spanking my arse.”

Trust him to actually say it out loud.

“Did it help?”

“With feeling better about all this?”

He was looking straight at me. I still found that frightening, the honesty. The actual feelings he stirred up in my chest. The fact that he was right here, and I was holding him, and that he was still naked under that blanket.

“Yes,” I said weakly.

“I don’t know. I love that feeling, though, what you just did. When I kind of… It’s hard to explain. When I just go under, and I feel like I’m floating. Like nothing matters anymore. I could live or die or just float forever. Some things turn me on to the point that I get like that, but it’s…like…it has to be something…like what we just did.”

“You took it well. ”

“I’ve…you know. Tried it before. But I’ve never come from it like…that.”

I loved that he was telling me these things, that we were slowly getting there. There was so much to learn, things to understand about him that I’d never realised until now. What he was. How it felt to experience these things with him.

“I’m so happy you let me,” I said. My body was doing that thing it did whenever I felt we were on the right track. Happy vibes. A weird sense of pride.

“You’re good at it,” he added.

What did you say to that? Thank you? I’m a good spanker? I kept smiling. He did that to me.

We lay there in silence for a while, me losing the gloves so I could stroke his hair and him drifting off, dozing. I remembered this. We’d been here before. Two boys on a musty old student dorm sofa, relaxing in the summer heat. Nothing more than that.

This was so much more, and I wondered if I’d ever be the same again, or if this had changed me and irrevocably altered the course of my life .

We couldn’t always have the things we wanted, or so I’d heard, but I was starting to doubt that, along with my entire life.

Hours later, I woke him and made him show me his backside, smothered his fragile skin with calming lotions, kissed his shoulder. I smoothed down his back because I could, made him dress himself to keep warm and reminded him to dose up his pump. Then I served the elaborate meal I’d cooked, on plates with proper cutlery, a glass of sparkling water each.

“Wanker,” he muttered with that smile back on his face. “You know how to wow me, don’t you?”

I did. I’d made his favourite, a simple pasta with mushrooms and vegetables, a comforting, easy-to-eat dish that he wolfed down, shoving forkfuls into that pretty mouth of his, until he suddenly stopped and looked at me.

I blushed, because I hadn’t even touched my own plate, too busy staring at him.

I was a wanker. I nodded in agreement with myself.

“Green,” he said. “I know you’re going to ask. Any minute. ”

I met his tentative smile with one of my own. “Are you all right?” One question amongst many, but I was holding back, letting him rest.

“It’s got a bit of yellow around the edges. Only because I have no clue what’s going on. Red too, because there are definitely things I don’t want to even think about right now.”

Honesty. I loved that.

“Jake, what’s happening here? What are we actually doing?” He put down his fork and sat back on the sofa. Then leaned forward again. “I don’t know what’s happening here. I have no clue, and it’s really fucked up, because I feel better than I have in ages, but at the same time, there’s so much shite I still have to deal with.”

“Good.” That was my one-word reply, too shell-shocked at him talking this much. Admitting things. Feelings? He had them. So many of them, despite hiding everything so well, masking everything with bravado when his whole life was a mess. I could see it. Feel it.

“What’s going on here?” I had to be careful with my own words .

I took a breath. I wanted to pick him up and hold him again, kiss his hairline, stroke my fingers over his collarbone that I could see through his worn-out top, trace the dip in his chest. Caress all that he was. Recapture all the years we’d missed out on, when I could have been making him happy.

I wondered if I’d ever be able to.

“I’m trying to show you what your life could be like, if you went along with this. Being with me instead of chasing around after something that doesn’t cause you anything but anxiety.”

“Do you think you could make me happy? You just told me I was naughty and spanked the shit out of my arse.”

Truth. I had no right to try to lecture him. No correct answers to give.

“Yes, and I did that because we both wanted it, and needed it, and most of all, we both enjoyed it. My spunk-stained jeans are proof of that. Would you like me to retrieve them out of the laundry basket and remind you what they look like? Stained in two places. Your cum and mine. Are you complaining? ”

“Am I allowed to? You told me I had to do as I’m told. All weekend.”

“Yes. Because if you don’t, you’ll fret around and go to sleep on the sofa and be all miserable. Have you been miserable today?”

So many questions. I was getting tired of them too. He rolled his eyes at me but seemed to calm down.

“Juliet keeps texting me, asking when I can come pick up my stuff. She’s in another of her frenzies. It’s been a week or two, and she’s already permanently kicking me out. Packing up my stuff and…well. It’s her place.”

“It is,” I agreed.

Here we were again, frazzled, all that intimacy we’d built seemingly gone in an instant.

“Do you want her back?” I asked.

Nothing. Just him looking anywhere but at me.

“What do you want, Bastien?” I leant forward, staring him down. I needed answers. I needed to know where we stood. “Do you want to be here or not? Go back to Juliet? Or is there anyone else? I have all these questions, and you need to start talking to me. I can’t bear the uncertainty. ”

He swallowed, looked at his plate.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on. Right now,” I pushed, thought I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer anymore when it might break my heart.

He didn’t offer one either. Instead, he just stood up and calmly said, “Red.”