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”Come in!”
The door was pushed open and the blond brat sauntered in. He ditched his bag by the door and stared at his teacher. Mr. Holmes was sat behind a desk tapping away at a laptop, clearly busy. He didn't look up as he spoke. “You're late.”
“I had more pressing matters to deal with, sir.”
Mr. Holmes did glance up then. Gregory Lestrade, or 'the brat', in his eyes, was stood there, hands crammed in the pockets of his uniform. He used that term loosely. His tie was a long distance from the top button, his blazer was nowhere in sight and his shirt was quite clearly not in the correct position of being tucked into his trousers.
“More pressing than detention?” He asked, a touch of steel already gracing his tone.
“That's right.”
Mr. Holmes stood up, his own three piece suit smartly pressed, and paced towards his student who had now slouched into his chair, knocking his desk skewiff as he kicked his feet up.
“What could be more pressing than detention with me?” he asked as he smacked his feet. The boy jerked in surprise, his feet falling off the desk and hitting the floor with a jolt.
The brat recovered well. “To be honest, sir, everything is more pressing than detention with you, including detention with someone else, but in this instance, it was my boyfriend.”
Mr. Holmes bristled at that and out of nowhere the tip of a cane snapped down on the edge of his desk. Greg shot back in surprise, his chair rocking, before settling on four legs again.
“It's 2015, sir,” he pointed out. “They were banned over 20 years ago.”
“This is a private school, Lestrade. My private school. I'll do what I want.”
Greg smirked slightly. “I'd like to see you try.”
Mr. Holmes raised the cane and poked it into the boy's tie that was somewhere down his chest. He used the thin rod to tug upwards and Greg's head tilted back at an unnatural angle. He continued to hold the position of his cane until his student was forced to stand up.
“Did I give you permission to stand?” The teacher asked in a way he knew sounded petty.
The blonde stepped back, shaking his head and breathing deeply. “You're an arse.”
“Oh dear… Mr. Lestrade is in a bad mood.”
“Too right. I'm stuck in detention with some angry old codger.”
Mycroft had to turn away to hide his smirk. His lover was so cute in the uniform and teenage talk. He had to swallow down the kiss he felt would be imminent otherwise and had to ignore the swelling in his pants.
The thin stick whipped up again as the teacher turned back around and caught Greg under the neck, this time forcing him backwards until he ended up bent over another table, rather uncomfortably so.
“Now you are going to choose a number. 1, 2 or 3. Each number is a punishment I have planned for you. The order you pick will be the order the punishment is in.”
“You're the teacher, you choose,” he panted.
“Pick an order, Lestrade, or you'll find the punishment doubled.”
“3, 1, 2.”
“3, 1, 2 what?”
“Sir,” Greg drawled.
“Very well.”
A large hand reached out and snagged Greg's shirt collar and before he had a chance to recognise what was going on, he had been spun around and forced over the desk in a way that followed the more natural alignment of the human body.
“S-Sir?” Greg squeaked.
“Ah, the bad boy routine come to an end, has it?”
Greg cleared his throat and tried to get his bearings. Eventually, he realised he'd squealed like a girl and tried to push himself up off the desk. Strong arms pulled his supporting limbs out from under him and the side of his head hit the desk with a grunt. His teacher moved around to the left of him and switched his grip on his wrists. From out of nowhere, his hands were twisted up so that his arms practically ran parallel to each other. It meant his arse was open and vulnerable to attack. Greg quickly deduced what was about to happen. “Sir! You can't do this, I'm 15!”
“I'm sorry?”
“I'm a little old to be spanked, sir.”
“Tough. Boys that act like brats get treated like brats.”
Mr. Holmes dropped his hand as hard as he could and the boy jerked forward almost in surprise, but that couldn't be right. Again and again his hand came down and the older man couldn't help but notice the way the brat was rutting against the table edge. He delivered a few extremely painful hits that sent jolts up his arm, so he didn't like to think what the impact was causing.
“Will you be a good little boy now?” He asked sarcastically.
Greg heard the bite in his words and couldn't help but feel the need to argue that little bit more so he fought back, his hands wriggling in their uncomfortable position.
The boy was genuinely surprised when the grip around his wrists loosened slightly. It was just enough time for Mr. Holmes to shift his hand to his pocket and pull out a cable tie.
Greg yelped as it settled around his wrists and was pulled tight. “Sir! This is detention, not prison.”
“Are you going to go and report me?”
“Who can I report you to?” He asked hopefully.
“I am the headmaster, Lestrade. Think it through. This is my school. I will punish brats how I like.”
“But what if-”
“No!” he barked, successfully cutting him off and then landing a hand down on his arse at the same time.
“I will get an apology from you, Lestrade, before we continue.”
The hand went up and down, up and down. It had a lot more strength behind it now, because he wasn't having to hold himself in a way where he was side on in order to restrain his student.
It was 15 palms later, when Greg let out a broken yelp. “I'm sorry, sir.”
The hand froze. “Sorry, boy?”
“Yeah.”
The hand fell again and Greg jerked.
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“Struggling, sir, and being rude.”
“That will do. Now I'm not going to release you, but you can straighten up.”
Greg was panting now and as he straightened and turned around, the teacher could see the effort he had exerted to not allow tears to fall.
“Go and stand in the corner. I would say no rubbing, but you can't reach anyway.”
The boy scowled, but silently shuffled over to the corner, no doubt thinking how his cock has begun to tent his pants and how much he would love to deal with it.
Mr. Holmes smiled and watched the back of his head wanting nothing more than to grab him and kiss him, but if he did, he wouldn't let go and the scene would be over. He needed to see it through, despite the tightness in his own pants.
He left him 10 minutes. He had planned on half an hour, but knew he couldn't wait that long and he doubted the younger man could either.
“Come on then, Boy, part 1 next.”
“What is next, sir?” The boy asked sheepishly from he corner.
Mr. Holmes didn't reply. The thing in his hand was answer enough. Greg gaped at the sight of it, his hands struggling in their tie. “Sir-”
“What?”
“You're not going to hit me with that, sir. It's been outlawed.”
“I've said before. This is my school. Now come here, and I'll untie you. Stay there, and you can remain like that through the dozen strikes you are about to receive.”
“But you've already-”
“Already what? Already spanked you?”
Greg blushed furiously at that, his entire neck and face glowing.
“Well… yes, sir.”
“Like you pointed out earlier, Mr. Lestrade, you are 15. Come here.”
Sheepishly, not a word Mr. Holmes would usually use to describe his student, he moved over to join him and the cable tie was slipped free. “Now pants down.”
He spun around, but froze at the teacher's glare then slowly unbuckled his belt, his button and the zipper before slowly tugging his trousers down, keeping them as high as he knew he could get away with.
Despite his protests, the headmaster was surprised the blond had obeyed he had expected more of a fight and angry protests.
“Hands flat on the desk. The only movement you are allowed is to rock up onto your toes. You will hold your tongue from yelling out as long as possible, I will know if you haven't, and you will count each stroke. You will receive 12 strikes with this cane. Any infraction whilst this is happening, and I will continue to add to the tally. Is all that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.”
Mr. Holmes smiled at the shiver that ran through the boy. He rapped the cane three times at his lower back. “Step backwards slightly and put your head down.”
This time the cane dropped lightly at his sit spot as the teacher planned his move, an area that had already been heavily affected by the earlier spanking.
Air hissed through clenched teeth as the first strike landed. Ow! He really should have remembered how much that hurt, although he had only ever received it on his hand in the past.
“That's an extra strike, boy,” the headmaster said impatiently.
“Yes, sir,” he gasped. “Sorry, sir. One.”
“Good.”
The cane whipped through the air again, running a line just above the previous.
“Two, sir.”
The ninth stroke had Greg making a noise, it was more of a whimper than anything else, and the older man smiled at the sight. The brat broken and whimpering. “N-nine, sir.”
Mr. Holmes delivered the next 3 in quick succession, but left the cane resting over the heated area of his pants and brought the cane up and down one more time.
“Thi-thirteen, sir.”
“That was for miscounting at the start. You may stand up.”
Greg straightened and his hands immediately went to rub behind him. His face was lined with tear tracks and his eyes were red rimmed.
“No!” Mr. Holmes barked, making the boy jump. “Hands behind your head! Only babies rub, Mr. Lestrade.”
Slowly, his hands interlocked behind his head. He looked a sight stood beside the desk, his pants around his knees, his tie skewiff, his shirt sweat soaked and his arms trembling where they were clenched.
“Thank me.”
“Th-Thank you, sir,” he acquiesced quietly.
“You get a choice now, boy.”
“Ch-choice? Sir?”
“You can either have a further 10 minutes in the corner or you can get on straight away.”
“Get on, sir,” he said immediately.
“Just so we're clear, get on means part 2.”
Greg's teeth shot out and he began gnawing on his bottom lip. “Part 2, sir,” he said eventually. The prospect of waiting, dragging it out, over in the corner wasn't something he was willing to do out of choice.
“Very well.” Mr. Holmes turned and placed the cane on his own desk and grabbed a handful of paper. “You can pick your trousers up again, boy.” He waited for him to comply before continuing. “Lines.”
Greg's eyebrows shot up at that. Lines! That meant… sitting down.
The headmaster made his way behind his desk and collapsed into his chair.
“Take a seat, Lestrade.”
“'I will not be a cheeky shit',” Greg recited.
“So you can read.”
“Sir, do you really expect me to copy that?”
“Do you want another half dozen with the cane?” he asked moving to retrieve it again.
“No, sir!” Greg said hurriedly, that was a definite no, no. “But it's a bit rude, sir.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don't swear when you're out of earshot from your teachers and parents?”
“Well…” he didn't know how to answer. Say no, and he would know he was lying, he was a teenager after all. Say yes, and he would no doubt get a bollocking for swearing on school premises and he'd probably double the amount he was about to write. He wasn't looking forward to it as it was. The hardwood chair did not look overly comfortable. Rather than answer, Greg lowered himself gingerly onto the rather unappealing chair waiting. He shifted and bit his lip at the bite that was still there.
“How many times?” He asked when he realised he was being watched in dry amusement. A smile was tugging at the headmaster's lips and Greg groaned.
“You can be politer than that, boy.”
He had no other choice, as he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible and the only way that seemed to be likely was if he cooperated. 'Just suck it up, Greg!'
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. How many times?”
“200. And the more you lie or argue, the higher it will be.”
This time the boy surprised his teacher. He dropped his head and picked up his pen with a quiet but determined, “Yes, sir.”
It was a further 10 minutes later when the headmaster realised he was being watched.
“What is it, Lestrade?”
“You planned this, sir.”
“Planned what?”
“The order. It didn't matter what order I picked, these blasted lines would have been last!”
Mr. Holmes smirked and winked. “What number are you on, boy?”
“31.”
“What was that?”
“31, sir.”
“Better. Another 10.”
“But-”
“And another 10.”
Greg's jaw clamped painfully shut. “Yes, sir,” he ground out.
Mr. Holmes grinned. “That'a boy! You're learning.”
“Not much choice,” he muttered.
The headmaster chose to ignore him this time. “Lestrade, I have to attend a brief meeting with my secretary. I will be a matter of moments. You will not leave that chair. Do I make myself clear?”
“You could just say you were popping out.”
Mr. Holmes' hands slammed down on his desk.
“You. Will. Not. Move. Am I clear?” The older man's face was incredibly close, so close, in fact, Greg could feel his breath.
“Yes, sir.”
He actually ruffled his hair on the way passed and Greg dropped character by pushing into it rather than ducking out of the way. Smiling softly but unseen, he made his way to the door.
***
As Mr. Holmes re-entered his office, it was to find one petulant brat sat at the desk, his hands out of sight.
He got as close as he could to the younger man without giving himself up. He seemed miles away in pleasure anyway, as his hand pumped up and down his cock that had sprung free from his pants.
As Greg's orgasm climaxed and his head rocked back, it was to see his headmaster stood, cane swinging absently from side to side. “Tut, tut, tut, Mr Lestrade. I think you have some explaining to do.”
“I…” that was the extent of his response as he struggled down from his floaty bubble.
“Another 3 with the cane I think. Stand up.”
“Sir, no! Please!”
“There's a magic word, Mr. Lestrade?”
“No, sir,” he quickly pushed the threat of his safe word away and stood up.
“Well then, you are a dirty little boy and dirty little boys get punished.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg agreed resentfully.
“Over the desk.”
“Yes, sir.” He quickly moved into position, his hands in the same place they had been earlier.
“You will count, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” he said for a third time.
The cane went up and Greg tensed. It whooshed on the way down and the younger man jumped out of the way. The cane hit the desk with a crack and he stared, stunned. Greg snatched the cane from his hand and threw it.
“I just need to kiss you, Headmaster Holmes, sir, and then you can do with me as you like.”
***
“Did I go too hard on you?” Mycroft asked a while later as they were curled up in bed.
The DI smiled. “Not at all.”
“But my hand and the cane and then making you sit on it?”
“It would have been too much if I really was 15, I think.”
Mycroft laughed and moved to cup Greg's cheek. “Have I ever told you, I love you?”
Greg was slightly taken aback, but he didn't show it. Living with 'The Iceman' proved useful for developing these masking skills. No, he had never outright said the words. Neither of them had, in fact.
The DI lowered his head on Mycroft's chest, head rising and falling with each breath. “I love you, too.”