Pliable

Pliable

Characters/Pairing: Treize/Quatre
Rating: M/R
Warnings: AU, spanking, language, hebephilia (i.e., Treize is an adult; Quatre an underage adolescent)
Notes: Written for The Gundam Wing Anonymous Kink Meme
Prompt: "13x4. Quatre is sent to a reform school and scheduled an appointment with principal Trieze for an attitude adjustment. Spanking."


"It's your first day at the Academy, is that correct Mr. Winner?" Treize asked. The boy would have been quite lovely if not for the ghastly black-fading-to-greenish-grey dye in his fine, formerly blond hair. His black eyeliner was too heavy and applied badly about his startling blue eyes. Treize suspected Quatre Winner didn't believe he cared. Everything in his current demeanor, the glare, the untucked and disheveled uniform, the challenging posture; it all broadcast that the boy did not value the approval of others. He wished only to provoke them. A product of neglect, Treize surmised. Quatre's mother had died in childbirth, and his father was a notorious workaholic.

"That what it says, isn't it?" Quatre replied, tipping his head toward the file folder open upon Treize's desk.

"Ms. Wilson says that, in addition to your numerous-" Treize glanced down to the note which had accompanied Quatre to his office. "-quite evident violations of the Academy's dress code, your behaviour is disrupting her class."

"I'd hardly call it a class. Her French is terrible, Mon-sewer," Quatre said, the last in a perfect rendition of Ms. Wilson's arguably deficient French pronunciation.

Treize permitted himself a small smile. "Regardless, she is a teacher, and you are a student at this school. We expect our students to behave respectfully toward all faculty of the Academy."

Quatre rolled his eyes.

Treize stood, deftly fastening the top two buttons of his suit jacket as he did so. "That includes me," he said.

"Fuck you."

"Indeed?" Trieze raised an eyebrow as he stepped around the desk. "I am aware of your reputation, Mr. Winner."

Quatre snorted, raking a ringed hand through his hair. The diamond stud in his earlobe glinted, and in his eyes arrogance glittered. Treize wondered just how much the boy hated himself.

"I will ask you only once," Treize said, "to remove your jewelry and straighten your uniform."

"And if I don't?"

"I will encourage you."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Quatre made no move but to cross his arms over his chest.

The new, mid-year students were frequently the most satisfying challenges. Treize smiled gently, and let the boy interpret that as he would. Some lessons were more important than those learned in class. Quatre would learn the value of others' approval. He would specifically come to value Treize's. He would crave it, and he would strive harder than he now believed he could to attain it. But not yet. First the lesson must be administered. "Please remove your jewelry and straighten your uniform, Mr. Winner."

"No," the boy said, predictably, defiantly. Slightly wary now.

"Then if you cannot wear your uniform correctly, you will remove it."

"What?"

Treize moved closer and took the boy firmly by the wrist, tugging him away from the wall and into the center of the office. The boy resisted, but Treize was irresistible. "You will remove your uniform, or I will remove it for you."

"You can't do th-" Quatre twisted in Treize's grip.

"I can and I will." One handed, Treize yanked the boy's loosened tie undone and whipped it from his neck. He then swiftly turned the boy away from himself, pulling his arm up sharply behind his back.

"Ow!" said Quatre.

With nimble fingers Treize unfastened the buttons of Quatre's shirt, his belt, and his fly. Treize ignored the flash of heat under his skin as, when he pushed the boys trousers down his hips, the back of his hand brushed against the warm, flesh filled front of Quatre's briefs. Quatre flinched, but stilled in his struggles. The rumors about the Winner boy were perhaps true. It made Treize's heart beat faster.

"Step out of your pants."

Quatre did, without complaint. Treize released the boy's arm and tugged his blazer and shirt down to his elbows; Quatre let them fall the rest of the way; they landed on the floor in a heap.

"Good boy," said Treize. "There are coat hangars in the wardrobe there. Collect your uniform and hang it up neatly."

Quatre's face was flushed red. Wearing only his shoes, socks, and briefs, he bent to pick up his uniform as instructed, sparing a curious glare at Treize as he did so. The boy's nipples were pierced as well as his ear. Treize did not stare, though he wanted to.

"Thank you, Quatre," Treize said at last.

"What now?" Quatre asked.

"Your jewelry."

Quatre nodded, bending his head as he unfastened the earring. He slid the rings from his fingers and made a move to his chest for the nipple rings.

"Not those," Treize said. "You may wear those."

Quatre dumped his rings and earring on Treize's desk with a clatter.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Treize asked.

Quatre shrugged.

"But I cannot permit you to get away with your insubordinate behavior so lightly, Mr. Winner." Treize unbuttoned his suit jacked, took it off, and lay it over the back of a chair. He then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "Pull down your underwear, turn around, and place both hands flat on the desk.

A faint frown marred Quatre's brow, but he turned around without further protest. The boys backside was perfect - firm, small, and unblemished - as he revealed it to Treize. He lifted his legs, one at a time, to pull his briefs off over his shoes. It gave Treize a brief view of the boy's testicles, drawn up tight against his body. Treize wondered if Quatre's cock was hardening in the same way his own was. It wasn't often that a student enjoyed his punishment, but Treize was certain he had caught a glimpse of wary pleasure in both Quatre's posture and gaze.

The boy spread his legs slightly and bent over the desk. Treize had to close his eyes for a moment. Then he moved forward and curved one hand over the cool swell of a buttock. "Count for me, Mr. Winner." He raised his hand and brought it forward to impact the soft flesh with a loud smack. How he loved the way the flesh yielded to the blow, the way it rebounded into his palm, the way the blood rushed to the surface to redden and heat the abused tissue.

Quatre grunted in suprise, rallied, and said "One."

"Good boy," Treize praised. Another smack, harder this time.

"Two," said Quatre, this time with a little gasp.

Again. "Three," Quatre whimpered.

By ten the boy was shuddering and panting with each impact of Treize's hand with his skin, and Treize had increased the speed of his blows. By twenty, the flush had spread from the boys face to his inner thighs, and his bottom was hot and uniformly red beneath Treize's hand. Ten more and the boy was arching his back with each strike, moaning his count.

"Please," said Quatre, when no thirty first blow fell.

"That's enough," Treize said, alarm and intrigue warring with his own arousal. He stroked the reddened flesh gently, thoughtfully, lost for a moment in the possibility of-

"You want to fuck me." Quatre said, softly, but the words struck Treize's eardrums like thunder.

It was a risk to acknowledge the truth of Quatre's words. Treize did not reply immediately, though his hand lingered on the heat of Quatre's backside. "I would lose my job, possibly go to prison if I did," Treize said at last, just as softly.

"Has that stopped you before?" Quatre twisted and met Treize's gaze over his shoulder. His pupils were fully dilated, eclipsing the blue of his irises.

"You believe I'd allow myself to be so careless?"

"No," said Quatre, "but I won't tell. I promise."

"Why should I trust a boy who cannot follow even the most simple of rules?"

"I can. I just don't," said Quatre. "There's a difference."

"Would you do it for me?"

"If you fuck me."

Treize smiled. Quatre would be even more pliable than Treize had hoped. "If you come to my office tomorrow appropriately attired, we shall see."


the end