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Almost a week had passed since Bobby had found himself unceremoniously pulled over Professor Lensherr’s lap for a spanking in the kitchen. To the surprise of them all, Bobby had largely bounced back from that moment without much hand wringing or navel gazing. To the contrary, something about it had almost thawed a part of himself he hadn’t realized was frozen. From the day his powers first emerged, until the day his parents had found out, Bobby had spent an eternity of agony waiting for things to change - and they had.
While he had never been particularly close to or open with his parents, Bobby had always felt certain that they loved him in their own way. He thought they probably still loved him - at least a little, maybe out of obligation, but still - but he had watched as they flinched away from him, withdrawing from even casual contact. Physical touch, which had never been given all that freely, evaporated almost completely. And while he certainly did not want a repeat of the spanking part of the evening, the absolute lack of fear Erik had displayed coupled with his willingness to touch, hold, hug and cuddle Bobby both during and after the spanking, had made a part of him feel warm again. Well, two parts of him, he supposed with a grin.
Truthfully, the only part of that whole affair that Bobby regretted was seeing Scott get into trouble. That part had hurt more than the spanking itself, in its own non-fiery way. Still, life was settling into a routine of normal now that Bobby would not have believed possible the day, he’d first frozen a bathtub full of water. On that day, he’d panicked and tried to melt the ice by adding more hot water, leading to an inevitable overflow and a cracked pipe. His parents had blamed the resulting flood on plumbing issues and Bobby had hidden in his room pretending to be sick for two days, until his mom had dragged him to the doctor. There, he’d been proclaimed perfectly healthy, and he had seen a poster about the “growing mutant issue,” complete with a website that had helped him figure out at least a little bit about what was really going on.
Today, though, Bobby was bored. Scott had been sent back to bed with a headache shortly after lunch. Professor Xavier had given him a reading assignment, but Bobby had no interest in Shakespeare, merchants, or Venice. Instead, he found himself thinking about what lay behind the locked doors Scott had talked about. What kind of machine did the Professor use to locate mutants?
Starting blankly at a page he'd read twice and still couldn't recall, Bobby heard Charles come back through the living room and cross the room with an absent, “Are you doing all right, Bobby?”
“Ummhmm,” Bobby hummed, popping his eyes over the top of the couch to watch. It was obvious to him that Charles and Erik were distracted. He felt a spurt of anxiety and wondered just how sick Scott was. He heard Charles say something to Erik about Scott’s ruby glasses, but he didn’t really understand, and he couldn’t hear that well anyway.
Erik noticed Bobby watching and he gave him a scattered smile. “Don’t worry. Scott will be ok.”
Bobby nodded, waiting until the two Professors were conversing again. He slipped off the sofa, leaving the well-worn copy of Shakespeare that the Professor had given him behind and quickly ducked out of sight. He generally didn’t mind school, although he wouldn’t describe himself as a big fan, by any means. But Shakespeare was dense, and Bobby was more than willing to take advantage of his teacher’s distraction to duck out and find something more entertaining to occupy his afternoon.
Bobby had wandered as far as the gymnasium - and really, what kind of house had a full-sized indoor basketball court in it? - when he heard the Professor’s voice in his mind. Bobby? Where did you go?
Bobby still wasn’t sure exactly how much the Professor knew when he popped into Bobby’s mind, so he answered honestly. Gym.
I see. Charles sounded surprised. Did you finish your reading assignment?
Bobby made a face, but again decided honesty was the best choice. Not yet. I just… needed a break.
Bobby felt a flash of something - was it guilt? - from the Professor. I know that you’ve been left to your own devices this morning, Bobby, and I am sorry for that. But I do think that doing your schoolwork is important and would like for you to come and finish, please.
Can I shoot some baskets first? Bobby asked, pleading. I’m already here.
There was a hesitation, then the Professor consented. All right, but I want you to come to the kitchen in thirty minutes for lunch. We can talk about what you’ve read so far then.
Remembering to not narrate his thoughts in his head, Bobby privately thought the Professor was going to be disappointed in their lunch conversation. Ok, Professor. With no other choice, Bobby agrees, then sets about locating a basketball and taking some practice free throws. At his old school, in what Bobby thinks of as the “pre-ice age,” had been on the basketball team. He wasn't really sure why, as he’d never been particularly good on the court, but no one had ever faulted his free throws. Settling into a rhythm, Bobby completely forgot his promise to meet the Professor for lunch until he felt a stern presence in his mind.
Robert.
Yelping in surprise, and wildly missing his shot, Bobby spun around to see a completely empty gym before he realized what had happened. Oh crap! I’m sorry, Professor. I lost track of time.
I noticed. Bobby can’t tell for sure, but he thinks that Charles sounds amused. Hurry, now. I’ll see you in a few minutes.
Bobby quickly put the ball away and paused just long enough to use the bathroom and wash his hands before sprinting back towards the kitchen. In the living room, he nearly ran headlong into Erik and his quick sidestep nearly sent a lamp flying off the table. It hovered precariously for a minute before resettling itself and Erik gave him a warning glance. “Slow down, child. You can’t make up tardiness by wrecking the place.”
Sheepishly, Bobby nodded. “Sorry, sir.”
Erik’s sternness faded and he smiled. “Against my better judgment, I made you a sandwich. Now hurry up. Charles is waiting and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting over Shakespeare.”
Bobby gave a real smile, grateful for the kindness, and Erik reached out a hand in a halfhearted attempt to ruffle his hair. Bobby playfully ducked away, slipping into the kitchen, and finding a plate complete with a sandwich, carrot sticks, a pickle, and a bowl of mixed berries waiting for him across from Charles. A moment later, he was glad for Erik’s show of kindness, because Charles wore a frown that nearly stole his appetite. Slinking into his chair, Bobby managed an apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late.”
Charles sighed. “Go ahead and eat a little bit, and then I would like to discuss your thoughts on Antonio.”
Bobby bit into his sandwich and chewed slowly before looking up and admitting. “I didn’t get very far.”
“Oh?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “How far did you get?”
“I read like 5 pages,” Bobby said. “But mostly I read one page like five times.” Charles looked decidedly unimpressed, and Bobby hurried on. “I just couldn’t focus.”
Sighing again, Charles leaned back in his chair. “It has been an unexpectedly hectic morning,” he admitted. “I thought we had found the right combination to stop Scott’s headaches, so this one was unexpected.”
A tiny bit of guilt mixed with relief as Bobby chewed a carrot stick. “Is he going to be ok?”
“Yes, child, he’ll be fine. We’re just waiting for the medication to help Scott’s pain. Then we’ll try a new pair of glasses and hope for the best.” Charles stood up and went to the counter where a pad of paper lay. He fished a pen from the drawer and leaned down and wrote for a few minutes while Bobby finished his lunch. Then he tore the paper off the pad and came over to hand it to Bobby. “These questions should hopefully help you focus this afternoon. I’ll let you continue reading for a while, and then we’ll switch to something else.”
Resigned, Bobby read over the questions. “What was Antonio’s state of mind at the beginning of the play? Why? What reasons does he give? What do Solanio and Salerio think?” Other questions followed, asking about characters Bobby hadn’t even read about yet. He looked up with a sour expression and Charles shook his head with a small smile.
“This is a school, Bobby. Now, I trust that you’ll do your best. I’m going to take Scott some lunch. If you need anything, Erik is in his office working. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Chagrinned, Bobby nodded. He cleaned up his plate and refilled his glass before fetching the book he’d left in the living room and going back to the table. Sitting down, he opened the book and started reading. Forty-five seconds later, he had an idea. Jumping up, he went to look in the living room and saw that it was empty. Then he went back to the kitchen table, shut the book, pulled out his phone and started Googling. He jotted down the answers he found and finished going through the Professor’s questions in less than 20 minutes. Satisfied that he could answer the questions - although he still had no idea who any of these people were - Bobby abandoned the kitchen and went back to the gym. He would pick up his explorations there.
Most of the rooms seemed empty, or like they held seldom used gym equipment or lawn games. Idly, Bobby wondered who had used all this stuff - or if anyone had ever used it. Maybe the Professor just got everything he thought a school should have. At the end of the hall, Bobby found another stairwell and took it down what felt like two levels, or maybe even more. Here, he found a room that was very interesting. The room was as large as the gym upstairs, but mostly empty. Along the wall, Bobby found a stand that held what looked like bright orange clay frisbees, hundreds of them. Curiously, he picked on up and turned it over to see it stamped with a logo - WHITE FLYER SPORTING CLAYS. Fascinated, Bobby looked around. Why would they need so many clay discs and what would anyone use them for inside? Putting it back, Bobby walked the edge of the room, noting what looked like skid marks in several places on the wall, and even on the ceiling. A shelf on the other side of the room held metal discs. Bobby picked one of those up as well, looking intently at the dents that marred the one in his hand, and from what he could see, many of the others.
“They’re used for training.” A voice echoed through the room, startling Bobby so much he jumped and spun around, dropping the disc in his hand. His power had flared at the fright, and the disc, which had frozen solid, shattered on the floor at his feet, scaring him again and Bobby felt his power, lying just under his skin, flare. “Bobby?”
Charles, for that’s who it was that had startled him, started towards Bobby and Bobby held up his hand in warning. Snow, generating at his fingertips, flew out in a gust of white and Bobby immediately made a fist. That didn’t stop it, though, and he could see snow flying through the air from behind him now. Bobby, it’s all right, child. Unable to reach him, the Professor turned away, protecting his face from the onslaught.
“I can’t… I can’t stop it…” Bobby cried, covering his head with his own hands, and dropping to his knees. Wind howled through the room, and he could see the floor under him take on a glossy white look as ice shot out away from his knees like jagged lightning strikes.
Yes, you can. Take a deep breath. The Professor's mental voice was calm and certain. Bobby could hear him take a breath and Bobby copied him, breathing in, and holding it, then breathing out. The Professor immediately praised him. Good boy. Again, please.
Professor, leave, Bobby thought in desperation. Please, get somewhere safe.
I’m safe right here, Charles thought, reassuringly. I’m not leaving you. You’re doing a great job. Keep breathing. Deep breath in. Come on.
Focusing on the Professor’s mental voice, Bobby continued taking deep breaths until he finally felt the power again, running under his skin. You can stop it anytime, Charles said softly. It’s your power. You control it.
Bobby believed him, maybe, but that didn’t mean that it was easy. His whole body shook with the fear and adrenaline of feeling so wildly out of control. Charles kept up a steady stream of encouragement in his mind, and finally, though, it stopped. The silence was so loud it hurt his ears and then a barking noise broke it. Bobby didn’t raise his head from where he still covered his head, but the noise repeated again, then again, and Bobby realized it was coming from him. Another sob shook him even as strong arms wrapped around him, and Charles knelt at his side. “It’s all right.” he promised as Bobby cried. “It’s all right. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let it out.”
The fear that Bobby had felt the first time his power flared had never left, not truly, and it tore at Bobby from the inside now. “It’s all right, Bobby,” Charles murmured. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m sorry,” Bobby sobbed, his body shaking in the aftermath.
“So am I, child,” Charles said. “I scared you and I didn’t mean to do that. You’re all right. Everything is all right.”
“But the room,” Bobby protested, glancing around for the first time. A massive snow drift was piled along the far wall and icicles hung down from the ceiling.
“The room is fine,” Charles said. “We use this room for training. The walls and floors are reinforced and there are built in drains for when the snow melts. A good mopping and it will be as good as new.”
The guilt clenching Bobby’s chest eased, and he blew out a shaky breath. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Charles scoffed, but Bobby could see that his hands were red and chaffed and his cheeks looked like he had spent too long on the ski slopes. “Nothing a hot shower and some aloe won’t cure.”
The sound of Erik clearing his throat drew both of their gazes over to the door where he looked inside with a mix of amazement and concern. “I thought we weren’t getting started on Bobby’s practical lessons yet.” He tossed Bobby a wink and Bobby’s chest eased a bit more.
“He may not be much of a Shakespeare fan,” Charles said in response, but his tone was teasing. “But he’s clearly ahead of the curve on practical.”
Bobby managed a tremulous smile, reaching up to wipe his face, as Erik walked over to them. He offered them each a hand, pulling them to their feet, then looked around. “Nothing to do but wait for it to melt, I suppose.” He looked at Bobby curiously. “How successful are you at unfreezing things?”
“Just once,” Bobby admitted. “But I can try?”
“Might as well,” Erik said, and Charles hummed an agreement.
Bobby nodded, taking a step away from his professors towards the snowbank, and held up his hands. Nothing happened. He couldn’t even feel the power, which had raged over him moments before. He tried again with no more success. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t know how to do that yet.”
“We’ll practice some more soon,” Charles said, reassuringly. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to wait. We can turn up the heat in the room, too.” He put a hand on the back of Bobby’s neck and squeezed it reassuringly.
“Hmm, yes,” Erik said absently, eyes narrowing as he looked at his husband’s face. “Let’s see about the shower and the aloe I heard you mention. Bobby, you too.”
“I don’t need any aloe,” Bobby said, and Erik smiled.
“Go shower. We’ll pick back up with lessons later.”
Bobby nodded and followed Charles back up the stairs. Erik trailed behind them. “How did you end up down here anyway?” Erik asked and Bobby flushed.
“I was just exploring,” he said. “It wasn’t locked or anything.”
Erik waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I just thought you were working on your reading assignment.”
“As did I,” Charles said, tone shifting into disapproval. “Scott fell asleep after he ate, but when I came back downstairs to find you, you had once again vanished.”
“I finished,” Bobby said.
“You read the entire act in half an hour?” Charles asked, surprised.
“I answered all the questions,” Bobby hedged, looking down at his feet. He could feel the adults exchange a look.
“I see,” Charles said, and Bobby had the awful feeling that he did see, and what he saw, he wasn’t happy about. “Good. We’ll talk about them once you finish your shower and I finish mine. Erik, would you be so good as to check on Scott? I think the commotion woke him.”
Erik nodded and the three of them headed their separate ways once they reached the top of the steps that led to the bedrooms. Bobby slunk into his room and grabbed a change of clothes before heading back to the bathroom he shared with Scott. All of his toiletries were shoved into a drawer, and he snagged out a bottle of all-in-one body and hair wash before turning on the shower. He didn’t bother to check the temperature. Ever since his power had emerged, temperature changes didn’t register like they had before. The water could be freezing or scalding, but either way, it felt fine to him. It took almost no time to push himself through the shower, but he did feel more relaxed when he climbed out.
He quickly dressed in the clothes he’d grabbed, stepping into some loose gym shorts, and priding himself on the green tee shirt that proclaimed in big letters, “I’M COLD.” He’d bought it before his mom had realized he was making what she later considered a very unfunny joke, but it always made him laugh.
Calmer now, Bobby made his way back downstairs. He wound his way into the kitchen, stopping at the cabinet to see if the cookie fairy had replenished their supply. She had not and Bobby turned when he heard Erik come in behind him. “Can we get more cookies, please?”
Erik looked surprised. “We just bought cookies.”
Bobby stared at him blankly, then opened the cabinet and pointed to the empty shelf. “Someone ate them, then, and it wasn’t me!”
“I’ll add them to the list,” Erik said. “But we’re going to have ration cookies if this mysterious “someone” doesn’t learn some self-control.” The way he said the last bit - pointedly - made Bobby glance around to see Charles looking sheepish.
“They were good,” Charles said in his defense and Bobby hid a grin when Erik rolled his eyes.
“But they’re not good for you, Charles.”
Charles shook his head, but there was affection in his gaze. “Moderation in all things,” he said with a cheeky wink at Bobby. “Now, come, Bobby, and let’s see what you’ve learned.”
Reluctantly, Bobby went to the table where Charles was sitting. Behind them, Erik put on a kettle for tea and started some early dinner preparations. “Now, let’s talk about Antonio.” Charles glanced at Bobby notes. “I see you wrote down that he was sad. Why?”
“Money problems,” Bobby said, wracking his brain to remember what he’d read. “Or love.”
“Which do you think it was?” Charles asked, leading Bobby to swallow hard.
“Love?” He suggested, but his tone asked it a question and Charles leaned forward, eyebrows lifting.
“Are you asking me what you think?”
“There are worse people to ask,” Bobby pointed out, quickly averting his gaze when Charles gave him a considering look.
“Bobby, did you actually read the assignment?” Charles' voice was stern, and Bobby’s eyes slid from Charles’ face down to the floor. He shook his head.
“How did you come up with these answers?”
“The internet,” Bobby admitted. “On my phone.”
For a long moment there was silence. Then Charles sighed. “If I’d wanted you to read other people’s ideas about The Merchant of Venice,” Charles said softly, “I would have given you that assignment.”
Bobby nodded, swallowing hard. “Sorry.”
“Robert,” Charles said, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t help but feel like this is cheating.”
“What?” Bobby looked up, shocked. “It’s not cheating!”
“What would you call it, then?”
“I don’t know!” Bobby said loudly, looking to Erik for help. “Not cheating.”
Erik gave him a skeptical look. “More like taking credit for someone else’s thoughts? Or just garden variety not doing your assignment and trying to pretend like you had?”
Bobby flushed, crossing his arms sullenly. “What’s the big deal? Everyone did it at my old school.”
Charles sounded pained. “Really? Everyone took answers off the internet and turned them in as original thoughts?”
Bobby hesitated, arms going limp again. “Not everybody,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, but I really didn’t think of it as cheating.”
Erik sat down at the table with them, reaching out to pat Bobby’s hand encouragingly. “So, what were you thinking?”
Bobby hesitated, not making eye contact with the Professor. He wasn’t sure he should say, because “This assignment is totally useless and stupid, and I was bored so I went to explore.” didn’t seem like it would be well received. Charles made an exasperated noise and Bobby dropped his head to his arms with a groan. “Was I broadcasting again?”
“Loudly,” Charles confirmed.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” Bobby mumbled, not picking his head up.
“I believe you.” Charles chuckled. “That was a great deal of sass otherwise.”
Bobby waited, but no one said anything and after a second he lifted his head to see what was happening. Charles and Erik were both looking at him and waiting. He squeaked in surprise but didn’t hide his face again. “Ok. I can see how you think it was cheating.”
“And can you see how it actually was cheating?” Charles asked pointedly and Bobby sighed, nodding.
“Yeah. I can. I didn’t think of it that way, though.”
“I’m not sure you thought of anything, besides immediately gratifying your boredom,” Charles said, voice stern once more.
Bobby shrugged. “I just… everyone was busy, and I didn’t want to do schoolwork. So, I just… looked up the answers and figured I could read the play later.”
“Bobby, I’m at a loss, child. You had ample time to do your assignment and instead you chose to wander around avoiding it. Then, when I told you to work on it again, you chose to take every available shortcut - going so far as to copy down answers from the internet to turn in as you brown - and ran off again. At every turn today, instead of doing what you were supposed to, you’ve chosen to misbehave. How do you propose I react?”
Bobby shrank down, steeling himself for the next condemnation.
“What is it?” Erik asked, his voice surprisingly kind for the circumstances.
“Umm,” Bobby cleared his throat, but couldn’t help the fact that his voice came out small and tight. “I guess I was waiting for the part where you chewed me out for nearly wrecking the basement.”
“Bobby,” Erik said, waiting until Bobby made eye contact. “You’re not in any trouble for that.”
Bobby’s expression twisted in skepticism, clearly not sure if that was accurate, and Charles reached out to take his hand and squeezed it gently. “Erik is telling the truth. You actually did an admirable job. You managed to bring your powers under control fairly quickly. We’re proud of you for that.”
Bobby dropped his eyes again, pulling his hand away self-consciously, and picking at his fingernails. Again, no one spoke until Bobby looked up. “Thanks, I guess. But why aren’t you mad?”
“This is a school for mutants,” Charles said. “We’d be a pretty bad one if we got upset whenever your powers flared.”
Bobby nodded, still not willing to make eye-contact. “Look at me, child,” Charles said softly. Bobby hesitated for as long as dared, then glanced up slowly. Charles was looking at him sternly. “I’m not lying to you. You are not in trouble for what happened in the gym.”
Bobby released a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then Charles continued speaking and he hunched down on himself again. “What I am upset about is your behavior this afternoon. I know that the day did not go as we’d planned. I know that Scott’s illness has taken time and attention away from our intended studies, but sometimes things cannot be helped. It is up to you to carry on and make the best of it.”
Bobby nodded, feeling ashamed. “Regardless,” Charles emphasized the word. “I do not appreciate your efforts to deceive me. Nor do I appreciate your efforts to avoid doing your schoolwork. And I certainly do not approve of cheating; whether you thought of it as cheating or not, it was still cheating.”
Bobby nodded again. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He could feel butterflies in his stomach, and he peeked up to see Erik and Charles looking at each other. He was certain they were deciding his fate. It didn’t take long, and Bobby’s stomach flipped as Charles pushed away from the table and patted his knee.
“I am, too, Bobby, but I think you’ve earned a punishment. Cheating is absolutely beneath you and whether you thought of it as cheating or not, I seriously doubt you thought it was acceptable.”
Bobby’s heart leapt into his throat, and he almost choked on it. “Oh, um, no thank you. I’ll do the assignment.”
“I know you will,” Charles said. “But that wasn’t an offer. It was a decision. Come now, and let’s put this behind us.”
“I don’t want to put it behind me,” Bobby said, still not standing up, and grabbing the seat of his chair with his fingers. “I’m good. I mean, I’ll be good.”
“Bobby.” Charles’ voice was hard. “To me, if you please.”
“Professor,” Bobby whined, meeting Charles’ gaze with a panicked expression. “Can’t we… not?”
“Not only must we,” Charles said. “But you’re doing an exceptionally good job of earning extras. One.”
“One what?” Bobby said, his panic rising.
“Two.”
“Professor! Come on!”
“Three.”
“Bobby,” Erik’s voice was calm. “Do you really think you don’t deserve this? I know that you’ve only been here for a brief time, and I lack Charles’ abilities, but don’t you think that you were pushing today? Just to see what would happen?”
“Four.” Charles kept counting and Bobby gaped at him.
“No!” It came out as a shout, and Bobby wasn’t sure which of the men he was shouting at. It didn’t matter, though, because Charles kept counting.
“Five.”
Bobby felt his fingers start tingling and he hitched a breath. He glanced down at his hands, his blood pounding through his ears. His fingers were blue, and a snowy icy exterior crept across the back of his hands. He looked up helpless and was surprised to see Charles kneeling in front of him. Breathe, Bobby. Just breathe. You can control this.
Slowly, Charles reached out and took his hand, hissing with the cold that started to creep up his own hand. “Charles,” Erik stood up, sounding alarmed.
“It’s all right,” Charles said, waving his free hand at his husband to warn him off. “Bobby is fine. I’m fine.” Erik’s panic scared Bobby, but Charles was instantly in his head.
Breathe in, that’s right. Good boy. Now breathe out. You’re doing so well. Just focus on me, look at me, that’s right. Bobby did, relieved beyond words when the cold crept back down his hand, his fingers thawing. Charles squeezed his hand, both of their fingers warm again, and smiled at him. “I told you that you could do it.”
“Thanks,” Bobby said, meeting Charles’ eyes. His own filled with tears, and Charles stood up, still holding Bobby’s hand. He tugged him to his feet.
“Come on now,” Charles said softly. “Let’s be done with this.”
“Okay,” Bobby said shakily. “Professor, I’m really sorry. I don’t even know why I thought it was a good idea.”
“I don’t think you did think it was a good idea,” Charles said. “I think you were pushing, to see if you mattered, on a day when everything seemed to be about Scott.” Bobby flushed, but he didn’t argue. “I promise you, Bobby, you still matter to us. Very much.”
“Okay,” Bobby said again, as Charles led him over to the sofa in the media room. Taking a seat, Charles tugged Bobby down gently, guiding him over his lap. “Your powers matter. Your schoolwork matters. Your safety matters. Your happiness matters.” Charles’ words made the tears still swimming in Bobby’s eyes overflow. “Now, lift your hips for me,” Charles ordered, tugging at Bobby’s shorts. Bobby obeyed, resting most of his weight on the sofa. He felt the soft fabric pool around his knees and then, just before his nerves got the best of him again, a solid smack hit right in the center of his right cheek. It hurt, but not terribly, and Bobby forced himself to breath in and out slowly as the Professor lay a field of swats over his backside. By the time a second round of smacks started, Bobby was reconsidering his earlier opinion that individually it didn’t hurt too badly. A sharp smack on his left cheek made him strain forward with a yelp, and Erik came around the sofa and sat down in front of Bobby, reaching over to take his hands and hold them gently.
“You’re doing well, Bobby,” Erik said softly. “Just hold on. It’s almost over.”
Bobby’s feet didn’t seem to understand the encouragement, though, as they drummed on the ground in growing protest of the burning, he felt in his bottom now. The small part of his brain that was still capable of objective thinking wondered why hot water didn’t feel painful to him anymore, but the Professor was still capable of lighting a fire that felt quite painful indeed. The rest of his brain just wondered how much longer until it stopped.
“I expect you to apply yourself, Robert. This is a school, and your studies are important.”
“Okay, okay!” Bobby promised, squeezing Erik’s hands hard enough that he was surprised Erik didn’t pull them away. “I will! Please stop now!”
“You will do your own work.” Charles said, sternly, letting his hand fall several times in emphasis. “If I want to know what strangers on the internet think, I’ll look for myself!”
“Aaaahh!” Bobby hoped that the Professor understood that he was promising to obey, but he was past words at this point. This was his second spanking, and he swore to himself, his last one. Thankfully, whether the Professor understood or not, he stopped after one last volley of smacks to Bobby’s sit spots. With a soft sigh, Charles rested his hand on Bobby’s back. “We would be done, Bobby, but you earned yourself some extras.”
“Nooo,” Bobby cried, trying to pull his hands away with every intention of reaching back. Erik held them firmly, even as Charles laid down a hard swat. “That’s one.” A second smack made Bobby suck in a breath. The third followed, and Bobby kicked his feet violently. “Stop that,” Charles said pointedly. The fourth and fifth extra smacks landed in quick succession, and Bobby collapsed in tears.
Bobby lay over Charles’ lap as Charles rubbed his back, still holding Erik’s hands, crying for longer than he cared to admit. He felt wrung out by the day’s events, strained, and spread thin. Six months ago, he was just an average kid, getting an average education, and living with parents who were mostly content to let him do anything he wanted as long as he didn’t cause trouble. Then, everything changed so fast it still made him dizzy to think of it. One thing was very clear at the moment, though. He hated Shakespeare.
Finally, he pulled himself up and climbed shakily to his feet. His shorts hung off one foot, and he stepped into them and eased them up gently, hissing a bit as even the fabric, light and soft as it was, still set off fresh waves of pain on his backside. “I’m sorry, Professors. I won’t do it again.”
“Good boy,” Charles said. “Now, we still have plenty of time before dinner. Go and get yourself some water, then take a seat at the table and read the first act of Merchant of Venice.”
Bobby’s eyes widened. “But the chairs are wood!”
Charles met his gaze, a glint clear in his own. “I know.”
Sighing, Bobby started towards the kitchen, dragging his feet. He was right. He hated Shakespeare.