Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jack had been with the de Clermonts again for just over five years, and in that time he had made great strides toward control. Matthew often felt immense pride in his son, who had overcome terrible odds and a traumatic past to become a good young man. But he was still young, and his control over his blood rage was still tenuous.

And a progressive rock and roll concert at a crowded public park was too much risk to take, even if the band did weave classical pieces into their repertoire.

“Jack, I said no.”

“But dad, I’m fine! I have it under control, I promise!”

“You are not going.” Matthew’s tone was still even, but his jaw was clenching a bit harder.

“Oh come on, Matthew,” Marcus chose that moment to chime in from the dining room table, where he was helping Becca wipe her hands clean from breakfast. “He’ll be fine! It’s just a concert.” Marcus was aiming for a placating tone, although as usual he missed by a bit and landed instead on cheeky. Regardless, Jack shot him a grateful look.

“He will be fine, because he is not going. I don’t want to hear another word about the matter.”

Marcus scoffed under his breath, fully audible to the vampires in the room. “Overprotective much?”

Matthew leveled him with a glare, and murmured lowly, “would you like to continue this conversation in my study, Marcus?”

Marcus, who had already turned back to his younger sister, rolled his eyes in the safe knowledge that he couldn’t be seen. He said nothing, but grinned at the five-year-old girl who still had some peanut butter smudged on her nose. She grinned back, always happy to be included in a joke even if she didn’t know its meaning.

Matthew turned back to Jack, who was sitting downcast at the kitchen island. He sighed.

“Jack, you have made enormous progress in controlling your blood rage, but you must still exercise caution. A concert full of humans, many drunk or high, and alone, is not the proper way to test your control.”

“I won’t go for long!”

“I am not negotiating, Jack Uriel.” Matthew took a deep breath, mindful of Becca’s presence in the room and her sensitivity to vampire moods. “You are not going. That is the end of the matter.”

Jack blew out a breath through his nose in a move that could only be described as a huff, but mumbled a quiet “yes, sir.” Any other time Matthew likely would have called him on his ‘attitude,’ a phrase he’d been using more and more since being faced with the twins’ growing ability to talk back, but as it was Matthew had to rush out of the house to get Becca and Pip to kindergarten on time.

Soon, the loud and hectic house had emptied out of two bright born five year olds, a witch, a vampire, and a griffin. Left in their wake was Marcus, who didn’t need to be at the hospital for his shift until the evening, and Jack, who had taken to teaching art lessons but had none scheduled until ten.

Jack had settled into the sitting room window seat to sketch the changing leaves outside when Marcus wandered into the room and tossed himself onto the ornate chaise lounge, recently decorated with purple crayola marker that refused to come out.

“It’s total bullshit, you know. Matthew’s just being stupid. You’d be completely fine at that concert.”

“Yeah, well, I guess he doesn’t think so.” Jack murmured, always a bit embarrassed when faced with the consequences of his afflicted blood. None of the family held it against him, but he held it against himself. He longed for the control he’d once had, before Benjamin, before he’d tasted the addictive allure of adrenaline and fear.

Marcus looked Jack up and down, seeming to evaluate him briefly. Technically, Jack was the elder in the room, but in both maturity and responsibility Marcus held the clear status as older brother. Marcus was Matthew’s only blood son, and his trusted right hand in all matters. He was even tempered, easy going, and kind. While Jack had been pacing the confines of the City of London, honing his skill with a paintbrush and charcoal, Marcus had been crossing the globe, earning degrees and accolades and gaining experience on all sorts of missions to safeguard the de Clermont family name.

It sometimes seemed there was nothing Marcus couldn’t do. Medicine, biology, languages, philosophy, war. The only things Jack clearly had him beat at were art and music, and what use were those.

Jack was jerked from his reverie by Marcus’ clapped hands. The man was grinning, looking deeply happy with himself.

“We’ll just go anyways! What Matthew doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Jack felt a pang of unease but smothered it quickly with excitement at the prospect. He tilted his head.

“But he said I couldn’t.”

“Eh, he just needs to get the stick out of his ass.” Marcus waved a hand, as if to dismiss Matthew and all his worries. “Besides, we’ll go, and that will prove that you’re ready to hang out with warmbloods alone.”

Jack bit his lip, but met Marcus’ eyes with a grin. “Well, I guess the concert is at the same time as his office hours. So he wouldn’t even miss us.”

Marcus let out a loud whoop. “That’s the spirit! Now what’s the name of this band? I’ve gotta listen to their stuff before tomorrow.”

The next day was a stunner, especially for New Haven in October. The sun shone brightly and dispelled the worst of the chill that would otherwise have bitten into the places left undefended by fleece. The leaves gleamed golden in the light, but enough had fallen to make a lovely layer on the paths. It was, indeed, the perfect day for a concert in the park.

Marcus had a night shift the evening before, so he wandered into the de Clermont household just in time to kiss the twins goodbye on their way out the door. He gave a quick hug and peck on the cheek to Diana, who was back to teaching that semester, and a nod to Matthew.

Matthew paused on their way out briefly, looking between his two sons standing in the kitchen.

“You’ll be alright today, boys?”

Jack’s smile was tight, but Marcus pulled off an entirely lighthearted tone when he teased back, “We’ve been tying our own shoelaces for six collective centuries, Matthew. I think we’ll be fine.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes at the scene, something piquing his instincts, whether predator or paternal. Before he could pinpoint what it was, his attention was pulled back to the car by Diana’s shout for him to come or the twins would be late.

“See to it,” he settled on before grabbing his briefcase and Pip’s lunch box and heading out the door.

The two, by silent agreement, held their breath until the car was down the street and outside the range of even the keenest vampire hearing.

“I think they suspect something.” Jack blurted out. “Diana was giving me funny looks all morning, and I’m a terrible liar. Matthew asked me what I was planning to do today and I said I had lessons, but I’m sure he could see right through me.”

“Nah,” Marcus scoffed, “if he knew you’d already have a sore ass. Don’t worry about it. They’re gone, and you’re free. Let’s make the most of it.”

Jack wasn’t entirely comforted by the reminder of what would happen if they were caught in their scheme, but the appeal of a beautiful fall day in the park with his favorite band outweighed his worry. Marcus was right. If Matthew, or Diana for that matter, knew, then he would have already been toast.

In the afternoon light the path up to the house that was lightly littered with leaves looked just as idyllic as it had when Marcus and Jack had left it earlier that day. Their spirits were just as high; the concert was ‘groovy,’ as Marcus put it. The sun had continued to shine despite a threat of rain. And the people watching had gone splendidly: they’d borne witness to two break ups, one make up, and at least four first dates. College students never did disappoint when one wanted to watch drama unfold.

Marcus had an arm slung over Jack’s shoulder and was hanging off of him as they approached, jokingly trying to bring the younger man down with his weight. Jack laughed loudly, making a show of attempting to throw Marcus off.

Abruptly, Marcus stopped walking. Jack nearly tripped over him, intertwined as they were, and glanced quizzically up before following Marcus’ gaze to the front stoop. There, standing just outside the open front door, was Matthew. He was still in his professor uniform: a sharp black suit with a black tie, all the better to intimidate students with. Today, he was putting the effect to full use. His crossed arms and thinned lips, combined with his glare, gave truth to his nickname amongst the graduate students: the Black Death.

He said nothing.

Marcus recovered first. Straightening up, he kept an arm over Jack’s shoulders and pressed in a little, grounding the younger man and effectively trapping him. Jack was well-known for his tendency to run, and the last thing Marcus wanted was to add to Matthew’s ire with an impromptu game of manhunt.

“Matthew. No office hours today?”

“Philip fell ill.” He enunciated every word crisply. Like he was reading a verdict, and the jury had returned with the death penalty. “I canceled my office hours and Diana left the library to bring him home to rest. Imagine my surprise when I arrived home to an empty house.”

“Oh, how’s my favorite de Clermont doing?” Jack had been staring wide-eyed at Matthew, but at Marcus’ blasé question he turned his wide-eyes instead to his brother. He never would understand how Marcus could be so casual in the face of Matthew’s obvious fury.

“Your youngest brother will be fine.”

The specification of which brother would survive the day landed ominously on the twelve feet of path separating them. Unable to take the tension, or ignore it like Marcus was, Jack blurted out, “Dad, we can ex –”

Matthew’s eyes whipped to meet his. “If you are going to lie, I’ll save you the trouble. I can still smell the stale beer of day drinking college students on you.”

Jack opened his mouth, floundered for a moment, then closed it again.

His inability to think of anything to say in response was solved by Marcus.

“Chill out, Matthew. Everything went fine, no need to get your hair in elflocks over nothing.” If Marcus had been aiming for placation he had fallen short. Jack watched his father’s face darken further, the vein on his temple pulsing dangerously. Marcus had a death wish, Jack was sure of it.

“Get in the house. Now.”

Marcus and Jack walked up the path with notably less energy than they’d shown before. The fall day suddenly felt a bit too chilly, the sun a bit too bright.

They made it to the doorway eventually. Jack was first to file in past Matthew’s imposing figure, and received a hard smack to the ass for his troubles. Marcus hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to put off entering reaching distance, but was quickly scruffed by Matthew and shoved forward with a smack of his own.

All three men froze in the entryway at the sight of little Pip, wrapped up in a blanket, standing by the kitchen.

“Are Jack and Marcus in trouble?” Pip’s wide eyes filled with tears. His lower lip trembled a bit.

Matthew stepped away from the two men standing in the doorway and knelt down before his five-year-old son. Pip's heart was so pure that he often became upset when others were in trouble, even though Becca was the one far more attuned to pack dynamics. Just the week before he'd earned himself a time out of his own for trying to interfere with his sister's punishment.

Matthew brought his hands to the boy's small shoulders and smiled. “Yes, pup, your brothers are in trouble. They got into mischief and now they are going to answer for it.”

“But you're not going to spank them, are you daddy?” Pip’s voice was small and infused with sadness. Marcus flushed and grimaced. Jack closed his eyes as if to hide from such undeserved kindness.

“I am going to spank them, Philip. And I know you know better than to interfere with other people's punishment, right pup?”

“Yes, sir.” He bit his lip and peeked out from under his fringe before whispering, “But can I bring them hot chocolate after? Hot chocolate always makes me feel better after a spankin’.”

Matthew smiled gently and nodded. “Yes, Pip, I’m sure Marcus and Jack would very much appreciate a hot chocolate. Why don’t you go ask your mother for some help.” He sent Pip off with an indulgent ruffle of the hair before standing up and turning back to his other sons.

The indulgent smile fell off his lips like dead weight. Any softness he’d been showing his youngest was gone when he met first Marcus’ eyes, then Jack’s. Each in turn looked away, and Jack tilted his neck in submission quickly. Without a word he pointed up the stairwell, wordless in his expectation that the two men head to his study. As prone as Marcus was to protest such treatment, he today seemed extra aware of the little ears present in the house and followed the command silently.

In the study, Matthew seemed to have been reduced to two word orders. Jack had only been back with the family for five years, but that was never a good sign.

“Marcus, corner. Now.”

Marcus went with a quiet grumble that Matthew ignored in favor of leaning against his desk and pinning Jack in place with a glare.

“Jack, to me.”

Jack whimpered slightly, his breath coming out shakily.

“Dad, please.”

“Please what, Jack Uriel? Please give you the whipping you are so obviously in need of,” Matthew flared out his nostrils on exhale before continuing, “since you apparently have forgotten the importance of your word?”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. Matthew’s anger and disappointment stung as much as any belt, especially since Jack strove so hard to avoid earning either. Jack broke from Matthew’s gaze and looked down at the floor, hugging himself tightly around the middle.

He looked up when Marcus spun on heel from his spot in the corner and protested, “Matthew, lay off him! He didn’t even want to go. I convinced him we should.”

Jack didn’t think that would work, but he appreciated his brother’s efforts nonetheless. Tightening his grip on his arms until he was certain he was leaving marks, he glanced back at Matthew to gauge his reaction.

“Jack is perfectly capable of making his own poor decisions, Marcus Raphael. And he will answer for them, just as you will.”

“He wouldn't’ve gone if I hadn't encouraged him though! This is on me, Matthew, not him!”

“And I will speak to you shortly. Must I place you in the bedroom, or can you be trusted to stay in the corner where you are meant to be?”

Marcus groaned dramatically but turned back around. When had that west-facing corner become ‘his’? In fact, when had each of the siblings received their own designated corners? Surely they weren’t in trouble together so often as to need their own.

Matthew turned back to his younger son, in human years if not in vampire, and bridged the gap between them, gripping Jack's chin tightly and forcing the boy to meet his eyes. The boy's pupils darkened and Matthew watched him struggle with himself, with his shame, before it receded. Matthew hummed approvingly before clicking his tongue.

“Was I somehow unclear in my response yesterday?”

Jack tried to avert his eyes but brought them quickly back when Matthew tightened his grip on his chin. On a warmblood his grip would have bruised.

“Was I?”

“N-no, sir.” Jack stuttered out.

“Then is there any way I should understand your actions today besides being blatant disobedience, abject disrespect, and an attempt to deceive not only myself but your mother as well?”

Jack's eyes swelled with tears that began flowing down his cheeks. His emotions lived at the surface, and always showed much quicker than his brother’s.

“No, sir. I'm sorry, I just thought I was ready.”

“And yet, as we have discussed at length, you do not issue orders in this household. You follow them.”

Matthew let go of his chin and nodded to the large oak desk that took up the bulk of the office.

With a quiet whimper Jack laid himself over the desk, gripping the other end tightly. His cursed enhanced senses made the whisper of Matthew drawing his belt from his trousers crystal clear, and Jack squeezed his eyes closed. Matthew placed a hand on his lower back, exerting just enough pressure to keep him in place and ground him.

Four years ago, just the act of being over the desk would have triggered his blood rage. Matthew had been forced to take him over his knee instead, the extended contact helping keep the rage at bay. It was in some ways, Jack thought bitterly, a testament to his increasing equilibrium that dad even trusted him in this position.

The personal progress unfortunately did not make welts sting less.

Apropos of Jack’s thoughts, Matthew raised the belt and let it fall harshly on the top of Jack’s ass, bringing it quickly down four times in succession.

Jack yelped loudly, unable to take the punishment stoically as Marcus surely would.

“You will not disobey my orders, Jack.”

Before Jack could respond Matthew brought the belt down again, methodically bringing hellfire lower on his butt and toward his thighs.

“You will not lie to myself or to your mother.”

Jack frantically nodded before Matthew laid four more lashes down.

“If you find yourself here again, I will introduce you to my strap. As Marcus can attest, my belt will seem friendly in comparison.”

Somewhere behind him, Jack thought he heard Marcus’ head thump against the wall, but the haze of pain and horror was too thick to process it.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” Jack whimpered the words, breath dragging in and out in ragged gulps from his place over the desk.

“You are good, Jack. But I will not tolerate disobedience, disrespect, or deception from my sons.”

With that, Matthew brought the belt down again, catching the undercurve where ass met thigh and would be sure to burn at dinner, before aiming the blows diagonally over already covered ground.

Jack howled before collapsing over the desk.

Distantly he registered Matthew putting the belt down on the desk and using his grounding hand to rub his back, and Jack leaned into the touch but made no move to rise. He probably looked pathetic sprawled out over the desk like a little kid, but he couldn’t summon the energy to move. He felt spent. Empty. A little lighter.

It could have been seconds or hours when Matthew pried him up, wiped his tears with a tissue, and pulled him into a tight hug. He leaned in shamelessly, soaking up the comfort as Matthew murmured into his hair in what Jack now knew was Occitan. He knew only a smattering of phrases, but he caught ‘good boy’ multiple times.

Eventually, when his tears had dried up and he felt more grounded, he stepped back out of Matthew’s hold. Jack would never take for granted Matthew’s willingness to hold him for as long as he desired, but even he had his limits.

Matthew moved his hands to Jack’s shoulders, but this time instead of feeling trapped Jack felt kept.

“I’m going to trust you in the corner now, Jack. Marcus had to listen to your punishment and you’ll listen to his. Do not leave the corner.” Matthew paused, seeming to evaluate him for a moment. “Can I trust you to stay where you’re told?”

“Yes, sir.”

With a nod from Matthew, Jack went to the eastern corner. He slumped forward to the junction of the walls, leaning his head against it. He felt too spent to stand up straight, even if he could hear Father Hubbard’s chiding to “stand erect and raise your head for your redemption is at hand.”

Behind him, Marcus hadn’t said anything as he made his way to the desk. The silence in itself was notable. Usually, Marcus was full of sass, or as he would probably call it, fair points. Marcus could be so casual with their father, a right he had earned over their hundreds of years together. Jack yearned to be so comfortable, so confident, so trusted. He yearned for Marcus to respect him too.

Behind Jack, Marcus was standing stiffly in front of Matthew. His hands were crossed over his chest, and he glared at the older man. Marcus had been the youngest for two centuries, and only had five years experience being an older brother, but his father was always comparing them to wolves. The instinct to protect younger members of his pack flared.

Matthew met his glare full on and simply raised an eyebrow. “Think carefully before you speak to me, pup.”

Marcus blew past the warning.

“You’re being barbaric! You tell him to trust you and that you trust him and then you threaten to strap him? This isn’t even his fucking fault!”

“Marcus Raphael Galen. It is not up to you how I discipline your brother, or any of your siblings.”

“This is bullshit!”

“No, Marcus, this is justice. I ordered your brother not to go to that concert, and he made his own choice to attend. I understand that you feel guilty for your role in his decision, but I can also see that you desperately need your own reminder of your role in this family.”

Marcus breathed heavily, but didn’t move toward the desk.

“Jack has paid for his misdeeds. Will you attempt to escape your own?”

With a dramatic “ugh” of disgust at Matthew’s trump card, Marcus threw himself over the desk.

“Good choice.”

Rather than picking up the belt as Marcus had expected, Matthew’s empty hand landed hard, followed swiftly by a series of scorching swats.

Startled, Marcus craned his neck to look at Matthew.

“Just as you do not dictate your brother’s punishment, you do not dictate your own, pup.” Another series of swats targeted the lower half of his ass. They hurt, but they didn’t pack nearly the sear he knew the belt would produce.

“You did not disobey my orders, Marcus, but you did encourage your brother to do so. I expect better.”

The next set of swats targeted the curve where ass met thigh and Marcus groaned, but it was as much from Matthew’s words as it was from the pain.

“Stand up.”

Startled by such a swift end to his punishment, Marcus stood slowly and turned to face his father. Wordlessly, Matthew reached for the button of his jeans and began to undo it.

Reacting purely on instinct from the burning writhing mortification that suddenly filled his stomach, Marcus swatted his father’s hands away.

Matthew tsked and ignored Marcus’ attempt to deter him, deftly undoing the button and zipper before pulling his Levi’s down to his thighs. Marcus was certain his face was actually aflame. Could a vampire die of shame?

“I’m not a child,” Marcus muttered.

“Yet you will always be my child.” Matthew let the words sit between them like the grenade that they were before taking a step back. “Back over the desk.”

This time, Marcus went without argument, and was almost relieved to hear Matthew pick up the belt.

“You did not disobey me, but you did concoct a ruse to deceive myself and Diana. You stood in the kitchen this morning and deflected my concern when you already planned to misbehave. I have never stood for deception from you, and I will not begin now.”

With that, Marcus heard the belt whistle through the air. Its movement was deceptively quiet for the thunderous slap it made as it hit his backside, and Marcus sucked in a breath as its familiar burn began to build.

Matthew said nothing more as he continued to stoke a fire on Marcus’ backside, and soon enough the younger man was shifting from foot to foot. Anything to ease the burn. His efforts to avoid the pain had no effect on Matthew’s aim, and each strike landed with perfect precision.

His father paused for a moment, and Marcus took a deep breath in the reprieve. He hadn’t cried yet, but much longer under the belt and he feared he would. Jack would probably blame himself for Marcus’ pain. The moron collected guilt like merit badges. As though Jack needed even more things to feel guilty about, more unearned shame to carry.

Matthew’s left hand, the one not busy torturing him, rubbed his lower back gently. It was a stark contrast to his right hand’s activities, and Marcus arched into it.

He thought he heard his father chuckle quietly at his behavior, which he would admit was reminiscent of a dog, but he was probably hallucinating it because his next words were as stern as always.

“When I give your brother an order, you will not subvert it. As I told Jack, should we need to have this conversation again, I will not be so lenient.”

The bastard lifted the belt again with those words, bringing down the hardest strike yet against his upper thighs as if to make Marcus wonder how this could be ‘lenient.’ Then again, Marcus had indeed met his father’s strap, and he would take the belt any day.

As two more welts criss crossed his entire ass, Marcus sucked in a breath and bit his lip hard. He let his head thunk against the wooden desk with a groan as his father placed the belt down. The moisture was blessedly still in his eyes when Matthew pulled him up a moment later.

Once, centuries ago when Marcus was certain that being nearly fifty years old meant he was too old for childish things like comfort, he had refused his father’s hug. His father had followed that with a memorable ass warming (“double jeopardy only applies to punishment for the same offense, Marcus”) and Marcus had never tried to wallow in misery again.

Today, he went easily as Matthew tugged him into his chest, calming his heart and regulating his breath in the safety of the other man’s shoulder. He allowed himself a moment in that peace before he pulled away, snaking one hand behind him to rub away the sting and grinning sheepishly up at his father.

“It was a good concert though.”

Matthew rolled his eyes and called out to Jack, “Please come here, Jack.”

Soon the two were standing before their father. They were unequal in many ways, the elder in years the younger in maturity and the elder in maturity the less certain of his father’s affections. But tonight they were equally cowed.

Matthew looked from one to the other with a stern visage and stated, not a question but a fact, “We will not need to have this conversation again.”

Both boys murmured low “yes, sirs,” the only appropriate answer to that rhetorical statement.

Matthew nodded sharply, then let his lips curve into a smirk.

“Now, go apologize to your mother,” he paused judiciously like he was rendering a verdict, “and pray that she did not instruct Pip to use the Nestlé packets for your hot chocolates.”

Jack and Marcus bore twin looks of horror. Jack spoke first, stricken. “She wouldn’t! She knows that sweet stuff tastes like dirt to us!”

“Ah, but you forget that your mother is far less forgiving than I am, and tolerates deception as well as I do.”

Marcus and Jack’s groans were answered with Matthew’s chuckle, and the harmony echoed through the home.