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“I may allow you children to take calculated risks in the service of protecting mankind from threats like Magneto. With me guiding your missions, I can help to keep you reasonably safe.” Charles always had a way of making his X-Men understand his logic, even when they wanted to contest his rulings. “But I cannot abide you recklessly and foolishly pulling such a childish stunt. The Blackbird is for official missions only. Not for joyriding.”
Each of his students silently acknowledged this. Warren rocked on his heels. Hank scratched the back of his neck. Bobby chewed his lower lip, Jean twiddled her thumbs, and Scott shook his head. Not one of them could look him in the eye.
“So when you act like naughty children, you will be treated accordingly,” Charles declared with firm, practiced authority. Two seconds later, he produced a wooden implement from a drawer in his desk. One might mistake it for a small cricket bat. Its purpose was transparently obvious to the band of miscreants in his care.
“You’re going to spank us?” Jean squeaked, voicing her fellow students’ collective horror at the prospect of punishment.
“Professor, I understand why you’re so apoplectic about this state of affairs, but I must protest this draconian castigation of their persons. Irresponsible they may be, but they are children after all,” Hank argued. “If you need your pound of penitent flesh, I will take the punishment on my classmates’ behalf.”
Scott cut Hank off, putting his arm between him and the professor as he moved in front of the group. “Stand down, Hank. You may be the oldest, but I'm the team leader. If anyone is going to take one for the team, it’s going to be me.”
Warren huffed dismissively. “There’s no way I’m letting you be a martyr on my behalf, Summers.”
“He can be a martyr on my behalf,” Bobby piped up.
“None of you are going to be playing martyr, today,” Charles answered with a tone of finality. “All of you will get your turn. We’ll start with the youngest and work our way up.”
Bobby’s face lost all color. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” Charles stated firmly, voice raising instinctively.
All of the X-Men stood up straighter at once. Bobby’s expression contorted into a formidable pout.
He wasn’t proud of it. Losing his temper with the children, even in a brief moment of genuine irritation, was something that would keep him awake later. He tucked the thought away for later, focusing on the urgency of the situation. He had a difficult task ahead of him, one that would tax both his emotions and his right arm. Steeling his nerves, Charles rolled around to the front of his desk, paddle in hand.
“Come here, Robert,” he ordered, tapping the edge of the paddle against the middle of his desk. “Don’t dawdle.”
Bobby gulped. When someone called him “Robert”, it was never a good thing. At home, it usually meant Dad’s belt or Mom’s spoon. With Xavier, it seemed to be what could only be called a paddle. No stranger to getting spanked, he found it difficult to step forward for it. But Scott and Jean gently nudged him, and momentum carried the rest of the way until he was standing in front of the desk.
“Professor,” Bobby whined. “Can’t you just ground me from flying the plane forever or something? Please?”
Charles shook his head. He’d expected some protest from Bobby. Still a few months from turning fourteen, he was really more of a child than a proper teenager. But he was prepared for it.
“No, Bobby. This was a serious misstep from all of you and I intend to paddle each of you soundly.” Charles ignored the chorus of whimpers from his cadre of disobedient children. He patted the middle of the desk. “Behave yourself and assume the position.”
Bobby thought about all the times his father made him bend over his bed to take a whipping, and shook his head. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I don’t wanna.”
Charles sighed. That was childish, even for Bobby. Well, if the boy wasn’t going to cooperate, he could handle that as well. He set the paddle on his desk so that he could move both armrests of his chair out of the way.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Bobby’s curiosity nudged him closer. He wasn’t even aware that the Professor’s wheelchair had adjustable armrests.
“Giving myself space,” Charles said calmly. He was grateful that the boy was leaning in. It made it easier to grab him by the shoulders and pull him close enough to snatch by the waist. Unable to use his legs since his accident, the always athletic mutant still devoted plenty of time building the strength in his upper body. It was a very simple thing to grab the short and scrawny child in front of him and place him over his lap. “If you won’t cooperate, I’ll simply have to put you in position myself.”
“Professor Xavier!” Bobby squealed once he realized that being facedown over his teacher’s lap made his bottom extremely vulnerable. He struggled, kicking his legs furiously, but they couldn’t even reach the ground. He pouted and pleaded and cried shamelessly, but inevitably the paddle cracked down on the back of his shorts and gave him something to really cry about. “Oww! Oww! No, no please! I’m sorry!”
Bobby’s classmates were all but glued to the floor as they watched him flail and fuss over the Professor’s lap. His technique was precise and practiced; the paddle landed in the same spot each time it came down with a thuddy crack on Bobby’s sorry little butt. It was a preview for what they all had in store.
“I won’t do it again, I swear! Oww! I’m sorry!” Bobby was on the verge of tears by the time the paddle warmed his bottom for the tenth time. But inside, he wasn’t quite so sad as he looked to his peers. The arm that wasn’t spanking him was holding him close, nearly hugging him. He couldn’t remember a time his Dad had ever done that under any circumstances.
As much as the paddle stung, it was a far cry from the wild and reckless kind of punishment he’d grown to expect from his parents. It was careful, measured. Restrained.
Impossibly, he felt safe. Safe enough to let himself cry real tears instead of the crocodile ones he’d hoped would change the Professor’s mind. “Professor, I mean it! Oww! I’m really, really sorry!”
“I know you are, Robert,” Charles answered softly, delivering the thirteenth and final spank in exactly the same fashion as he had the previous twelve. “You’re a good boy. As naughty as one might expect someone your age to be, but I know you mean well. You won’t be pulling this stunt again, will you?”
“Nope,” Bobby answered between hiccups. Charles lifted him out of position, and Bobby was going to run away to his room and cry. Instead, the Professor snatched him into a very close hug. Unsure what to make of it at first, Bobby let himself be held for a bit. Eventually, he reciprocated by squeezing the shoulder of Xavier’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Charles assured him softly. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he said something for only Bobby. “I will never truly hurt you, Robert. Discipline isn’t about me getting revenge on you when I don’t get my way. It’s about keeping you safe by reminding you of the world of pain that could happen would you put yourself in unnecessary danger. You are precious to me, child. Don’t forget that.”
Bobby broke into a new set of tears. “Yes, Sir. Love you too.”
Charles was relieved that Bobby seemed to be recovering from his spanking well enough. He’d caught a few stray thoughts that the young mutant had about his parents. He hoped both of them fell down the stairs. It was obvious that he was going to be more diligent about raising Bobby, with at least as much attention as he gave to Scott. But he was going to have to navigate that carefully.
Warren , Scott and Jean offered Bobby some quiet comfort as he came back to them. The boys patted him on the back, while Jean gave him a full hug. But as she held him, the three of them looked back and forth amongst themselves. They didn’t need to speak for them to understand their shared and very pressing thoughts: all of them were fifteen. Who was next?
“Warren,” Charles announced, surprising the other two. “If my math is correct, you’re next in line.”
The heir to the Worthington fortune felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He kept a stiff upper lip about this, the pride of a privileged upbringing refusing to let him appear vulnerable in front of the other students. His father was not usually the spanking kind; he could more effectively punish Warren by taking away his privileges or his considerable allowance. And he was like a roaring lion when he shouted. But Warren was still familiar with the ritual: his private school still spanked in this traditional manner. For most of the boys, getting paddled was a badge of honor.
Especially if they didn’t break.
“Yes, Sir.” He took a deep breath, rebuttoned his polo shirt, and came over to the Professor. He was the polar opposite of Bobby, stoically approaching the desk and bending over. He folded his wings so they would be out of the way of where the Professor would be swinging his paddle. This had the added effect of effectively hiding everything above his shoulders from the eyes of his classmates. Finally feeling safe to drop the facade, he folded his hands in front of them, rubbing them in nervous anticipation.
The Professor had expected such compliance. If their conversation was private, perhaps there would have been more open rebellion. But Warren Worthington III’s ego was considerable, and there was no chance that he would allow himself to look weak in front of his friends. Not when he was aiming to replace Scott as team leader. Accordingly, he wasn’t surprised when Warren’s answer to the first few smacks of the paddle, now delivered horizontally instead of vertically, were muffled gasps.
“I’m very disappointed in your decisions, Warren,” Charles pressed. Bobby had filled their conversation with apologies and appeals for mercy. If Warren was going to be silent, he would make up the difference. “I know that you can be arrogant enough to believe that you’re invincible. Hopefully these consequences remind you that you are not.”
Warren’s silence broke on the fifth swing. His bottom flashed red hot with burning pain, demanding that he give voice to it. But Warren was just as determined not to show weakness. Involuntary whimpers escaped through gritted teeth. His calves trembled with the effort he put into keeping still, and his wings flickered and twitched in tandem with his shoulder blades as they shifted to cope with the sensation of hurt.
The tenth spank broke his resolve. His right leg kicked up at the knee and his mouth opened wide to unleash a hollering cry. The Professor was harder on him than any of the teachers at his old school. There was no honor to be won this day, no respect from his peers for being man enough to take a spanking without falling apart. There was only the reality that he had done something very stupid. He’d been one of the primary instigators of the plan: Bobby had thought of it, but Warren had egged on each of the others until they joined.
“I’m sorry, Professor! I wasn’t thinking! Ahh!” Warren admitted tearfully. He folded his forearms and buried his face in them. They couldn’t keep down his cries as Xavier delivered not just a thirteenth swat, but two more after that. “Oww, oww! Ahh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I won’t do anything so stupid in the future.”
“If you do, you know what to expect,” Charles answered, his voice loud enough that the promise filled the room. His troop of troublemakers groaned, and he was fairly sure he heard another of Bobby’s distinct whines. “Come here.”
Warren used one of his wings to dry the tears from his eyes. Then he stood up, drumming the table with his fingers mindlessly before stepping away. When he turned towards the Professor, he saw arms wide open to offer a consoling hug. Warren’s heart beat faster than when he’d been told he was going to be paddled.
“Professor, I don’t need...”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Warren. A hug is not going to kill you, and it’s mandatory,” Charles insisted. This was also said for the benefit of the children who were yet to take their lumps. Hopefully, it would balance the fear they were feeling about future spankings.
Warren grumbled, but gave in. Truthfully, he wanted the hug when it was offered. He just didn’t want to initiate it. He folded his wings in close so that the Professor could properly engulf him in his arms. It was a nice, soft moment between him and the Professor, the kind he’d never be afforded from his father.
His fellow students offered him less comfort than they had Bobby, which he appreciated. There was a brief nod of acknowledgement from Scott and pats on the back from the other guys. He appreciated that they didn’t make a big production of things.
“Alright. Jean,” Charles addressed, looking at her sympathetically.
Certain that she would be traumatized by the idea of getting her bottom spanked in front of a room full of boys, he decided to show some mercy. “You’re next. Now boys, if you’ll leave the room for a moment, I’ll..”
“What?” Jean balked, surprising everyone. “Professor! Why are you shooing them out?”
Charles blinked in disbelief. “Well, I was being considerate...”
“But Professor! It’s not considerate if it’s only me you do it for,” Jean argued. She could understand why he thought he was being thoughtful, but being singled out for special treatment was far worse than any of the embarrassment she was going to feel about being disciplined in front of the boys. “I did the same crime as the rest of them. If we’re going to be punished for the same thing, then I should be punished the same way.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Charles was surprised at first, but realized that he shouldn’t be. Jean hated to be treated like Charles’ favorite, even though she often was. It wasn’t her fault; he’d met her when she was a very young girl and still often thought of her as such. And with her burgeoning telepathic powers, he knew that the training he offered her was always going to be more personal and thorough than the others. Still. He’d been foolish to think she’d allow him to get away with it.
“Very well then. If you feel so strongly about it, come here and take your spanking.”
After all of that to do, Jean still got goosebumps when he mentioned what was about to happen. She’d known it was coming. Frankly, after watching two of her teammates be quickly walloped and then sent off with a hug, she was less scared of it than when Xavier had dug out the paddle.
But this was still going to be her first spanking. Her father couldn’t bear to punish her, and her mother preferred to send her into a corner for several minutes or up to her room for hours when she felt compelled to break rules. The Professor’s method certainly looked painful, but it was going to last a fraction of the time. If her pattern recognition was worth anything, she had to endure fifteen swats from the paddle, matching her age.
She took a deep breath, smoothed out her skirt, and approached the desk. Her first instinct was to be good and obedient and bend over the desk. But when she thought about it, she decided she didn’t want to be in that position in front of all of her friends. Maybe Scott, but not the others. Running her fingers through her auburn locks, she addressed the Professor again.
“Would it be terrible if I went over your lap, sir?” she asked meekly.
“Of course not,” Charles agreed, offering her his hand. “If you weren’t going to behave yourself and get into position soon, I’d have dragged you here anyway.”
In spite of herself, Jean chuckled at the Professor’s matter of fact summary of her situation. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her over without any struggle. Only a little taller than Bobby, she was similarly unable to get her feet on the ground from her new perch, but she could place her hands on the floor to help balance herself. The clacking of Charles picking his paddle up from his desk told her fifteen years without having her bottom swatted was coming to an abrupt end.
“Oww!” Jean yelped as soon as it cracked against the seat of her skirt. “Oww, oww!” It was one thing to imagine how a spanking might hurt and another thing entirely to feel it. The stinging was acute and biting, and the more swats that landed, the more intense the hurt felt before she received another one. “Ohh, oww! Professor, I’m sorry!”
“I’m sure you’re just as sorry as the other X-Men, Jean,” Charles answered, his voice cold to mask the pity he had for her. Even though he wasn’t taking a long time to spank each of them, he was being incredibly efficient with his spanks, wasting none of them as he imparted his lesson. “But you deserve to experience some pain after recklessly endangering your life. I will not tolerate such disregard for your safety.”
“Oww! Yes, Professor! Oww, I won’t do it again! I mean it... Ah! Oww!” Jean felt her eyes starting to water. Self-conscious about how she was coming across to her team, she tried to toughen up and endure some of the spanking with dignity. But each spank made her whimper and squirm, and after three spanks she gave up on trying to tough it out. She flailed and kicked and sobbed as the spanking entered its final third. “I’ll be good, I swear!”
“As I told Bobby, you’re already good, Jean. Naughtiness doesn’t stop you from being a good girl,” he assured her warmly. But just as quickly, he brought the paddle down again. He wouldn’t go any easier on her. “But being good doesn’t stop you from misbehaving, either. I’m here to teach you all and keep you on the correct path.”
Jean’s bottom felt like it was on fire by the time he finished his soliloquy. Time had seemed to warp: what had only taken a minute or so to watch seemed to take ages to experience first hand. But finally, the last spank landed, and Jean allowed herself to weep with the relief of knowing it was over.
Charles didn’t need to say anything. She threw her arms around him as soon as he allowed her back on his feet. She dried her tears on his shoulder as he stroked her back and her hair. “There, there, Jean. It’s going to be fine.”
“How long does it h-hurt?” she asked between sniffles.
“Oh, an hour at least,” he said softly. “Was that your first time getting spanked?” Jean nodded furiously, and Charles gave her a few more reassuring pats. He felt sorry that she had no previous experience to compare this to, but it didn’t change how he had planned to punish her. After all, she wanted to be treated equally.
Once Jean was let go, she rushed to Scott so that she could sneak a quick hug from him. Everyone knew that Hank was the oldest, so by process of elimination, Scott’s name would be called next. But she wanted comfort from him anyway. He seemed a bit surprised by her enthusiasm. Jean laughed softly; she thought she had made it no secret that she thought he was cute. Perhaps she needed to be less subtle.
Despite her best attempts to keep him, Scott let Jean go. She had caught him as he was approaching the Professor to accept the consequences of his actions. He didn’t want to wait to hear his name called. After seeing three of his classmates punished and knowing he still had to stick around to watch Hank’s spanking, Scott simply wanted to get his over with.
As the first X-Man, Scott had an advantage in this whole situation that the others did not possess. He’d been punished by the Professor once before. He knew as soon as he let everyone convince him to join the joyride (it had been Jean’s encouragement that removed all of his common sense) that he was likely to be spanked again by the Professor. Knowing this didn’t make it any easier: he knew he was in for a sore butt and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Scott,” Charles acknowledged. Of all the culprits, he was most surprised that Scott had participated. Bobby was a rascal, Warren always thought he knew better, Jean hated to be left out. Hank was the oldest, but he had a mischievous streak. But Scott? He was responsible. Well-behaved. But clearly not immune to peer pressure. “I must say, I did not expect this kind of behavior from you.”
“I know, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” Scott was direct and laconic, and he assumed the position dutifully over the desk.
This was not like Warren’s put-on braggadocio; Scott accepted his consequences because he knew that he deserved them. He didn’t care about looking tough, he cared about accepting responsibility for his actions. He should have stopped them going up, he should have ordered them to stop after the first time Hank started showing off his piloting skills. But he let it go. He’d let the inmates run the asylum. Failed as a leader.
The spanking he had coming was deserved.
“You have a birthday in a couple of weeks, if I recall correctly?” Charles asked, taking a moment to place a reassuring hand on the boy’s back.
“Yes Sir,” Scott answered with a nod, though he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He hadn’t expected it to be celebrated with any particular spectacle, but he wondered now if it was about to be cancelled as further punishment for allowing his team to put themselves in danger. That made sense: he didn’t deserve a party anyway.
“I thought so. I’d say that’s close enough that I won’t feel guilty rounding up to sixteen,” Charles explained. He knew that, if Scott had his druthers, he’d have been the sacrificial lamb for the whole group. The Professor was not willing to give the boy all seventy-five wallops he’d be dispensing over the course of the evening. But giving him one extra to grow on seemed reasonable.
“Yes, Sir.” Scott grumbled, the first sign that he wasn’t completely emotionless about getting spanked. He was just hiding it very well under the veneer of being the responsible kid.
Charles took aim for the fourth time, powering through the mixed emotions of having to punish all of his students. Now that he was more than halfway through, with a slightly sore arm and a hurting heart, the task seemed far more daunting than when he assigned it to himself. But he supposed that he wasn’t their mentor because it was easy; it was because it was important. So once again, the wooden blade cut through the air and slammed into the buttocks of a sorry teenager.
Scott grit his teeth through the first few smacks. He wasn’t trying to act tough; he was trying to behave. To be the role model, the example for all of the other X-Men to follow. That’s what Xavier expected him to be, asked him to be. He stayed in position for the third swat, but couldn’t contain his whimpering. By the time the fourth landed, he was shifting about.
“Scott. Are you going to stay still?” Charles asked, his voice soft if not exactly comforting.
“Yes, Sir,” Scott answered automatically. “I will, Sir.”
But as the paddle scorched his bottom again, Scott’s attempt to stay still was proving fruitless. He tried so hard not to kick that his legs trembled with the effort.
“Oww! Ow, ahh!” Scott hollered. He couldn’t stay glued to his spot and stifle his cries at the same time. The paddle hurt too much, furiously chastising his bottom with fiery bursts of prickling pain.
“Scott. Why don’t you come lay over my lap instead?” Charles offered. That had been the position he’d placed the boy in for his first spanking, and Scott had spent a fair amount of that incident squirming and fussing. Perhaps it was unfair of him to expect any of his students to maintain their positions for an entire paddling.
“Professor! I... I don’t need to. I can take it.”
Scott was distancing himself from the situation, blocking off the more complicated emotions of accepting discipline from his father figure. Trying to make the spanking a transaction instead of a lesson. He needed to be rescued from his own nonsense.
“Scott Summers, come here and go over my lap,” Charles ordered, removing the choice from him. His voice didn’t raise, his tone wasn’t cutting or annoyed or even that stern. But he wasn’t going to let Scott take the rest of the spanking like this when he clearly wasn’t equipped to take it.
Scott sighed, and batted away a few tears. “Yes, Sir.”
Obeying the Professor instead of making the decision himself made things easier for Scott. He came over and settled himself over. Unlike the other children that had taken this position, Scott was tall enough that his toes tapped against the floor when he was over. Still, his slim form wasn’t equipped to wrangle free of the Professor’s powerful grip. He was going to be in position for the other half of his spanking no matter how much he wiggled about.
“Oww! Oww! Oh, Professor!” Scott shouted as he thrashed about. No longer needing to control himself, Scott found himself unable to. “I’m sorry! This won’t happen again, I promise! Ahh! Oww, oww... we’ll do better, I swear...”
“You do not need to speak for the whole team, Scott,” Charles dismissed. “You cannot control their actions. They are people, just like you, and they will make their own decisions and suffer the consequences of them just like you.” He felt a swell of pity for the boy as he meted out the proverbial baker’s dozen. He still had three more to deliver. “Just worry about you.”
“Then I’ll do better! Oww! I promise! I won’t let you down again, Sir! Oww!” Tears slid out from under Scott’s visor and down his cheeks as the punishment reached its zenith. The sixteenth swat turned Scott into a kicking and sobbing mess of well-spanked child. “I’ll make you proud, Sir! I swear!”
“Scott Summers.” Charles’ voice was as gentle and quiet as the cooing of a dove. “I am already proud of you. And not just you, but all of my X-Men. Just because you should be ashamed of your behavior does not mean that I am ashamed of any of you. I love you, and I am infinitely proud of you.”
“Th-thanks, Professor,” Scott stammered. Still trembling, he made his way off of his lap and embraced the man who had taken him in. They had only known each other for a few weeks at this point, but the Professor’s commitment to not simply teaching him, but taking care of him, did not go unnoticed. He was unafraid of showing genuine love and deep affection for Scott.
It was the first time since Scott had lost his parents and his brother in the plane crash that he truly felt like he was part of a family. He wasn’t ready to say it yet, but he was already starting to think of Charles as a father. Being hauled over his lap for a spanking certainly wasn’t hurting that perception.
Xavier gave Scott all of the attention he required, holding him close and patting his back until the tears stopped falling so heavily. He took a moment to look over Scott’s shoulder and absorb his troop of troublemakers. Warren’s expression had softened as he devoted more of his energy to comforting Bobby, he was still red faced from all of his crying and leaned against Warren’s chest. Jean had tucked herself away near a corner, rubbing her sore bottom but trying not to let the others see.
And Henry McCoy, the oldest and largest of the students, was standing with a grumpy expression and his arms folded. He was a formidable linebacker whose intellectualism and soft-spoken demeanor only went so far in making him less scary. And that wasn’t even taking into account the enhanced strength and agility Hank’s mutation granted him. There would be no wrangling this young man over his lap if he was defiant; if Charles was going to spank him, then he would have to win a battle of wills and principles.
“Hank. It’s your turn,” he said cautiously. “Everyone else has taken their consequences. Once you’ve received yours, we can all move on with our day and try to salvage the evening.”
“Indeed,” Hank huffed. He shook his head, and pushed his glasses back from the edge of his nose. “This is preposterous. Positively medieval. And even if I approved of corporal punishment for children, I’m practically an adult. This is intolerable.”
Charles folded his arms. “Hank. Are you going to keep me waiting?”
Hank’s body went tense. His impossibly large forearms flexed, the hair bristling on them from his tension. It was quite the conundrum to be stuck in. Hank was against spanking in principle, especially in schools. And since he was about to be subjugated to it, his disapproval was both personal and urgent. But the problem was that all of his classmates had taken their consequences. If he refused, then they wouldn’t all be treated fairly. They may well resent him if he didn’t fall in line.
Well, he couldn’t have that. And truthfully, while the Professor was strong enough to paddle each of his comrades to tears, Hank doubted he’d be as successful with him. His ass, like the rest of him, was practically made of iron.
“No,” Hank said dourly. He approached the desk, refusing to even look at the Professor. Submitting to this punishment was doing nothing to dull his anger or lessen his indignation. “Let’s get this over with.”
Charles watched as Hank took position, and realized right away that he was going to have to alter his technique. The boy was much larger, living up to his mutant codename: Beast. He’d been bringing the paddle down in the middle of each of his students’ rear ends, with the surface area of the implement being enough to deliver an adequate smacking. Hank was nearly twice as wide as Scott, and Charles would need to spank one side at a time to get the desired effect.
“I understand if you are angry with me,” Charles acknowledged before delivering the first spank to Hank’s left cheek. “It is not easy to accept discipline, especially when you think you are too old for it. But for all of your academic brilliance, scientific know-how and philosophical genius, you were still susceptible to recklessly endangering your life and the lives of your friends.”
Hank groaned and growled through the first four smacks. Xavier’s paddle bounced from one side to the other, smacking right at the crest of each cheek. Hank hadn’t accounted for this variable: it certainly made the paddle more effective than it would be if Charles aimed for the center. But Hank was too angry to cry about the pain: much like a football game or a wrestling match, his mental stamina was more than enough to block out the physical pain.
“I do not care how gifted you may be as a pilot, Henry McCoy,” Xavier continued, taking the same approach with Hank as he had with Warren. Silence would be met with scolding, penitence with assurance. “Those tricks were dangerous and you knew better. Whether you were encouraged by your friends or simply acting rebellious, your foolish decisions were unacceptable. And that is why you are here.”
As the punishment reached its halfway mark, Henry’s lips loosened. “I cannot argue with any of your points, my dear Professor.” His tone conveyed that “dear” was hardly affectionate. “I simply must argue with the form my consequences have taken. Ow!”
“It is not your job to agree with how I choose to discipline you, Hank.” Charles altered his pattern, delivering two smacks in a row to the same spot and drawing a meaningful yelp from the boy for the first time. “It is simply to understand why you receive it and to learn from it.”
“But Professor,” Hank protested, though his thought was cut off by the match pair on his right cheek. “Ohhh my stars and garters, that smarts! Ow. Professor, would not grounding all of us accomplish the same thing? Ow!”
“Grounding takes time, and it makes children miserable,” Charles explained before delivering another sound smack. “I will not have you, or any of my students, wallowing in discontent and feeling the temptation to rebel against me. A spanking is quick and effective, and while doubtless unpleasant, will only torment you for a few hours at most. Besides: when you do things that could hurt you, I believe the consequences should hurt.”
Judging by the howls that accompanied the final two spanks, Charles was accomplishing that goal with flying colors. He was impressed with himself; he’d had to be harder on Hank in order to achieve results, and after delivering four spankings already, his arm was starting to ache.
That was nothing compared to how heavy his heart was. Punishing one child and dealing with the raw emotions that escaped their minds was enough to take a toll on the telepath. He was too close to his students, their mental links too powerful, for him to tune out strong emotions completely. But all five of them in a row? Charles was going to need to sit down and have a relaxing cup of tea after all of this. Perhaps two.
Hank’s anger had finally been knocked out of him by the time his punishment finished. He realized the wisdom in what the Professor had said. Agreeing that he, or any of them, deserved to be spanked was not likely to happen, but he could accept that it was out of their control. And regardless of the form it took, it was a valuable lesson to learn. Capable as he was, he was still a human being, and subject to making human errors. Especially when he was showing off for his friends.
The consequences of showing off could be far more painful than a warm bottom.
Charles had half-expected to have to argue with Hank to get him to hug him. Instead, the young man wrapped his mentor in a crushing bear hug as soon as he was done catching his breath. Hank had impressively managed to hold back tears during the spanking, but now that he was resting against his shoulder and being held tightly, a few of them escaped regardless.
“I hope that you will learn to forgive me for paddling you, just as surely as I’ve forgiven you for this ridiculous stunt,” Charles said for Hank’s ears only. “And I am proud of you for accepting your consequences.”
“I would have been consumed by guilt if I didn’t accept the same punishment as my peers,” Hank answered, though he was not as quiet as Charles had been. “As Mortimer J. Adler said: ‘True freedom is impossible without a mind made free by discipline.’ And now that my conscience is clear, I intend to my damndest not to have a repeat performance.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Charles said with a laugh. He invited all of his merry mutants to come forward and join in on hugging Hank. “To me, my X-Men. I need you all to know thatI do not take any satisfaction in disciplining you children. I hope all of you will try your best not to give me good reasons to do so.”
“Oh no, Professor,” Jean assured him, wrapping an arm around both him and Hank and kissing Charles’ forehead. “We’re all going to be as good as gold now.”
“Jeannie’s right,” Warren seconded. “We’ve learned our lessons. X-Men’s Honor.”
“Amen to that,” Scott concluded happily. He was relieved that everyone seemed to want to do their best.
“Well, I mean,” Bobby interjected. “I don’t know if it’ll stick, but you could choose not to spank us if any of us break any of the rules. Much easier on everyone.”
Hank snorted. “I’ve changed my mind. Bobby deserves to be treated like a bratty child.”
“Hey!” Bobby protested, but he got no further before a stern look from the Professor convinced him not to push his luck. “Well. I’ll try my best to be good, anyway. I guess.”
“You had all better try,” Charles teased them affectionately. He raised a stern, wagging finger. “If any of you need another spanking in the future, I promise it will not be as gentle as the ones you received today.”
Charles allowed himself to enjoy their adorable protests. Truthfully, he hoped he wouldn’t have to punish any of them again. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky. It came with the territory of raising children, and his decision to open the School For Gifted Youngsters had provided him with five astonishing mutants who needed him just as dearly as he needed each of them.