Fox bent to pick up the phone from where it had landed in the kitchen sink,
thankful that for once Alex had let the water out after he rinsed the dishes.
He hastily wiped the phone on his shirt before putting it back to his ear.
"Sorry, Walter, I dropped the phone. Oh, I don't know," he paused, craning
his neck to see into the living room. Alex lay dozing on the sofa, his
omnipresent book lying open on his chest. "He's sleeping. Yes, everything's
fine, I told you," he laughed. "We're okay. Alex is grabbing his usual
Saturday afternoon nap and I'm about to watch the Knicks game. How's the
conference?" Fox listened intently, meanwhile popping the top on a can of
root beer and pouring it over the ice in his glass. "I know, we wish you
didn't have to spend the weekend away too. But when you get home, Walter,"
he purred lasciviously, "we'll make up for lost time." He took a sip of root
beer, already half-hard just from the sound of his lover's deep alpha male
voice. Even over a phone line, long distance from Chicago, that rumble
seemed to go straight to Fox's cock.
"Don't worry, Walter, we'll be good," he teased. "Get home as soon as you
can and you'll see just how good we can be." He grinned and listened for a
moment, his eyes shining. "We love you too, big guy. Come home safe to us."
Fox hung up the phone and glanced at his watch, then did an ecstatic little
jig, dancing over to the doorway to make sure Alex was still asleep so he
couldn't remark on how silly Fox looked. Fox rubbed his hands together
eagerly. Six minutes til the Knicks game came on the sports channel. The
perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon, cheering on his favorite team as
they played their arch-enemies in the Championship game. He went into the
living room to make sure the remote was on the coffee table where he had left
it the night before. Alex hated TV, so he'd never move it, except to annoy
Fox. The remote was right where it was supposed to be, and Fox blew a silent
kiss to his sleeping lover who lay, lips slightly parted, looking like an
angel in repose.
Fox went back into the kitchen to organize his supplies for the big game.
Knicks hat, check. He settled it firmly on his head and gave it a little pat
for good luck. Root beer. Check. Popcorn. Check. Peanuts. Check. He
grinned and opened the drawer next to the refrigerator. Time for the most
important thing. The thing without which no basketball game would be
complete.
Suddenly a shriek rent the air, shattering the peace of a lazy Saturday
afternoon at the Skinner-Mulder-Krycek residence.
"ALLLLLEEEEEXXXXXXX!"
Alex woke with a start and sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes. What the heck
was Fox yelling about? He ran a hand through his adorably sleep-tousled hair
and blinked his luminous green eyes at the twitching man in the doorway.
"What, baby?" Alex asked innocently, his lush eyelashes doing another slow,
langorous sweep.
"Don't 'what' me, Rat!" Fox barked, advancing on him, brandishing a crumpled
piece of cellophane. "You know damn well what!"
Alex managed to look injured and superior at the same time, no easy trick.
"Fox, what are you carrying on about? It's awfully rude to wake me from my
nap, you know. I was having a great dream about—"
"MY TWIZZLERS!" Fox screamed, waving the empty packet accusingly.
"No," said Alex thoughtfully. "I was here, but it didn't look like here.
And there was this panda, and he had wings, and he was helping all the other
pandas get across this stream. Then—"
"Cut the crap, Krycek," Mulder snapped. "You ate my Twizzlers! I had a
whole pack! You know I can't enjoy a Knicks game without my Twizzlers, and
today's the most important game of them all! How could you? It's bad enough
you had to get into them without my permission but did you have to eat the
entire pack? Now what am I supposed to do?!? The game's on in three
minutes and I don't have my Twizzlers!"
Alex put his hands on his hips, not quite as effective a gesture of
indignation when one was sitting down, he had to admit, but he was too
comfortable to get up.
"Look, Fox, I don't think it's fair of you to accuse me without any evidence.
Anything could have happened to your Twizzlers." He began to snuffle
theatrically, tilting his head so that the fat tears in his big green eyes
caught the light. "I...I knew you'd never believe I'd changed. I knew no
matter how hard I tried, I could never live down the past."
A deep hitching sigh.
"I...I know I can never be good like you and Walter, Fox. But I'm trying."
Fox stood silently for a moment.
His eyes narrowed and he threw the empty licorice wrapper down disgustedly.
"Nice try, Olivier!" he shouted, "But you can save your dimestore theatrics
for someone else. Those big kewpie-doll eyes might work on Walter but they
ain't gonna work on me!"
With a triumphant cry, he dove for Alex, catching his lover by surprise.
Alex struggled but Fox had the upper hand, using his weight and his
advantageous position atop Alex's squirming body to hold him down. At last,
he had his Russian candy poacher pinned and panting.
"You ate my Twizzlers, you licorice-lifting Rat!" Fox yelled into Alex's
face. "Admit it!"
Alex struggled fruitlessly, bucking his hips up against Fox's groin just to
hear the gasp that followed. Fox held him down and glared at him sternly.
"Cut it out, Alex. I know you ate them! Now 'fess up!"
Alex glared back.
"I didn't do it! Get off me!"
Fox stared at him for a moment, then his face transformed as a huge sly smile
spread across it. Suddenly he grabbed Alex's head with both hands and
captured his mouth in a long, slow, deep kiss. Alex shuddered and moaned,
his bones seeming to melt and run together inside him as Fox's agile tongue
explored the recesses of his mouth.
It was several moments before Fox broke the kiss, both men gasping for air,
Alex's eyes glowing and glazed with lust.
Fox looked down at Alex with a smirk. He could still taste the telltale glow
of strawberries on the brat's tongue.
"Funny, Alex," Fox said evenly. "Your mouth tastes just like...STRAWBERRY
TWIZZLERS!"
"AHHHHHH!" Alex screamed as Fox yanked his hair. "Ow!"
The two men tussled frantically, finally rolling off the sofa and onto the
floor. They wrestled grimly, neither one able to best the other, finally
falling away from one another, gasping and spent. Scowling, Fox stood up,
picked up his Knicks hat from where it had landed under the coffee table,
jammed it on his head and stomped upstairs, leaving Alex in a heap on the
carpet.
"Jerk!" Alex yelled after him, rubbing his scalp where Fox had tried to
snatch him bald.
"Brat!" he heard from upstairs, seconds before the door slammed.
Fox watched the game upstairs in the bedroom, sans root beer, Twizzlers and
Alex.
Alex sat downstairs in the living room, occasionally turning a page in his
book with unnecessary savagery, but not really reading a word. By the time
the second page tore in his hand, he slammed the book down on the coffee
table and stalked outside, determined to find something to do until
dinnertime.
Dinner was eaten in silence, neither man willing to abandon the dining room
table to the other. Alex hunkered down at one end with a thick steak and a
green salad, Fox at the other with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread. They
glared at one another intermittently until Fox finished the last bite of his
dinner and pointedly carried his dishes into the kitchen, washed them and
disappeared upstairs again. Alex pushed the last few bites of steak around
his plate dispiritedly, then cleared his own dishes. He dried the plate,
missing the usual after dinner sounds, the bantering and cheerful clatter as
they did the chore together. Alex blinked back tears. He missed Walter. He
missed Fox.
He glanced toward the staircase, remembering the superheated looks Fox had
thrown his way during dinner. He went to the phone, found the blue sticky
note next to it with the number of Walter's hotel on it. He dialed and
waited, biting his lip. He needed to hear Walter's deep, comforting voice,
as close as he could get to having those strong arms around him.
"The guest whom you are trying to reach is not in. To leave a voice message,
press one. To speak to the front desk, press two."
Alex sighed and hung up the phone. He finished putting away his few dishes
and paused, eyeing the neatly stacked bowls in the cabinet. Hmmm...a bowl of
ice cream would be good right about now. He couldn't have Walter and he
couldn't have Fox, but chocolate ice cream...that could be arranged.
He got a bowl down and rummaged in the drawer for the ice cream scoop, the
expensive one with the antifreeze in the handle, the one he had nagged Walter
to let him buy from the gourmet foods catalogue. He fished out a spoon from
the silverware drawer and went to the freezer, licking his lips in
anticipation. He took out the new carton of premium Neapolitan ice cream,
set it down on the counter and lifted the lid.
He stared down into the carton.
The vein in the middle of his forehead began to throb. A bead of sweat began
to slowly thread its way along his hairline.
Alex closed his eyes. He had bought the carton of Neapolitan ice cream the
day before, tossing it casually into the freezer for future reference. He
hadn't given it any more thought until just now. He opened his eyes again.
There was the strawberry. There was the vanilla.
The chocolate was missing.
Someone had expertly tunneled their way along with infinite care, excising
every last morsel of Alex's favorite flavor.
The scream began somewhere in the vicinity of his ribcage, barreled up
through his throat and out with every decibel the enraged Russian could
muster.
"FOOOOOOX!"
A snicker from the doorway caused Alex to spin around angrily.
Fox leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms folded nonchalantly.
"Something wrong, Alex? What is it?" he asked innocently, unable to hide his
smirk.
"You know damn well what it is!" Alex yelled, brandishing the evidence, which
was beginning to melt. Pink and white drops of melted ice cream spattered
the kitchen floor. "You did this! Admit it!"
"Sorry," Fox said with an infuriating grin. "I don't know what you're
talking about."
Alex slammed the carton of softening ice cream down on the table.
"Oh yes you do, Foxy," he hissed. "I always knew you were nothing but a
big baby, but this really tears it. It's bad enough that you had to throw a
tantrum over a one dollar and nineteen cent pack of licorice, but to do
this in retaliation? That's just pathetic!"
"Told ya, it wasn't me," Fox said, running one long finger through the
vanilla ice cream. Alex watched, trembling with fury, as he slowly licked
the dollop of melting ice cream from his finger, swirling it about on his
tongue.
"Mmm," he murmured, cutting his eyes at Alex. "Now that's good. I'm not
a big chocolate fan myself. A little too rich for me. How about you?"
Alex's hand tightened on the handle of the ice cream scoop.
"It's a good thing for you Walter's not here," he growled.
Fox snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Oh yeah, Ratboy? Something tells me you're gonna wish you could sit in
that ice cream once I tell him what you've been up to!"
Alex's eyes flashed green fire and he advanced on Fox, the ice cream scoop
held out before him like a weapon.
"I'm gonna make you sorry you ever touched my ice cream!" he yelled.
Fox laughed and backed away.
"Oh, I'm really scared, Alex. What are you gonna do, scoop me to death?"
Alex grinned ferally.
"You've seen me use a melon baller, right? It's the same principle, just on
a larger scale."
Fox's eyes narrowed. He lunged for Alex and they grappled for the scoop,
which finally flew across the kitchen, ending up partly wedged under the oven.
"Asshole!" Alex yelled.
"Brat!" Fox retorted.
"Prick!"
"Dick!"
"Baby!"
"Prima donna!"
"That's it," Alex snarled, dumping the runny ice cream into the sink. "I'm
going for a walk!"
He slammed the back door so hard the windows rattled.
Fox harrumphed and shoved his hands in his pocket.
"Rat..." he muttered. He swallowed and took a long look at the back door.
He rubbed his stomach absently. He really didn't like chocolate all that
much.
The sun rose the next day on an all-out war.
Alex wandered sleepily into the kitchen and opened the cabinet. His stomach
growled as he felt around behind the canned soup and cake mix.
He cursed in Russian and then in English, for good measure.
The empty box which had contained his chewy chocolate chip granola bars
ricocheted off the far wall and slid to rest against the back door.
Fox entered the kitchen and looked around warily. No sign of Alex. He
opened the refrigerator and took out the butter, then moved the large jar of
mayonnaise aside. He stared into the empty space for a moment before
slamming the refrigerator door and storming upstairs. Fuming, he turned on
the TV full blast, hoping that somewhere in the house, Alex was trying to
read. Fox flopped on the bed, angrily flipping channels.
His Aunt Grace had sent him that loaf of banana nut bread.
Matters escalated as the day wore on.
Alex's chocolate almond biscotti: gone.
Fox's can of deluxe mixed nuts: gone.
Alex's secret stash of Toblerone bars: gone.
Fox's box of Lucky Charms.
Alex's peanut butter Captain Crunch.
Fox's spicy barbecue potato chips.
Alex's malted milk balls.
Fox's trail mix.
Alex's caramels.
Fox's cheese puffs.
The Godiva truffles that Alex had hidden in the empty bucket under the sink.
The salsa-flavored corn chips Fox had hidden in the decorative tin on top of
the refrigerator.
Neither was willing to budge as their silent battle raged on. The sink soon
overflowed with dirty dishes, the counter was littered with empty wrappers
and packages as the two combatants enacted an unspoken boycott on cleaning.
Sunday night came and still no let up.
Alex's gourmet fudge-nut brownies.
Fox's honey-mustard filled pretzel sticks.
Chocolate-covered graham crackers.
An entire jar of imported jalapeno peppers.
A package of marshmallow pinwheels.
A bag of buffalo wings with ranch dressing.
Oreo cookies.
Lime flavored tortilla chips.
Cherry popsicles.
Walter unlocked the back door and stepped inside. He smiled in the dark,
eager to surprise his gorgeous young lovers. The conference had ended early
and he'd gotten the last seat on the last flight to DC, finally pulling into
the driveway just after one in the morning. He dropped his keys on the
counter and felt for the light switch.
He almost wished he hadn't found it.
The kitchen was a disaster area. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes,
likewise the kitchen table. A plastic jug sat on a kitchen chair with about
an inch of congealed milk in the bottom of it. The trash can bulged with
empty containers of every size and shape. Walter looked down at his keys,
which were lying in a pool of something brown and sticky.
Walter turned and closed the back door, making sure it was properly secured.
He calmly and methodically rinsed the goo from his keys, managing to find a
clean spot on the otherwise mangy teatowel. He placed his briefcase in the
hall closet. Hung up his coat. He took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Again.
In French.
Then in German.
He had one hand on the bannister when he heard a pitiful groan from upstairs.
He took the stairs two at a time.
He rushed into the bedroom and was greeted by the sight of his two lovers
lying crumpled on the bed, their bellies distended. They lay moaning softly,
their dark heads close together, each occasionally raising a hand to stroke
the other's hair in a gesture of comfort.
"What the hell?" said Walter, scanning the room with shocked eyes.
Like the kitchen, the bedroom was a shambles. The nightstand was littered
with partially consumed bottles of antacid, surrounded by discarded spoons.
The burnished wood surface was covered in smears and dribbles of pink and
chalky white. The light was on in the en suite bathroom and Walter could see
the cabinet doors standing open, their contents scattered over the floor.
Walter walked over to the bed, his features creased with concern.
"Fox? Alex?" he said softly. "It's me. Are you all right?"
Fox looked up, his hazel eyes full of tears. He clutched half a roll of
Rolaids in one trembling hand.
"Ohhh Walter," he groaned, "we're sick..."
At the mention of the word, Alex bolted from the bed and into the bathroom,
where he was violently and loudly ill, kneeling among the scattered cotton
balls and bars of soap.
"Some...something we ate," Alex whispered weakly as he crawled back into bed,
huddling close to Fox.
Walter looked around the room again, shaking his head. He could see that he
was not going to be able to get anything sensible out of them for the time
being. With a sigh, he set about the task of bringing order to chaos,
sponging up spills, clearing up bottles and spoons, and soothing two sickly
brats.
Two hours later, the house once again looked like a home. The kitchen had
been cleaned up and wiped down. The dishwasher chugged away contentedly, the
trash cans in the alley were full to the brim, the floor was swept. Alex and
Fox lay quietly upstairs, swaddled in thick bathrobes, cool cloths on their
foreheads.
Walter sat in the now sparkling kitchen and opened a beer.
He needed it.
It hadn't taken long, between sobs and frantic trips to the bathroom, to get
the whole sordid story out of his lovers.
Walter got up and opened the mostly empty cabinets, still unable to believe
the sheer amount of food the two had managed to consume, each determined to
outdo the other.
He shook his head, thinking of the two pairs of mournful eyes that had gazed
up at him as he soothed and coddled. Their whimpers would have melted a
heart of stone. He was almost tempted to say they had been punished enough.
Almost.
Monday, as it happened, was a federal holiday and all government offices were
closed. Neither Walter nor Fox had to work, which gave Walter ample time to
employ considerable creativity in his brats' punishment.
Said brats watched warily as he signed for the box, shipped next day air from
Paris.
Walter placed the box on the table with a flourish and smiled brightly at
Alex and Fox. Moving as one, they backed up a step, two faint gulps sounding
in the sunlit room. A smile like that on Walter's face meant only one thing.
Two butts were about to become very sore, very fast.
They shivered as they remembered the last such box Walter had received and
the matching paddles engraved with an A and an F, made of special
extra-flexible Malaysian rubber.
Fox craned his neck to see the label on the front of the box.
"Mistress Gaby's Candy for Bad Boys," he read softly. He and Alex looked at
each other, mystified.
Walter opened the box and withdrew a large, flat parcel. He opened it,
enjoying the awed gasps that came from the two miscreants.
It was a Twizzler.
A long Twizzler.
About five feet long.
Walter removed the plastic wrapping and hefted the licorice whip in his hand,
doubling it over and snapping it experimentally.
Two pert sets of buttocks clenched at the sound.
Walter's smile grew wider. It was a little sticky, but it would do nicely.
"Gentlemen," he said courteously, "shall we adjourn to the living room?"
Alex and Fox knew what was expected of them and had no desire to make a bad
situation any worse by being recalcitrant. Resigned to their fates, they
quickly removed their clothes and found their corners. Except for the
occasional muted sniffle, silence reigned. Walter sat on the sofa, looking
at the sweet graceful curves of their bare backs, the smooth shoulders
hunched in shame. Looking around to make sure neither of them could see, he
surrepticiously pinched about an inch off the tip of the licorice whip and
chewed it thoughtfully.
He didn't know why his lovers had become so angry with one another over such
a silly thing, but he was going to be damned sure they thought twice before
they did it again.
After twenty minutes, he called his subdued lovers over and sat them down for
a talk.
"Alex, Fox," he began, his voice soft and solemn, "you know I love you very
much, don't you?"
"Yes, Walter," two husky voices replied.
Alex wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. His lip trembled. Walter
saw the fear and misery in those green eyes and wanted nothing more than to
hold Alex close and reassure him, but the time for that would come. He
always made sure to comfort his little Rat after he'd been punished and this
time would be no different.
But first, he had to make sure they learned their lesson.
"Boys," he said sadly, "you know that what you did this weekend was very
wrong, don't you?"
Two dark heads nodded. Alex looked at Walter beseechingly.
"Walter?" he said haltingly. "I-I started it." A tear rolled slowly down
one cheek.
Walter's heart went out to his beautiful young lover, and his eyes were kind
but stern as he spoke.
"I know what happened, Alex. I spoke to you both separately and your stories
match up. You've both been honest with me and I appreciate that. Yes, you
were wrong, not to mention very inconsiderate, to eat Fox's licorice whips,
especially when you knew that he had bought them to eat while he watched the
Knicks game."
"Yes, Walter," Alex whispered.
"And you will be punished for that," Walter continued firmly. "But I hold
you both equally responsible for what happened this weekend. I went away for
two days, and in the space of that time, two grown men managed to reduce this
house to rubble and make themselves sick in the process."
Two sets of eyes fastened on the carpet.
"Did you think for one moment about how I might feel when I came home from a
business trip to find the house in a shambles and my lovers in serious
gastric distress, not to mention that half the food in the house had been
devoured?"
Alex and Fox were silent for a moment.
"No, Walter," Fox said quietly. "We didn't think. We're sorry."
Walter nodded sadly.
"I know you are, Fox," he said, rolling up his sleeves, "but unfortunately
that doesn't change anything. Your behavior this weekend was absolutely
unacceptable. Not only did you two allow a petty matter to escalate into an
all-out war, you exhibited a complete disregard for my feelings as well as
each other's. You made a huge mess. You shoveled tremendous amounts of junk
food down your throats with no thought for your own health and well-being.
All you cared about was revenge."
He sat down on the coffee table, his hands on his knees, and looked at his
penitent brats seriously. He waited until they raised their teary eyes to
look at him.
"Do you understand that nothing—NOTHING—is worth fighting one another
over? That something trivial and inconsequential can fester and grow until
it drives a wedge between you? Yes, Alex, your action did precipitate this
fight you two had. But Fox, you were equally wrong in the way you chose to
handle it. You could have handled it like a mature adult, but instead you
chose to retaliate, which led to a battle of wills neither of you could hope
to win."
Alex and Fox swallowed hard.
"I'm going to have to punish you both, I know you know that. We've all
worked too hard, fought too long, for the chance, the privilege to be
together. I'm not going to let something silly like a packet of candy do
what Spender, the Consortium and the alien colonists couldn't. I love you
both. We all love each other. Nothing is more important than that. And if
I have to spank you every night of your lives, you are going to learn to
place that love before anything and everything else. Is that understood?"
There was only one possible answer.
"Yes, sir," his brats whispered.
"All right," Walter said quietly. "Let's get this over with. Over the back
of the couch, please, both of you."
Alex and Fox rose and went to the back of the couch, bending over gracefully,
their bare bottoms high in the air. Alex felt his legs trembling and held
onto the nearest cushion for comfort. He looked at Fox miserably.
"I'm sorry, Fox," he whispered softly.
Fox blinked back tears.
"Me too," he whispered back. "I'm sorry, Alex."
Walter heard this exchange and felt tears fill his own eyes. He smiled a
little as he gave a gentle caress to the two bottoms he was about to punish.
"There are so many things I'd love to be doing to these two gorgeous bottoms
right now," he said sadly. "I counted the minutes until I could get home to
you. I hope you think long and hard about what this punishment is for, and
how we could have spent our day off."
Subdued snuffling sounded from the vicinity of the sofa cushions.
Walter lifted the licorice whip. It was lighter than a conventional whip, of
course, but the licorice strands were tightly wrapped and he felt confident
that it would get the point across.
"Alex," Walter said, "since you admit to starting this fiasco by eating Fox's
Twizzlers, I'm going to start with you. You get twenty strokes, and you will
count them. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Alex answered miserably.
"Fox," Walter continued, "you will remain bent over beside Alex while he
takes his punishment. I want you to think about what you could have done
differently before this thing got out of control. I want you to listen to
Alex as he's being punished and to think about the importance of resolving
conflicts maturely and responsibly."
"Y-yes, sir," Fox mumbled, his hand covering Alex's and holding it tight.
Alex smiled at Fox gratefully.
"Love you," he whispered.
"Love you too," Fox whispered back.
Walter folded the licorice whip over and raised it over Alex's hapless
backside. He brought it down with a loud snap.
"OWWW!" Alex yelped, his eyes round with disbelief. "That...that's candy?
It really hurts!"
"It's supposed to hurt, Alex," Walter replied patiently. "What are you
supposed to do?"
"One," Alex gulped, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in anticipation of the
next stroke.
Walter laid the licorice whip across Alex's butt again, leaving a thin red
line across the pale white globes.
"Ow!" Alex yelped again. "T-two." He clutched the sofa cushion, his
knuckles white, fighting the urge to reach back and rub the sting away.
The spanking continued, Walter laying them down quickly and evenly, Alex
gasping out the appropriate numbers in between sobs.
"What is this punishment for, Alex?" Walter demanded, thwapping the Twizzler
across Alex's sit spot.
"Ow...n-nine," Alex sobbed. "F-for eating Fox's candy without his permission
and for being childish and petty, and for fighting with him and for n-not
being considerate and responsible."
"That's right," Walter said soothingly.
"And for not being m-mature..." Alex continued, crying steadily.
"All right, Alex," Walter said, rubbing Alex's bare back. "I know you know
that you were wrong. I'm proud of you for owning up, love. There was a time
when you would have tried to hide what you'd done. You've come a long way,
Alex, and we're both proud of you."
"Yes," whispered Fox, his head close to Alex's.
Alex sniffled and managed a smile, his eyes shining.
"Let's get finished up, okay, Alex?" Walter asked.
"Y-yes, sir," Alex answered, his voice a little more steady.
Walter got the rest of the punishment over as quickly as he could, Alex
counting the strokes in as clear a voice as he could manage between sobs.
At last it was over. The end of the giant Twizzler had softened with the
heat of Walter's hand and bore the imprints of his fingers. He pried it out
of his hand and placed it on the coffee table to await Fox's punishment.
He gathered the sobbing Alex into his arms and stroked the sable hair,
letting his Rat cry.
"I love you, Alex," Walter murmured. "We love you. The spanking is over and
you did well, you owned up and took your punishment, and all is forgiven."
Alex clung to Walter and cried, thanking him through his tears.
A few minutes later, Alex was bent over the sofa again. He reached for Fox's
hand and pressed it to his lips, then held it tightly. Fox smiled, his eyes
shining with love and gratitude.
Then Fox's punishment began.
"What is this punishment for, Fox?" Walter asked as he snapped the licorice
whip down for the first time.
"OW!" Fox yelled. He tried to compose himself enough to answer. "One," he
gulped. "I...I lost my temper when I found Alex had eaten my candy. I was
childish and immature and I retaliated against him and made it worse instead
of handling it like an adult."
Walter brought the Twizzler down again.
"And what should you have done?"
"T-two!" Fox wailed. "I...I should have just let it go! I should have
waited til you came back so we could all talk about it! I should have
thought before I acted!"
"That's right, Fox," Walter said quietly. "That's what you should have done
and I know that the next time there's a problem, that's what you will do.
I'm proud of you for admitting you were wrong, Fox, and for taking your
punishment."
"Th-thank you, Walter....OW! Th-three!"
Walter spanked Fox as thoroughly as he had Alex, and by the time it was over,
Fox's bottom was bright red and throbbing.
Walter dropped the Twizzler, which was looking decidedly worse for wear, into
the trash can and took Fox into his arms.
"That's it," he murmured, stroking Fox's soft hair, "let it out."
And Fox did. He buried his face in Walter's chest and bawled, the soft
soothing words Walter whispered in his ear easing his pain.
Alex straightened up and, at Walter's wordless gesture, snuggled into
Walter's arms alongside Fox. Walter held them both close, drying their tears
with soft kisses. He touched Alex's cheek gently. Alex took Walter's finger
into his mouth, sucking at the sweetness there. Fox nibbled along Walter's
jawline, taking the soft earlobe between his teeth. Walter groaned and
carefully ran his hands along two flaming hot bottoms, soothing the
superheated flesh.
"Upstairs," Walter managed to gasp. "I'm going to tie you both to the bed
and ravish you."
"But Walter," said Fox, still nibbling and suckling Walter's earlobe, "you
said we couldn't use our neckties anymore. And we lost the handcuff keys."
"That's all right," Walter said with a smile, holding up a packet of
Twizzlers. "I think I can improvise."
The End
For Gaby on her 28th birthday.
Much love.
Licorice Whips
by Lorelei
Walter, will you relax? We're fine!" Fox said with a chuckle, trying to
cradle the phone between his neck and shoulder as he filled a glass with ice.
He closed the freezer door and set the glass down on the counter, turning
back to rummage in the refrigerator. "What's that? No, Walter, just root
beer, I promise—oops!"
