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Thursday, May 24th, 2007 07:14 pm
xmmfic: a question of discipline (scott/remy, NC-17)
Wrote this--vaguely--circa 2000-2001ish. I really have *no idea why*. It would be the equivalent of taking it into my head to write, oh, Kolya/Radek bloodsports.
*thoughtful* The best part about this is the fact I did not, at the time, take it into my head to try writing a Beast threesome here. I have this strange, crawly feeling I was going somewhere in that general direction eventually. Or in some general, disturbing direction.
So you know, think of that before you judge. I could have been writing much worse things.
I feel like I should apologize here? But seriously, you clicked the cut-tag. You totally were warned.
Title: A Question of Discipline
Author: jenn
Codes: Scott/Remy,
Rating; NC-17
* * * * *
So he annoys me sometimes. It's not a question of personality conflict, you understand. As leader, it's almost a part of the job--they aren't going to like me, and at least once in every mission, everyone thinks they could do a better job than I could. It's natural.
So it's not that.
It's a question of discipline--it's one thing to think it, quite another to act on it. Remy disobeyed a direct order and questioned me on the field, which is unacceptable behavior from an X-Man.
"Remy," I tell him sternly, and his eyes meet mine, wide and very dark. When he arrived, it was the first thing I noticed about him--I don't see color, so blue eyes, green eyes, grey eyes don't mean anything to me. But dark--yes. Dark is different. "I had hoped that over time, your attitude would have undergone a change for the better. Yet you force me to continue to take action."
It's never easy or particularly pleasant to have to deliver one of these lectures and this is the fourth (and hopefully last) that I've had to give to Remy. It's yet another facet of leadership that I just don't think anyone else understands. They think I get some sort of sick kick out of making them miserable. Which I don't, not at all.
I circle the bed, feeling his eyes follow me. He's been waiting here for about an hour, since I had some other things to attend to that really had to be completed before I dealt with this infraction.
"We have a chain of command for a reason, Remy. It's to avoid such situations as you put us in today--as a junior member of the group, you have even less excuse than anyone to disobey--and to countermand an order from a superior, potentially putting others in danger--" I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "No. I've let it slide before, considering your background and your early training. Not this time."
He nods, a little frantically, but it isn't enough this time. Three lectures ago, it was a promise that he'd never do it again, and letting it go with a warning just wasn't enough. Time for a specific object lesson.
I've thought about this--it's not the first time I've had to discipline members of the group, so I had some background, but the variations for Remy were, of course, necessary, considering his ability, and I don't deny it, to talk himself out of any situation. Hence the gag. Arms around his back, gloved, to assure he wouldn't try to use his mutation on me--extremely unlikely, granted, but I don't like taking risks. Logan can take stupid risks--some of us like the idea of planning out ways to survive, not simply throwing the dice. A pillow under his hips kept his ass up--I'm not a complete bastard, I got his head supported as well, I don't plan on asphyxiation as a means of obedience, after all.
Though the idea has merit, and I'll be thinking that over in case something like this comes up again. Which it always does.
Without ceremony, I pick up the riding crop and walked to a position where he could see me easily.
"Remy."
His eyes fix on my hand.
"There were eight members of the team out there, who you put in danger."
His eyes went wide and he nods as best he can. I circle behind him and study his position again. Yes, this will work.
"Eight members, Remy." And I bring the crop down on his bare ass. "One."
He gasps something, grinding his body into the bed, as if he can get away from me. The mark flowers up richly red, and I nod slowly.
"Two." A muffled squeal, but he doesn't make the error of shifting away this time, and for that, I have to give him credit.
"Three." Then I shift a little over, bring it down over his hip. "Four."
There's muffled sobbing coming from behind the gag and his thighs grow tense--against the pillow, I can see his erection growing. He's quite a large little boy, and I take a moment to run a finger across his cock, tracing the bulging veins with my palm. Studying at him, he looks so young--almost prepubescent, almost hairless, and his skin is as silky as my wife's. He moans softly and I pull my hand reluctantly away.
"Five." And this time just above his wrists, cutting along the line of his spine, and he jerks hard, rubbing himself against the pillows. The sobbing increases in volume, and I sigh a little, glad Jean insisted on installing the soundproofing in our room. No need to alarm anyone, after all--not that they *don't* know what I'm doing, but its best for moral to keep it quiet. And I think it worries them--they see the results, but rarely the application, and I like it that way.
"Six." He groans then, when I bring the leather down on his upper back, nicely between the shoulder blades, and I check to see his cock is purple now with strain--the silk of the pillowcases probably isn't giving him enough friction to get off, which is fine.
"Seven." Remy's whole body goes absolutely tense, which is the worst possible response to pain, and I bring down the crop hard on his ass again. "Eight."
Remy's back arches--can't be comfortable with his arms like that--and he screams into the gag, and I walk around to look at his face. Saliva coats his chin and mixes with the tears on the sheet.
"You understand now?"
It takes him a moment to respond, and he nods slowly.
"Good. I'm glad we had this between us finally. I hope I can count on this not happening again." I put the crop down a few inches from his eyes, and it holds all his attention while I go to bedside table and the top drawer. I find the lubricant under Jean's romance novels--how she reads that crap is beyond me--and cover my fingers with the gel before walking back around and running my free hand over the lines of his ass. He shudders with a choked sob, and God, his skin is hot. He's a beautiful boy. My wife tells me his hair is almost the same color as hers.
Carefully, I work one slick finger into his ass--he's done this before, he automatically pushes back against me, inner muscles relaxing exactly like they should, and I'm glad of that, because I hate having inexperienced lovers. Working a second finger in, I stretch him out more, and his hips shift back against me. Good. Very good.
"Remy, I want you to remember this isn't punishment--it's discipline." Untying my drawstring pants, I let them drop around my ankles and then my boxers, squeezing out a little more lubricant before I carefully rub it all over my cock--I don't like an uncomfortable ride. Some guys get off on the friction--I don't, and I hate to have to sit around with Jean in the med lab having her fix abrasions like that. I slide the head of my cock carefully to his ass, spreading the cheeks wide, and taking a grip on his hips, I thrust inside.
"Oh good boy."
He screams something--God, that's good, he's good, even when he's tense, and I massage his ass as I work my way in. Once the head is comfortably deep, I slowly withdraw, then thrust again. And he's tight--it must have been awhile since the last time, but he hasn't forgotten how to do any of it, and that's good--because as stated, I don't like inexperience. A few slow thrusts to get him accustomed--I'm not a monster, I don't want to rip him--and then I begin a slow, steady rhythm, running my fingernails down his back, feeling the slow arch of his body, the panting breaths--it occurs to me that it has to be difficult for him to breathe through that gag, but it's really not that much of a concern. Reaching down, I cup his balls, massaging them gently, feeling the tension in them--
"My good little boy. That's it, nice."
--and shit, he's good, he knows how to hold a rhythm, and I close my eyes and let the feeling take over.
It's only a few more thrusts before I feel him tense--he's about to come, and no--I jerk his hips toward me and oh it's good the feeling of release deep within me, and I pull out quickly while he collapses.
Still hard against the sheets.
"Don't make it like this next time," I tell him softly, and press a kiss to the back of his neck, before pulling up my pants and going to get cleaned up. When I get back, he's sobbing quietly into the pillows and I untie him and carry him to the door, leaving him on the floor outside. "Now go get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, and we'll forget this whole nasty incident. A fresh start. Okay?" Carefully, I remove the gag and he collapses into the wood.
When I close the door, the sobbing finally quiets and I start cleaning up the room.
The End.
*thoughtful* The best part about this is the fact I did not, at the time, take it into my head to try writing a Beast threesome here. I have this strange, crawly feeling I was going somewhere in that general direction eventually. Or in some general, disturbing direction.
So you know, think of that before you judge. I could have been writing much worse things.
I feel like I should apologize here? But seriously, you clicked the cut-tag. You totally were warned.
Title: A Question of Discipline
Author: jenn
Codes: Scott/Remy,
Rating; NC-17
* * * * *
So he annoys me sometimes. It's not a question of personality conflict, you understand. As leader, it's almost a part of the job--they aren't going to like me, and at least once in every mission, everyone thinks they could do a better job than I could. It's natural.
So it's not that.
It's a question of discipline--it's one thing to think it, quite another to act on it. Remy disobeyed a direct order and questioned me on the field, which is unacceptable behavior from an X-Man.
"Remy," I tell him sternly, and his eyes meet mine, wide and very dark. When he arrived, it was the first thing I noticed about him--I don't see color, so blue eyes, green eyes, grey eyes don't mean anything to me. But dark--yes. Dark is different. "I had hoped that over time, your attitude would have undergone a change for the better. Yet you force me to continue to take action."
It's never easy or particularly pleasant to have to deliver one of these lectures and this is the fourth (and hopefully last) that I've had to give to Remy. It's yet another facet of leadership that I just don't think anyone else understands. They think I get some sort of sick kick out of making them miserable. Which I don't, not at all.
I circle the bed, feeling his eyes follow me. He's been waiting here for about an hour, since I had some other things to attend to that really had to be completed before I dealt with this infraction.
"We have a chain of command for a reason, Remy. It's to avoid such situations as you put us in today--as a junior member of the group, you have even less excuse than anyone to disobey--and to countermand an order from a superior, potentially putting others in danger--" I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "No. I've let it slide before, considering your background and your early training. Not this time."
He nods, a little frantically, but it isn't enough this time. Three lectures ago, it was a promise that he'd never do it again, and letting it go with a warning just wasn't enough. Time for a specific object lesson.
I've thought about this--it's not the first time I've had to discipline members of the group, so I had some background, but the variations for Remy were, of course, necessary, considering his ability, and I don't deny it, to talk himself out of any situation. Hence the gag. Arms around his back, gloved, to assure he wouldn't try to use his mutation on me--extremely unlikely, granted, but I don't like taking risks. Logan can take stupid risks--some of us like the idea of planning out ways to survive, not simply throwing the dice. A pillow under his hips kept his ass up--I'm not a complete bastard, I got his head supported as well, I don't plan on asphyxiation as a means of obedience, after all.
Though the idea has merit, and I'll be thinking that over in case something like this comes up again. Which it always does.
Without ceremony, I pick up the riding crop and walked to a position where he could see me easily.
"Remy."
His eyes fix on my hand.
"There were eight members of the team out there, who you put in danger."
His eyes went wide and he nods as best he can. I circle behind him and study his position again. Yes, this will work.
"Eight members, Remy." And I bring the crop down on his bare ass. "One."
He gasps something, grinding his body into the bed, as if he can get away from me. The mark flowers up richly red, and I nod slowly.
"Two." A muffled squeal, but he doesn't make the error of shifting away this time, and for that, I have to give him credit.
"Three." Then I shift a little over, bring it down over his hip. "Four."
There's muffled sobbing coming from behind the gag and his thighs grow tense--against the pillow, I can see his erection growing. He's quite a large little boy, and I take a moment to run a finger across his cock, tracing the bulging veins with my palm. Studying at him, he looks so young--almost prepubescent, almost hairless, and his skin is as silky as my wife's. He moans softly and I pull my hand reluctantly away.
"Five." And this time just above his wrists, cutting along the line of his spine, and he jerks hard, rubbing himself against the pillows. The sobbing increases in volume, and I sigh a little, glad Jean insisted on installing the soundproofing in our room. No need to alarm anyone, after all--not that they *don't* know what I'm doing, but its best for moral to keep it quiet. And I think it worries them--they see the results, but rarely the application, and I like it that way.
"Six." He groans then, when I bring the leather down on his upper back, nicely between the shoulder blades, and I check to see his cock is purple now with strain--the silk of the pillowcases probably isn't giving him enough friction to get off, which is fine.
"Seven." Remy's whole body goes absolutely tense, which is the worst possible response to pain, and I bring down the crop hard on his ass again. "Eight."
Remy's back arches--can't be comfortable with his arms like that--and he screams into the gag, and I walk around to look at his face. Saliva coats his chin and mixes with the tears on the sheet.
"You understand now?"
It takes him a moment to respond, and he nods slowly.
"Good. I'm glad we had this between us finally. I hope I can count on this not happening again." I put the crop down a few inches from his eyes, and it holds all his attention while I go to bedside table and the top drawer. I find the lubricant under Jean's romance novels--how she reads that crap is beyond me--and cover my fingers with the gel before walking back around and running my free hand over the lines of his ass. He shudders with a choked sob, and God, his skin is hot. He's a beautiful boy. My wife tells me his hair is almost the same color as hers.
Carefully, I work one slick finger into his ass--he's done this before, he automatically pushes back against me, inner muscles relaxing exactly like they should, and I'm glad of that, because I hate having inexperienced lovers. Working a second finger in, I stretch him out more, and his hips shift back against me. Good. Very good.
"Remy, I want you to remember this isn't punishment--it's discipline." Untying my drawstring pants, I let them drop around my ankles and then my boxers, squeezing out a little more lubricant before I carefully rub it all over my cock--I don't like an uncomfortable ride. Some guys get off on the friction--I don't, and I hate to have to sit around with Jean in the med lab having her fix abrasions like that. I slide the head of my cock carefully to his ass, spreading the cheeks wide, and taking a grip on his hips, I thrust inside.
"Oh good boy."
He screams something--God, that's good, he's good, even when he's tense, and I massage his ass as I work my way in. Once the head is comfortably deep, I slowly withdraw, then thrust again. And he's tight--it must have been awhile since the last time, but he hasn't forgotten how to do any of it, and that's good--because as stated, I don't like inexperience. A few slow thrusts to get him accustomed--I'm not a monster, I don't want to rip him--and then I begin a slow, steady rhythm, running my fingernails down his back, feeling the slow arch of his body, the panting breaths--it occurs to me that it has to be difficult for him to breathe through that gag, but it's really not that much of a concern. Reaching down, I cup his balls, massaging them gently, feeling the tension in them--
"My good little boy. That's it, nice."
--and shit, he's good, he knows how to hold a rhythm, and I close my eyes and let the feeling take over.
It's only a few more thrusts before I feel him tense--he's about to come, and no--I jerk his hips toward me and oh it's good the feeling of release deep within me, and I pull out quickly while he collapses.
Still hard against the sheets.
"Don't make it like this next time," I tell him softly, and press a kiss to the back of his neck, before pulling up my pants and going to get cleaned up. When I get back, he's sobbing quietly into the pillows and I untie him and carry him to the door, leaving him on the floor outside. "Now go get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, and we'll forget this whole nasty incident. A fresh start. Okay?" Carefully, I remove the gag and he collapses into the wood.
When I close the door, the sobbing finally quiets and I start cleaning up the room.
The End.
