Chapter Text
“Come on, Charlie, it’ll just be an hour. It’s really important that I go, and I’d like you to come with me.”
“No.” I dig my heels in, almost literally, because Nick has an arm behind my back, trying to herd me towards the front door.
“Why not?” He’s trying to use his calm, teacher voice on me, but it’s not working, because that’s not the voice I want to get out of him.
“I’ve already told you why. I cannot subject myself to that again.”
“It wasn’t that bad last year.”
“Nick. No one should be subjected to a child’s first orchestra concert unless that child is theirs. And those children are not mine. Nor are they yours, despite the fact that you confuse everyone by calling them ‘your kids’.” I use air quotes for that.
“They are my kids!” he protests. “And I told them today in class that we’d go. So get your shoes on.”
I turn and walk back to the kitchen. It’s not that I’m trying to be difficult. It’s just that I don’t want to go.
Okay, I actually am trying to be difficult, because I love what happens when I am. And so does he, despite how hard he fights against it most of the time.
Also, we haven't had sex in days because things have been a bit chaotic and I may be trying to goad him into it.
“Charlie.” There’s a bit of a threat in his tone, which is closer to the voice I’m trying to get out of him.
“Yes?” I say, all innocent.
He narrows his eyes at me and I know he’s onto the game now. “I’ll get you a coffee on the way. If we leave now we’ll have time to stop at your favourite place. But you can’t waste anymore time.”
“It’s almost six, Nick. I can’t drink coffee now. I’ll be up all night.”
He sighs in frustration. “I told Ms. Lee I’d be there early and help her set up the chairs. You’re making me late.” He brings me my shoes and puts them down on the floor in front of me. “Put them on and let’s go.”
I purse my lips at him, like I’m thinking. Then I say the one thing that really lets him know what I’m after.
“Make me.”
I expected to be tackled to the floor and kissed or maybe pressed back into the wall and kissed or even picked up and carried into the bedroom and thrown down onto the bed and kissed, but instead, he calmly bends down, gets my shoes, and puts them in front of the sofa in the living room.
Not what I was going for. I timed this perfectly for a rough quickie. He’s going off-script and I have absolutely no idea what to expect.
“Come here,” he says and that’s the tone I’ve been waiting for; dark and sexy and like he’s about to say, ‘you’re in a lot of trouble, young man.’
I walk over and stand between him and the sofa, staring. If he thinks I’m gonna sit down and put on my shoes, he’s got another thing coming.
He takes my shoulders in his hand and turns me around and then shoves me towards the sofa. I land on my knees and look back at him in confusion.
“We have twenty minutes,” he says, still eerily calm, “until we need to be in the car.”
“Until you need to be in the car.”
He puts a hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me into the backrest of the sofa, so my chest is leaning up against it. I turn my head to look at him and almost die.
He’s standing there, staring at me, while he casually unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, which can only mean one thing; he doesn’t want me to get button imprints on my arse when he spanks me.
“Okay,” I say, quickly, doing an about-face. “I’ll put my shoes on.” This is not what I thought would happen tonight.
“Oh no.” He pushes me back again and a shiver of arousal goes through me. “You’re not getting out of this that easy. You did this on purpose. This is what you wanted.”
“I wanted you to fuck me against the wall real quick, and then we could leave,” I huff.
He reaches around me, getting his fingers on the button of my jeans. “Then you should have asked for that.” He says it right against my ear, just before he kisses my neck. “Instead of being a brat.”
I can’t help the moan that tumbles out of me when I feel his hand on my zipper. He shoves down everything, my jeans and my briefs, until they’re around my thighs.
He cups my bum with both hands before he squeezes hard enough to make me yelp.
“Fuck! Keep in mind I’m going to be sitting at that stupid concert for a thousand fucking years in those terrible plastic chairs.”
“Sounds like something you should have thought about.” He squeezes again, and I know this is the warmup. I’m not ready to give up, yet, though.
“Oh, I thought about it, but I thought maybe you’d want me to look ravished so your little fan club might leave you alone.” His fan club being a group of rookie teachers who Nick mentored last year and now they’re all obsessed with him.
Instead of saying anything, he reaches up and purposefully ruffles my hair a bit, and I gasp in outrage.
“There,” he says. “Now you look ravished.”
I release the sofa and turn around to look at him. “That was–”
Before I can say anything else, he presses me back down against the cushion and whatever I was going to say leaves my mind.
“I believe this is what we call ‘fuck around and find out’, Charlie,” he says, followed by a light slap on each side. “You’re going to count and I’ll stop when you admit it’s fun going to school concerts with me.”
I snort. “So then we are going to miss the concert.” Call me a music snob, but I’ll never admit that.
“We’ll see.” Then he leans down to give me a quick kiss to the back of my neck. “Good?” he asks, checking in because he’s the best like that.
I roll my eyes. “I suppose.” I can’t make it too easy, even though it is good.
I get one more kiss before he backs away. He starts off light and I don’t count those because I know I’m not getting off that easy. This is still the warmup. Just when I’m starting to worry about the time and hoping he hasn’t lost track, I feel the first real smack.
I inhale sharply as it shocks me. It was way harder than he normally starts out. I'm starting to understand what I'm in for.
“One,” I say. The next two are quick and hard again, and I count them out while I find myself pressing away into the couch.
“Hips back,” he says, grabbing them and moving me himself, dragging my knees and hips back while I fold my arms over the back of the couch to brace myself.
He spends a while making sure I’m stable and my clothes are out of the way, and I can’t help myself. “Now who’s making us late?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder at him.
He’s giving me that fond, sappy smile. But then, once again, he pushes me back down to rest my head on my arms. “Shush,” he tells me, all calm and collected. “Don’t forget to count.”
And then I get four hits in a row, hard, all on the same side. By the last one, number seven, my voice is starting to sound different. That’s always why he has me count; he likes to hear it himself, so he knows when to stop.
I know there will be four on the other side, as well, so I brace myself, and then they come, loud and fast, and the word ‘eleven’ takes me a second to say.
Still, I’m not ready to give up. I know there is actually a time he’ll need to stop this so he doesn’t miss the concert, and I would love to try to get there and see what he’ll do then. Because I’m a brat like that. I doubt he has a plan, in which case, I would win, and he’d have to go sit through “Ode to Joy” and get awkwardly hit on by a bunch of giggling just-out-of-uni girls while I get to stay home and ice my arse.
He interrupts my planning with another hit, this time really stingy. I don’t know how he changes the feel of them so easily with just his palm, but fuck that one hurt and I automatically pull away, panting into the cushion, before I say, “Twelve.”
I can fucking hear his smirk behind me. He thought he got me with that one. When I don’t safeword, though, he does it again, in the same exact spot, and then again, and I’m totally shocked by how hard he’s going. He's fucking playing to win. That warmup might as well have not existed; I’m going to feel this for a week, at least.
I barely get the numbers out, when he’s doing the same on the other side, right up under the curve of my arse, and when he finishes I’m breathing hard. I also am hard. But he keeps pulling my hips back anytime I try to press myself into the couch for some friction, the bastard.
“Fuck,” I moan, while he pauses to let me breathe. “I hope you’re okay with standing tonight.”
“Is that a ‘it’s so fun going to school concerts with you, darling’ I hear?”
I think about it for a second. I wish I fucking knew what time it was. If I knew there were only a few minutes left, I could probably make it through anything he dishes out. I must be quiet for too long, though, because his hand comes down again, the sound of it cracking in the air, and I put my face into the back of the couch and yell.
He starts flicking me, hitting me sharply with his nail, and I remember I didn’t count it. “Ugh, I don’t fucking know, fifteen? Twenty?” Fuck, I’ve lost count. One time that happened, I had to start all over again at one.
“Charlie,” he says, disappointed. “It’s eighteen. Not memorable enough for you?”
I groan. “Eighteen,” I correct.
He waits a second, like maybe I’m going to finally tap out, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s got to have been twenty minutes by now. Didn’t he say we only had twenty minutes?
“Fine,” he sighs, like he’s disappointed in me. “I know you’re stubborn, Charlie, but this is ridiculous. Just say it. You’re so fucking red, I’m going to have to start moving to your thighs, and I don’t think you want that.”
“Is that a ‘my hand is sore so I’m trying to convince you to tap out’ I hear?” I can tell my voice doesn’t quite convey the level of brat I’m trying to go for, but it’s enough.
Suddenly, I’m moving. I’m in the air, Nick looping one arm around my waist and lifting me straight up, like I’m a toy. He sits down and then lays me right on top of him, over his lap, and I squirm because now my dick is trapped right up against his thigh and it both hurts and feels amazing.
He widens his legs, though, and lifts my hips and shoves my cock down in between his thighs so I get nothing. I should have known it wouldn’t have been that easy.
He reaches over me and grabs a pillow, shifting it in front of my face. “You may want this,” he says.
Then he proceeds to fucking wreck me, bringing his palm down onto my skin over and over and I’m not even counting anymore, just moaning into the pillow and saying his name every time, until I feel like my entire body is on fire. He has so much more control at this angle. He’s not even hitting me that hard but it’s repetitive and fast and he’s so fucking precise, and I’m just a writhing, desperate mess on his lap.
I get two more smacks, harder than the rest, and then he palms my surely-red arse, giving me a second to breathe. But in that second, I know I can’t do another round of that. I’m done, since apparently time doesn’t work while I’m getting punished.
“I’ll go!” I shout, pulling my face out of the pillow, before he can start again. “I’ll go, I’ll put my shoes on and go!”
“Hmm.” He pretends to consider it. I can hear how hard he’s breathing, though. I know this is just as physically demanding for him as it is for me. “Go where?”
I might cry, both from the burning of my skin and the burning in my face when I say, “School music concerts are fun. I love going with you, I love it, please take me with you. I won’t even laugh at how out of tune they are this time.”
He rubs my skin gently, but even that makes me twitch. “Good, Charlie,” he says, moving his hand up under my shirt to rub my back. “That’s the spirit.”
The sigh I let out seems to reset my whole body. I had no fucking clue I needed this, but I feel so good right now. I mean, my arse is on fucking fire, but besides that I just feel good. I let myself go boneless across his lap and close my eyes and just breathe for a moment, basking in his attention and love and the heat of his thighs.
He spends a few moments rubbing my skin gently and scratching his nails through my hair and cupping my face. I could probably just fall asleep right here.
But we have somewhere to be.
“Come on,” Nick says quietly after a few moments. He hooks his hands under my armpits and hoists me up onto my feet, where I promptly fall back over into him, smashing my stomach into his face. “Char,” he laughs, pushing me back upright. “Stand up.”
Reluctantly, I do, attempting to balance on my own with my pants still around my thighs. He reaches out and pulls them up, tucking my dick in. Apparently I’m not even getting a blowjob tonight for my efforts. He zips me up and says, “Shoes.”
I realise I need to either bend down or sit down to put on my shoes. Neither of those sounds fun right now. I hesitate, but before I make the choice, Nick slides off the couch onto his knees.
“Give me your foot,” he says gently. He very carefully puts my shoes on for me, ties them up, then stands and grabs my face and kisses me. “Okay?” he asks gently.
I nod. “How late are we?” I ask, feeling a tiny bit sorry for dragging this out for so long.
“Probably missed set-up,” he admits. “I’m gonna owe Ms. Lee coffee for a week.”
I tuck my face into his neck. “Really, all I was going for was a quickie in the hallway. I didn’t mean to make you late.”
He laughs at me again before kissing me on the nose. “You didn’t make me late. But you missed your chance for coffee by a longshot.”
“Ugh,” I groan.
“And you have to sit next to me in those lovely chairs, not squirm all over the place, and not laugh. Tough night for you.”
I groan again as he puts a hand on my back and leads me to the door. “It’ll get better when we get home, though, right?” I ask hopefully, giving him a pleading look.
“Depends on how well you behave yourself.”