Fic: Good Authority
Author: greenhoodloxley
Title: Good Authority
Rating: R
Warnings: Spanking. Memories of childhood abuse.
Word Count: 1191
Summary: AU version of the scene where Browning and Fischer are being held captive in the warehouse while (Eames) Browning tries to get the combination from Fischer
Disclaimer/Author's note: None of these characters are mine, alas.
Robert licks his lips nervously. Don't they know what they're risking by angering his uncle? But then, no, they wouldn't. They didn't grow up with Browning, have no idea what he was capable of when he was angry. He tries to curl into a ball, but that doesn't work because they bring Browning in and leave him there beside him. He's handcuffed, but that doesn't matter when he looks over at Robert.
His uncle's questioning him and Robert tries to answer, but he has none to give. There's nothing to be won from any of this. He wonders how long it will take the kidnappers to realize they've hit a dead end.
“Some meaningful combination of numbers based on your experiences...” Browning trails off, just eying him strangely. “What about when your mother died?”
Robert looks at Browning silently and without a word crawls across the floor to drape himself over the man's thighs. Browning goes as still as possible beneath him.
“What...”
“When I was eleven, after the funeral....you found me crying in my mother's bedroom upstairs.” Robert shifts awkwardly. “I thought.” Oh fuck, what if he's gotten it wrong. He starts to move, but suddenly Browning's free hand is on his back, holding him there.
“Go on.”
“But you were there...”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Robert's face burns so he keeps looking down. “You told me I was too grown up to cry and then...you spanked me.” He shifts again. Why does he have to speak it aloud?
“And what did I tell you?” Browning asks, his tone mild.
“You told me my father didn't have time to look after me, but that you always would. That I needed a strong hand to look after me, and take care of me...and that's why you did it.”
He still remembers how it felt. Browning taking him on his lap, laying him over his knees. Robert, holding his breath as his uncle's hand struck him. A steady methodical pattern of blows that left him numb and bruised and sobbing quietly into the material of his uncle's trousers.
“Robert.” Browning's hand presses softly on his back. “Do you remember the other times?”
“Ye-es...” Did he remember? Of course he remembers. Every single time he screwed up, disappointed them, he'd been punished. His father would only give him that look of utter disappointment, tinged with contempt, but Browning...Browning would simply wait and send for him later.
The worst times were when he got hard from it, and Browning made him stroke himself off afterward, right there, criticizing his every stroke. Slower, no, not like that, like this, christ, Robert, can't you even get yourself off right?
No, that hadn't been the worst. That time had been later.
“Robert....can you remember the combination?” Browning's hand is rubbing light soft circles on his lower back.
“No, sir.”
The blow is dull, not quite up to Browning's usual standards, but then it's awkward with one hand handcuffed. The angle is wrong. He manages better with the second one.
It's his right hand, his familiar right hand, but then his left hand is there too, holding Robert in place. His left hand freed from the cuff. Robert's startled enough that he twists around to look at Browning. Browning grins. “You think I can't get out of a little handcuff?” He wiggles his fingers at Robert, and brings his hand down on his ass, making him yelp.
“Robert.”
“Yes.” His face is stinging, but not as much as his ass. It's been a while since Browning had the opportunity, or cause to do this. Long enough that the sensations are new and fresh. Robert squeezes his eyes closed.
“I want you to focus.” This time the blow is lighter.
“I can't remember.”
The next blow is harder, biting into his flesh. Robert bites his lips.
“Focus, Robert.”
Another blow, this one lower on his ass. If Browning moved his fingers just a little lower... Robert squirms, and his penis stirs. He's hardening. Oh god, not here, not now. Any minute the kidnappers going to come in and want to know what the fuck is going on. And he's going to have a fucking erection.
Browning's hand hesitates for a moment... and then comes down harder. Robert bites his lip harder as the fingers slip between his legs, tugging on his balls.
“Focus.”
He remembers the time Browning had trapped his dick between his legs and continued to spank him. Every blow had forced Robert's dick to rub between his thighs. By the time the man was finished, he'd come in his trousers.
That had been his 19th birthday.
That first time, when he was eleven.
And then there had been the eighth time it had happened. He hadn't meant to count the instances. It was just...that time had been different. It'd been the only time Browning had taken his trousers down to punish him. His palm had felt lighter, and more cruel on Robert's bare skin. Skimming over his cheeks, before smacking him harder than ever before. Robert carried those bruises for weeks. It was the only time he'd wondered....if his uncle would do more, push further than before. But he hadn't. When he was finished, Browning had simply pushed Robert to the floor and left as always.
“Robert.” Browning's voice is softer now, more gentle. Maybe Robert is imagining that, as his hand palms one of his cheeks before hitting him again. “Focus.”
“5....2....8,” he stifles a cry as Browning keeps hitting him, lightly, harder, mixing the two together, “4....9....1”
They make no sense to anyone but him. His father wouldn't have chosen those numbers for his combination. But they're the only numbers he has to give.
Browning's hand hovers, and then lowers to rest on his ass, a heavy weight on bruised skin. Robert tries not to gasp.
“Good, very good, Robert.” Browning hesitates, and then, his hand is on Robert's hair, and Robert is so startled, it's all he can do to not flinch away. “Come on, get up.”
Slowly, Robert crawls back to his place and sits, gingerly. He watches dully as Browning slips his hand back into the cuff and fastens it.
5. 2. 8. 4. 9. 1.
The kidnappers return and haul him out. This time, Robert's almost grateful for the darkness as the bag descends over his head.
“That boy's relationship with his father is even worse than we'd imagined.” Eames says father. He means uncle. His hand still stings from the blows it's dealt. Eames looks at it, expecting it to have changed from what it's done. He wonders if it's worth it.
“Which helps us, how?” Arthur grumbles.
“The stronger the issues, the more powerful the catharsis.” Cobb tells him before glancing at Eames.“So, what was it? First time he got laid? Favorite birthday?”
Eames looks at his hand again. “Something like that.” His hand lies; his lips might as well lie too.
Title: Good Authority
Rating: R
Warnings: Spanking. Memories of childhood abuse.
Word Count: 1191
Summary: AU version of the scene where Browning and Fischer are being held captive in the warehouse while (Eames) Browning tries to get the combination from Fischer
Disclaimer/Author's note: None of these characters are mine, alas.
Robert licks his lips nervously. Don't they know what they're risking by angering his uncle? But then, no, they wouldn't. They didn't grow up with Browning, have no idea what he was capable of when he was angry. He tries to curl into a ball, but that doesn't work because they bring Browning in and leave him there beside him. He's handcuffed, but that doesn't matter when he looks over at Robert.
His uncle's questioning him and Robert tries to answer, but he has none to give. There's nothing to be won from any of this. He wonders how long it will take the kidnappers to realize they've hit a dead end.
“Some meaningful combination of numbers based on your experiences...” Browning trails off, just eying him strangely. “What about when your mother died?”
Robert looks at Browning silently and without a word crawls across the floor to drape himself over the man's thighs. Browning goes as still as possible beneath him.
“What...”
“When I was eleven, after the funeral....you found me crying in my mother's bedroom upstairs.” Robert shifts awkwardly. “I thought.” Oh fuck, what if he's gotten it wrong. He starts to move, but suddenly Browning's free hand is on his back, holding him there.
“Go on.”
“But you were there...”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Robert's face burns so he keeps looking down. “You told me I was too grown up to cry and then...you spanked me.” He shifts again. Why does he have to speak it aloud?
“And what did I tell you?” Browning asks, his tone mild.
“You told me my father didn't have time to look after me, but that you always would. That I needed a strong hand to look after me, and take care of me...and that's why you did it.”
He still remembers how it felt. Browning taking him on his lap, laying him over his knees. Robert, holding his breath as his uncle's hand struck him. A steady methodical pattern of blows that left him numb and bruised and sobbing quietly into the material of his uncle's trousers.
“Robert.” Browning's hand presses softly on his back. “Do you remember the other times?”
“Ye-es...” Did he remember? Of course he remembers. Every single time he screwed up, disappointed them, he'd been punished. His father would only give him that look of utter disappointment, tinged with contempt, but Browning...Browning would simply wait and send for him later.
The worst times were when he got hard from it, and Browning made him stroke himself off afterward, right there, criticizing his every stroke. Slower, no, not like that, like this, christ, Robert, can't you even get yourself off right?
No, that hadn't been the worst. That time had been later.
“Robert....can you remember the combination?” Browning's hand is rubbing light soft circles on his lower back.
“No, sir.”
The blow is dull, not quite up to Browning's usual standards, but then it's awkward with one hand handcuffed. The angle is wrong. He manages better with the second one.
It's his right hand, his familiar right hand, but then his left hand is there too, holding Robert in place. His left hand freed from the cuff. Robert's startled enough that he twists around to look at Browning. Browning grins. “You think I can't get out of a little handcuff?” He wiggles his fingers at Robert, and brings his hand down on his ass, making him yelp.
“Robert.”
“Yes.” His face is stinging, but not as much as his ass. It's been a while since Browning had the opportunity, or cause to do this. Long enough that the sensations are new and fresh. Robert squeezes his eyes closed.
“I want you to focus.” This time the blow is lighter.
“I can't remember.”
The next blow is harder, biting into his flesh. Robert bites his lips.
“Focus, Robert.”
Another blow, this one lower on his ass. If Browning moved his fingers just a little lower... Robert squirms, and his penis stirs. He's hardening. Oh god, not here, not now. Any minute the kidnappers going to come in and want to know what the fuck is going on. And he's going to have a fucking erection.
Browning's hand hesitates for a moment... and then comes down harder. Robert bites his lip harder as the fingers slip between his legs, tugging on his balls.
“Focus.”
He remembers the time Browning had trapped his dick between his legs and continued to spank him. Every blow had forced Robert's dick to rub between his thighs. By the time the man was finished, he'd come in his trousers.
That had been his 19th birthday.
That first time, when he was eleven.
And then there had been the eighth time it had happened. He hadn't meant to count the instances. It was just...that time had been different. It'd been the only time Browning had taken his trousers down to punish him. His palm had felt lighter, and more cruel on Robert's bare skin. Skimming over his cheeks, before smacking him harder than ever before. Robert carried those bruises for weeks. It was the only time he'd wondered....if his uncle would do more, push further than before. But he hadn't. When he was finished, Browning had simply pushed Robert to the floor and left as always.
“Robert.” Browning's voice is softer now, more gentle. Maybe Robert is imagining that, as his hand palms one of his cheeks before hitting him again. “Focus.”
“5....2....8,” he stifles a cry as Browning keeps hitting him, lightly, harder, mixing the two together, “4....9....1”
They make no sense to anyone but him. His father wouldn't have chosen those numbers for his combination. But they're the only numbers he has to give.
Browning's hand hovers, and then lowers to rest on his ass, a heavy weight on bruised skin. Robert tries not to gasp.
“Good, very good, Robert.” Browning hesitates, and then, his hand is on Robert's hair, and Robert is so startled, it's all he can do to not flinch away. “Come on, get up.”
Slowly, Robert crawls back to his place and sits, gingerly. He watches dully as Browning slips his hand back into the cuff and fastens it.
5. 2. 8. 4. 9. 1.
The kidnappers return and haul him out. This time, Robert's almost grateful for the darkness as the bag descends over his head.
“That boy's relationship with his father is even worse than we'd imagined.” Eames says father. He means uncle. His hand still stings from the blows it's dealt. Eames looks at it, expecting it to have changed from what it's done. He wonders if it's worth it.
“Which helps us, how?” Arthur grumbles.
“The stronger the issues, the more powerful the catharsis.” Cobb tells him before glancing at Eames.“So, what was it? First time he got laid? Favorite birthday?”
Eames looks at his hand again. “Something like that.” His hand lies; his lips might as well lie too.