Unwholesome Things - Part 13

Beta by LP, all remaining mistakes are mine.

“I can’t believe he did that,” Oren said, as soon as the door to his room was closed behind them. “Norman’s always conspiring against me.”

“Conspiring with whom?” Rezo asked. “Hector?” He glanced over his shoulder at Oren, his expression unsympathetic, before moving toward the desk.

Oren stayed by the door with his hand on the knob, unwilling to commit to being fully in the room before he had to.

“Fine, ‘conspiring’ isn’t the right word, but still, he’s always trying to find ways to make my life miserable.”

“As paranoid as you are, it’s amazing that you’re comfortable accusing others, like your mother,  of having conspiracy theories.”

“I am not paranoid.”

“So you’re saying Norman rescued your hair brush from the trash, cleaned it, held onto it for months, and then gave it to me tonight just so I could paddle you with it…” Rezo titled his head to look at him, “on purpose?”

Oren disliked Rezo’s use of the word “paddle.” Of course, he’d assumed that was what was going to happen, but saying it just made it seem so final.

“Obviously he did it on purpose,” Oren said. “He never does anything any other way.”

“Then the next time you throw it away, you might want to do so outside of the house.” Rezo’s anger seemed to be lessening, but with the brush in his hand, he wasn’t any less threatening.

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Oren folded his arms across his chest.

Rezo took Oren’s chair and placed it facing away from the desk.

Oren did his best to repress the tremble that tore its way down his spine. So it was going to be that kind of spanking. Of all the positions he’d been in, this was the worst. The blood would flood to his head, while his knees and elbows banged against the wooden chair legs. The sheer awkwardness of it reminded him that he was too big and too old to be getting a spanking in the first place.

“Sit down,” Rezo said, gesturing toward the seat.

Oren did so immediately. Sitting was an excellent defensive position for his posterior. 

“You need more chairs in here,” Rezo said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Oren made a mental note not to change that; he preferred it if Rezo spent as much time on his bed as possible.

Rezo gave him a stern look. He inhaled slowly, as if gathering air for a lengthy session of upbraiding.

“Ok, I went too far,” Oren said, before the lecture could begin. It was possible an early concession would earn him leniency, or at the very least reduce the amount of criticism he was forced to sit through.

Rezo didn’t respond immediately. He seemed deep in thought as he absently tapped the back of the hairbrush against the palm of his hand.

The sound and the motion sent Oren into a tumble of emotions. Just the sight of a wooden brush had always been an instant path to arousal. Although, now that he knew how much being spanked with it hurt, he realized what a completely unreasonable fetish that was.

“So what do you think the consequences should be for what you did?” Rezo asked.

“Is nothing an option?”

“Oren.” Rezo tightened his grip on the brush.

“That was a joke, I swear,” Oren amended quickly. “But that’s an odd thing to ask the person in trouble, don’t you think?” Otherwise he might suggest he work it off by giving Rezo a backrub. Or a full body massage. With oil.

Somewhere, a tiny little voice whispered to him not to say that last part out loud, proving that, despite evidence to the contrary, he did have a functioning survival instinct.

“Ever since I stopped disciplining you, your behavior has gotten much, much worse.” Rezo paused as if to allow Oren an opportunity to disagree.

And he couldn’t, not really, so he dropped his gaze to his hands and waited for Rezo to continue.

“I can only think of two explanations. Either you’re the type of individual that actually does benefit from corporal punishment, or…” Rezo paused. “You actually want me to spank you.”

“There are more than two explanations.” Oren’s voice was nearly a whisper. He silently swore that he would never look up again, lest Rezo read too much in his eyes.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to spank you?” The low rumble of Rezo’s voice seemed to send vibrations across Oren’s skin. It was almost enough to make him say the wrong answer.

“No.” Even Oren could hear the uncertainty in his voice, which was better at least than blatantly displaying his growing arousal. But not by much. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he like being terrified?

“Oren…?” Rezo slapped the brush against his palm.

Oren winced. “I don’t get off on it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

They were both silent. Oren could feel Rezo’s eyes on him, hot and demanding. Any moment Rezo’s internal lie detector was going to go off, or Oren was going to melt and admit something against his better judgment.

Rezo broke the silence first. “What happened to all the implements you had?”

“Implements?” Oren frowned at him, thrown by the change in topic.

“All the paddles and things you had all over your floor.”

“They're in the closet.”

“Go get them.”

“All of them?” Oren’s frown deepened. What possible good could come from that request?

“Yes.”

Oren hesitated for a moment before he went to the closet. Everything was still in the cardboard box he’d placed them in months ago. He quickly took anything not designated for spanking out of the box, leaving everything else: the toys, restraints, lotions and even more embarrassing things, lying on the floor.

It was incredibly hard to return to Rezo, even with just what he had left. Dread reduced his steps to a shuffle as he slowly made his way back.

As soon as he was in arm’s reach the box was taken from hands. He didn’t bother taking a seat while he awaited Rezo’s reaction. He may as well get used to it; if Rezo decided to put any one of half the things in that box to use on him, he might not be sitting down again for months. 

“I remember there being more than this.” Rezo’s look was accusing. “What did you take out of the box?”

“Nothing related to spanking.”

Rezo took a moment to consider that. “So these are all the spanking implements you own?”

Oren repressed a groan. Why did Rezo have to ask such direct questions?

“Mostly.”

“Go get all of them,” Rezo said, his voice stern.

His heart reduced to a lump in his stomach, Oren went to retrieve the last two items from the back of his closet: a rattan cane imported from Malaysia, and a paddle large enough to be used for actual rowing—if it wasn’t for all those pesky holes drilled into it.

Oren laid them on the bed beside the box.

“I can see why you left these behind.” Rezo picked up the paddle to give it an experimental swing. “This would cause a lot of damage.”

“I’ve never actually used any of them. I just bought them out of curiosity.”

“Is your curiosity sated?” Before Oren could even begin to figure out how to answer that, he continued. “This is quite the assortment for someone who doesn’t fantasize about being punished. You’ve got a slipper, a wooden spoon, a shoehorn, a…what’s this one?” Rezo held out something thin and flat with a wooden handle.

“A ferule.”

“A ferule,” Rezo repeated. He nodded slowly, even though it was clear he still had no idea what it was.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Oren asked. “It’s not like you haven’t known about this stuff for months.”

“You’re right. We should have discussed this a long time ago.” Rezo set the paddle down on the floor, leaning it against the side of the bed. He picked up a razor strop and folded it over like a belt.

 “It was just a fantasy,” Oren said, forcing himself to look away. His cheeks were burning hotter by the second. If Rezo didn’t stop inappropriately fondling all his private things, Oren was going to insist he privately fondle something a lot more inappropriate. “Besides, you demonstrated that I don’t actually like it.”

Rezo’s expression became thoughtful, as if he believed Oren’s explanation was valid.  Oren sensed that would have been the end of it. But for some reason that he would never understand, he continued talking.

“Or at least, I don’t like it the way you do it.”

“And how do I do it?” Rezo’s genuine curiosity made Oren want to cram his words back in his mouth.

“Well, for one thing…” He gathered his courage. “You do it too hard.”

Rezo snorted.

“And I don’t have any control over when or how it’s done.”

“It’s supposed to be a deterrent, not foreplay.”

“I know the difference.” Oren’s voice was harsher than he’d intended. He looked up to check Rezo’s reaction.

Rezo was smiling at his irritation as if he found it endearing. Oren took a breath, preventing himself from saying something even though it was sorely deserved.

“So, when I do it as a deterrent, does it help you?” Rezo said as if he really wanted to know and didn’t in any way think the question was as crazy as it sounded. “Is that something you want?”

It was a long time before Oren could find the words to answer. He knew what he didn’t want. He didn’t want to be told what to do. He didn’t want someone else deciding on the when, where, and how of his punishments.

What he did want was harder to explain.

“I don’t know.” Oren sat down on the edge of the bed, his body angled away from Rezo. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to go back to me helping guide your behavior?”

“I think so.” Oren buried his face in his hands. His heart was pounding for so many reasons he couldn’t even begin to untangle them.

“You do realize that your recent behavior will get you paddled?”

“With which one?” Oren’s voice was muffled by his hands. 

“Do you even have to ask?”

“The brush?”

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. Rezo tipped him against his side.

“It’ll be all right. We’ll get everything straightened out.”

Oren heard himself make some sort of noise far beyond his abilities to attribute to any particular emotion. Rezo, however, seemed to take it as a form of consent. The bed creaked as he stood, leaving Oren alone on the mattress.

Oren looked up to watch as Rezo began to clear everything—except the hair brush—from the bed.

“Just so you know,” Rezo said. “There are only a few of these I would ever use on you.”

“I’m so relieved,” Oren said, unable to project even false appreciation for a statement like that.

“Smart ass.” Rezo shook his head, but Oren thought he saw a slight smile before he masked it. “Let’s get this over with. Lie down on your stomach, over the edge of the bed.” Rezo retrieved the hair brush.

While Oren agreed that he probably did deserve this; the prospect of an all-out paddling was daunting.

“I know I did a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have tonight,” Oren said, standing up and starting a slow retreat from the bed. “But since this arrangement is new, why don’t you not use that,” Oren made a motion at the dreaded object. “Just this one time?”

Rezo shook his head and held out the hand that was empty. Oren made no move to take it—he recognized it for the trap it was.

“Come on, you’re very effective without that.” Oren knew he was whining but right now that was the least of his worries.

“One,” Rezo said, his voice too calm for what was about to happen.

Damn it. Once the counting started Oren had drastically less time to plead his case.

“Rezo…”

“Two. You don't want me to come get you.”

“Or what?” Oren flung his arms up toward the ceiling. “You'll spank me?”

“Time’s up.”

“Wait.” Oren took a step back. “What happened to three?”

Rezo lunged, capturing Oren’s wrist in his firm grasp.

Instead of pulling away like Rezo would suspect, Oren propelled himself toward him, hoping to loosen his hold and slip away while the element of surprise was in effect. But that wasn’t how it worked out. Rezo tugged harder than he expected and Oren lost his balance, toppling like a lover into Rezo’s arms.

For a long moment in which Oren could count the beats of Rezo’s heart thumping in his chest, smell the remnants of aftershave intermingled with sweat, neither of them moved. 

Rezo turned his face to look at Oren. They were so close and for a moment Oren thought he was about to be kissed. Maybe seduction was the best way out of the situation. He wanted him and he didn’t want to be paddled. Really, there was no down side to that scenario.

Rezo made a sound reminiscent of a grunt as he slipped his hands around to the backs of Oren’s thighs.

“Hold on,” Rezo said.

“What?” Oren barely managed to figure out that he meant that literally, before Rezo was lifting him up, placing Oren’s thighs around his waist.

Rezo took the few needed steps and dropped Oren onto the bed.  

Sprawled on his back, Oren rose up on one elbow to follow Rezo’s movements. He watched as he undid the buttons on his shirt, revealing the white, ribbed material beneath.

Apparently Oren didn’t need to do the seducing. In fact, it looked like he was about to be taken.

“What are you doing?” Oren asked, and even though he wanted it, his voice was shaky with nerves, making him sound exactly like the virgin he was.

“Taking my good shirt off, so I don’t rip it when I paddle you.”

It took Oren a moment to remember to close his mouth.

“You’re still going to do that?” he managed to say after a moment.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That wasn’t a question Oren was going to answer. Instead he began scrambling toward the far side of the bed.

Rezo grabbed his ankle and slid him back toward the edge.

“Please don’t use the brush,” Oren pleaded. “I promise I won’t do anything like that ever again.”

Rezo undid the button on Oren's jeans and took a seat on the bed. Before Oren could do more than clamp his hand protectively over his already opened fly, he found himself upended over the other man’s lap. A few swift tugs on his pants and boxers left his backside exposed down to mid-thigh. Rezo was becoming adept at this maneuver, which wasn’t surprising considering all the practice he got.

Oren quit struggling. He was far past the point of escape. He’d never wanted to see, let alone feel that brush again, and this time it was going to be on bare skin. He gathered the sheets to him so he could bury his face in what little solace they offered.

How had he ever thought this was a good idea? 

Rezo brought the brush down with a heavy thwack across Oren’s backside.

Oren heard the sound before he felt it, but then his nerves were burning, the pain traveling deep, down to his very bones.

The second stroke took him and he jerked. He’d forgotten what it felt like. The way it penetrated, resonated outward more than stung. A hand spanking took a few moments to become unbearable; with this he was there instantly.

Before Rezo had even made a complete circuit of blows, Oren started to kick and writhe. He gritted his teeth, resolving not to do any more begging, but knowing he would anyway as his bottom became hotter and hotter.

“I don’t want any more dinner pranks, ever again,” Rezo lectured.

“I won't, I promise.” Oren tried to block, or at least stall, the paddling with one of his hands.

Rezo responded by rapping him on the knuckles.

“Ow,” Oren jerked his hand back. “What the hell? Can't you aim?” Oren looked back over his shoulder to see Rezo’s eyes narrow. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.”

“If you don't want them to get hit, keep them out of the way.”

Oren wished the same rule applied to his ass.

 Rezo let the brush descend again.

Oren gasped. “Rezo, I'm sorry.”

There was a point where pain could no longer be measured on a one to ten scale. It could only be classified as “too much.” There were no degrees of “too much” because it was all just completely and utterly bad. This was the point where if Oren was being tortured for information, he would have told them anything they wanted to hear.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop.” His hand flung backward, out of his control. This time Rezo took pity on him, pinning it behind his back.

“I want you to think about other people. I want you to weigh your own wants against theirs and decide if it’s worth it to put your own needs first. You hurt your mother badly tonight.”

“I’m sorry, I am, please stop.” Oren’s voice was becoming thick. If Rezo didn’t quit soon there would be tears.

“You need to apologize to her. And to Norman. The joke you played on him was mean spirited.”

At this point Oren would have agreed to anything if it meant Rezo would stop striking his increasingly tender skin.  

Despite forcing himself to say whatever he thought Rezo wanted to hear, the brush continues to fall until Oren was reduced to sobs. Gone was the fantasy of manly misty eyes or the single noble tear—he was bawling, his tears saturating the sheet beneath him.

Rezo set the brush down but didn’t remove Oren from his lap. One of his hands began to massaging slow circles on Oren’s back.

It was a while before Oren felt like speaking, but eventually the state of his nose and eyes drove him to mumble a request, his face still buried in the sheets.

“What?” Rezo asked.

Oren scraped together the motivation to turn his head slightly. “I need a tissue.”

Rezo eased out from under him. After a moment Oren heard him fumbling with the tissue box on the nightstand.

Oren rolled carefully onto his side to accept one when Rezo offered it to him. He made a feeble attempt to pull a sheet over his body for modesty, but found it was stuck beneath him and gave up.

Rezo slid the sheet out from under him and covered his lower half with it before lying down to face him. Oren did his best to ignore him, concentrating on wiping the evidence of his misery from his face.

He was stunned when he felt strong fingers begin to straighten his hair. His eyes rose to meet Rezo’s and he was startled by the tenderness he saw.

Maybe just being friends wasn’t going to be so bad. Rezo might not be able to have a physical relationship with him right now, but he obviously had feelings for him. Even if he was just a combination of someone to fix and a something he couldn’t resist, that was better than nothing. Oren wanted to be Rezo’s boyfriend, but he’d settle for being his weakness.

Before Oren could share his new, selfless epiphany, Rezo spoke.

“I don’t think this is going to work.” Rezo let his hand drop to his side.

Oren froze, his half-cleaned face forgotten.

“What isn’t going to work?”

“This.” Rezo made a sweeping gesture that seemed to take in everything in the room and wasn’t helpful at all.

“After what I just went through, you’re changing your mind now?”

For once Rezo was the one having difficulty holding eye contact.

“Not that,” Rezo said, after a pause that seemed unending.

“Then what?”

“I don’t think I can be around you so much and not want to be more than friends.”

At first Oren thought he meant the solution was to become “more than friends” but then the guilt in the lines of Rezo’s body told him all he needed to know.

“So that’s it? All over some stupid promise you made when you were too young to make reasonable decisions?” Oren wadded up the tissue and tossed it toward his desk, not caring where it landed. “Would it really be that bad to be with me?”

“Maybe you can be my motivation to graduate faster.” The smile Rezo gave him was as weak as the offer.

Oren clamped his eyes shut and buried his face under the pillow. He wanted to scream. He was glad he hadn’t revealed his new selfless outlook; Rezo didn’t deserve it.

“Oren, wait.” There was a pleading edge to his voice, but Oren pretended not to hear it.

“Come on, talk to me.” Rezo tried to remove the pillow but Oren held it tight.

“Just go home,” he mumbled through the fabric.

Rezo yanked the pillow away and tossed it out of reach. Before Oren could decide which scathing thing he wanted to say first, he was startled by the press of Rezo’s lips to his own. His eyes flew open to see Rezo’s dark eyes staring intently back at him.

Oren didn’t resist as Rezo softly planted kisses across his face, stroking away his tears with the side of his thumb. Part of him wanted to tell him to go away and stop toying with him, and he would have, if he wasn’t so starved for his touch.

It was a long time before Rezo pulled away to look questioningly into Oren’s face.

“Not that I didn't like that…” Oren paused to choose his words carefully. “But I think this might qualify, just a tiny bit,” Oren held his fingers apart to demonstrate, “as a mixed signal.”

Rezo grimaced, as if he realized that while Oren’s words were light, there was no humor in their meaning.

“I’m sorry,” Rezo said.

“You should be.”

 Rezo was silent for a long time, long enough that Oren wasn’t sure if he was going to speak again.

“If I was your boyfriend you could kiss me whenever you wanted,” Oren said, when he couldn’t take the silence any longer.

Rezo looked at him skeptically, but Oren didn’t let that deter him. He reached down and took hold of his hand.

“You study while I draw all the time, I could actually be good for your school work.” Rezo snorted at that, but he didn’t pull away when Oren slid closer until he could feel the heat of his body against his own. “I could be very good for you.”

“You’ll be the death of me.”

Oren placed Rezo’s hand on his hip. He ran his freed hand down Rezo’s chest until the tips of his fingers grazed the catch on Rezo’s fly. Before he could be accused of anything, he put his hand back to an innocent location on Rezo’s chest—his thumb accidently brushing a nipple through the thin shirt.

Rezo groaned and pressed his hips into Oren’s.

“Besides, dating me means that it’s acceptable if you have to punish me now and then—”

“Oren.” Rezo reached up to capture the hand that was stroking his collarbone, but it evaded him, slipping down to rest on his thigh. And if it just happened to rub against something warm and protruding on the way down, it wasn’t its fault that Rezo’s body was so insistent about its need for attention.

“—to keep me in line. And I might even behave better—”

“Oren,” Rezo said, louder. 

“—if I know it would bring me approval and maybe a reward or two from my—”

Rezo clamped his hand over Oren’s mouth.

“Oren, listen to me.”

Oren nodded, but Rezo didn’t release him.

“I know that you don’t deserve anything less than a real relationship, and I know that you’d be good for me.” Rezo moved his palm away from Oren’s mouth.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Hush, give me a second to think.” Rezo leaned his forehead against Oren’s. He took Oren’s hand, the one that had been tormenting him, and brought it up to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss. “And stop touching me and making everything all confusing.”

“But that’s what I do best,” Oren forced a smile.

Rezo smiled back and it was just as stifled. He let out a long sigh.

“I want to talk to the person I made the promise to first, before I make a commitment to you,” he said.

It took Oren a moment to process the meaning of Rezo’s words.

“Really?” Oren knew he sounded like a twelve year old getting asked to a dance, but he didn’t care. “When will you talk to him?” Oren hoped it was Jeff, because Jeff would be fine with it. Sure he’d mock them, call them Orzo, or Roozo or Rezalumps and Oozles, but he’d still accept it.

“Her, not him, and as soon as I can.” Rezo kissed his other hand.

“Her?” Oren tensed. “Please tell me it’s not Marikit?”

“It is…”Rezo looked confused and Oren would have snatched his hand back if it didn’t feel so wonderful. Which was ridiculous since it was only his hand; he was apparently even more hard up than he’d thought.

“What’s so bad about Marikit?” Rezo asked, oblivious to Oren’s inner battle.

“She doesn't like me.” And she would never be ok with this because she wanted Rezo for herself.

“Don’t be stupid, of course she likes you. At least as much as she can from the few minutes she talked to you.”

“What if she says no?”

“She won't.”

“But what if she does?”

“Oren, stop freaking out over something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“I'm not freaking out.” Oren glared at him. He hated being accused of that. He did not freak out.

“I've got to go. I should be able to talk to her tomorrow and then I'll call you.”

“Can't you call her tonight?” Oren said, as he watched Rezo climb off the bed to retrieve his shirt.

“There’s no rush.”

“There’s no reason to wait either.”

Rezo gave him a look then went back to buttoning up his shirt.

“Are your parents going to be upset that I was alone with you in your room?”

“They won’t know.” Oren sighed, grudgingly accepting Rezo’s change of subject. “They learned years ago not to come to my room without calling on the intercom or phone first.” He smirked. “They dislike surprises.”

Rezo rolled his eyes. “I’m not even going to ask.”

His shirt was buttoned and Rezo was ready to leave. Oren, however, wasn’t ready for him to go. It was impossible to believe that the moment he was out of sight he wouldn’t change his mind and call it off again.

Rezo must have sensed something because he stopped in front of Oren before he left.

“No matter what happens, it’ll be ok,” Rezo whispered as he bent down to press warm lips to Oren’s mouth. “I don’t make commitments lightly.”

It was difficult to stay worried when Rezo kissed him like that, and Oren leaned into it eagerly.

When Rezo straightened up again, it was all Oren could do not to pull him back down on the bed with him. It was just one day. He was capable of being patient that long.

“Fine,” Oren said. “But the longer I have to wait the more you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

Rezo smiled but said nothing, and then he was gone.

#

Later that night, when Oren was alone in his room, he ran his fingers over the smooth wood of the hair brush and slowly compressed the bristles. As far as he knew it had never actually been used to comb anyone's hair.

He really didn’t know what to do with it. Its history was a mix of bad and good. As much pain as it brought him, it always seemed to be involved in major changes in his relationship with Rezo.

He put it away in one of his dresser drawers, deciding to avoid making a decision for now. As long as Norman didn’t know where it was, he could always pretend he threw it away if Rezo wanted to use it.

One corner of Oren’s mouth tugged upward just the slightest bit. What a stupid thing to feel sentimental about.

Chapter Fourteen

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