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As far as Devin Kaczmarek had been concerned, hiding from his problems in a fraternity house was a perfectly reasonable choice. He'd let in what seemed like every fucking goal possible, high-sticked an idiot skater and earned a warm-bottomed time-out in the penalty box which, of course, a teammate had to serve, and made such a mess of the game that some of the seniors, including his Accountability Partner, refused to even look at him.
He'd also eaten up valuable ice time that should've gone to the older goalie on the team, who never made stupid mistakes like he did, and that was somehow the worst part because of how much he respected Josie. Devin didn't understand why Coach had insisted on playing him, and he couldn't bear to face his hockey friends, so once the bus deposited them all back at RBU, he'd made his great escape and asked a friend, Marcel, if he could drop by his frat and stay over for the night.
Marcel had said yes, which was how Devin had come to be curled up under a blanket on the sofa in the Delta Omega Mu den. He'd figured, and kind of hoped, that the frat would have some sort of alcohol lying around, but Marcel had informed him that DOM was a sober fraternity. For dommy people. Blech.
It wasn't like Devin was Top-phobic or anything. He'd been known to Top from time to time. It was more that he'd wanted to be ignored and ideally drunk, and instead was having the frustrating experience of being coddled by people who reminded him a lot of Josie. People who kept fetching him glasses of water and offering to deal him into the latest round of their board games and putting gentle hands on his shoulder and asking, "Hey, man, can I get you anything?" They'd offered Devin everything from a hot chocolate to a bedtime story to a belting.
Marcel lurked nearby to periodically refill his mug with strong black coffee, and to ruffle his hair when a fresh round of tears began. When Devin rejected yet another invitation to sprawl on the rug and play something involving cards and colorful tokens, one of Marcel's eyebrows lifted.
"Fuck off with that face," Devin huffed, more to himself than to Marcel.
In response, Marcel raised the other eyebrow to match the first, tossed a leg over the back of the couch, and tumbled down onto the cushions.
"I didn't mean it," Devin tried.
"Quiet," said Marcel. He wrapped his hands around Devin's wrists, who fought valiantly for freedom, and then pulled him forward into a hug. "There we go, bro. That's better."
"No," Devin protested, horrified to discover that his voice snagged when he spoke. "No, it's not better!"
"Yeah, Devin, it is. You've sulked for long enough. Right now, you need some human contact."
Devin scowled. “I do not!”
Marcel’s voice dipped into a warning tone. “Then tell me what this is. You wanted to crash at mine, you don’t want my help. You wanted support, you don’t want it in any of the ways we’re trying to give it to you. What is going on here?”
Devin did not answer. After several long seconds, Marcel asked, “Can I call someone for you? Your AP, maybe?”
He scoffed. “If you can figure out how to get in touch with my AP, then yeah, sure. Be my guest.”
Marcel nodded once. “Cool.”
Devin relaxed. “Cool.” He returned his attention to the board game situation. One guy had flicked a chip a little too aggressively at another, and an argument had broken out.
Marcel took the opportunity to pounce for the phone in Devin’s hip pocket. Devin bravely fought back by beating him with a nearby pillow, but it wasn’t enough to vanquish him. Snatching successful, Marcel lofted the phone high and navigated to the TATL app.
He stopped when he felt Devin tug on his sleeve. “Don’t,” he whimpered. “Please, Marcel?”
Marcel paused. “You don’t want me to get your AP?”
Devin choked, head spinning, trying to come up with an explanation before Marcel had to decide whether or not to call in his AP after all. “I—he—shit. I can’t—”
“Okay, Devin, shhh. No AP, alright? I need you to stay put and breathe.”
“Fuck, I can’t, I, I—”
Marcel took Devin’s hand and squeezed it. “Yes, you can. You’re being really brave right now. First you’re going to catch your breath, and then we’ll talk about who we can call.”
The rest of the frat boys had fallen silent, Devin realized. Most of them were trying to pretend they weren’t staring at him, but each one watched with the clear concern of a Top who couldn’t keep their nose in their own fucking business.
Devin, feeling intimidated, shrank back a little. Marcel noticed and shooed his brothers back to their activities, but it took long enough that Devin caught a few more inquisitive looks.
“Everything’s gone to fuck,” he mumbled.
Marcel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Give me a name, man. Who do you call when everything’s gone to fuck?”
Devin shook his head. The floor of the den suddenly seemed fascinating. “Nobody.”
“Nobody?” Marcel repeated.
“I mean, there’s Josie, but—”
“Josie from your hockey team, right?”
“Uh-huh. But we can’t call him.” Devin winced. “He’s really disappointed in me at the moment.”
“I can work with disappointment,” said Marcel. “Is it safe to call him?”
“Yes.”
“Will he show up?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have your consent to call him?”
Devin wilted. “Yes, but…why do we need to call him?”
“Somebody needs to bring you back in line, and I know you don’t want it to be me.” Marcel passed him a box of tissues. “I want to be cool, okay? I want to be your friend, but right now, all I can see is a panicking freshman Bottom who’s spiraling out of control. You need somebody who knows you, who you’ll let help out with your dynamic needs.”
“So, you’re saying I’m too much of a brat?”
"No,” said Marcel. “I’m saying that something obviously happened and you need to be spanked about it.”
“No!”
“You do, Devin. You need help. Your friend, Josie, you’ve mentioned before that he’s a Top.”
“No!”
“He’s spanked you before.”
“Marcel, leave me alone!”
“You can call Red, dude. I promise I will respect that. If you don’t safeword, all that happens is I call Josie and he comes over and we negotiate.”
Devin buried his head in his knees. “I don’t need to safeword.”
“Okay, Devin. You can do that at any time if something changes, understand?”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Do you need a hug? Need to cuddle up while we give your friend a call?”
Slowly, Devin nodded, and then he sank against Marcel’s side, nudging his nose into his friend’s shoulder. He tried not to listen to what was being discussed over the phone, until Marcel hung up and said, “He’s coming.”
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Josie arrived quickly, said hello, and immediately introduced himself to Marcel. His second order of business involved pressing a protein bar into Devin’s hands and instructing him to eat. Devin obeyed while Marcel and Josie sat on the sofa and talked about what to do about him. Marcel tattled on Devin for the “fuck off” thing, and Josie asked if Marcel was willing to lend him a paddle. Marcel agreed and left to fetch a few possible choices. In that time, Devin polished off the protein bar, drank a tiny bit of water, wiped his fingers off on his jeans, and avoided looking at Josie.
Josie didn’t seem upset, which was the worst part. He just waited, unfairly calm, leaving Devin to independently marinate in the knowledge of what a disappointment he was. “Go away,” Devin hissed, crossing his arms tightly.
“I can’t do that, sweet boy,” Josie said. He took a scoot towards Devin. “This is about the game, huh?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” snapped Devin, definitely louder than was appropriate for the room’s mood. A couple of the frat Tops turned to shoot him stern looks and he curled back into himself, feeling very much like a burden.
“It does,” Josie said firmly. He nudged further into Devin’s personal space (rude) and then settled a hand on the back of his neck (more rude) before dropping a kiss on his temple (ruder still). “I know it wasn’t your best day, honey. That’s okay. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
Devin shoved Josie in the chest with both hands, hard enough that his torso lurched back. “That’s not fucking true!” he yelled.
Josie reached for his wrists. Devin tried to pull away, but Josie was faster and stronger and trapped them with unreasonably little effort. “Devin Anthony Kaczmarek, remind me: are little boys allowed to shove people just because they’re upset?”
“Fuck off!”
“Honey, I am not the one today. I know you’re having some big feelings, but that doesn’t make it okay to shove me.”
“Fucking dictator bastard!!”
“That isn’t helping your case.”
“I fucking hate you!!!”
“That’s okay,” said Josie. “You can hate me if that’s what you need, but you can do it from the corner.”
Devin thrashed miserably in Josie’s grasp. “You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.” Josie leveraged his grip on Devin’s wrist to drag him up from the couch, then force-marched him into the corner. Devin retaliated by stomping on Josie’s foot, which was less effective than he’d hoped because Josie hadn’t taken off his boots yet.
“No, wait! Sir! I’m sorry!”
“You can be sorry in the corner.”
Devin flailed, going limp and letting himself slide to the floor. Josie staggered but managed to drag him back upright, then half-carried him the final few steps to the corner. Devin tried to wipe away a few stray tears, but only really succeeded in smearing them across his face. “Please don’t make me,” he begged. “Really, I’ll be so, so good. I’ll never fuck up another game again. I’ll quit the team. I’ll do anything, I promise, but don’t—don’t make me do it bare. Please.”
“Not bare,” Josie agreed. He let go of Devin’s wrists and guided him into position with a gentle hand on his lower back. “But you’re going to stay here until I come get you, okay?”
Devin hung his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Any questions or concerns?” asked Josie.
“Um, yeah. Where do you want my hands?”
“Right in your pockets, please.”
Devin complied, then turned his head and gave Josie a pitiful look. “Are you going to be mean and tell me how long I have?”
“No,” Josie said. “I don’t think that purposefully making you anxious is an appropriate consequence. I’m just going to check with Marcel about something, and then I’ll come back and let you out, and we can talk about stuff together.”
Devin cringed. “I don’t want to talk about the game, sir. I already know you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Josie informed him. “You’re going to stay here for a little while, and then we’ll figure it all out.”
“But—”
“We’ll deal with any hiccups when we get there. No borrowing worry from the future, honey.” Josie gave Devin a supportive-but-menacing pat on the ass. “I’ll be back soon. Holler if you need anything.”
Devin whined, but stayed put. Josie waited at the edge of the room for a moment, watching, and then turned into a hallway lined with bedrooms. “Marcel?”
“In here,” Marcel called. Josie followed his voice. Marcel’s room was located in the middle section of the hallway, on the left side. The door was open halfway. Josie entered and found Marcel elbow-deep in a fabric bin of implements, laying out an impressive selection of paddles in a grid on his bed.
“Devin’s in the corner,” Josie explained. “I wanted to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.”
“It is,” Marcel said. “Come have a seat.” He indicated a leather swivel chair.
Josie sat and surveyed the room. Marcel and his roommate seemed to have a united sense of style. They had decorated the space in what Josie privately called Top Chic: lots of hard wooden surfaces, visual allusions to rods and boards, disciplinary instruments proudly displayed on walls. This version of Top Chic had been given a beachy twist, featuring lots of ocean blue, sandy gold, and seafoam green. Two crossed canoe-style paddles hung above Marcel’s bed, one embossed with the Greek letters representing the fraternity, the other with Marcel’s monogram. The roommate’s side featured several geologic relics and photographs in nature. A ceramic dish of abalone shells sat on his nightstand beside a suspiciously sturdy-looking hairbrush.
“I like your room,” Josie said. “Did you and your roommate coordinate ahead of time? It’s so thematic.”
“Thanks,” said Marcel. “Yeah, we did, kind of. My old roommate graduated, so I got a freshman. I already had my half like this, but he’s a geology major. Wants to specialize in geomorphology, which apparently has a lot to do with beaches? Waylon would be able to explain it a lot better than I could.”
“That’s really cool. Did he collect all of the shell thingies?”
“Yeah, he did.” Marcel paused. “Were those the questions you meant when you said you had things to ask me, or is there more?”
“There’s more. I…don’t know what to do here.”
“With Devin?”
“Yeah. What happened? Why is he here? All I know is that he ran away about as soon as the bus got back to campus after the game.”
Marcel hesitated, weighing how much to share. He settled on, “Devin’s pretty worried about how his teammates reacted to his performance tonight.”
“Ah,” said Josie.
“Can you tell me more about that?” asked Marcel.
“In hockey, one goalie plays for the entire game. Coach put him in for the first time tonight, and Devin didn’t do as well as he’d hoped.”
“He thinks you’re disappointed in him.”
Josie’s face fell. “Yeah. Devin has a pretty well-documented anxiety thing about what I think of him and his playing. Someone gave him some pretty fucked up standards to hold himself to.”
Marcel was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Josie, I’m going to ask you to be chill about this, okay?”
“Okay,” Josie said. “What do you need to tell me?”
“I am like, eighty percent sure that’s related to him being terrified of his AP. He almost had some sort of panic attack when I went to call his AP. And I know his AP’s on the hockey team, so…”
“His AP’s a piece of shit,” Josie confirmed. “He was my friend Vince’s AP last year and he’s just…impatient and careless and borderline abusive. Vince tried to report him, but it never really went anywhere. Our old coach said it wasn’t a big deal, but—”
“You can tell that it is,” Marcel supplied.
“Right.”
“Okay. So, you can start by talking to your new coach. I know Devin likes him.”
“Coach Hernandez is a good guy,” said Josie. “He put Devin in the net today because we had a pretty tough opponent, specifically because he wants him to build his skills. It…Hernandez is big on player development. He for sure told Devin what to expect tonight.”
“Devin clearly didn’t retain that, though.” Marcel observed Josie with a critical eye. “Do you know what you need to do now?”
Josie nodded reluctantly. “I think so. I’m not looking forward to it, though.”
“You’re not looking forward to disciplining him,” Marcel corrected. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to helping your friend feel better.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You’ve spanked him before, so I feel like I can trust you to pick out an appropriate tool.” Marcel gestured to the array of paddles. “Are you going to warm him up with your hand?”
Josie rose to inspect his options. “I will today. I don’t always.”
“And you know what kind of aftercare he needs?”
“I’m assuming our standing negotiations will carry over, but I’ll ask.”
“Good man,” Marcel said approvingly. He patted Josie on the back. “You’re doing well.”
“Thank you. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, so that’s reassuring to hear.”
“It’s called learning.”
Josie selected a large, heavy wooden paddle with several holes drilled into it. “Will this work?” he asked.
“If you think so, then yes. I’ll put away the others.” Marcel pointed Josie towards the door. “Go get your brat.”
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
It took less than a minute of humiliating, corner-based isolation before Devin started to cry. His shoulders shook, but he didn’t dare break position, so he just sort of curled in on himself and tucked his chin protectively into his chest.
Josie was so angry with him. He had to be, if he’d put Devin in the corner. His AP only did that when he’d been really awful, and this was probably the worst thing Devin had done since he’d arrived at RBU.
Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head and, unsurprisingly, found a frat bro. This one looked to be about his age, another freshman or a particularly doe-eyed sophomore, with shaggy, dark hair and a concerned expression.
“Hey man,” said the bro. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” Devin said weakly.
“Do you want me to get Marcel? You’re kind of, uh, trembling.”
“Don’t bother him, please.”
The bro frowned. “What can I do to make it better?”
Devin squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to look too pathetic in front of this Top. “I don’t know.”
“I could hold your hand,” the bro offered. “Would that help a little?”
“I’m supposed to keep my hands in my pockets.”
“Not if it hurts you!” The bro looked dismayed. “Look, man, if you don’t want someone to grab your Tops, that’s fine. You can still safeword without them here.”
“They’re not my Tops,” Devin snapped. Then he sniffled and slowly slipped his right hand out of his pocket, presenting it to the bro. “It—I consented to this, okay?”
“Easy, dude,” the bro replied. “I know. It’s just, there’s no shame in needing help.” He took Devin’s hand reverently, like it was something special, and sandwiched it between his own. “May I stay with you until your not-Tops get back?”
Devin nodded, then tilted his head to the side and rested it against the bro’s collarbone. “I don’t like the corner,” he said quietly.
“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” the bro said. “Do you at least understand why not-Top guy put you there?”
“Probably so I would calm down and not run away?”
“Okay. Is it succeeding at that?”
Devin glared at the wall. “Well, I don’t look fucking calm, do I?”
The bro squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll stay here until you are.”
He did. Devin collapsed into him at some point, crying vaguely into his hoodie strings, and the bro held his hand tight enough to anchor him in place. Eventually, Josie arrived and called Devin’s name in an upset tone, and he figured he was allowed to turn around.
“Sir!”
Josie swept him up in a hug on sight, pulling him close and rubbing circles into his back. “Oh, honey, you look so scared. What happened?”
“I don’t like the corner,” Devin whimpered. “I don’t want more corner time, please.”
“No more corner time,” Josie assured him. “Ever. I promise.”
“But I was bad, sir.” Devin was obviously feeling very ashamed, refusing to make eye contact with either Top, and Josie tried to comfort him by offering kisses and praise. He gave Devin a few gentle bottom pats—love taps—to put him at ease. If he was actually disappointed in Devin, they would’ve been swats.
Devin seemed to realize this and soaked up the affection, falling limp in Josie’s arms and choking out a stream of sorries. Josie stroked his hair. “Not upset,” he swore. “I’m not upset, or disappointed, or angry, honey, not even a little bit. Just worried about you. It was a hard game, Devin, wasn’t it?”
Devin cried harder, and Josie cupped his jaw and mopped up the tears and snot with a clean napkin bearing the logo of a fast food joint that one of the board game bros had passed him.
“I know,” Josie said soothingly. “We’ll spank away all of those bad feelings really soon.” Then he turned to the bro who had held Devin’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of him. I appreciate it.”
“Thanks,” Devin echoed.
“Of course,” the bro said, still looking worried. “Just let me know when I can go back in my room, okay?”
“Absolutely,” said Josie, clocking that this must be Waylon of geologic/roommate fame. “Here, Devin. Let’s get you some privacy.”
He ushered Devin down the hall and into the room, where Marcel was waiting with another hug. He wrapped his arms around Devin and nuzzled his forehead a bit. “Oh, Devin. Are you okay?”
Devin shook his head.
“Do you need to safeword?” Josie asked in a kind tone.
Devin shook his head again. His voice cracked. “If you’re going to spank me, just do it already.”
Josie squeezed his shoulder. “Do you think you earned a spanking?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell me what I’m spanking you for?”
“I shoved you and stepped on your foot on purpose,” Devin reported with all the cheer of someone facing capital punishment. “I was disrespectful, I forgot to call you by the right title once, and I ruined the game and brought shame to the team, which also embarrassed my AP and put my scholarship to waste.”
“Your AP sounds like a repulsive douchebag,” Marcel cut in.
“He is,” Josie agreed. “Devin, baby, you didn’t ruin anything. Like Coach warned you, you had some pretty tough opponents to face today. Your job wasn’t to win, it was to learn.”
“I lost us the game.”
“You are one player on a team of more than twenty people. In no world are you solely responsible for a loss.”
“Well, I still did all the other things.”
“We don’t have a rule about titles,” Josie pointed out. “It sounds like we just have the defiance and disrespect to handle. I’m going to try to put your heart at ease a little bit, okay?”
“Okay,” said Devin.
“Alright, honey. I’m going to sit down on the edge of the bed and you’re going to bend over my lap.”
Devin’s face held an apprehensive cast, but he obediently draped himself over Josie’s waiting lap, then whined when his pants and underwear were tugged down.
“I’m going to start with a hand spanking,” Josie said. “Then I’m going to paddle you. When that’s done, I’m going to give you a hug. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Devin said, with obvious distaste.
Josie smacked him. He started off with crisp swats, not wanting to waste any time, and he overlapped each one with its predecessor, starting at the top of Devin’s bottom and working down to mid-thigh. Devin twisted and wiggled a bit, clearly unhappy, and made distressed noises as his skin quickly colored pink.
“I know,” Josie soothed, “but nice warm-ups are for fun bratting. Boys who can’t keep their hands to themselves get ouchier warm-ups.”
“Hurts!” argued Devin, very persuasively.
“Good,” Marcel said sternly. “That’s the point.”
“Marcel!! You’re not supposed to get Toppy with me!”
“How mean,” Josie said. “Too many friends. Too much love. What an unfortunate little miscreant you are.” He pinched Devin’s ass, which resulted in an aggrieved squeak, then went back to spanking thoroughly enough to elicit sincere apologies.
“You can stop now!” Devin wailed, kicking his feet. “That’s enough, sir!”
“I decide when it’s enough,” Josie told him. He tapped the mean-looking paddle against Devin’s cheeks. “Right now, we’re spanking all of that naughtiness away so you don’t feel so awful.”
Devin didn’t get very far into his next argument before the first paddle swat arrived. His body jerked. “Ow!”
The paddle had created a vibrant rectangular weal across one cheek. Josie delivered another smack, creating a mirror image on the opposite cheek. Then he unleashed a rapid flurry of swats that covered Devin’s entire backside in record time. “Nooo!” he cried, twitching. “Sir, I’m learning, I swear!”
“I believe it,” Josie said. “This paddle’s pretty efficient. Isn’t it, Marcel?”
“It sure is,” Marcel agreed. “Just perfect for when a sweet brat needs an attitude adjustment.”
Devin reflectively moved his hands back to block the next swat but Josie caught them and held them safely out of range of the paddle. “Oh, honey, I don’t think so. Let’s keep those nice and safe, okay?”
“You don’t mean that!” Devin made more desperate, sustained escape attempts, and Josie responded by spanking harder, lecturing him while he held his hands out of the danger zone.
“Devin, sweetheart, I know it hurts. I know it does. But that’s how we teach brats to keep their hands and feet to themselves, and to not tell people to fuck off, and to be nice to their friends.” Josie used his leg to pry Devin’s apart, then attacked his inner thighs. “We discipline them so they know how much we care.”
Devin sobbed into the comforter, wedged in place by Josie’s arm. “Please, sir, get it over with!” he begged, muffled through tears.
Josie heard the tremble in his voice and decided they were probably approaching the end. He gave Devin’s sit-spots and upper thighs a few particularly spicy swats, then declared the spanking complete. Josie set down the paddle and smoothed his palm across Devin’s sore skin, smiling a little when he jolted.
“Ouch,” Devin complained, squirming.
Josie patted the tender skin. “Poor little boy. That’s a very red bottom, Devin.” He waited for his friend to squirm a little bit more, blushing to the tips of his ears, before he tugged him upright in his lap and pulled him in for a cuddle. “Oh, honey, there we go. Do you feel better?”
Devin melted into Josie’s arms, apologized again, and said a tiny thank you, sir into his neck that Josie found absolutely endearing. “You’re welcome, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll spank you cerise any day of the week.”
That got a pout. “You don’t need to do all that,” Devin sniffed. “I’d hate it if you strained some kind of spanking muscle and I had to play more terrible games and let everyone down.” Then he clutched Josie’s hoodie tightly, with both hands. “Don’t smack me for that! I didn't mean it in a bratty way!”
“We’ll work on the hockey self-esteem thing,” Josie said. “The bratting will always get you a sore bottom, though.”
“Not fair,” Devin moaned. Then he paused. “Marcel? Um, sir? Can I still stay the night?”
Marcel nodded. “Of course, man. Anytime you need.”
“You can always crash at the dorm, too,” Josie added. “There’s plenty of room.”
Devin seemed to accept that, then remembered he was still undressed from the waist down and scrambled for his boxers. Once he had them on, he slithered first back onto Marcel’s comforter, and finally, underneath it, projecting adorable distress. “I’m in pain,” he declared.
“We can find you some cold cream,” Marcel said.
“Cold cream and bed,” Josie said. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow, honey, okay?”
Devin hitched out a lingering sob. There was hope yet for him.
“Okay, Josie,” he said.