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              Beau had this look on his face that I couldn’t quite name. It was part-upset, part-confusion and I tilted my head just slightly to try to place it. Then his look changed and he stepped closer to me and I leaped back with a shriek, holding up my hands defensively.

            “Beau! I didn’t do anything!” I swore, backing up another step for good measure. He laughed softly, as if he didn’t quite believe me, and I tugged at my lip piercing experimentally with my teeth. I’m sure I looked the picture of innocent sex-appeal and Beau’s look softened.

            Yes, check one for Duncan Hayes.

            “Beau, I swear! I didn’t touch him! He was like that when I found him!” I said, nodding. Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but what Beau didn’t know couldn’t kill him, right? The /him/ in question – who I may or may not have touched – was Beau’s brother’s dog who we were looking after while his brother was away.

            The stupid thing had been tied in the backyard. Which was /fine/ by me ‘cause then he wasn’t in the house, tearing up all my shit, but then he wouldn’t shut the fuck up out there. I’d gone out to tell him to be quiet and he had – evil dog! – bitten me! So, naturally, I helped him get good and tangled around all the patio furniture (without actually touching him, mind you) and left him there to sulk, half-choking. Its not /my fault/ he was too stupid to untangle himself and had laid there for over an hour whining.

            Beau looked at me, shook his head, and went to collect the little dog into his arms. The rat yipped happily and – I swear to you – glared at me as Beau carried it into the living room. Stupid thing!

            Beau soothed the mutt and gave it treats (which it did NOT deserve after biting me and making my afternoon hell!) He pet it and spoke to it like he spoke to me when I was scared or hurt or sick and I gagged at him, sickened that he had turned me in for a stupid dog, and fled for the stairs.

            Usually Beau follows me.

            This time he didn’t, which made it so much worse. I started off okay, just pacing and getting more upset. By now he would have tugged me down into his arms on the carpet and hugged me. I sniffled and kicked the wall. He would have rocked me. I cried softly and flopped miserably on our bed but he still didn’t come to save me, so I simply wailed.

            By the time Beau came upstairs, I had cried myself out and our room was a mess; I’d thrown all our things off their shelves and all the bedding was a tangled mess on the floor. I’d even made myself sick in his hamper of clothes. Beau tugged my hand away from my mouth in an automatic gesture and swatted my exposed behind hard a few times before he collected me close for a brief hug.

            “Go to your corner,” he ordered. I hiccuped and fled to my assigned corner on the landing, pressing into it. The stupid dog came up the stairs and nipped at my heels and I kicked it angrily.

            “Duncan Weston! Do /not/ kick the dog!” Beau said, sounding angry. I cowered and the stupid thing went to him whining for comfort. He sat down to pet it and I enviously pressed into the wall.

            When he was good and ready to have me out of the corner, he called for me. I wailed that he hated me and he tugged me down in the dog’s place in his lap, hugging me hard. The stupid rat ran off yapping and I curled up dejected and miserable in his arms.

            “Duncan, tell me why I’m going to punish you,” he ordered, turning my chin up. I pouted – I have perfected the art of pouting, trust me – and the lines around the corners of his eyes softened and he smiled a little, kissing my nose.

            “Stick it out any further, love, and a bird’ll poop on it,” he teased and I sniffled, shrugging. He waited, patient as ever.

            “Beau, he got tangled up all on his own,” I whispered. “He was yapping and barking and being stupid so I went out and he tangled himself up and finally stopped barking so I left him there. I had stuff t’do.”

            He /looked/ at me. He has these /looks/, I’m sure you know what they’re like. Its kind of unnerving how many looks he’s got. Anyways, so he /looked/ and I pouted, playing innocent.

            “He could hardly breathe, baby,” he told me and I felt a little bad, I admit, but not bad enough to actually really feel bad, you know? It was a fleeting feeling.

            “You let him get tangled, you /knew/ he was tangled, and you left him there. /Knowingly/.” I cowered under his look, nodding.

            “Duncan. If that wasn’t bad enough, you threw a tantrum the likes of which I haven’t seen since we first moved in together!” I sucked my lip into my mouth, shrugging.

            “Dun. Do you think that was necessary?”

           

            I shook my head at him. “No.”

            Beau turned my face up again and I tried for another winning pout but he was having none of it. He sighed; I /hate/ when he sighs. It’s like he’s resigning himself to his task and sentencing me to my fate. It’s like he is /so/ fed up with me he can’t even /stand it/ anymore.

            “Do you agree it is fair that I spank you now?” he asked. “For the tantrum?” he asked.

            I shrugged and nodded, obediently standing so he could move to the office where he pulled out /The Chair/. Stupid thing. He sat down and tugged me across his lap without preamble, tugging my pants and boxers to my ankles where he left them. I gripped the legs of the stupid chair and he started my punishment, leaving not a spot un-reddened.

            At least it was over fairly quickly. I was hauled back up into his lap and he supported me so my stinging ass didn’t have to touch his thighs. He let me sob and I clung, wanting his comfort and his soothing words – he did have some left for me; he hadn’t used them all on the rat.

            “I’m sorrrrrry!” I wailed. Beau’s lips were in my hair, kissing me, and his hands were moving over my back slowly, and I guess I relaxed pretty quickly. He has a way about him, my Beau, of making me feel pretty good pretty quick. After a few minutes, he had me back under control and he kissed me gently, scrubbing my tears away and brushing my hair off my forehead, kissing my temple lightly.

            “Alright, tiger. We’re okay now,” he soothed and I believed him. “You’re going to apologize to the dog for me, okay?”

            I scoffed, brow furrowing as he stood me up and tugged my boxers back up but left my pants off. I stepped out of them and snuggled back into his arms a while before he got up and forced me to stand on my own as he returned the chair to its home and led me out of the office.

            I spotted the stupid rat eating one of my shoes and I glared, but I squatted and called it over. The stupid thing bounded over and licked my outstretched hand and I patted its ugly head. “Sorry, creature. I was mean to you,” I said. The dog cocked its furry head and licked me again, looking from me to Bo and then dashing back to my shoe. Beau tugged me up and kissed me.

            “Thank you, Dun. I think he forgives you too.”

            I, of course, was less interested in the rat forgiving me than I was in Beau forgiving me. He kissed me again, slow and long, and I was pretty sure that meant we were okay like he said.

            Then: “Duncan, I’d like you to go tidy the mess you made upstairs for me and then come back down and outline a report of why it is we are nice to animals.”

            I scoffed, but when his hand descended to pinch my sore butt, I gave in pretty quick, I’ll admit, and fled for the stairs. Uh, the price I have to pay for forgiveness around here.