a/n: Ayyyy, a/n at the beginning! So, like a fool, I've started another new story... but see, I was just so sad after Stalker ended, and I wanted to write another spanko story. Which leads me to-

Warning: This is a BDSM fic. I don't know how hardcore it will get, and I don't know if it will be dark or not. I have a tentative plan, but I had a tentative plan for Stalker too, and we all saw how that turned out. If this stuff makes you uneasy, I'm for serious- don't read it!

Rorschach Blots


Sev liked the art classroom.

It was big and drafty, and obviously a place for fun. People didn't come there to hunch over and hope the teacher didn't call on them to come to the board. No, they came to chat with friends and do art, and for a brief moment forget that they were stuck at school.

He also liked that it had a back patio, with an old couch pushed up against the tinted window of the classroom. The door to the patio was never locked, so he would sneak out there whenever the fuck time he wanted, and lounge in the shade.

Bringing the joint to his lips, he inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for several moments before breathing out. It burned his throat still, but he was past worrying about it. The couch felt like it was hugging him.

He should have probably put the joint out sooner, it had been rolled with Finch and Janey in mind. But … they hadn't shown up, and now Sev was stoned out of his mind.

There were five fingers on each hand, he thought to himself. How nice.

Finch ditching him was kind of bullshit, though. Especially for that bitch, Janey. She was an uptight bitch, alright.

Sev took another drag, nibbling the tip for a moment, and then giggling at the soggy joint. He let his arm fall, his hand dangling limply over the armrest of the couch. Each breath felt so labored and deliberate, and he thought to himself that the inner workings of the human body must be so complicated.

Where was Finch? School was over … did he and Janey go straight home?

Sev looked at the phone cradled in his other hand. No messages. Well, fuck him. Fuck Finch. Finch fucking Janey. Jesus.

Closing his eyes, Sev tilted his head back until it hit the glass wall of the art room. Maybe he would just sleep here tonight. Wouldn't Mr. Duarte be so shocked when he saw Sev was the first person in class tomorrow?

That thought made Sev giggle. He covered his mouth, swallowing- which only made his dry throat ache, but his body kept shaking with laughter.

He stopped when he heard a groan. Froze, actually, and then in a moment of panic, threw the joint across the patio, where it hit the brick wall that surrounded the entire high school. He ducked down, covering his head.

Was it a groan? Maybe it was-


Sev bit his lip, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus. He flinched when, suddenly, a sharp 'slap' sound rang out, followed by another moan. What … ?

Slowly moving upwards, he peeked over the edge of the couch, and cursed when he remembered that the window was tinted. He had to smoosh his nose against the glass just to see what was happening inside the classroom.

His eyes widened.

There was … Mr. Duarte. He was bent over one of the art tables, his knees resting on a chair with its back pushed up against the edge of the table. Peering closer into the window, his hands splayed out like starfish against the glass, Sev's breath hitched when he saw that Mr. Duarte's pants were pushed slightly down, exposing a firm ass.

Mr. Duarte was breathing heavily, his back taut, and his bottom sticking up in the air. He had one slender arm under his chest, where he digging his fingers into his skin. His other hand … held a folded belt, and his arm was stretched back in what looked like an uncomfortable position.

"What the fuck," Sev breathed, his mouth dropping when Mr. Duarte lifted the belt, and then brought it down on his own ass with a tremendous smack. A small hiss escaped his lips, and then he pressed his forehead down on the table, his entire body shaking.

He laid like that for several moments, and Sev couldn't take his eyes off of him. "Mr. Duarte … " Sev said slowly, "You're a pervert."

As if Sev had been heard, Mr. Duarte suddenly turned his head to the window. Sev immediately dived back down behind the couch with a squeak.

After several moments, he figured Mr. Duarte hadn't seen him, and rolled around to his back. His eyes widened.

"What are you going to do?"

Mr. Duarte was standing over him, a slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead, and his cheeks tinged with red. He had put his clothing back together, his shirt buttoned, his pants pulled up, and … the belt sitting through the loops. Sev found himself gawking at Mr. Duarte's waist.


"Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, looking up, hissing when the sun behind Mr. Duarte's head hit his eyes. He covered his face with both his hands. "Ow."

"Are you high, Sev?"

"Ha, no," Sev replied, wiggling his fingers against his face. "Why would I get high at school? That's stupid."

"It smells like pot out here."

"It smells like pervert out here."

There was silence above him, and Sev slid his fingers apart to see Mr. Duarte looking to the side. Mr. Duarte's hands were balled into fists, his shoulders tense. There was a stubborn tilt to his lips, but slowly, his face crumpled. "Sev," he said, barely above a whisper, "What are you going to do?"

Sev pushed his long, brown hair back, tucking it behind his ears. "Nuthin, Mr. Duarte," he said, "It's none of my business."

"But you'll tell your friends," Mr. Duarte said, "Or post it on the internet."

"It stays with me," Sev replied, his lip curling up in a languid smile as he placed his hand over his chest. "I swear on my mother."

Mr. Duarte took a step towards him. "Listen to me, you brat, this isn't a joking matter. It's my life, my career … " Pausing, he grimaced, and then began speaking again, his tongue moving in desperate clicks. "If you even think about opening your trap to one of your loser friends, I will go straight to the principle, and tell him you've been smoking weed out here-"

Sev slapped his hand down on his knee, the sound of which made Mr. Duarte flinch. "Don't act like a bitch, Mr. Duarte," he growled, "I already swore I wouldn't."

Raising an eyebrow, he watched with interest as Mr. Duarte suddenly shivered. "Ah, fine," Mr. Duarte said, brushing a hand over the top of his head. He was shifting awkwardly, his usually tidy, black hair falling in disarray over his eyes. "You did, indeed."

"Still," he continued, and then paused. He opened and closed his mouth several times before sighing, and sitting down on the couch beside Sev. "Why are you smoking out here, Sev? Don't you know you could get into a lot of trouble?"

Sev looked down at Mr. Duarte's hunched, stiff form, and shrugged. "If I got caught, I would just tell them that this is right. This is perfect. They would never take me away. Once they knew how right this is."

A small smile graced Mr. Duarte's lips as he looked up at Sev from the corner of his eye. "You really are baked right now, aren't you?"

Flopping back against the couch, a world-weary sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes, Sev grinned. "It slows the whole world down, Mr. Duarte."

"I think you should quit."

Cracking an eye open, Sev's smile melted. "Why? You a narc, Mr. Duarte?"

Mr. Duarte snorted. "Narc?" he replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Kids these days … "

Sev felt a small knot in his stomach, and he shoved Mr. Duarte's shoulder. Mr. Duarte looked back at him with raised eyebrows, his mouth hanging open. "What?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sev replied, still staring at Mr. Duarte. After a moment, "Don't call me a kid."

Just as Mr. Duarte opened his mouth to respond, there was a shout from inside the classroom. "Caleb?" came a deep voice, "Caleb, come on, we can still make the four-thirty train."

Sev looked at Mr. Duarte. "Who's Caleb?" he said with a conspiratorial whisper. Mr. Duarte smiled at him, and then grabbed his shoulder, shoving him down on the couch. Standing up, he straightened his shirt, and trotted back inside the classroom. Sev paused for a moment, and then strained his hearing, trying to pick up on the voices drifting back out.

"Why were you outside?"

"Just tidying up after the kids," Mr. Duarte replied. Sev peeked over the edge of the couch, and blinked when he realized he was looking at the P.E. teacher, Mr. Simmons. He was standing in close proximity to Mr. Duarte, leaning in towards him.

"Isn't that what the janitor is for?" Mr. Simmons breathed, looking at his watch. He wrapped a hand around Mr. Duarte's wrist. "Let's hit the road, Caleb, I don't want to miss the train."


Sev traipsed down the shoulder of the road, his shirt half off and dangling over his shoulder, his tanned, muscled abdomen shining with sweat. He had a lean build, but he figured that was because he was still eighteen and, if his father was any type of proof, he would be able to bulk up someday.

Reflecting on that, he was suddenly brought back to Mr. Duarte's silhouette in the tinted window.

Mr. Duarte had the thicker body of an adult man, but he still looked pretty small. He probably never bench-pressed three hundred pounds when he was in high school.

Sliding his slicked-with-sweat hair out of his eyes, Sev cursed the sun, and moved a little faster. Cars blasted by him on the country freeway, and he yelled out when a big-rig thundered by, making him dizzy. He stumbled off the road, and crouched in the adjacent corn field. Heat seemed to be radiating off the stalks.

He groaned, pressing his forehead into his arms. The water in the soil was rising up in the heat, casting a humid pall throughout the field.

What had Mr. Simmons said? They would miss the train? Did they live together?

Did they live together somewhere better than this stupid hick town?

He looked across the freeway, at the fruit stand. He could see Finch working there, selling pistachios and corn to passing travellers. Janey was probably there too, under that sweltering tarp. Probably just nagging, nagging, nagging. She loved to nag Finch about what he was going to do after high school, if he was going to be working at his father's fruit stand forever.

Standing up, he hopped back on the shoulder, and waited for several cars to zoom by, and then trotted across.

"Hey man," Finch said when he saw Sev. Sev nodded, and grabbed a pistachio, tossing the whole thing in his mouth, and biting down on the crack in the shell.

"That can't be good for your teeth," Janey said from behind Finch, where she was draped over a plastic folding chair. She was holding a portable fan up to her face.

Sev grinned, and pulled the shell from his mouth. He bit down on the soft meat of the pistachio, and then lobbed the shell pieces at Janey, laughing when she glared at him. "Mind your own business, Plain-Jane."

"You're such an asshole," she replied, her lip curling up. She shrugged. "I don't get why you hate me so much, Sev."

Staring at her with half-lidded eyes, Sev frowned. Janey always managed to end anything he tried to start. He hated it.

"Sev," Finch cut in quietly, "If you're just gonna take food and be an ass to Janey … "

"Sorry," Sev replied immediately. He held his hands up, palms forward. "Sorry, Janey, ok? I'm high as fuck, and it's hot as fuck."

She stared at him with a cocked head for a minute, and then shrugged again. "It is pretty hot."

"Right?" Sev replied, a small giggle escaping his lips. He ducked under the fruit stand table, and flopped down on the dirt beside Janey's chair, leaning back on his hands. After a moment, he felt her hand brushing through his hair.

"You should cut it," she said, "Your neck would be cooler."

He tilted his head away from her touch, and he felt her pull her fingers back. Whatever, he didn't want her touching him. Instead, he let his eyes follow Finch's deliberate movements as Finch counted the money in the register. "How long have you guys been out here?" Sev asked, speaking mostly to Finch.

"Since school," Janey replied, "We looked for you in the parking lot, but you weren't there."

"I was at the art room."

He saw Finch stiffen. "Ah," Finch said, "That was today."

"What's going on, man?" Sev replied, "You don't want to get high anymore? What else is there to do in this piece-of-shit town?"

He was starting to come down- just enough to know how whiny he sounded. Still, Finch hadn't even looked at him, and stupid Janey was still breathing down his neck. He shifted restlessly a few times, and then stood up, joining Finch at the fruit stand table. "Did you really forget?" he asked, his eyes resting on Finch's placid face.


"Because that would be-" Sev paused. "What?"

"I didn't forget," Finch said, his jaw tight. "I just didn't want to go."

Sev felt sick suddenly, his mouth twisting as he fought off dizziness. "Well, then," he said slowly, "Maybe it would have been polite to throw me a fucking text?"

Finch ignored him. "Fuck you," Sev said, grabbing a tomato from the pile. He threw it at the ground, grinning as it splattered. "I don't have to fucking deal with this shit."

As he stomped away, he could hear Janey yelling at Finch for being such a jerk. God, he hated her.


The bell rang, and he listened to the kids streaming out to the parking lot. He couldn't see them from the couch outside of the art room.

He had climbed over the wall just to get to the patio without actually going through the classroom.

If he had gone through the classroom … Mr. Duarte would have seen him. And if Mr. Duarte had seen him, he probably wouldn't do that thing he was doing the day before. The thing that Sev wanted to see again, maybe just for the novelty of it.

How twisted did Mr. Duarte have to be to do this in his classroom? Was he stupid enough to keep doing it after he had been caught? Sev crouched low on the couch, watching for any signs of movement in the classroom. So far, the coast had been clear. Sighing, he slid down to his back, and dropped his arm over his eyes.

After a few minutes, just as he was dozing off, he heard the scrape of a chair.

He was already on his feet, moving to the door. Peering around the door frame, he smirked when he saw Mr. Duarte had positioned himself facing away from the window.

Once again, Mr. Duarte had bent himself over an art table, dangling his knees down on a chair. His ass was sticking in the air, his back arched downwards. He was clawing at his chest, even as he hit himself with the belt. Little pained hisses escaped his lips every time the leather touched his skin.

"Why do you do that here?"


Jerking up, Mr. Duarte slipped and fell, banging his chin on the table. He tightened up for a moment, cradling his face. Sev didn't think as he trotted to the table, and leaned over next to Mr. Duarte. He gently ran his hand over Mr. Duarte's hair, as if he were petting him. "Why do you do that here?" he repeated, "You have your own place, right? One of the advantages of being an adult?"

Mr. Duarte was still holding his mouth, and grimacing. Sev moved his hand to Mr. Duarte's back, and rubbed it in languid circles. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Making a grunt of protest, Mr. Duarte pushed Sev's hand away, not unkindly, and rolled to his back. He sat up and slid off the table, pulling his pants up without looking at Sev. His head was bowed. "Sev," he said slowly, "I really wish you didn't hang out here."

They both froze when they heard the click of the art room doorknob turning. It caught on the lock, and there was a moment of silence. Finally, "Caleb? Why are you locking the door?"

Mr. Duarte sighed, and moved to open the door. Sev caught his wrist, and he looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Fix your clothes," Sev mouthed, pointed at Mr. Duarte's fly. Sev felt his lip curl up with amusement when Mr. Duarte's face flushed red as he quickly zipped his pants with shaking fingers.


"Alright," Mr. Duarte barked, his voice hoarse. He stepped to the door, and put his key in, unlocking it. He had to jump back when the door suddenly shot open.

"Why are you locking it?" Mr. Simmons said, stepping inside. By the time he noticed Sev, he already had one arm around Mr. Duarte's waist, and was pressing his hand against the small of Mr. Duarte's back. His eyes widened when they landed on Sev, and he quickly released Mr. Duarte.

"Sev," he said, chuckling nervously, "Didn't see you there." He cocked his head. "You taking art?"

Sev shrugged, scowling.

"Well, don't waste your time here," Mr. Simmons said, crossing his arms, "You should come back to the swim team."

"Don't they make us take drug tests?" Sev replied, mirroring Mr. Simmons as he crossed his own arms. He tried not compare his wiry teenager arms with Mr. Simmons' adult, buff arms.

"Ah," Mr. Simmons snorted.

"Sev," Mr. Duarte cut in, his voice tight. Mr. Simmons looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and then plopped his hand down on Mr. Duarte's shoulder, surprising Mr. Duarte, and almost making him buckle.

"Caleb," he said, "You should try to convince Sev here to come back to the swim team. He had a lot of potential."

Mr. Duarte looked to the ground. "Ok."

"Fantastic," Mr. Simmons replied. He sighed after a pause. "I was just coming to tell you I have a date tonight, so I won't be coming home."

Stiffening for a moment, Mr. Duarte's face went rigid, but then he quickly relaxed. "Ok," he said again.

"Good," Mr. Simmons said, patting Mr. Duarte's head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When the door clicked shut behind Mr. Simmons, Sev turned on Mr. Duarte. "I knew you were a fag!" he breathed, "All those pastel cardigans and sweater vests, I knew it!"

"Sev!" Mr. Duarte replied, looking genuinely hurt, "Don't use that word." He glanced at the door for a moment, and then back at Sev.

That's when Sev noticed Mr. Duarte had gone stark white, the blood draining from his face. He was inching back away from Sev, his shoulder turned slightly towards the door. He was shaking too, but it was barely noticeable. Sev frowned.

"Come on," he said, closing the distance between himself and Mr. Duarte. "If I didn't freak out about your weird pervert thing, do you really think I would bash you for being gay?"

"I've been threatened here before," Mr. Duarte replied, his voice low. He took another step backwards, his back hitting the door. Annoyed, Sev matched his movement with a step forward, and now had Mr. Duarte pinned. Sev could see Mr. Duarte's bottom lip trembling. He really was scared.

"I know this is a shit town," Sev said, "but I'm not … "

Mr. Duarte looked away from him, and brought his hand to his forehead. "Shit …" he said quietly, "This is too fucked up." Sev saw his jaw clench. "Listen, Sev," he said, "I'll try to find a job somewhere else, ok? Just please don't say anything until I do."

"No!" Sev shouted, surprising even himself. He immediately regretted his outburst when Mr. Duarte flinched, covering his face with curled fingers. Sev's jaw dropped a little. "Have you been hurt before?" he asked, wrapping his hand around Mr. Duarte's wrist, and pulling it away from his face.

Mr. Duarte still couldn't meet his eyes. "I've been jumped before, I grew up in a really conservative town."

"Oh," Sev replied, and then grimaced. Way to sound really lame, Sev. "Um," he continued, "I won't say anything, I won't do anything either. I'm not a bad guy, Mr. Duarte."

"Yeah, but you're a teenager," Mr. Duarte said, "and this is my responsibility." He gently pulled his wrist out of Sev's grasp, and slid around him. "Please don't come to the art room after school anymore, Sev," he said, "and I'll promise not to … do what I've been doing. And I'll leave, when I find another job."

Sev stared at him, playing with the corner of his shirt. "Well," he said, watching as Mr. Duarte went to his desk, and started to gather his things. "You don't have to, really. I'm a senior, so I'll be gone by the end of the year."

This made Mr. Duarte hesitate. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sev replied, "but … you have to tell me one thing."

Mr. Duarte looked up at him with a resigned frown, as if he knew what was coming. "What?"

"Why do you do that?"

Sighing, Mr. Duarte's shoulders slumped, and he fell down into his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his face in his hands, rubbing his temples. "It's not something I can put into words." He paused for a moment. "It's not something I should put into words, not with you."

"Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult."

There was a pause. "Fine," he said, "I like the pain."

"Uh … " Sev stuttered, crossing his arms, "You get off on it?"

There was a breath of amusement. "No, it's not about that. It's … I feel better after I do it, like I've atoned for something."

"That's sick," Sev replied, and then blushed when Mr. Duarte looked up at him. Mr. Duarte stood up, briefcase in hand, and walked back to Sev and the doorway, gesturing for Sev to leave.

"I appreciate your humoring me," Mr. Duarte said, "Despite how grossly inappropriate this situation is, and how much I've failed as a teacher. Hopefully we can move past it, and not dwell on everything. Just act normally during class, and none of this has to come up again."

Sev stared at Mr. Duarte's rigid face. "You just wanna act like nothing happened?"

"Right," Mr. Duarte replied.

Frowning, Sev kept staring at Mr. Duarte, with his slender build, and his crisp outfit. "No."

Mr. Duarte blanched, and Sev felt a taste of triumph at shaking an adult.

"What?" Mr. Duarte said, going slightly pale again.

Sev considered his next words carefully. "Let me do it, Mr. Duarte. It can't be as satisfying when you have to do it to yourself." He grabbed Mr. Duarte's upper arms, causing Mr. Duarte to drop his briefcase in surprise. "Don't you want that? Someone else to do that thing to you?"

"That thing?" Mr. Duarte replied, the first hint of anger lacing his voice. His jaw clenched. "Sev, it's called spanking, and no, not really. I really don't want someone else to do it to me, especially not a student."

Sev's fingers dug into Mr. Duarte's arms. "I could make it hurt so much worse than you can."

There was a slight rosy tinge to Mr. Duarte's cheeks, his lips parting as he stared up at Sev. His breaths had turned a little ragged, but he stood pliant in Sev's grip. "That's .. " he said slowly, "You have no idea what you're saying. You've never paddled someone, never belted them. It's not as easy as it sounds, making someone hurt like that."

Sev had to admit, his stomach turned at the word "belted", making him queasy. Mr. Duarte saw the slight flicker in his expression, and tried to pull away. "See?" Mr. Duarte said, straining against Sev's grip, "That's not something you expected, is it?"

"No," Sev replied, "You're right." He bit his lip. "Still, I can do the other thing, I can spank you."

"Sev-" Mr. Duarte replied, but was cut off when Sev suddenly shoved him around, and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Sev!" he repeated, panic lacing his voice as Sev elbowed his back down, making his bend slightly.

Ignoring him, Sev raised his hand, and brought it down on Mr. Duarte's clothed bottom. When he heard a surprised intake of breath, he did it again. "Mr. Duarte," he said, clasping his arm more tightly around Mr. Duarte's struggling body, "How does it feel?" He wheezed when Mr. Duarte's elbow hit him in the gut, and they both dropped to the ground.

Sev recovered quickly, and fisted the back of Mr. Duart's shirt. He leaned his weight in, continuing to spank Mr. Duarte. He could hear the frustrated whimpers coming from Mr. Duarte's mouth, but that just egged him on. Finally, he grabbed for Mr. Duarte's waistband.


He paused, hearing the finality in Mr. Duarte's voice. "Sev," Mr. Duarte continued, breathing heavily, "Jesus, why … you can't do this to me."

"And you can't just tell me to pretend I didn't see anything," Sev replied, looking over until their eyes met. Mr. Duarte's eyes were glossy and bright . Sev gulped at that. "Please, Mr. Duarte," he breathed, "Let me do this."

Mr. Duarte raised an eyebrow at his pleading. "Why do you even want to?"

"I … " Sev replied slowly, "You said you like being hurt. Well … I really want to hurt someone."