“He's not.” Although, he kind of was. Yuri was irritating and a thorn in Angelo's side, but he was also his. It wasn’t anything sexual. Yuri was being groomed to be Mirea’s future diplomat, and Angelo worried that without the discipline he provided, one of these days Yuri would open his mouth and cause an international incident.
It wasn’t that Angelo enjoyed any part of the discipline, or liked seeing the red marks his palm made on Yuri’s pale skin. It had absolutely nothing to do with the little sounds Yuri made that let Angelo know he was finally getting through to the little wanker.
It wasn’t like that at all.
“Whatever.” Charity crossed her arms over her genuinely spectacular tits. “I swear, I'd almost think you were gay or something.”
“He's not gay,” said Yuri, his tone clear and crisp and full of ice. “Now get out. I need to discuss something with my betrothed. He might not be gay, but I've got dibs, so fuck off.”
“Yuri,” Angelo growled in warning.
Yuri put his hands on his hips and opened his mouth to say something truly terrible. Angelo could just tell.
“Stop. Now,” Angelo barked out. Yuri snapped his mouth shut but looked mutinous. This might take a while. He turned to Charity. “I'll call you later?”
Charity swept both Yuri and Angelo with a jaundiced eye. “Don't bother. You're fucking gorgeous and all, but I think I'll go back to Tommy Brewster. All he can think about is getting in my knickers, but at least he doesn't want someone else, too.”
“I don't… I'm not gay, Charity. I want you.”
Yuri made a gagging noise but mercifully kept his damn mouth shut.
“You just want some pretty girl to stick your dick in, Angel. You don't even care all that much about what she's like, not really. Well, fuck you. I deserve better than that. If you want your dick sucked, have him do it. God knows he wants to.”
Yuri let out a burst of laughter then clapped a hand over his mouth. His face had gone an alarming shade of crimson.
“Charity, I'm so sorry. Give me another chance?” Angelo asked, knowing it was futile. This just fucking sucked. Damn Yuri, anyway. This was all his fault. Was it any wonder Angelo had to punish him? If he tried this shit while operating as a diplomat, the whole world might burn to the ground.
Charity stood on tiptoe and kissed Angelo's cheek. “If you figure your shit out, you know where to find me.” Then she left, and she didn't even slam the door behind her.
Yuri looked like he was bursting to say something. Angelo held up a hand and covered Yuri's mouth. “Not a word. Not one single fucking word better come out of your mouth.”
Mutely, Yuri nodded.
“Good. You know what to do.”
Angelo watched as Yuri tugged his jeans down, leaving them pooled around his ankles. Under them, he wore one of several thongs he owned. This one was pink and blue. Angelo had insisted that Yuri wear underpants while being disciplined. He didn't want Yuri's naked bits on his bed or even worse, his leg. Gross.
“Where do you want me?” Yuri asked.
“Did I say you could speak?”
Yuri shook his head “No, sir. Sorry.”
Angelo liked that, even though he'd never admit it to Yuri in a million years. Being called sir by the brat was one of the best parts of this tiresome, but necessary, chore. “Sorry, my arse. Keep your mouth fucking shut like I said unless I ask you a direct question. I want you over my lap today. That means no wiggling and no trying to hump my leg. Got it? You're worse than Father's spaniels. And no coming. This isn't about you getting your rocks off, is it?”
“No, sir,” Yuri whispered. He gave a full body shiver.
“Good. Now bend over my lap. Yeah. Like that.” Despite this being about disciplining Yuri and absolutely nothing else, Angelo couldn't help but run his fingers over the small triangle of pink and blue cotton that sat at the lowest part of Yuri's back, right between two deep dimples. Angelo traced the cotton absently until Yuri moaned pitifully. Brought back to reality, Angelo snatched his hand away then brought it down with a meaty sounding smack on Yuri's rounded cheeks.
There. That was better. Yuri seemed to think so, too, because he became completely pliant, lying limp on Angelo's lap like a sleepy cat. Yuri let out a long, pent-up breath.
That's my boy, Angelo thought.
Angelo had told himself, and Yuri, that what they did—their little arrangement—was solely for Yuri's benefit. He needed it, for whatever reason, and Angelo didn't mind helping him. But there was more there. Underneath. A more that Angelo didn't dwell on. Not often, anyway. When he thought about it at all, it was usually late at night, when he couldn't sleep, and part of him ached for the feel of Yuri under his hand.
But Angelo wasn't gay and Yuri was only an obligation he was stuck with, and it didn't mean a damn thing.
Angelo spanked Yuri with his bare hand, over and over, pausing sometimes to rest, but stopping entirely only after the prince began to sob. The flesh under Angelo's hand was bright red and burning hot to the touch.
“Better?” Angelo asked.
Hiccupping through his tears, Yuri nodded.
“Good. Go lie down.”
After Yuri peeled himself off Angelo's lap and lay down on the bed, Angelo went to his dresser and got the cream he'd bought just for this reason. Yuri didn't always need this, but today it had taken a long time for Yuri to break. His delicate skin would need care. Angelo had learned that the hard way early on.
Stretched out on the bed face down with his jeans still around his ankles, Yuri snuffled into Angelo's pillow. When Angelo started to rub the thick, healing cream into Yuri's reddened flesh, Yuri sighed with contentment.
At times like these, with a soft and sweet Yuri under his hands, Angelo felt like they
