Chapter Text
The first time it happens doesn’t involve a huge explosion.
There's no loud argument, or fist fight. No property damage or disrespect.
The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, it's quiet.
The boy had just gotten into it again with that prick Tim Shepard. Buck had just had enough.
"That boy doesn't respect you. And, by going back to him, you're tellin' 'im you don't respect yerself."
"Ya see, my ma had this trick. Whenever she felt we weren’t respectin' ourselves, or weren’t living up to our potential, she would.."
The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, he guides the boy over his lap with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
The boy has been beaten before. Not spanked. Not disciplined. Beaten until he was bleeding. That's not what Buck wants to do.
How he went from a bitter, lonely bartender to a less bitter and less lonely father figure, he will never understand.
Dallas would be better off at the Curtises, where they love openly and gently. Buck isn't built for that kind of love. This is all he knows.
He swats Dallas over his jeans, at first. The teen jolts, immediately squirming. He's pink up to his ears, ready to start snarling.
Buck scruffs him by his neck—something his own pops would do to him when he was getting too rowdy.
For some reason, Dallas reacts to it the same way he did—by going limp.
Swats slowly turn into proper smacks. Dallas jumps at each one, his shoulders up to his ears and his eyes trained to the ground.
He looks back up quickly when Buck tugs at his jeans. For a second, Buck thinks he's going to say something, but he doesn't.
He quickly puts his head back down when the smacks start again.
Without the protection of his jeans, Dallas huffs at every spank. Buck can see his pale skin turning pink from under his briefs.
He starts to hit harder, actually jostling the skinny boy slightly. Dallas grits his teeth and tries to breathe.
When he starts to spank the boy's sit lines, he starts making noise. He gets a whine and some squirming.
The point is to break down walls and force emotions. So, Buck starts to spank harder.
Dallas squirms harder, and the bartender has to hold his torso to keep him in place. He gets more grunts and whines as it continues.
It's when he gets his first whimper that Buck decides to wrap it up.
The next smacks are hard. Hard enough to turn dark pink skin red. Hard enough to pull a yelp from Dallas, along with even more whimpers. He keeps going until he knows for sure that Dallas is crying.
Finally, it ends. Buck allows the teen to catch his breath over his knee. He hears little sniffles and other pitiful noises.
When he helps Dallas up, he helps him kick away his jeans. He knows first-hand how denim feels on a freshly spanked bottom.
He's only slightly surprised to find Dallas's tear-stained face. But, he's definitely surprised when the boy collapses into his arms.
Buck completely panics.
He stares at the sobbing teen for way too long, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around him.
Buck isn't a father. He's not good with kids, he doesn't know how to handle them. In fact, he has half a mind to leave Dallas to cry it out.
Why he doesn't is beyond him. Instead, he holds Dallas until he calms down and the tears stop.
He eases Dallas down onto his bad, making sure to lay him on his stomach. He disappears downstairs, coming back with some ointment for the soreness.
It's not as awkward as he thought it would be. Dallas sniffles through it, but doesn’t say anything.
Buck throws the blankets over him, actually tucking him in like a little kid. He leaves Dallas with another gentle touch to the back of his neck, and a "get some rest, kid."
They don't talk about it in the morning. Dallas sits gingerly at the table. Buck presents him with a plate of waffles.
The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, the teen lets him.
That's not to say he does every time. Sometimes, there is a big fight, broken glass, even punches thrown. Sometimes, Dallas bites and scratches his way through a punishment.
It always ends the same, though. With tears and broken pieces that need to be put together. With a boy who just needs to feel like somebody cares.
The first time it happens, Dallas has had his heart broken yet again by Tim Shepard.
The guy calls him over for sex one minute and then turns around and treats him like trash the next! What the hell is that!?
Honestly, he didn’t even know Buck paid enough attention to know about him and Tim. The idea scares him, knowing how homosexuals are treated in the southern states.
Buck doesn’t seem mad at that, though. In fact, he seems mad on Dallas’s behalf. Like seeing Tim use him is some great injustice. (Like he cares how Dallas feels and wants him to believe he’s deserving of love or something.)
When the bartender starts preaching about self-respect, Dallas tunes him out.
Dally isn’t going to let himself be lied to. He’s a no-good, worthless hood. He was born hood, and he’ll die one. Guys like him don’t—can’t—worry about self-respect. They don’t deserve it.
He jumps when Buck cups the back of his neck. Then, he relaxes. Faintly, he has memories of an older gang member doing the same—acting as a mentor and protector. It’s a safe touch.
He blinks and he’s..laying across Buck’s lap?
Dallas doesn’t know where this is going.
It’s not like he’s never been spanked. No one has ever cared enough to discipline him.
Da would beat him bloody a lot, but that was just whenever he was mad or drunk or bored—or all three. It was never below his back.
Let it be known, Da was a precise man. The thin, uniform scars all up his back prove it.
He’s had the shit kicked out of him by juvie and prison guards before. For “disrespect,” they said. Really, it was just for existing.
He’s never, honest to god, been punished justifiably.
The first hit doesn’t hurt, but it definitely surprises him. Dallas jolts, his heart hammering in his chest.
He’s a smart guy. He figures out what’s going on very quickly.
Then, Buck hits him again, and again.
It’s not like it really hurts (Buck wouldn’t do that). Dallas feels himself growing more embarrassed at each one.
He’s not some little kid! He’s not Pony or Johnny or Soda! Hell, he definitely ain’t Curly!
He has half a mind to protest. To lash out and demand Buck quit treating him like a damn kid, because he ain’t one! He hasn’t been a kid since his mama died, and he ain’t about to go back now!
To-To let this happen? To just allow himself to be humiliated and-and degraded in such a way? Fuck that noise!
He opens his mouth, only to snap it closed when Buck starts tugging at his jeans. He looks back quickly, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. (He was always too damn weak to say anything.)
The embarrassment is overwhelming.
Dallas is a briefs guy, alright? He’s not scared to admit it. But..here? Right now? He can’t help but squirm because of his preferences.
Then, he finds himself squirming because his bottom is being lit on fire.
Buck has heavy hands. Dallas can feel his skin turning hues of pink and red. He start’s making noises against his will under the onslaught.
He whines and grunts, gritting his teeth to try and keep quiet. He feels himself tear up as he whimpers.
This is demeaning! It’s mortifying! He’s too damn old to be treated like this, so why..?
Why does it feel like Buck cares more than anyone else ever has? Why does it feel like safety, being over his knee? Why..why..
Dallas is crying softly by now. Not about the pain—although, the stinging is becoming less tolerable by the second—but about how goddamn loved he feels right now.
Is this what’s it’s like to have someone give a damn about you? To have a da who actually cares some and a mama who sticks around?
It’s too much.
If this is what love is..he thinks he might die from it.
Buck starts hitting much harder than before. Dallas whimpers again and again. He desperately squirms and wiggles, trying to escape the pain. Buck holds him firmly in place.
One part of him wants to kick and cry.
The other part is hanging onto his pride by a string.
He barely notices when the spanking finally ends. He’s too busy sniffling and drowning in embarrassment.
God, what would the gang think of him..?
Buck eventually helps him stand. He doesn’t pull his pants back up, but Dallas can’t find it in him to care. His knees shake and buckle under him as he collapses into the bartender.
Dallas sobs into the older man’s chest, gripping onto the fabric childishly.
He’s never felt so vulnerable in his entire life.
He feels like Buck is holding his beating heart in his hand, and he’s just begging.
Please be gentle. Please hold me carefully, I’m fragile. And God please don’t crush me, my heart can’t take it.
When he finally calms down enough, Dallas feels raw and hollowed out. There’s something..almost freeing about it, though.
He’s basically limp, allowing Buck to maneuver him gently onto his bed. Then, Buck disappears, and something in Dallas’s chest breaks.
But, he comes back.
Dallas tries not to whimper as Buck rubs something onto his sore skin. He thinks he does a good job of staying still.
He’s almost brought to tears again when Buck tucks him in. No one has ever done that for him in his entire life. He feels every bit a little kid.
He’s already falling asleep as Buck cups his neck and tells him to get some rest.
Buck makes him breakfast the next morning. Dally hides a wince as he sits down.
It feels like everything and nothing has changed between them at the same time.
The first time it happens, Dallas feels like no one cares about him.
The first time it happens, Buck proves him wrong.